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Pie For Breakfast, Music And Games All Day

7/29/2021

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PIE FOR BREAKFAST, MUSIC AND GAMES ALL DAY

More than two years had gone by since the last time our family was all together. That was when we met up in Honolulu for a week at the Hale Koa (see post from 4/27/2019, "Ohana At The Hale Koa").

Distance and the COVID pandemic were the culprits that kept us from a family get-together since then, but last week, for a short weekend, we were finally able to have a reunion.
Maria and her family drove in from Los Angeles, arriving on Tuesday, July 20.
I had asked Maria what her crew would like for their "Welcome to Ohio" dinner. Oven-fried chicken legs, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, hot rolls, and apple pie were their requests. And so that's what was served,

...and much enjoyed.

Likewise, before Claire and Miguel flew in from Chicago late Friday night, July 23,

...I asked them what they would like me to make for them to eat.
"Pie," was the response. "Just pie."
And so in preparation for their arrival we made pie: cherry lattice, cherry streusel, and pear streusel .

We also made a couple of loaves of challah bread for the occasion.

However, as it was well past10 pm by the time Claire and Miguel arrived at the house, they weren't in the mood to eat. Rather, everyone was in the mood for some music.

My children grew up in a family where music was the river that ran through it.
They started music lessons before they started school.

They played ensembles from the time they were young.

They played at each others' weddings.

These days some of them love playing guitar, some love playing games, and we all love pie.
And so the following morning, Saturday morning, we had pie for breakfast.

Now, when you come right down to it, is pie for breakfast really any worse than, say, a stack of chocolate chip pancakes slathered in butter and syrup?

Or cream cheese-stuffed French toast?

Or donuts?

I suppose it's a debatable question. In any case, we had pie for breakfast. With ice cream and whip cream.

After breakfast there were games and music,

...and more games,

...and more music.

In the afternoon Maria and Claire and their families went over to Tommy's and Emily's house where the sibs retired to the basement for a jam session.

Meanwhile, Theresa, Tom, and I stayed home and worked on dinner,

...until everyone returned from Tommy's and Emily's house,

...for dinner.

Dinner gave a nod to nutrition, if breakfast had failed to,

...though we did have left-over pie for dessert,

...including an apple pie which Tom made that afternoon to restock the dwindling pie inventory.

After dinner there were indoor games,

...and outdoor games,

...until the sun went down.

The following morning we had pancakes for breakfast,

....and left-over pie.

After breakfast the music and games recommenced,

...until I recruited a flank of volunteers to peel the pod covers from my gargantuan harvest of silver dollar plants,

Then our short weekend reunion was almost over and the time was growing near for Claire and Miguel to return to Chicago. We had a final meal together of delicious Jet's pizza.

For some reason nobody was interested in pie.

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Vaccinated And Aggravated

7/26/2021

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VACCINATED AND AGGRAVATED

My daughter, son-in-law and two grand daughters drove in from Los Angeles, arriving last Tuesday, July 20, to spend a few weeks in Ohio.

As they arrived during the week of the Franklin County Fair, Tom and I were looking forward to taking our grand daughters to their first fair. We would love to have been able to take them to the Ohio State Fair, one of the largest and best state fairs in the country,

...but, sadly, the State Fair was closed to spectators again this year due to safety concerns over the still-simmering COVID-19 pandemic. Happily, the County Fair was open and, being a mostly outdoor event, seemed safe enough.
We had told the children about the Fair and all there would be to see and do. They were excited about the animals and the rides. Tom and I were excited about experiencing the Fair anew through their eyes.
But then on July 18, two days before our daughter and her family arrived, the number of new COVID cases in Ohio, much lower at the beginning of the month, crept up to 301. The following day the new case count more than doubled. By July 22, the day we'd been planning on going to the County Fair, the new COVID cases in Ohio had spiked up to 822.

Ohio was hit with lightening speed by the super-spreader event that was tearing across the U.S. caused by the corornavirus which had percolated in the respiratory systems of the unvaccinated until it mutated into the hyper-contagious Delta variant.
We didn't take our grand daughters to the Franklin County Fair. We didn't dare. Tom and I were vaccinated, but our grand daughters weren't. Who knew how many maskless, unvaccinated Delta variant-infected people would be milling among the fair-goers? Who knew how insidiously this infection might be spreading in the crowd?
And then there was to consider the recent phenomenon of an uptick in break-through infections from the unvaccinated to the vaccinated.
It's aggravating that we, the vaccinated, still have to worry about the COVID epidemic because, in this country overflowing with a bounty of vaccine, half the population refuses to be vaccinated and continues to spread the virus.
It's true that at this point the Delta variant is the plague of the unvaccinated population. It's mostly the unvaccinated who are coming down with the sickness, who are overrunning the hospitals, who are taking up the intensive care unit beds, the ventilators and the oxygen, who are beleaguering the over-worked, exhausted hospital staff.

