These are days of great trial for American patriots, those of us who love our country,
...in all its diversity,
...and for the values and rights that we hold dear, along with the truths we hold to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
But if you find yourself feeling ground down, bogged down, slogged down and exhausted by Donald Trump's nonstop carnival of ignorance, bigotry, lies, ineptitude and recklessness, if what you you need is a good, stiff, head-clearing dose of enlightenment and encouragement on just what a person is supposed to do about the current state of affairs in America under Donald Trump, then I have the tonic for you: Read "The Uses of Outrage", economist Paul Krugman's op-ed piece in Monday's New York Times in which he urges Americans to fight Donald Trump with outrage: our own sustained outrage for every outrage already committed by this man and for every one that he commits in the future. In Mr. Krugman's words, "Outrage at what's happening in America isn't just justified, it's essential. In fact, it may be our last chance of saving democracy." According to Krugman, now is not the time to cool it. It's not the time to "wait and see, to try to be constructive, to reach out to Trump supporters, to seek ground for compromise," but rather:
"An outraged populace can and must push back, using the power of disapproval to counter the influence of a corrupted government. This means supporting news organizations that do their job and shunning those that act as agents of the Regime.It means patronizing businesses that defend our values and not those willing to go along with undermining them. It means letting public figures, however nonpolitical their professions, know that people care about the stands they take, or don’t. For these are not normal times, and many things that would be acceptable in a less fraught situation aren’t O.K. now."
And so, inspired by Paul Krugman's voice crying out in the wilderness, I intend to continue use my own voice in any way that I can to cry out against Donald Trump and the brood of vipers he surrounds himself with. Because I want it to go down in my personal history what I spoke out for and what I stood against.
Thank you, Paul Krugman.
"The Uses Of Outrage",https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/27/opinion/the-uses-of-outrage.html?_r=0
It’s true that I was strongly against the appointment of Education Secretary Betsy DeVos ,
...the blissfully ignorant billionaire whose manifesto has been the demolition of American public education, to be carried out by bleeding taxpayer funds from public schools and diverting those funds to for-profit charter schools with little if any public oversight, sketchy accountability to anyone except the investors, and where the financial bottom line is the first priority.
So much nonsense had been spouted by Betsy DeVos - most famous was her discourse on the need for guns in schools due to the threat of grizzly bears in classrooms in Wapiti, Wyoming - that one would scarcely have expected from her the revelation of a higher nature.
And yet a few days ago Betsy DeVos proved the proverb that things are seldom what they seem; that what masquerades as skim milk can, in fact, contain a measure of cream.
This revelation came on the heels of Attorney General Jeff Sessions’ ruling last week that transgender students would no longer have protection under the law to use school bathrooms corresponding to their gender identity; when told to sign off on this order rolling back the civil rights of these students, Betsy DeVos said, “No.” The Education Secretary, whose compliance was required for the ruling to be passed, refused to agree to it. And though Jeff Sessions continued to push and pressure her, Betsy DeVos would not to relent, but rather continued to stand up for rights for transgender students even though it meant going against her Party’s line and incurring the wrath of the ruling powers that be.
And for this courageous, strong-backboned stand against Jeff Sessions for the sake of the most oppressed and vulnerable young people I give Betsy DeVos credit. I even would have been willing to give her a chance as Education Secretary, to withhold further judgement, to wait and see if Ms. DeVos was perhaps possessed of more wisdom than I’d realized.
But in the end Betsy DeVos’s one-woman campaign for the protection and welfare of transgender students failed. Jeff Sessions, infuriated with Betsy DeVos, ran crying to Donald Trump, who called his Education Secretary into the Oval Office and told her to drop her opposition to Sessions' ruling or resign.
And so, faced with going along with something she knew was wrong or losing her job, Betsy DeVos went along. She gave in, publicly conceded, in effect, that it’s up to the individual States to decide whether transgender students should be granted or denied their civil rights. According to The New York Times the Education Secretary was reduced to releasing a statement in which she concurred with the White House and Justice Department that bathroom access is not a Federal matter, but added that “she considered it a ‘moral obligation’ for every school in America to protect all students from discrimination, bullying and harassment.”
