Saturday January 11
Jeanine here this morning after being heatless yesterday from flawed furnace. Everything disintegrates around her—cars, mobile houses, her family, her bones, her smoke filled lungs, but she keeps trucking along, keeping her aging skinny frame going with an ersatz Faith, hallmark epigrams, and anger. Fortunately for her, the day is weirdly warm.
It’s hard to write about days that reveal the banality of most of my hours. Spent the morning reading Educated and paying taxes. On the way to lunch Michael and I talked on the car phone to Erin Stamper for an hour about the follow up to the CCDC Board of Election Commissioner nomination. Had to pull over to continue. The Democratic Country Committee endorsement is just that—an endorsement--which then goes to the County Board of Supervisors (BOS) for approval. And both Republican and Democratic Supervisor rejected her by a large majority. The next step rests with the BOS Democratic Caucus, which can reverse the Board vote. However, it's certain that Virginia will also lose their vote.
Some people are urging her to quit, but horrible Steve Dunn is encouraging her by launching a lawsuit claiming the CCDC vote wasn’t democratic. There's no basis for this but its unnecessarily keeps Virginia's hopes up. I can understand why she's fighting these decisions. Being Commissioner of the Board of Elections has been her life for eight years and, by and large, a triumph. She built a national reputation by running one of the few county election districts in the country that does manual counts after every election. She's not young, has a history of broken marriages, and, most likely, unfulfilled career goals (I’d lay big odds that this dramatic attractive cultured woman didn’t want to wind up an old unemployed spinster in Hudson. To go out like this is humiliating and devastating for her. But she’s not a nice boss, she doesn’t listen to ideas, she failed to deal effectively with the new voting processes this fall, and she’s facing a monster election year.
The gossip channels are running wildly on parallel tracks against both Virginia and Erin. It probably doesn’t help Erin that Jim Dolan is doing subterranean support of her via his historical network of political pals, both GOP and Dems. The arcane and weird process has also turned some of the most active CCDC members against Erin, including my friend Stephanie and Tod Wohlfarth, our competent hard working communications chairman. Not sure what will be salvaged at the end of this.
Ate at Grazin' and then stalled with random errands before it was time for the last Star Wars movie. Went to White Rice for Kim’s Xmas gift card, a non-surprise, since it's all she wants from me every year. She looks great in their clothes, which flow in rich autumnal colors—perfect for her. The same woman was at the register as last year. She's about my age, on the heavy side, nattily dressed in White Rice clothes and jewelry. She’s very gray, not just her hair but also her skin, which slopes in ridges rather than in wrinkles down her face. Just as last year, she was struggling with the gift card process She pulled out of drawer a small stack of cards strapped together with a rubber band and thumbed through them. They were all pre-handwritten with a set amount. She couldn’t find one for $200, the amount I wanted for Kim, so she randomly chose one for $100, handed it with a pen to me. "Just change the one to a two." I did and it was obviously altered. I pointed this out to the woman. "When my daughter-in-law hands this over, won't they think that she changed it?" She looked perplexed. Finally, we decided it would be ok if the receipt was included in the gift envelope and she initialed the falsified amount.
Next errand before heading to the movie was our local Horn and Hardart for meat, an automat where I selected and pulled chicken and steak through a little door off a rotating belt. As we headed for the theater, however, I realized that the meat would be sitting in the car for at least two hours, with the outside temperature creepily in the sixties, even as it got dark. At the theater, Michael tucked them tightly in one of my shopping bags, but the threat of E.coli haunted during various light saber duels, grim emperor versus Jedi confrontations and Millennium Falcon rescues.
Forty years ago Richard-ex, Geoff, Jill and I stood in line on 86th street to see the first Star Wars. The special effects were radical at the time, but it was its vision of a future that was transformative, with its sleek and threatening technology dominating ordinary shabby life forms bleakly co-existing in drab environments. In the last scene of this last Star Wars film, the Girl Jedi has outlived all her peers and is bringing the light sabers to bury them outside Luke’s childhood home, that domed friendless house in a sand-struck wasteland, which introduced us to decades of glorious nonsense (and Harrison Ford). What other film franchise could sustain such an emotional connection with a multi-generational audience after nearly half a century. Jeremy had warned me to bring my handkerchief and I almost needed it..
The meat was still safely cold when we got home. I put together pea soup, which I didn't finish till nine, when neither of us was hungry. Watched Expanse. A good example of great sci-fi that wouldn’t exist without Star Wars as its bones.
Sunday January 12
Woke up to hear Michael vomiting. He’s been sick with some low grade sinus infection for weeks, which got worse after New Years when he, Harris and Neville, and Richard Wallace shared Michael’s new inhaler that he bought in great Barrington. Richard had some cold at the time and after a few days everyone else was laid flat too except me—grateful for my nasty responses to pot.