It's the unvaccinated who are dying of COVID.
But it's also these vaccine refusers who are the cause of the growing surge of the Delta variant coronavirus in the United States, who are feeding it, keeping it alive and posssibly mutating, keeping it front and center, letting it rule our economy, our businesses, our entertainment, our social interactions, our health care system, the news media - will the day come ever when the COVID pandemic won't be front and center in the news? - and the choices we, the vaccinated, find ourselves having to make.
The ferocity with which the Delta variant is striking everywhere in this country is keeping us on edge. Do we go to the wedding we've been invited to? Is the wedding indoors or outdoors, we wonder, and how many guests will there be? How many of them will be vaccinated? How many unvaccinated? Will the unvaccinated wear masks? Might we, the vaccinated, be infected with a break-through infection passed from an unvaccinated person?
As for me, I've sent regrets for two late-summer weddings that I've been invited to because I'm worried about unknowingly sitting next to or otherwise mingling with unvaccinated and possibly infected guests. I'm worried and I'm aggravated.
But I believe that the time will come when the vaccine refusers will finally relent and, in spite of whatever political, religious, philosophical, psychological or individualistic persuasions have ruled their decision so far, will come flocking to the vaccination sites. That time will come when children, who have in the past been for the most part spared the worst of the COVID scourge, become the next victims of the Delta, or whatever new, more lethal coronavirus mutation might even now be brewing in the of the bodies of the unvaccinated.
In fact the attack on the children has already started. Last week it was reported that eighteen youngsters at a summer camp in New York were infected with COVID and a five-year-old boy in Georgia died of the infection. Don't believe that the coronavirus, if left to grow and mutate and spread among the unvaccinated adult population, won't eventually come with a cruel wrath for the children.
In the meantime there's nothing we the vaccinated can do about it but steep in our aggravation and worry.

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A Tale Of Two Guys In The Meijer Parking Lot

7/19/2021

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A TALE OF TWO GUYS IN THE MEIJER PARKING LOT

Around five pm this evening I was wandering the Meijer parking lot pushing a cart piled high with groceries searching for my car. I swore I'd parked it down aisle F, the front end of the vehicle facing south. And yet I'd been all up and down the row, and of all the charcoal grey sedans facing south none of them looked like my new Prius. Perhaps it could be said in my defense that, my car still being new, I wasn't quite used to the look of it yet. Except that that's a pretty lame excuse. In any case, I'd lost my car.
Feeling ridiculous, and well-aware of how ridiculous I must have looked, I concluded that there was little point in continuing my aimless wandering. I parked myself and my mountainous grocery cart in the middle of the aisle and began riffling though my purse for my key fob in hopes that if my car were not too far off a press of the fob would help me locate it.
Though my attention was on the interior of my purse I became aware of a man getting out of his car and planting himself on a spot about ten feet away from me.
"Hello, there," he called.
I glanced up. He looked in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. He had white hair, longish and slicked back, and a short white beard. He was wearing aviator sun glasses, a sleeveless black tee shirt and black shorts. He was of a short, medium-stocky build. In fact he looked like this photo of Willie Nelson, but with shorter hair and minus the head band and guitar strap.