Valiant try, Secretary DeVos, but you should have known it would come to nothing. You should have known to whom you sold your soul when you signed on to the confederation of vipers now occupying the White House.
...Continued from yesterday:
...we headed downtown to The Columbus Museum of Art,
...that visitors were invited to put together. Of course I was hooked (see post from 2/7/2017)
We visited some of the other museum exhibits.
Turns out there were jigsaw puzzles of paintings scattered throughout the museum to seduce us puzzle addicts.
I think one these times I'd like to go back to the museum just to spend all day going from puzzle to puzzle, putting them all together. For me that would be like being in an opium den.
After the museum we headed to the Clintonville neighborhood to Studio 35 Cinema & Drafthouse,
...for lunch and the $5 matinee, still a great flick after all these years.
...we arrived early early enough that we had time to eat in the bar with a friend.
...followed by a generous and tasty Italian sub for Tom,
After the movie we returned home. Tom and I mused upon how spending a few days seeing the sights of a side of town different from our own almost felt like an out-of-town trip.
However, though we'd returned home, the day was not yet over; later that evening we went out to The Drexel,
...to see Jackie, another really good but heart-rending film requiring multiple kleenexes.
The next day, Sunday, February 19, was our actual anniversary date, which we celebrated by just doing the things we normally do on a Sunday, with a bit of embellishment:
Normally Tommy, his friend Emily, Randy, and Anusha come for Sunday dinner, which they did this Sunday as well. But this time they spent some time looking at Tom's and my wedding album, chuckling over our photos, a mélange of pictures taken by friends, family members, and our "official" wedding photographer, the cousin of a friend of a co-worker of my sister-in-law (or something like that),
...all hodge-podged together in a photo album.
...which Randy volunteered to cut for us as I tend to suffer from cake-cutting anxiety (is that a common disorder?)
At one point Emily asked me what anniversary the 40th one was. I didn't know, except that it was somewhere between silver and gold. So she looked up the answer to the question on her phone.
"40th Anniversary is green bean," I heard her say.
"Green bean?" I asked.
"No," Emily laughed, "Ruby!"
I'd misheard, but upon reflection I think that for us Green Bean would be a more apt symbol; after all, I don't own any rubies, or any jewelry, really, except my wedding rings and an assortment of earrings and watches, most of which came from Meijer's, Kohl's or Target.
Green beans, on the other hand, has been sort of an iconic presence throughout our married, life,my Green Beans Almondine being a constant at just about every holiday meal and extended family gathering for most of the past forty years.
So I believe I will declare this one The Green Bean Anniversary, and in its honor I'll share my Green Beans Almondine recipe for anyone who might be interested starting a green bean tradition of their own.
Green Beans Almondine
4 cans of French-cut green beans
1/2 cup slivered almonds
2 tablespoons butter or margarine
Lawry's garlic salt
Melt about 1 tablespoon of butter or margarine in a large frying pan over medium-low heat. Add the almonds and saute until light brown, be careful not to let them burn. Drain the green beans. Add to the almonds in the pan the green beans, the rest of the butter, the Lawry's garlic salt to taste and parsely. Cook until the green beans are heated through.
...Continued from yesterday:
As our 40th anniversary approached it did occur to Tom and me that we probably should do something special, different, whatever, to celebrate the occasion.
After we'd stormed our brains a little Tom came up with the idea of spending our anniversary weekend at our new favorite fall-back get-away, the Berlin Resort in Amish Country.
But alas, by the time I tried to make a reservation - about a week out from the date - The Berlin Resort was all booked up for the weekend. It hadn't occurred to me that our anniversary would be falling over the long President's Day weekend or that Amish country would be such a popular President's Day weekend destination.
That same day, however, I found amongst my emails a Groupon for a Top Secret Hotel deal, the gist of which was that one could get a room in a 3.5 star hotel somewhere in the Columbus area at an inexpensive price, but one was required to commit to paying for the room in advance before one would find out which hotel one was committing to or where in Columbus the hotel was located. In a flash of inspiration I thought, why not have our anniversary get-away here in Columbus? After all, there's plenty to do around town and we could stay at the 3.5 star Top Secret Hotel for cheap.
