Well it’s that time again – time for me to spout off about things I have no business ranting on about! It’s ALMOST my favorite thing to do. I’ll call it…bathtub thoughts…
I’m posting early as I’ll be without internet at Ojisaan’s (Grampy Yeh) this weekend, then traveling on home to NB for a nice visit with Nana and Papa. Wish me luck. Last time I was at Ojisaan’s I bravely sipped a cup of ‘old world’ medicine (tea) he had created with herbs brought over from Taiwan in a hundred year-old recipe known to give good health.
Is that I thought I was drinking.
Turns out it was a bottle of whisky filled with random plants he had picked up at a yard sale the week before. No, he had no idea what those things floating in it were. He’s a sweet man but he’s a little kooky.
They’ll be no mysterious fluids for me this weekend. I’ll stick to water, thanks.
On Trump being the Republican nominee: Catastrophic. I predict historians will spend whole sabbaticals pondering and analyzing his rise to popular power and what flavor of crazy from what contingent of the population contributed to it. And how the good, reasonable people in this country let it happen.
On Bernie and Hillary contesting a Democratic nomination: Good for you Bernie. I like that crazy old guy with the wild hair. I think he’d plunge the US into a debt never before seen in the modern era but he’d do a lot of good for a lot of people first. We’ll figure out the rest later, right?
Hillary: Hillary. Mrs. Hillary. You are a fighter and a woman of impressive intellect. I wish you could be more honest more of the time. I know you feel like you can’t be more real because as hard as this process is on the average white male who attempts it, you’ve got it that much harder. But how can we judge your ability to lead if we can’t judge who you really are as a person? Still, I think you’re the most reasonable, logical, less scary choice. Also, being the first female president, if you screw this up you’re going to set female leadership back decades. No pressure.
And that doesn’t just mean to make the non-emotional, based-solely-on-the-facts decisions. Any man can do that. (Is my feminism showing?) Women have a special ability – we’re in touch with our own emotions. (Ba ba ba BAAAA!) We can read subtext that a lot of men can’t pick up on. That doesn’t make us weak it makes us wiser. I hope you use all of who you are if you get to be president.
Kamau Bell: Jaw-dropping. That strange, brave black comedian who went to a cross burning and interviewed KKK members for a CNN documentary. Let me White React here. That. Still. HAPPENS!? Holy smokes. What are we doing about this!? Why is this still happening! Where do we find these people!? Arggggggggggg.
Flying alone home to Canada with a 2 year old and a 9 year old dog: Catastrophic. I predict mind blowing temper tantrums and Ellie probably won’t be very happy either.
Eating food you grew yourself: Pea’s and onions were good – lettuce tasted the same. Lettuce doesn’t taste good unless you drown it in Ranch dressing first at which point I can save the digging and weeding and watering already.
Remembering Grammie: She had her internment this week. I wasn’t there in body, at least. But then, neither was she. I remember her at home, not in the nursing home. At home and making weak tea and feeding me bowls of sugar with the odd strawberry floating in it. I’m starting to connect the dots with the origins of my sugar addiction…I thought I made sure to tell her I loved her and to appreciate her while she was here but I didn’t really, or, not enough.
Because I still miss her and I wish I had been less reserved with my affection while she was there to be embarrassed by it too.
Self Discovery: Turns out I’m not that mysterious. I’m composed mostly of Lord of the Rings dialogue and sugar-pops.
And finally, a quote to remind us we all have wisdom and knowledge (and valid opinions!) even if we weren’t educated at Yale and weened on Caviar and milk.
“I have been and still am a seeker, but I have ceased to question stars and books; I have begun to listen to the teaching my blood whispers to me.”
― Hermann Hesse