He stood with his arms crossed, as if standing his ground, on his face what the soldiers at the army post where I worked years ago would call a sh*t-eating grin.
"Hello," I said back at him then turned my attention to my key fob, wondering which button I should press to make my car honk.
   He stood watching me for a few moments then he called, in an overly-jovial tone, "How are you today?"
"Fine, thanks, how are you?" I called back, pressing my fob, looking around, straining to hear a honk, and wondering what was up with this grinning old dude.
"I'm fine," he called. After another few moments of watching me he called, again with great joviality, "How could anybody not be fine on such a beautiful day?"
"Yes, it's beautiful day," I said distractedly, my back to him, trying to discern the direction from which I thought I just heard a faint beep.
   When I turned back around I saw a woman getting out of his car, which I now noticed was a shiny black Jeep Wrangler. I assumed the woman was his wife. She looked to me like the type who would be the wife of such a guy as this, about his age, also of a short, medium-stocky build, short dyed hair. She wore a green tee shirt and brownish cargo shorts. She was laughing.
"Shame on you, Bob," she laughed as the two walked by me towards the store. "Shame, shame, shame!"
At that moment I knew what was going on with the guy. He'd been messing with me. Making fun of the old lady lost in the Meijer parking lot. I realized I was still wearing the face mask that I continue to wear in public places. I wondered if it was the mask that had invited his mockery. I wondered why I even cared. Yeah, shame on you, Bob, you rude schmuck, I thought as I schlepped my groceries over to the next row and the faint beep I thought I'd been hearing evaporated.
I looked up and down the row and between two cars I spotted in the next aisle over the license plate of my Prius, whose letters and numbers I had, fortunately, memorized in case of finding myself in just such a situation as I was now in.
I pushed my cart as nonchalantly as I could manage back to my car, thanking whatever guardian spirit had guided me to it. I clicked open the hatch back and was preparing to begin loading my groceries when a voice called,  "You found it?"
   I looked around and saw that the voice belonged to a man sitting in what appeared to be a light grey delivery van parked a few spaces over from me. He looked to be in his forties and wore a blue striped short-sleeved shirt, which gave me the impression that he was likely a delivery person. I wondered how many people had been watching the spectacle of the lady wandering around the Meijer lot looking for her car.
            "Yes, thank, you, I found it," said as politely as I could muster in my un-polite mood.
          "Are you all right?" the man asked. He sounded concerned. He looked concerned. I wondered if I looked distressed.
               I thanked him again and told him I was fine, thanks.
             "I saw you looking for your car and I got worried," he said. "I wasn't going to leave until you found it."
             I was both embarrassed and touched. If this guy had been watching me then he must have seen the other guy and his wife laughing at my predicament. I told him he was very kind. I meant it.
                He offered to help me with my groceries, but I assured him I was fine and thanked him again for his kindness. Then he said the kindest thing of all. He told me that he lost his van all the time in parking lots, and look how big his van was.
              As I drove home still feeling a mix of gratitude and idiocy, I imagined the first guy telling the story of how he'd had some fun with a lost-looking old lady in a mask wandering around the Meijer parking lot with her grocery cart. Then I imagined the second guy telling the story of how concerned he'd been for a lost-looking old lady in a mask wandering around the Meijer parking lot with her grocery cart. And then I imagined me telling the story of the two guys in the Meijer parking lot.

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Seven Days A Vegan, Part Three

7/17/2021

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SEVEN DAYS A VEGAN, PART THREE

Day 5: Friday, July 9
For the past five days - that is, since the beginning of my foray into veganism - my pajama weight - that is, my weight first thing in the morning while still in my pajamas - has been bobbing between 131 and 133 lbs. In other words, between half a pound and a two-and-a-half pounds below my normal pajama weight of 133.6. (See post from 7/15/2021, "Seven Days A Vegan, Part One"). I figure this must come from having cut out ice cream, butter ( in cooking and on my bread), and cheese, three things that, now that I've cut them out, I think were probably a greater source of caloric intake than I'd realized.

For Friday dinner I concocted a vegan variation of my seafood pasta (see post from 2/22/2021, "A Tale of Two Linguines"),

...which involved leaving out the dairy and for the seafood substituting mushrooms and cannelli beans.

I served this with a side of oven-roasted corn, for which I'd recently learned the recipe,

...which I'll share here:

Oven-Roasted Corn-On-The-Cob

1. Pre-heat oven to 400 degrees
2. Remove husks from corn
3. Slather corn cobs with butter, or (to make it vegan) a plant-based spread, such as margarine
4. Sprinkle the corn with salt
5. Place the corn on a pan or cookie sheet.
6. Bake the corn for eighteen minutes, then flip the cobs and bake for eighteen minutes longer.
Perfect ready-to-devour corn on the cob!

That evening while preparing my dessert of peanut butter powder and cherry preserves on multi-grain, I made yet another discovery: If one adds more water to the peanut butter powder than called for on the package, one can make a peanut butter drizzle.

I could see a number of future topping possibilities on the horizon.

Day 6: Saturday, July 10:
Another great discovery spun from yesterday's discovery of peanut butter drizzle:
Fresh cherries on multigrain topped with a peanut putter powder drizzle and a dusting of sugar.