Tom liked the idea so I booked a room for two nights, Thursday and Friday (our anniversary was Sunday, but this was close enough, we figured), at the Top Secret Hotel, which turned out to be The Crowne Plaza North off 161 and Busch Boulevard on the north side of Columbus.
So Thursday evening after my last lesson of the day we headed off to our anniversary get-away at The Crowne Plaza North.
After we were settled in we set out for dinner. Since we were situated on the north side of town and not too far from the Ohio State University District, we decided to go to the Blue Danube, the popular 77-year-old OSU student hang-out known as "The Dube" among its many aficionadi.
The portions being double-sized and all the entrees including two sides, we split an order of Chicken Parmesan - delicious!
...and for the two sides we ordered two equally yummy salads.
After dinner we swung by a Tim Horton's on our way back to the hotel for a couple of doughnuts, a doughnut always being a great dessert to top off any meal (or so say we doughnut-lovers).
The next morning, as I'd spotted a Waffle House down the block from our hotel and never having been to a Waffle House before, I requested that we have breakfast there, which we did.
The place was crowded for a Friday morning, I thought, but friendly, some in the crowd appearing to be regulars as they chatted and joked with the waitstaff.
...while I had my usual sunnyside-up eggs that for some reason came with a double-order of hashbrowns. I did not complain, though, as those hashbrowns were very good, nice and crispy on the outside.
But though Tom and I both liked what we ordered, by the time we left I had the feeling that we'd actually missed the boat at this Waffle House, as I noticed that almost all of the customers ordered waffles as their meal or with their meal, which gave me the feeling that we probably should have done so, too.
Still, our breakfast, though perhaps not the specialty of the house, was sufficient to fuel us through our morning activity, a visit to the Columbus Historical Society.
(Anybody remember Spoolies?)
...where we learned, among other things, that: there were no dinosaurs in Ohio;
...70% of large mammal species in North America died during the Ice Age,
...if life on Earth were compressed into a 12-hour clock we humans have only been here, like, half a second,
...was mentioned in an Ohio history book.
After we'd spent several hours touring the museum it was time for a lunch break.
For lunch we chose another North Side Columbus spot place we'd never been to but had heard of,
Tom had the beef and noodles, which he liked,
After lunch we headed back to the University Area to the Gateway Film Center,
...where we saw, in a small theater with the world's most comfortable state-of-the art reclining movie seats,
After the movie we walked around the Ohio State campus area,
..busy with the Friday afternoon crowds,
We walked around the beautiful campus for a bit,
There was another exhibit as well, which consisted of a 2,000 lb. glass and metal sculpture so constructed that one could easily swivel the piece around on its axis.
After our visit to The Wexner Center we walked back to the Gateway,
...then for dinner returned to The Blue Danube (see yesterday's post),
...and should have split a dessert, but didn't.
..while I had the most awesome and equally huge slice of Cherry Crunch Pie.
However I must admit that the size of our desserts did not keep either one of us from polishing them off to the crumb, I suppose to the shock of our waitress, who exclaimed as she removed our plates, "Wow, you guys finished those desserts all up!"
Now, granted, it probably was pretty unbelievable that we ate up those massive desserts, still I hate it when a waitperson expresses disbelief or even makes any comment or observation at all on the fact that I've cleaned my plate. It makes me feel like normal people don't clean their plates, and I imagine the waitperson hurrying back to the kitchen to announce: "Hey, everybody, c'mere, look out into the the room, see that lady at that table six? She cleaned up that whole whopping piece of pie!"
(Sigh). Next time we're ordering one dessert and two spoons.
To be continued...
Yesterday Tom and I celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary.
February 19, 2017
The first photo was taken in my parents' living room, the second in our family room, in the background of which appears on its spot on a shelf our wedding invitation.
