My Mother's Red Coat, etc.

When I arrived at Friendship Haven Sunday morning, my mom was sitting in the cafeteria, staring benignly ahead--at nothing. 

I had not seen her in six weeks. My sister had updated me on the subtle decline, but I was still taken aback to see a film of confusion over her eyes when I said "I'm Allison, your daughter, and I'm here to take you to church." 

"All right," she said, accepting but aloof: I was a stranger.

I brought my mother's "good wool coat" from her room and buttoned it across her increasing midsection. For 93 years, she'd been trim. Over time she has shrunk to 5'2", but after nearly two years in memory care, she's now closing in on 170 pounds. She eats whatever is set before her, determined to prevent waste. We've asked the staff to monitor her portion size, but does it really matter? Only that it makes the one remaining button of her favorite coat hard to clasp. 

Yes, we should maybe buy her a new coat. But she loves her red one, and changes rattle her. There is no way to win this fuzzy game we're playing.

By the time I had my mom in the car (no small feat), she seemed accepting that I was--if not specifically Allison her third daughter--at least a pleasant person willing to take her to church. 

On our five-minute drive, I sifted for safe conversation and landed on poems. My mother, of course, said yes when I asked her if she'd like me to recite "Invictus." I then veered to Edna St. Vincent Millay (her favorite) and she chimed in, laughing. In these moments, she is her best self, pillowed in deep memory. 

Lesson: Whatever it is you commit to memory--poems, Bible verses, the Lion King script--might someday bring you comfort--maybe even joy. 

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My mother had several good moments during my visit. Four years ago, when she and my dad lived in my home through the first months of COVID, she was still writing in her journal and reading the dictionary. Now she no longer reads on her own, but on Sunday, I was happy simply to hear her read the Sunday school prayer aloud along with the class. I am watching the peeling away of her identity. Writing is gone. Reading independently is gone. Reading aloud is still there.

My sister had told me that Mom no longer stands up during the church service. So we stayed seated, holding hands. How subtly a mother's hand becomes the child's. 

Our never-very-good voices scratched out the hymns. When the acolyte brought us communion, Mom was confused. I held her chin in one hand and tipped the small cup of grape juice to her lips. She was my baby bird.

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As we pulled away from the church parking lot, I made an effort to re-orient her by saying "This daughter is happy she could take her mother to church!" She responded with a laugh: "This mother is happy too!" Her flash of cognition delights--and stabs.

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We arrived back at Friendship Haven an hour before the noon meal would be served. I expected my mom to be tired, and I suggested she lie down before lunch.

"Should we look at some things?" she asked. In the moment, she wanted our time together to continue. In the moment, I did too. I also wanted to keep my place on life's treadmill and get home and take my nap and write lesson plans and make supper and read and go to bed and wake up and take a shower go to school... 

So I told her I needed to get on the road. 

"I won't see you for awhile," she said with teary eyes. 

"I will come again soon," I said, my eyes matching hers.

"I love you, Mom," I said.

"I love you, sweetheart," she said.

It wasn't my name, but it was close enough.

Yes. Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Ready to Talk?

I 'm not ready to talk to Trump voters about politics. I simply don't trust myself. I might cry. I still feel a raw sense of betrayal. Weren't we, Americans, better than this? 

In the past three weeks, I've welcomed an easing of post-election heaviness. As in 2016, I am intentionally hosting joy and calm in my personal spaces: my home, my classroom, my mind. 

I am redoubling my efforts to juggle clubs (you know you want to!) and teaching my grandbaby to find her eyes, her nose, her neck. 

At school, I'm distributing little hand-shaped finger puppets to applaud good tries. We continue to laugh often. 

In my mind, I am reciting small poems and remembering the smell of homemade bread from my childhood. 

These are good things to do, regardless of election results. But in this moment my actions are attempts to protect my anxious heart. And even if the purpose is understandable, the time I spend buffering myself from reality is time Project 2025 unfurls without my resistance. My desire to tuck my head gently under my wing conflicts with what history tells us: silence is the friend of tyranny.

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This is all to say that I realize I'm hiding from what comes next. The president-elect is daring Republicans to refuse his flagrantly abominable appointments. The world is responding to his tariff grenades with outrage. Mainstream media is quietly falling into line. Billionaires are lining up for Mar-a-Lago tet-a-tets. 

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I was a highly distractible student, but a few things from Mr. Carr's civics class have stayed with me: democracy, distribution of power, rule of law. 

How much of democracy's tenets are Trump voters willing to abdicate? I want to ask. 