Life just gets better.

Day 7: Sunday, July 11
On Sunday I weighed 131.6 lbs. (Now, in the first week of my my post-vegan phase, this seems to have become my new - though mayhaps just temporary - pajama weight.).
As this was my final day of being a vegan, I decided to throw a special "Farewell to Veganism" dinner. As it turned out, my son and daughter were free that evening so I invited them to come for the feast.
With memories still fresh of the delicious Bibibop meal I'd had a few days ago, I opted to try my own version of Bibibop.
It was simply a matter of preparing a line-up of vegan dishes,

...including purple rice,

...oven fries, cauliflower rice,

...black beans, oven-roasted corn off the cob, spinach,

...beets, sprouts, carrots,

...and garlic teriyaki and (non-vegan) yum-yum sauce for the dressings.

Maybe there's no comparison between my fixings and Bibibop's, but it was genrally agreed that mine were nonetheless pretty darned good.

I also tried my hand at making a vegan dessert, which in fact turned out to be a piece of cake when I learned that both canned icing and boxed cake mix (in and of itself) are vegan.
Using the following ingredients I cobbled together a desert that I'm calling Vegan Blueberry Cake.

Vegan blueberry cake

1 box yellow cake mix
1/2 cup vegan spread
4 cups blueberries
1/3 cup sugar
3 tablespoons cornstarch
Canned vanilla frosting

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 9 x 13 pan.
In one bowl mix the cake mix with the spread until it's crumbly. In another bowl mix the blueberries with the sugar and cornstarch.
Divide the cake mixture into two halves. Pat one half into the bottom of the pan. Pour the blueberry mixture on top. Top with the rest of the cake mixture.

Bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes. (After 35 minutes the bottom of my cake was brown but the top was still on the pale side. I placed the cake under the broiler for one minute and this browned up the top nicely).

After the cake is cooled, melt 1/2 cup or so of vanilla frosting in the the microwave for 15 seconds.

Drizzle the melted frosting over the cooled cake.

The cake was wonderful. However I made the mistake of topping my piece with some vegan Reddi Wip,

...while everyone else used regular Reddi Wip. The vegan Wip looked appetizing, but tasted gross.

Live and learn.
Which is what I did during my seven days as a vegan. Did I feel better while I was a vegan? Can't really say that I felt better. Or worse. Was my mood better? Can't say that was better or worse, either. Did I sleep better? Except for the first night of carb-loading, I slept about the same as I always do, which is generally not great. However, I suppose that one really wouldn't expect much to change after only a week. Except that I did lose two pounds.
Still, I did make a some positive discoveries over the week, most of which are chronicled in these blog posts. However I think the most salient discoveries I made are these: 1. I can do vegan and enjoy it, but 2.there's a challenge to doing vegan when you're also preparing meals for the non-vegans in the household, and 3. though I don't think my vegan week has completely converted me to veganism, I believe that in the future I will definitely dabble from time to time.

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Seven Days A Vegan, Part Two

7/16/2021

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SEVEN DAYS A VEGAN, PART TWO

...Continued from yesterday:
I decided I would try veganism for seven days. Just to see how it would be. Just to see if I could do it. What is life for, if not experimentation?
It turned out that leaping across the divide from carnivore to vegavore was not such a leap after all; that is to say, I didn't realize how close to vegan I already was.
Here, then, is how that leap - or hop, such as it was - transpired.

Day one: Monday, July 5
I decided to track my weight every day before breakfast. On Monday morning I weighed 133.2 lbs in my pajamas, which is about my normal pajama weight.
Oh, what a beautiful morning it was when I realized that I would not have to give up what I loved best of all in the food pyramid: sugar. In fact, it turned out that my usual breakfast of cherry preserves and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Light on oatnut toast was acceptable vegan fare,

...paired with my usual glass of iced tea and a side of hot water.

Which brings up an obvious point: Vegan doesn't necessarily mean healthy. And though all vegan foods are cholesterol free, some might not necessarily be good for one's cholesterol count.
Did you know that Oreos are vegan?