When two people have been married for 40 years there may be no need to mark an anniversary with any particular festivity, the day-to-day reality of still being together for so long being a celebration in and of itself.
I suppose that's why Tom and I had given little thought to planning anything special to celebrate this anniversary. And yet we ended up enjoying a sort of progressive celebration, .kicked off by our friends Kevin and Barb, who invited us out to dinner for our anniversary on the Friday night of the week before the date (i.e., Friday, February 10).
For the purpose of trying some new place that none of us had been to before, they found a restaurant in Gahanna called The Goat, that turned out to be a little pub attached to an upscale condo development (off Morse Road, for you local folk),
...that served the most beautiful burgers,
my pick, a delicious Cubano sandwich of pork, ham, pickles, provolone, relish and mustard served on a baguette with a side of hot, crispy sweet potato fries,
...and, so the drinkers told me, some tasty brews, including the peanut butter-and-chocolate-flavored ale in the round-bottomed glass.
After dinner we decided to round off the evening with a dessert excursion.
I suggested the nearby Bob Evans, where, in my book, the desserts are pretty unbeatable,
To be continued...
Of all the childish grievances, self-promoting inanities, gargantuan untruths and other various and sundry nonsense spouted by Donald Trump at his press conference last Thursday, the very worst offense to come out of his mouth was his response to a question by journalist, author, long-time White House correspondent and bureau chief for American Urban Radio Networks, April Ryan.
When Ms. Ryan asked President Trump whether he was planning on meeting with the Congressional Black Caucus he asked her to go set the meeting up for him.
"I'll tell you what," said Donald Trump to Ms. Ryan, "do you want to set up the meeting? Do you want to set up the meeting? Are they friends of yours?"
When Ms. Ryan, looking and sounding dumbfounded, answered "No," and reminded him that she was a reporter, Trump steamrolled right over her, telling her, "Set up the meeting, let's go, set up a meeting. I would love to meet with the black caucus. I think it's great. The Congressional Black Caucus." As if it weren't Donald Trump's job as President to work with all lawmakers, regardless of their particular legislative body.
As if it were her job to be subservient to him. As if she were his servant.
Ms. Ryan, of course, kept her composure and did not counter Donald Trump's answer to her, demeaning and racist as it was.
But here's what I wish April Ryan had said Donald Trump: "Mr. President, someone needs to inform you that, as President, it is your job to communicate with and set up meetings with all congressional lawmakers, regardless of their race. Your job, not mine, do you understand, Sir? And the fact that I happen to be African American and a woman does not make me your servant. Do you understand that, Sir?"
But, of course, April Ryan is a professional and so would never have responded with such a retort.
That's why I did it for her.
And so it goes, another day, another outrage from the Trump White House. There's no question that these are times that try men's and women's souls. And exhaust our brains like none other.
But it doesn't matter. We the people must continue to speak up and speak out, especially over the discovery of this latest - and most serious - case of wrong-doing connected to Donald Trump, that is, the discovery by our intelligence community of a suspect relationship between Donald Trump along with his election campaign and at least one member (now ex-member) of his administration,
...and the Kremlin.
Tell me, is it just me, or does this Trump-Putin connection somehow not feel like news at all?
Majority Republican members of Congress don't seem to know what to do about the fact that The President of the United States appears to have illicit entanglements with a hostile foreign power. They're whirling around like mice in a blender trying to figure out what to do about this crisis, while Donald Trump sits calmly in the center of the vortex and comes up with his own plan for handling the situation - he'll simply take away the authority of our Director of National Intelligence and instead appoint one one of his billionaire cronies, one Steve Feinberg,
... to join his staff for the purpose of putting a leash on our country's intelligence agencies.
My fellow American patriots, the time has come once again for us to rise up and offer some clarity to our befuddled Republican lawmakers in Congress, as we've been doing,
...and with some success.
Today we need to bring to their attention their duty to call for - no, demand - an independent and bipartisan investigation into any Russian ties to Donald Trump's Presidential campaign and/or his administration, and that the first order of business must be the disclosure of Donald Trump's tax returns.