And I want to hear their answers without crying.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

Rule of Law? Meh...

Friday, Nov. 22, 2024

Today Trump selected Russell Vought to lead the Office of Management and Budget.

Vought is a co-author of the Heritage Foundation's Project 2025--remember that? It's the blueprint for what the American Civil Liberties Union calls "a roadmap for how to replace the rule of law with right-wing ideals." 

Think about that: "replace the rule of law." 

Consider what will replace the rule of law: the rule of wealth?  the rule of might? the rule of whoever can strong-arm power from others?  Yes, there are countries that function outside of the rule of law. We call them North Korea. China. Russia. Did Trump's voters understand they were voting to support this trajectory?

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I know not all who read my words share my political perspective. A reader recently sent me a Bible verse "reminding me" that "there is no authority except that which God has established." This is a favorite quote shared by people who say Trump's re-election was ordained--while simultaneously denying such deference to Democratic administrations.

Square that circle.

I will try for a more cheerful tone in my next post. 

Enough.

Be well.

Write.

Allison

For the Record

History is written by the victors.

A year from now...
Four years from now...
A decade out...

I don't know who will be the victors writing history. I only know what I experienced today.

I canceled my account on X, née Twitter. I joined Twitter in 2009 when the site was young. I amassed a decent following and shared ideas about teaching and parenting and (eventually) politics. When Elon Musk bought the app a few years ago, I lightened my foot traffic, but still hung on. It is now a bridge too far. I really can't support anything--even using the free version of X--connected to Musk. I moved to Bluesky. Join me there.

I'm gobsmacked to see Musk glued to Trump's hip as the president-elect taps choices for appointments even The Onion didn't imagine.

My thoughts vacillate between two poles:

Pole 1) We'll get through this. Much of America understands checks and balances and the value of a shared understanding of freedom, democracy, and common decency. 

and

Pole 2) The boulder is rolling down the hill. We cannot stop it. Trump has made it clear he disdains the mores and civility that gave politicians guardrails in the past. He is ready to use recess appointments to people his power with yes-men (and god help me, yes-women).

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I mentioned in yesterday's post that I'm now reading/teaching Animal Farm and In Cold Blood. As it goes for English teachers, I'm also reading Our Town with my AP lit kids, Catcher in the Rye alongside a precocious freshman, and The Bell Jar (because I haven't read it before). Plus I have a slim volume of On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder deskside.

But what I really need to re-read right now is The Handmaid's Tale. I have forgotten too much since I read it--rather late--a few years ago. What I do remember, what I've been thinking hard about, and what I now need to revisit is the blind-sided dismay experienced by Offred as the life she knows is sucked so swiftly into the unimaginable.

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I hope I can look back on these posts with a chuckle. Oh, how dramatic! What a worrywort you were! What a waste of emotional energy!

And that reminds me of what I tell my children when they come to me with anxious thoughts. In our anxiety, we experience the sensations of dread and hurt even if the events have not, actually, transpired. 

Let's not give our anxieties control of our guts.

But let's also not turn blindly away from the history now in the making.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison

onward

It is now Friday, 10 days post-election. I have come to this page several times to jot notes, but I've been unable to draw my thoughts to cohesion. Tonight I will post come hell or high water--and I'll say the past 10 days have felt like both.

I made a commitment to blog through THIS on Oct. 27 as we were headed into the final days of the campaign. THIS has not turned out to be a Harris win followed by god knows what. Instead, THIS is day after day of watching a slow-motion train wreck. 

Here goes:

On the morning after the election, I told my husband Dan I was gutted, maybe I should call in sick. If I ever questioned the mental-physical health connection, my doubt was wiped clean on Wednesday. My heart was a heavy lump in my chest. My bones cried. My thoughts and my body were one in pain.

I was determined to just get through the day. And the next. And the next week. And the next four years. And then...it won't be a lot longer until I die.

Sheesh.

Let's just say I (you too?) visited some dark places.

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I survived Wednesday with blinders on. I stared straight ahead, doing the next thing in front of me, which was teaching. Then when the bell rang between classes, lightning shot through my stomach as I remembered the election. 

I am grateful to have a job that consumes me. Once in the flow, I have no space for thoughts of...tyranny? authoritarianism? the demise of democracy?

In the stages of grief, Wednesday was numbed denial.

It was also on Wednesday that Dan checked the messages on our landline (which we check only about every two months...) Turns out our neighbors had left a message that yes, they would post a Harris sign in their yard. 

It wouldn't have made a difference, I know. But I appreciated the solidarity.