And so I expect every vegan must take some considerations into account: as in, am I vegan in order to preserve the planet or to to preserve my health? And how does one reconcile the two?
And then there's the consideration of getting sufficient protein without having to pile on an inordinate number of calories to get it. For example, for lunch I normally have a serving of fat-free cottage cheese piled with fruit. No problem, thought I, when I went vegan: I'd simply switch out the cottage cheese for oatmeal, which I did:
This:

...to this:

Except that a serving of oatmeal has less than half as much protein as fat-free cottage cheese and almost twice the calories.
Cottage cheese:

Oatmeal:

In truth I'm not sure I got enough protein on my vegan regimen, though I'm likewise not sure that I didn't. I expect that if one were to take up veganism full-time one would have to study the subject of protein intake more closely than I did.
For dinner that night I fixed burritos,

...having mine without the meat and cheese.

After dinner I faced my biggest challenge of veganism: no ice cream. The thing is, I grew up in a family where no dinner was complete without dessert. Thus to this day I don't feel complete unless I've had some dessert, and ice cream is my fallback.
However, I could have another piece of bread with fake spread and jam for dessert. As I'd had cherry jam on oatnut for breakfast, I decided to go with raspberry jam on multigrain so I wouldn't just feel like I was just eating breakfast again.

I made a serendipitous discovery: If you fold the bread over and really use your imagination, a raspberry jelly bread tastes a little like a jelly donut.

After dinner I felt exhausted. Probably too many carbs, too many beans, too much rice, too much bread. All evening long I felt as if I were about to fall into a food-induced coma. I fought to stay awake until 10 pm, by which time I was feeling a twinge of reflux. I took two tums, turned in, and vowed moving forward to go easier on the beans and rice.

Day 2: Tuesday, July 6
The morning after the previous evening's carbs-a-palooza I feared to step on the scale. Curiously, my weight was down to 132.6 lbs. Even more curiously, I had slept that night like a ton of bricks. My daughter suggested that maybe the cure for my chronic insomnia was this: to sleep like ton of bricks, eat a ton of beans and rice before bed.
Hard pass on that one.
However that night for dinner I mixed together all the non-meat left-overs from the previous night and added some mushrooms and olives sautéed in olive oil.

Now, back in my pre-vegan day I would have added the meat to left-overs. I often shlep together all the left-overs lingering in the fridge into a cassoulet (French for schlepped-together left-overs). I also would have added a little butter to the olive oil in which I sautéed the vegetables. But frankly, I didn't miss having meat or the butter in the mix.

For dessert, another "jelly donut."

Alas, that night the "beans and rice" ploy failed to work as it had the night before on my insomnia and I slept as terribly as usual. I probably didn't eat enough beans and rice.

 Day three: Wednesday, June 8
On Wednesday morning I was down to 132 lbs. It occurred to me that maybe I should up my oatmeal game. Or maybe my oatbread game.
So for breakfast I decided to break out the peanut butter. Peanut butter powder, that is.
I'd bought a jar of organic peanut butter powder from Kroger's,

...figuring it would be a good protein source without all the fat and calories of regular peanut butter.

I mixed the powder with water per the instructions on the jar,

...then spread the reconstituted peanut butter on oat bread and topped it off with fresh cherries.

Was it good? OMG, it was soooo good! I vow I'll never go back to fatty old regular peanut butter.
Wednesday afternoon my son Tommy's girlfriend Emily,

...in support of my vegan week, invited me out for lunch at Bibibop,

....where one can find delicious vegan - or non-vegan - fare.

That night I made a pretty traditional dinner.

I just skipped the meat, but rather piled my baked potato with sautéed veggies.

For dessert I cut up a pear and topped it with raspberry jam.

The pear with jam was good, but somehow didn't quite hit the spot. So I made myself a peanut butter powder and strawberry open-facer, which did.

Day 4: Thursday, July 8
This was a day of yet more most serendipitous discoveries.
The first discovery was that a pile of assorted raw vegetables,

...on white bread slathered with yellow mustard,

....makes a fabulously delicious sandwich!

And guess what? Potato chips are vegan! That was my second discovery of the day.
And the third was that a mushroom, garlic, olive and basil pizza without mozzarella and Parmesan is just as delicious as a mushroom, garlic, olive and basil pizza with mozzarella and Parmesan!

To be continued...

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Seven Days A Vegan, Part One

7/15/2021

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SEVEN DAYS A VEGAN, PART ONE

Over the years my cholesterol had been creeping up, but according to the test results of a recent physical my lipid numbers took a sudden flying leap skyward. So dramatic was this rise in my numbers that my doctor suspected my lipids of lying through their teeth and ordered another round of tests.
But no. Mine were truthful lipids, and so I was prescribed a miniscule pink pill of apparently great power relative to its size,

...to chase those floaty little fats from my arterial playground.