So, my fellow patriots, let us start making some noise on this issue. Let us call our representatives. Send them an email. Write them a letter. If any one needs a text to write or to read from for their phone call they may feel free to use the following:
Dear (Senator, Congressman, Congresswoman ) ,
I urge you to call for and demand the immediate creation of an independent and bipartisan commission to investigate any possible Russian ties to President Donald Trump’s election campaign and/or his administration and to insist that the disclosure of President Trump’s tax returns be the first order of business in this investigation. Please put the welfare of our country before party politics and remember that history will either honor you or censure you for the stand you take. (Senator, Congressman, Congresswoman ), our country is depending on you. Please do the right thing.
I've already called my Senator, Rob Portman, and emailed him and plan to continue doing so on a daily basis. If we blow up our representatives' lines with phone calls and emails or bombard their staff with letters they will notice.
I've heard from a Philadelphia fellow patriot, Kathy, here with her daughter Moira standing up for justice at an anti-Muslim ban demonstration,
...that there will be a rally in Philly this Saturday.
I also have it on good authority from a Columbus fellow patriot, Basia (see post from 2/13/2017),
...that there is a Columbus Indivisible demonstration every Tuesday in front of Senator Rob Portman's office at 37 West Broad Street in downtown Columbus from 12-12:30 pm. Mayhaps I will join them this week to demonstrate for the investigation.
In any case, if we all do something, write an email, write a letter, make a phone call, demonstrate, wave a flag, bang a drum,
...then surely Congress will get the message.
Believe it or not, it's been only a little over three weeks since January 21, the day of The Women's March, when millions of women, men and children around the planet peacefully demonstrated in support of human rights and in protest of the violation of these rights inherent in newly-inaugurated President Donald Trump's political agenda.
But, as the world has learned over these past three weeks, The March turned out to be more than a march; in fact it was the beginning in our country of a movement that sprung from the hope, empowerment and renewed sense of patriotism that was born on that day in January and, for those of us who were part of The March either in body or in a spirit of solidarity, has grown only stronger since.
Today I have a guest blogger,my friend and fellow patriot Basia,
...who I asked to share some reflections on her experience of being among the Washington, DC marchers three weeks ago.
Three Weeks Later: Reflections on the Women’s March in DC
By Basia Nowak
The last few months have been a time of many firsts for me. I am forty-seven, and for the first time ever, I campaigned for a political candidate (I made phone calls and canvassed for Hillary Clinton, mind you, just a few times, but I did it—I came out of my comfort zone). For the first time, I made calls to my senators in December once Trump named Stephen Bannon as his advisor (and I have made many calls since Trump’s inauguration). And for the first time, I marched in a protest, demonstration, whatever you want to call it, and I did it at the Women’s March in DC on January 21.
I was a bit nervous about attending the march. I did not know what to expect. What if Trump’s supporters were out in droves the day after his inauguration, heckling us, throwing stuff at us? What if the people around me got crazy and did the same? What if the police got too aggressive? Well, it turned out to be a peaceful, energizing, and life-altering event for me. (The police actually were high-fiving us and taking selfies with marchers, and we in turn were thanking them for doing a great job. We didn’t see any Trump supporters along the route.)
A dear friend of mine from Columbus and I traveled to DC and stayed with my sister in Kensington, MD, just north of the outerbelt. I knew the day was off to a great start when as we were walking to a bus stop, one of my sister’s neighbors ran out of her house when she saw us and asked: “what shoes are you wearing?” It’s a neighbor that my sister has never really spoken to, but we were all in this together. She knew exactly where we were heading. The bus ride to the metro was uneventful, but the metro ride was amazing. Even though we were toward the end of the line, the car was already crowded and got even more and more crowded. Eventually, no additional riders were allowed on.
My first order of business was to meet up with alumnae from Whim ‘n’ Rhythm, a Yale University senior a cappella singing group, of which I was a member in the class of 1992. Representing women from classes between 1981 and 2017, we sang our traditional closing song, “The Hammond Song,” on the steps of the National Archives.