Geoff’s Titian painting is on exhibition in Bayside with the opening today. I would love to have gone but it starts at two. and the train connections to get there are tough to manage and Michael is too sick to go anyway. Willie texted me that he and Alex (who is stationed at the church where my grandsons where baptized) will be there to represent Geoff’s side.
Took a walk around the pond on this absurdly beautiful day, temperature again in the sixties. It’s pretending it to be spring with plant life perking up below surface along the shore. While everyone sane is creeped out by climate change, it's hard to hate this false spring day. Will calls me while I’m on the walk and uses his talking emoji mouse head, which I find ridiculously cute. He wanted Geoff's number to see if he can get a ride to the exhibit.
Sat on the deck meditating in this weird weather, felt peaceful and happy.
Willie just called. He was at Geoff’s exhibition when Kim had a seizure and passed out. She had another seizure in the ambulance on the way to the hospital Have heard nothing yet from Geoff. Willie also told me that Alex’ church was vandalized, with 'ms13' tagged over its walls. Michael kept vomiting in the afternoon. So much for the peaceful happy day.
Geoff texted me. Kim's CT scan didn't show anything. Tomorrow she’ll have an MRI and EEG.
Michael better in the evening. I grated some ginger and made tea with manuka honey, my new favorite cure. Michael kept it down. Spent the evening watching Master Chef, then two hours in the bathtub finishing Educated.
Monday January 13
I had the goofiest dream. Was living in an old three story building on top of a hill, which apparently was the best venue for some obscure but major event, So I opened our house to anyone who wanted to \to spend Friday and Saturday night to experience the "event. I also arranged to have three elephants that were somehow involved to be housed on our third floor for the two nights. Hundreds of people showed up, some with sleeping bags, some not, who scattered and sprawled in every room except for the one on the third floor where the elephants were going to stay. At one point, a food vendor came in offering to sell food to the crowd and waving a piece of and. Michael pointed out that his meals would be expensive for this group, but responded that the people here represented a wide range of incomes and some could afford it. In any case, we agreed that we weren’t responsible for everyone’s food. For the rest of the dream we puzzled about how to maneuver the elephants up the narrow stairwell. Fortunately I woke up before the elephants arrived. WTF? So who are the “elephants in the room”? The GOP? And are the people camped in our house with their wide range of income levels the Democrat base? Does it all just mean that my brain is stuffed with political obsessions?
Last day of radiation. So far almost no side effects. We ate a big breakfast after the procedure at Gracie's.
Back to actual cold today, which is normal, but yesterday’s warmth was a wicked treat.
Text during the meal from Geoff and Kim reporting her improvement and that they are waiting for neurologist report on MRI. Later, they reported that the neurologist found nothing scary (I.e., no stroke or tumor). He believes the seizures are caused by a “pseudo tumor" that might also be responsible for Kim’s migraines. She’s taking two anti seizure medications: levetiracetam for the pseudo tumor and topiramate for the migraines.
They’re coming up this weekend. I talked to Geoff on the phone who described the experience. He and Kim had arrived early at the art exhibit and were looking at a photograph. Kim appeared thoughtful and said “I”, which she then repeated faster and faster, until she suddenly fell and passed out. “I thought she had died,” Geoff said. In the ambulance she had a second similar seizure, rapid repetition of a single syllable. Terrifying for my son.
Went to Wunderbar for dinner and met Ann there. It was good just to be with her without the Group. Should do more of that. She’s been less agitated in spite of her long distant difficulties dealing with Ted, her horrible ex husband’s lazy rich-offspring behavior. He's going on his annual multi-month winter cruise and ceded his house to Eamon the day he took off. Ann had known that he was going to do this but not that the final document would be delivered without any discussion and the day after Ted disappears into a luxury trip to Antarctica. He never maintained the house (a McMansion he had had built over 20 years ago) and it's in bad shape. Ted also never moved out his stuff, including boxes of books that Ann and Eamon have packed and a basement filled with model trains and layouts. The document leaving the house to Eamon never made clear whether he also owned the trains and other things in the house. In any case Eamon, as one of the lesser inheritors of his grandfathers wealth, is also among the helpless heirs, never holding a job for long, able to quit because he can afford to, essentially evolving into a baby man like his father. And like his father, he is unpleasant and non attentive to Ann unless he wants something, like now when he needs her help in dealing with his father’s white elephant. (Hmm, elephant metaphor again.) Ann is also angry with Scott enough not to want to see him again. They are two emotionally complicated people, who I think years ago were attracted to each other but unable to express this because of Scott’s wicked marriage, pasted together with guilt and greed. (Given Scott’s brief infidelity Loretta would have taken everything. Instead they have lived together with mutual torture for decades.)
Wrote another sonnet. Watched more Expanse.