I am not one of those folks who is categorically opposed to taking pills. After all, I figure we're all just made up of so many chemicals, anyway:

So if a chemical goes on the fritz and it's remediable, just remedy it, already. Me, I have too many fish to fry to squabble over whether I get my body chemical fix organically or pharmaceutically. Let me pop a pill and get on with my life.
However, that being said, I'm nonetheless a believer in doing what one can for one's health at one's age. Thus I pound the neighborhood pavement every morning to try and strengthen my bones against osteoporosis and I do some daily aerobics to get the blood pumping through my eyes to hopefully help ward off a case of creeping glaucoma (see post from 4/19/2020, "I, Runner").

If there's any not-too-painful thing that one can do on one's own that might ameliorate a chemical boo-boo, I'll give it a try.
And so, having received the diagnosis of sky-high cholesterol, I decided to give a vegan diet a try. Just a try. Just a brief fling. A very brief fling. Just to see how it would be be. Just to see if I could do it.
To be continued...

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"Critical Race Theory?" Okay, But Could We Call It Something Else?

7/12/2021

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"CRITICAL RACE THEORY?" OKAY, BUT COULD WE CALL IT SOMETHING ELSE?

Quick: Do you know what Critical Race Theory is?
I tossed this question at several people, all educated professionals, all of them with college degrees-plus, all of them of the liberal persuasion. Here are the answers I got:

"Yeee-es...(long pause for thinking)...it's, um...the study...(long pause for thinking)...it's been around for forty years and studied on the university level. It's the study of the institutional racism in this country. Some examples are banks red-lining Blacks and freeways going through 'Negro' neighborhoods."

"Yes...(long pause for thinking)...it's...um...the study of...(long pause for thinking)...how in this country it's not a level playing field for everyone."

"Oh yes, I looked that up. It's the study of systemic racism in America."

"It's, umm....it started with the 1619 Project...(long pause for thinking)...it looks at parts of our history that weren't good. The goal is...um... stopping generational racism."

"I don't exactly know how to describe it, but I'm in favor of it being taught in my children's school."

"Do I know what Critical Race Theory is?...(long pause for thinking)...um...Not really."

  Not really would have been my answer, too, if someone had asked me if I knew what Critical Race Theory was and if I were being honest in my answer. Not that I have no idea at all what it refers to - I've googled the definition enough times and have been pretty much following the news - it's just that the term has a slippery elusivity to it that my brain can't quite grasp. This is probably partly because I can't seem to locate one solid definition of Critical Race Theory.
Historian and racial justice activist Ibram X. Kendi calls it “a way of looking at law’s role platforming, facilitating, producing, and even insulating racial inequality in our country,”
The Brookings Institute says that Critical Race Theory "states that U.S. social institutions (e.g., the criminal justice system, education system, labor market, housing market, and healthcare system) are laced with racism embedded in laws, regulations, rules, and procedures that lead to differential outcomes by race."
An article in Education Week stated that "Critical race theory is an academic concept that is more than 40 years old. The core idea is that race is a social construct, and that racism is not merely the product of individual bias or prejudice, but also something embedded in legal systems and policies."
  Kimberlé Crenshaw, a critical race theorist who teaches at UCLA and Columbia University says that Critical race theory is "an approach to grappling with a history of White supremacy that rejects the belief that what's in the past is in the past, and that the laws and systems that grow from that past are detached from it."
Those are just a few of the definitions I found, and I guess they all say the same thing in slightly different wording: that there's racial inequality in our country.
But if it's true that there is racial inequality in the United State and has been since our country's inception - and of course it is true, I don't think even the most die-hard anti-Critical Race Theory zealots would argue that point - and if there is in fact a movement (and it's not clear that there actually even is) in American education on the K-12 level to seek to come to terms with and right this inequality by introducing or incorporating a particular academic subject...can't we call this academic subject something else besides Critical Race Theory?
The problem is, I think, that most people are like me: none of us can really wrap our heads around what Critical Race Theory means so we kind of make up something that jibes with our personal politics. Liberals think it means an inclusive way of teaching that doesn't ignore the minority experience and its contribution to this country. Conservatives think it means a way of teaching that demeans white children by teaching them to hate themselves and their country.
The thing is, a theory is just theory, a hypothesis, an interpretation, an opinion, an idea that can be batted around, analyzed, argued, evaluated, subjected to critical thinking. And misunderstood.
But what if we dispatched the term "Critical Race Theory" back to the halls of academia where it's apparently been healthily thriving for the past forty years, and replaced it with a new term?
Think about it: Instead of talking about teaching a theory in schools, why don't we instead talk about teaching the events upon which the theory is formulated? After all, slavery was not merely a theory about race, nor was the prodigious wealth and American economic prosperity built upon the backs of black slaves. Jim Crow, racial segregation, racial injustice, the civil rights movement, these have all been historical events, as is the new rise of White Supremacy in this country and the prevalence of police shootings of Black people. And as have been the innumerable contributions to every facet of American life by people of color.
So why don't we start referring to - or debating, if that's want people want to be doing - the educational controversy of the moment not as Critical Race Theory but Critical Race Events? Events instead of theories, and "critical," not in the sense of analytical, but rather in the sense of the events being decisive, of crucial importance.
Or perhaps here's a better idea: Teach Critical Race Events in schools, but don't even call it that. Call it history. And social studies. And current events. At least then students will be learning the whole truth.