For anyone who's interested, here's the link to the Youtube video: https://youtu.be/O1Jk6iGBpxc
It was an amazing way to start the day.
She brought it over the night before I departed. I had no idea that she knew I was even going to the march, and we never really even talked about politics. It was a wonderful surprise! (I met a family from St. Louis at the march, a Whim alum and her daughter and husband—the husband knitted the hats for them!)
I was teary-eyed when I saw the crowds of people.
It was truly an incredible feeling to be among so many people who cared about the direction of our country and women’s rights. We were supposed to march on only one street, but we ended up marching on three or four parallel streets because of the number of people who showed up for this historic event.
I was not sure if I should bring a sign. I’m not that creative. All I could think of was “My Body, My Choice” or “I Stand with Planned Parenthood,” since this is one of the main issues for which I was marching (others were marching for a lot of different issues). I chose to be boring and not make a sign, and I was glad I didn’t. My hands were free to take lots of pictures instead. There were a lot of signs about women’s rights, Trump’s ties to Putin and Russia, immigrant rights, climate issues, and so much more.
There were also lots of great chants as we marched, including “Tell Me What Democracy Looks Like—This Is What Democracy Looks Like,” “No Hatred, No Fear, Immigrants Are Welcome Here,” “My Body, My Choice (with men saying, “Her Body, Her Choice”), and “We Need a Leader, Not a Creepy Tweeter.”
So, as I look back on this momentous day, I think about what it all means in the end. It was not just a moment as some feared. It is movement. The millions of women, men, and children (there were a few children in DC) who marched around the world (on all seven continents) have shown us that we are not alone in our concerns, that we can make a difference. We can come out and protest in public for all sorts of issues (I went to my first local protest this past Tuesday); we can protest in private by making calls and sending emails, postcards, and letters; and we can also protest by talking to people and making sure that our voices are heard. There is hope! We are stronger together.
Yesterday, Saturday afternoon, Tom and I headed to the Short North Stage, a small, vintage theater,
...to see "Hand To God," a phenomenal dark comedy by Robert Askins about a puppet, made by a shy, awkward teenager for his church's puppet ministry, that becomes possessed by the Devil,
...or perhaps by the too-long repressed emotions of a desperate adolescent tormented by his embarrassing over-bearing mother, the local bully, and his secret longing for a girl in his church group.
In any case, the manifestation of this demon-puppet seems to act as a catalyst for the outbreak of irrepressible errant behavior among the characters who play out their primal impulses in the church basement amidst the arts and crafts, cheery bulletin boards and religious posters.
Though "Hand To God" is a comedy - as attested to by the non-stop laughter of the audience - the characters are so captivating and the story so thought-provoking that one could spend hours - as Tom and I did after the performance - discussing the play's psychological and spiritual motifs.
All the acting - human as well as puppet - was over-the-top wonderful, and often very athletic as the story frenetically rolled along in two fast-paced 40-minute acts. Especially wonderful was Danny Turek, who played the dual roles of Jason, the beleaguered teen, and Tyrone, his possessed-puppet alter-ego.
I cornered the play's director, Edward Carignan, during the intermission and again after the performance to congratulate him on his work and to talk a little about the issues brought out in the play. Mr. Carignan shared with me that the play's author was from the same kind of small Texas town that the play is set in and that the author, like the play's characters, was raised in a church background, as many of us have been, where one's quest for happiness is tied to one's church participation - which doesn't always bring happiness after all.
The stage set of a homey church basement was simple but perfect. Especially clever was the inclusion, among the other inspirational wall decorations, of a poster of President Donald Trump.
Though the photograph of The President at first seems like a patriotic tribute, as the drama playing out in the church basement morphs into a libido-laced Id-fest, one has more the impression of the Patron Saint of Id smiling down from the wall and pouring out his perverse blessing.
In truth the director brilliantly manages to bring to this play, which was written over six years ago and is essentially a study of the characters, the added facet of a cautionary tale for the time and place we now live in.
"Hand To God" will be playing at the Short North Stage until the first weekend in March. If you live in Columbus, can afford the $30 ticket price, and aren't offended by R-rated scenes and language, I sincerely recommend that you go see this play at this venue.