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On Thursday I awoke feeling better. On a scale of 1-10, I went from -3 to a solid 1. I could face the day. 

It was later on Thursday that I learned a student had, the day before, come to school wearing a Trump flag wrapped around his shoulders. I've been told that during at least one class he affixed the flag to the white board at the front of the room. The teacher was absent, but the substitute both allowed the student to post the flag and also addressed the class with comments supporting Trump and disparaging those who did not support Trump. The fallout of the episode is still up in the air.

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I was about 13 when Watergate unfolded. I remember feeling a surge of patriotic pride when Nixon resigned and our country said "no" to insidious attempts to sway elections. That time now looks benign. We did not know what we did not know.

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I scheduled an appointment in Des Moines for Friday. I've been in need of a new breast prosthesis (19 years out from my cancer diagnosis now), so I harnessed my blue mood and scheduled a fitting, then headed to the city for a day of soft quiet and pretty lingerie. 

On the drive over and back I listened to In Cold Blood on audiobook. Not your general cheer-me-up fare, but it's a book my AP Lit kids are reading, and it took my mind off the whirlpool of dread that sucks me down if I let my thoughts roam untethered.

In Des Moines, I bought lacy bras and then ate lunch at Thai Flavors, as my sister had suggested. I sat in the warm sun and read a book (Distant Sons, the All-Iowa Reads choice by Tim Johnston *****). Again, not your feel-good story, but consuming, and I needed to be consumed.

So I'd say Friday was another day of denial. I avoided the news. I avoided social media. I drew my focus into a very small space called me.

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On Saturday I hosted a neighborhood coffee. Since my son moved into our old house a half mile down the road in August, I've intended to introduce my daughter-in-law to the other young mom across the section. 

This past Saturday, I needed to take a positive action. I needed some joy. A three-generation coffee (with accordion music!) was the ticket. 

But the next day: Dan was crabby. Our gravel roads were muddy. It was Sunday, always a blue day.

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Sunday night was rough. My 9th-grade students are beginning to read Animal Farm, and I read the opening chapters before trying to sleep. 

I'm ashamed to admit how many years I've taught this book with insouciant confidence it was a cautionary tale for others--not for the United States of America. 

This time, each line stabs.

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Monday...Tuesday....Wednesday....Thursday....

This week has found me moving out of paralysis and into dismay.

The Onion itself could not have selected Trump's advisors. 

For now, Friday, Nov. 15, let me say I feel ragged. 

Enough.

Be well, if you can.

Allison

ohmyohmy - my unposted post from election night

It's 7:39 p.m. as I start this post.

p  e  n  n  s  y  l  v  a  n  i  a

Dan and I are watching CNN, reading tea leaves and bird formations.

Pundits are parsing approval ratings of Biden, then pivoting to North Virginia, Michigan, and again to  

p  e  n  n  s  y  l  v  a  n  i  a.

I feel like I'm watching a slow-motion movie with manic voice-over. 

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Now Phoenix. Maricopa County, to be exact. (But only the early voting results...)

Still long lines.

Mesa Community College...

Mesa Community College! - Like Proust's Madeline cookie, Mesa takes me back to Diana, my high-school friend who headed to Mesa after our 1978 graduation, eager to shake off (I can only surmise-- Aren't we all trying to shake something off after graduation?) her Ft. Dodge stomping ground. Who did she vote for? Who do we know?

--Time out-- 

It's now 8 p.m. and a new batch of election results are pouring in.

Oh. North Carolina, home of my sweet grandbaby Roger, hang in there.

I want to see Iowa. I've been overly hopeful since the Ann Seltzer poll was released over the weekend.

-----

It's 8:22 p.m.

We are seeing more projections.

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That was my last notation of the night. I stopped watching and went to bed.

Enough.

The Next 48 Hours

 

Thanks, Katie Howland.

Last night my sister made a batch of Pakistan goulash, a favorite food from our childhood. She said she plans to eat this cheesy comfort casserole for the next three days.

I'm buffering myself in a Harris-blue shirt (today) and a new (Harris-blue) blouse and patterned slacks tomorrow. I'm ready to wear my Harris-blue RAYGUN "Books Build Better Brains" T-shirt on Wednesday.

I'm also giving myself, my students, and those around me all the grace I can muster.

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We are tense. 

This feels like applying for a new job: We have to convince ourselves the work and effort are WORTH it, while simultaneously reminding ourselves that if we lose, we'll be okay.

Or will we? 

Serve me up some of that Pakistan goulash.

Enough.
Be well.
Write.

Allison