References:
https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/07/opponents-critical-race-theory-are-arguing-themselves/619391/

https://www.edweek.org/leadership/what-is-critical-race-theory-and-why-is-it-under-attack/2021/05

https://www.washingtonpost.com/education/2021/05/29/critical-race-theory-bans-schools/

https://www.cnn.com/2020/10/01/us/critical-race-theory-explainer-trnd/index.html

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An American Story, Part Two

7/8/2021

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AN AMERICAN STORY, PART TWO

...Continued from the previous post:

The next day I found my new Prius, though apparently it was just by luck that I did. The salesman at the new car lot section of the Toyota dealership told me that I snagged the last new Prius in the county. In fact, he said, in the whole dealership there were only seven new cars of any model available.
I asked him why, then, were there so many cars sitting in the new car lot?
"Oh, those are used cars," he said. "We just park them in the new lot so that the lot doesn't look empty."
But anyway, this part of the story isn't about my new Prius, but the person who sold it to me.
He was a friendly, nice-looking young guy with a constant, wonderful smile who appeared to be in his twenties, though I'm guessing he was probably older than he looked. Tom and I were sitting at his desk waiting for my background check, identity check, license check, and all the other checks that needed to be checked before I would be eligible to take the only new Prius in the county off the lot for a test drive.
In the course of the light conversation we were batting around while we waited Tom asked the young salesman where he was from. Bangladesh, he said. I asked him where in Bangladesh he was from.
"Dhaka," he said.
"Oh, my daughter has been to Dhaka," I said. I told him how my daughter Claire, an emergency disaster nurse, spent a almost month in Bangladesh working at the Rohingya refugee camp in the costal city of Cox's Bazar (See posts from 1/3/ 2018, "On Her Way To Bangladesh" and 1/4/2018, "From Chicago to Cox's Bazar").

Our salesman's face lit up. "Cox's Bazar? Oh, but that's where I'm from, that's where my family lives!"
He proceeded to tell us what a beautiful place his hometown was and how his family ran a business there. He also talked about the massive refugee camp along the Myanmar border and the great number of people who crossed over to his country seeking safety. "It goes on and on," he said of the camp with a sweeping gesture of his hand, as if inviting us to visualize the size of it.
I told him I'd seen pictures of the camp. I showed him some pictures on my phone of my daughter with a couple of Bangladeshi medical workers.

The salesman went on to tell me that he went to university and received a business degree then went on for his master's degree and got a job in management for a large company in Dhaka.
He then came to the United States, to Michigan, where he met his wife. He told me he's been married for two years. He said he likes living in Ohio and very much likes working for Toyota.
I though to myself, Kid, I haven't even gone for the test drive yet, but there is no doubt in my mind that you are going to sell me a car today.
And he did.

But I left that Toyota dealership with more than a new car. I also came away with the thought that, in spite of all the political and cultural divisions among Americans, in spite of our social problems and national restiveness, in spite of the relentless media stream of news and reports constantly reminding us of what's wrong with our country, in spite of all that, that truth remains that there are those for whom America is still the promised land, the land of opportunity, the land that offers the possibility of a good life, a productive life, a happy life.
When I told my daughter the Toyota salesman's story she offered another thought: that perhaps to the one million Rohingyas who sought refuge across its borders, Bangladesh was their America.

May every person discover their America.