And when you do, be sure and come half an hour early to visit Ethel's Stage Left, the theater's cozy, friendly bar,
You can get tickets for "Hand To God" at http://www.shortnorthstage.org/calendar/v/553
Go see it if you can. It'll activate your brain cells. And your heart cells.
There are some things, I've learned, that I simply must avoid: Cottage cheese, because I'll eat the whole carton. Bread pudding, rice pudding, and tapioca pudding, because I'll eat the whole pan or potful. Jigsaw puzzles, because once I pick up that first piece I'll be a woman possessed until all 550 pieces are in place.
But of all the feeders of my obsessive disorder, the one that I truly must avoid at all costs is crochet.
Because once I start looping that yarn over that hook I can't stop. I could sit for a whole day, I have sat for a whole day, mesmerized by the activity of my hands while life goes on without me.
Back in my crochet heyday I used to make all kinds of things:
...baby-doll sweaters, lacy barbie-doll gowns, lacy table cloths, Christmas stockings, a hemp throw-rug, and my favorite of favorites: afghans,
...and more afghans, such as this one my father-in-law still uses in his assisted living,
My father-in-law, Charlie Liszkay, 98 years old.
Then a few years ago I said, enough. I gave away all my yarn to a church knitting group that makes baby blankets and I've been free and clear of this particular addiction ever since.
Until Donald Trump came along.
Suddenly citizen-patriots began taking to the streets, and everywhere I looked I saw pink knitted or crocheted kitty hats;
...on the news,
...on my social media,
One day one of my Posse members even showed up at Panera knitting a kitty hat.
All of sudden I was staring to think about those old crochet days.
But I was all right. Or probably would have been, until I realized that my daughter, who intends to remain on the forefront of standing up for justice and human rights (see posts from 1/21/2017 and 1/28/2017), does not own a kitty hat.
I decided that my daughter needed a kitty hat for up-coming cold-weather demonstrations, and that her husband, an equally impassioned citizen-patriot, should have a hat, too. A tom cat hat, I decided to call my male version.
Crocheting kitty and tom cat hats was the least I could do to support to the growing American resistance to Trumpian injustice. It was my patriotic duty.
So I returned to one of my old my old haunts and picked up four skeins of yarn, just four, no more than I absolutely needed, two in pink for my daughter's kitty hat, and two in brown for her husband's tom cat hat. Just enough for two hats, no more. I knew I could stop at two hats.
I found on the internet an instructional video* for a super-simple crocheted kitty hat. Here's the link to the one I used, in case anyone (who already knows how to crochet) would like to have it:
Then I dug deep into my sewing drawer, and pulled out my old paraphernalia.
I slide the "L" hook from its slot,
...then I took a deep breath, wrapped a length of lovely pink yarn over the hook, and soon I was in that familiar old state of oblivious Nirvana, all my troubles and cares floating away on a pink cloud of yarn.
...or a brown cloud.
A couple of days later I came down and the hats were finished.
I then sent the kitty and tom cat hats to my daughter and son-in-law in Chicago, who were very happy with them.
And their own kitties also love the box I sent the hats in.
I expect that's because the box was a kitty hat box.
As it turns out, I didn't use up all the yarn I bought for the hats, so figured I'd crochet a couple of scarves. I mean, I'm just doing it to use up the yarn.
* I strayed a little from the video in that I used single crochet stitches for the section of the hat that called for half-double crochets. Also I used only the "L"- sized hook, not the "L" and the "J", as is used in the video. If you don't own or can't find an "L" hook ("L"'s are a little hard to find, for some reason) you could use a "K" or "J" hook.
by Patti Liszkay
Buy it on Amazon:
by Patti Liszkay
Buy it on Amazon:
"Equal And Opposite Reactions"
by Patti Liszkay
Buy it on Amazon:
The Book Loft
of German Village,
Or check it out at the Columbus Metropolitan Library
I am a traveler just visiting this planet and reporting various and sundry observations,
hopefully of interest to my fellow travelers.