Tuesday January 14
Spent the morning writing diary entries and emails. Michael in the city going to the dentist.
Did grocery shopping in the afternoon and then listened to Sam Harris and his wife Annika talking to Donald Hoffman on the illusion of space-time and consciousness as the essential field for uncovering all the other elements of the mind. Much of the conversation employed too much academic jargon, but on an intuitive level I think I more or less get some of it. A horrible shallow thought kept occurring to me while listening to Annika’s smart and informed questions. Why did she change her last name to his?
Later gave in to my cooking competition addiction and watched more Master Chef.
Skillet roasted a terrific chicken with roast potatoes and broccoli rabe, such an easy and no-brainer method. Set oven to 450 and put your skillet in the oven. DO what you want to season the chicken. When the oven is heated up, take the skill out, stick the chicken in, throw it back and oven and cook it for about half hour, turn of the oven and leave it for about 15 to 20 minutes. Perfect and so simple!
Democratic debate tonight. I hoped Amy Klobuchar would have done better but Elizabeth Warren was the Star. Also thought Bernie was strong and Biden seemed befuddled. Pete was also ok. Pundits and media were whining that the candidates didn’t go all attack dog on each other and they focused on the made-up fight between Warren and Sanders, who years ago presumably said to Warren at some party that a woman couldn’t be president. He denies saying this and most likely doesn't remember. It sounds pretty casual and who know what the context is. The question is real. Can a woman be president in America? So far, not much evidence of it. Anyway who wants that internal animosity? So tiresome. Save it for Trump.
Speaking of internal democrat animosity. Virginia fans are circulating an email attacking Erin, using anecdotal reports from a couple of her former employers to prove she’s not fit for commissioner. One story reflected a difficult period when her father died suddenly in the middle of a campaign and she dropped out without notice. The other anecdotes concerned loud arguments with some swearing between Erin and two of her bossies, one of who was Virginia. This is based on a couple of loud and angry arguments she had with two of her bosses. The emails, outrageously, imply that Erin is mentally unstable. The email originated with Enid Futterman, who runs Imby, a website that aggregates local information on a wide swath of subjects. It gets good traffic and I've used it often to promote my blog, Gene's campaign, the Army, and other causes. She's a pale, incredibly soft-spoken woman whose closeted rage has suddenly exploded.
Wednesday January 15
Spent morning finalizing the financials for Gene's campaign (goodbye yay) and sending emails to Democrat town chairs asking for any changes to the main Columbia County Democrat Committee list.
Jim Dolan called and I told him that Carrie will replace Gene's wife Donna on our Greenport committee. He and I fought as usual over national politics. He becomes a parrot for Trump policies and positions, which of course makes me crazy. Then he chuckles and says her just likes to wind me up but I suspect these are his actual views. He’s a older generation Democrat, all about patronage and local control. You could toss him back to the Tammany days and he'd feel at home. The Albany Democrat machine, in fact, lasted well into my own adulthood, with its apparatus reflected in Hudson's own Democratic establishment. Jim has no interest in then national platform and no enthusiasm at all for the progressive views imported into the county politics from NYC over the past decade. “I’m sick of politics now.” He said.
Jim has gone off his diet (I’ll go back after the super-ball) and has had a respiratory infection for weeks. As annoyed as I get with him over political approaches, I like him and don’t want him to get seriously ill, although given his big belly I think it’s inevitable.
Talked to Pam Kline in the afternoon, one of our good local political operatives and a friend of Erin Stamper's. We talked about the absurdity of Enid's email.
How can we claim to be better than Republicans when we can’t climb out of our own sewers?
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Sous vide’d a great steak (best way to cook a winter steak—terrific), baked sweet potatoes and sautéed defrosted Brussels sprouts from last summer's garden. Successful meal.
Watching too much Master Chef. Finished the night with the Expanse.
Thursday, January 16
Got up early to prepare a lunch for Mike Abramson and Erika, who are coming up today from their home in Queens for a face-to-face useless discussion on the twenty-year endless Bleak House patent. It's based on a map application that Michael and Geoff developed as an add-on for Flatiron, a magazine on local stored and event published by Mike A and Erika when we were all living there. My Michael is so angry at the whole experience that he didn't want me to cook for them. But, I've always liked them since we knew each other thirty years ago from at our beloved Cal's, where Erika and Mike A also met and were subsequently married. I certainly need to cook them lunch.
My Michael and Geoff each have a 7% piece of the patent, which has dragged on for years, pulling in several lawyers, who have sucked up the very few fees they've managed to get from infringing companies. After bumping into too many obstacles with the US patent pathway, Erika and Mika A have pinned their hopes on companies in Germany, where the patent laws are more favorably to inventors. My Michael endures endless phone conversations picking at how to collect fees, who to sue, and they all have come to nothing, or with very small victories, all of which are used to pay legal bills. The chance that anyone will see any actual money is dim to darkness.