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An American Story, Part One

7/6/2021

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AN AMERICAN STORY, PART ONE

A couple of weeks ago it became clear to me that my dependable little 2008 Ford Focus was on life support. Its air-conditioning system had already crossed over the rainbow bridge, and it was only a matter of time before some other more critical ailing function would follow suit. I needed a new car.
By "new" I was thinking dependable used. And American. My mate and I, though we tend to be globalist in our thinking, always bought American cars, there being very little else in the category of general merchandise of American provenance that one can purchase.
I went online and scanned the wares of the local Ford dealerships for a reputable-looking Focus. I'd heard that the inventory of cars was low nationwide. Apparently global auto production has been slashed due to a shortage of computer chips. Meanwhile consumer demand that had been pent-up during the COVID-19 pandemic was now bursting through the floodgates. People wanted cars in the midst of a car shortage.
The inventory of Ford Foci in my town was indeed scant. Still, I managed to find one single vehicle that appeared promising and available.
It was late on a Tuesday afternoon - Tuesday June 15, as I recall - when Tom and I made our way to the Ford dealership that had advertised the good used Ford Focus. We found the used car lot crowded - well, crowded for a Tuesday afternoon - with people perusing the cars for sale. We joined the perusers and wandered up and down the aisles looking for our Focus. We came across a couple of Foci, but none of them were the one I'd seen online.
"Is it me," I said to Tom, "or does it seem weird that all these customers are wandering around a used car lot without a salesperson landing on them and sticking like flypaper?"
"Yeah, that is weird," said Tom.
Apparently the shortage was not only in cars, but in people to sell the cars, likely in line with the shortage of workers in general since the pandemic.
"You know," said I, "maybe we ought to check out buying a new car?"
We crossed over to the new car lot and saw a plethora of shiny new over-sized pick-up trucks, but no Foci or much of anything else in the non-truck category. We entered the showroom where there were a few more shiny new trucks on display but no cars. And no sales personnel. We stood around the showroom for a few moments then headed back to the used lot.
Finally we found a salesman who seemed a tad put out that we hadn't called for an appointment before showing up, to which I replied - in my head of course - do you think all those folks out there looking around your lot called for an appointment?!
Anyway, the salesman deemed to assist us and two other customers at the same time, which meant we all had to wait while he rotated among us. Turned out the Focus I'd seen online had been sold. However a cute candy apple red Ford Escape caught my eye.

"I'd like to give that one a test drive," I told the salesman.
"Oh, that one's more expensive," the haughty merchant said down his nose.
Just lemme drive the damn car! I said back at him, again only in my head.
I tried the Escape. I liked the Escape. I wanted to buy the Escape. My salesperson, however, was busy at his desk writing up a sale for another customer. He requested that I wait. I said nah, I'd come back tomorrow. He said tomorrow wouldn't work because he'd be on vacation until next Tuesday. I said I'd be back tomorrow and added in my head, Mr. See You Next Tuesday.
I planned to return to the Ford dealership the following afternoon in hopes that my Ford Escape would still be there along with some other high-handed salesperson to sell it to me.
The next morning I had my usual Wednesday morning get-together with my Panera Posse, which formerly met at Panera but since the pandemic has met online (see post from 4/10/2020, "The Posse Rides Again").

During the course of our conversation we got to talking about climate change and the damage to our biosphere caused by the heat of burning fossil fuels and carbon emissions.
After I hung up on my friends I approached my mate.
"I don't want to go back to the Ford dealer," I said. "I don't want a Ford Escape. I want a car with low CO2 emissions. I want a Toyota Prius hybrid. A new one."
To be continued...

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I, Patriot

7/4/2021

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I, PATRIOT

I'm as proud of my country as the next patriot.

I am the daughter of two World War II veterans,

...and wife of a retired U.S. Army Lieutenant Colonel,

...who has been a Boy Scout leader for almost thirty years.

My son-in-law is a veteran Marine captain who served in Iraq,

...I have a daughter who put college on hold to serve in Americorps,

...and I served as a Department of the Army Civilian in the recreation center of an American army post in Germany.

I am a flag waver, not a flag burner.

Therefore if I am ever critical of my country it's not because I don't love my country, but because I do.
It was because I loved my children that I was strict with them, that I called out their behavior often, that I tried to guide them away from what was wrong and towards what was right and good. It was because I loved my children that I held them to a higher standard.
And so likewise if I protest,