I had two conflicting thoughts in my head as Trump’s New York False Records case got underway; first was that Trump won’t be found guilty, and second was that this was the case Trump was most likely to be found guilty on. Yes, I was able to circle this square in my mind. First was just past behavior, as Trump always found a way to weasel out of accountability. Second was that this case was about having sex and trying to hide it. Not that everyone cheats on their wife, but everyone does something wrong and tries to make it go away. The motive and emotions of committing this crime are easy to understand, which makes it an easy story for the prosecution to sell a jury on. Now, I did think there would be one hold out juror, especially from that person who said on their jury form that they got their news from TruthSocial. But I was wrong, and I’m okay with that.
And with the guilty verdict, does it even matter? I don’t know. I don’t think the verdict will cause a mass exodus from Trump’s camp come November. But I do think this verdict could peal off 10,000 soft Trump voters, or voters who are still on the fence in the swing states, and help Biden out. I have a hard time believing that Americans would elect a convicted felon, yet I know that we do live in the age when anything is possible. Even really really awful terrible shit is possible now.
Up until the 1920’s, both sides of my family – mother and father – were made up of farmers. Especially on my mother’s side; they had been farmers in North America since about 1660 up in Canada. My dad’s side had pretty much been substance farmers since Rome tried to cross the Rhine, but on the whole, substance farmers from Northern Illinois. Point being; farming is what my family did until they started working in factories, and then all became middle class.
So, for a century now, people in my family have been removed from working the land. And honestly, it shows, as there really isn’t anybody in my family who can grow anything. Our luck at growing plants, gardens, or shrubberies is quite awful. We can’t make anything green grow, unless we pay someone to help us.
Several times in the City, the wife and I have tried our hand at growing something in a flowerbox or planter on our fire escape. And sadly, nothing has lived. We did get some seeds from a lemon as part of a class project for the kid, and we managed to grow into a small lemon tree. But the lack of green thumb kicked in, and the lemon tree died last fall.
And did I mention that we are also very lazy people…
See, we left the lemon tree pot on the fire escape all Fall, Winter, and this Spring. We meant to get rid of it, but it functioned as a sort of plant cemetery; reminding us of our loss, and warning us if we ever got ambitious enough again.
And then something started growing out of that pot. First we thought that the lemon tree had sprung back to life. Not sure if that is even a thing, but we thought it for a while. Then the sprouting plant began to take on the form of a recognizable weed. Not weed, but a weed – Prickly Lettuce. The thing is about a foot and a half tall, and we haven’t touched it. We are just letting it do its thing.
I am aware that it is a weed, and I am also aware that if I touch this plant, it will be the beginning of its end. But we have something growing in a pot that is meant to grow things… so… we’re going to let this thing go, and see what happens. This will be our Summer Growing Project.
We are running the air conditioner in the apartment now, which means it’s officially Summer for us. Sure it would be nice to jump into a pool, do some grilling, and drink a beer and watch the Cubs play. I took my shorts out of storage, and also took my ghost white legs out as well. Looking forward to awkward farmer-esk tan lines, and getting a sunburn on the top if my head. It’s not all bad. Summer does mean travel, and fun, and camp, and mini golf, and disc golf, and road trips, and seeing family and friends. I am not a fan of the heat, but I am looking froward to this Summer
It’s Career Day at my kids school, which means that the students can come to class dressed up as their future careers. My daughter decided that her future career will be as an artist. I asked, what does an artist wear? Her answer; Whatever I want.
They’re destroying New York City. Yes, little old ladies. They have no respect for anyone, are rude, obnoxious, and give their opinions when no one is asking for it. They’ll hit you with their canes and granny carts, and dare you to do something. But we all know that no one will do anything to a little old lady. Those old ladies are untouchable in this town, and they all know it, and use it against the rest of us. We are being held hostage in our own home. I’m not kidding. In every borough, the old ladies are the worst.
If you have read any of my reviews, then you know that I am a sucker for a story about death, especially if it’s a story dealing with the death of a parent. “Consolation” by Andre Alexis is such a story, as it deals with the death of both the narrator’s parents, but it is also about how parents’ shame can affect their children, can affect a marriage, and can affect the community they live in.
The piece begins with the narrator telling how he got in an argument with his elderly mother over driving directions, and the narrator was so hurt but his mother’s anger, that he didn’t speak to her for two years. Only when they reconciled, did the narrator learn that his mother had dementia, and most likely the fight was a precursor of her disease. This leads the narrator to recount the death of his father, which happened a decade earlier, and though we feel that the son loves his father, we also learn that the father was a serial philanderer, thrice divorced, and despised by the narrator’s mother for the infidelity. Then the narrator tells us the story of his father, who was born in poverty in Trinidad, worked his way up and out by becoming a doctor, and then married the woman who would become the narrator’s mother. Together, they started a family, and moved to Canada, to a small all white town, where the father dealt with the indignity of the town’s prejudice, to become a respected member of the community. It is also the place where the father’s infidelities began to be noticed, and affect the family.
This is a well thought out, and written, short story. The characters are compelling. The family dynamic is honest, complicated, and uncomfortable. It’s paced well, has a very unique climax, and I just didn’t like this story when everything is telling me that I should. I have been thinking about, and thinking about it, and I should like this, but something just feels off to me. And today, it came to me; it’s passion. Which is even more striking as there is a paragraph in this story that is about passion – between the father and another woman, and the son realizing that this moment of discovering this passion lead him to his career as a lawyer. That this is a story about passions, between lovers, between family members, how they can spark trust and betrayals. Yet, I found the narration less than passionate, which I can only say was done on purpose. This passionless narration juxtaposed with these lives driven by different forms of passion which elicit reactions of shame, desire, and anger. I go back to the start of the story and the narrator describing the argument he had with his mother. The way it is described is almost clinical, factual, without any hint of what the narrator was feeling. It is an event that is only described and not felt. I get the decision to write this story in this way, to make the point that is needed for it to have its conclusion. This artistic choice left me feeling divorced from the emotions of these characters, which explains why I couldn’t connect with the story.
I will fully admit that I am the odd man out here. I can totally understand why people will love this story, and be dumbfounded by my inability to relate to this piece. Yes, it’s me, and it is not Andre Alexis. You should read this story, enjoy it greatly, and then shake your head at me for not getting this story.