As it turned out I was happy to see them, even though my Michael has found them to be tedious and difficult during this endless process. They aren’t having fun either. They brought two dogs they had rescued from Spain and Portugal. Cute guys who stayed in the little house during the visit. I made chicken melts and recycled the pea soup. The chicken salad comprised Greek yogurt, crème fresh, a pesto made from parm and last years arugula and mustard greens, chopped fennel, onions, and preserved lemon. Yummy if I do say so myself.
I've been reading four books at once. Just finished the most satisfying—Educated, and now am slogging through the last of the Minnesota trilogy by Vidar Sundstl, a Norwegian author who lived in the state for a couple of years and has written a novel about two murders—a contemporary one and another that happened in the nineteenth century. The first one is promising, but it ends with a perhaps red herring solution that carries the plot, such as it is, for two more books. The second book is particularly dreary and, if unwritten, would never be missed. It covers the protagonist, a cop, and his brother—his primary suspect—hunting deer. So of course the intended tension is "who is hunting whom". Big yawn. A total slog, macho and Hemmingway-ish. I've just started the third (sigh). Why am I reading this? Because I can read it in the bathtub. My other two books are on my Kindle. One is the fourth in the MIck Herron Oxford series (I love all of Herron, although his Slough House books are far better). And the last is the draft of a novel/autobiography written by Jim Krisniski, my fellow cook at the Army, He sent me the book in PDF. It is very, very long so I couldn't print it out, and it was too rigid to read on my phone or computer screen. Then, I discovered, however, a wonderful trick. I could just copy it over into Kindle and read as I would a regular book. This gives the illusion of having been published and perhaps better than it is. He's had a very interesting life, and there's lots of good stuff in it but I'm going to have to advise him to cut a lot out, and since he's an amateur writer, he probably will resent this. The sorrows of editing.
Nancy Terry wrote and described the basis for a book she wants to write. It’s based on a double murder or murder/suicide in her grandfather's house in 1928. Nancy’s father, who was 14 at the time, discovered the bodies—a young woman who had come to the house to apply for a job and the black chauffeur who apparently killed her and then himself. She thinks the evidence against him was fishy, and I hunted down a couple newspaper articles from the time and agree. Nancy’s whole life has been Southern Gothic, she and her brother Dave orphaned at a young age when their parents died in a car crash, raised by her father’s sister, apparently a monster, and of course the murder mystery. Nancy was married and divorced and now lives with Dave in a large apartment in Forest Hills where she has raised several pet rabbits (now down to one) and recently made one of their rooms into a bird habitat, where a couple rescue finches have now replicated into more than a dozen, and have flyover privileges through their space. She had worked for me at Medscape running the oncology site and now runs Medscape TV. Brilliant, flamboyant, and eccentric. I was afraid when I left that my boss would fall to recognize her value. But she’s doing great
Watched too many Master Chef episodes and Michael reheated the last chicken melt sandwiches for dinner. Watched one Expanse episode but Michael kept falling asleep so went to bed.
Friday January 17
Up late, checked email with one from a chronically disgruntled CCDC member complaining about the commissioner election. Obviously a supported of the Erin attacks.
We went to Cascades for lunch and then to the dump. Worked on the diary entry covering the commissioner election most of the afternoon. Ended the afternoon with my addiction—two episodes for a new Master Chef season.
Made roasted cauliflower, pasta and cheese casserole for Willie’s vegetarian dinner, using leftover pesto and crème fresh, a mix of cheeses, and chopped fennel and union for the sauce. Also Dana’s Italian seasoning. Turned out great!
Willie arrived at 5:15, sat around drinking wine until dinner. He’s still having a bad time, which unfortunately won’t let up for awhile. He is kicking himself with the accusations Samantha made about him when she broke up—that she was afraid he’d be too dependent and helpless. I’m afraid I didn’t bring any of my kids up to be particularly skillful in anything beyond the arts. My older kids' mates have trained them on the practicalities of daily life, appreciating the value of their love, intelligence, talents and kindness. No reason why Samantha couldn't have taken on this minor task!
After dinner we watched part of Farewell, a film from a Chinese female director that got rave reviews. About a New York based Chinese family going back to their home country to see the grandmother who is dying from cancer. The premise is that they are all lying to her about her terminal disease and pretending the reunion is because one of the grandsons is getting married (he isn’t). I liked the idea but them movie was a total slog. Incredibly slow and the wedding ruse could have been funnier if they had focused more on the clueless couple who had known each other only three months. Most of the movie was spent with each person saying to the other, “Don’t tell her.” The protagonist, the millennial granddaughter brought up in New York, walked around looking dreary. We stopped watching it about midway through and turned to old Larry Sanders episodes.
