October 31, 2020

Drawing the Line

What’s on my mind? 


Lines??? Who sez I have to write lines if its tru? (Oh … You do.)


Your not the boss of me! (Oh … Your the boss of me.) 


I won’t stay after school! I won’t! I won’t! (Oh … I do. But I’ll show you! Hee-hee!)  


The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy. 

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is not a dummy.

The Prezdent is ...


© Nicole Parton, 2020 

October 30, 2020

How Will I Ever Look at America the Same Way Again?

What’s on my mind?

Always a source of outstanding writing, yesterday’s New York Times has once again excelled. With the US Presidential election four days away, opinion writer Frank Bruni looks inward, at the heart and soul of the nation. The title of this republished post is his. I apologize that the links in Bruni’s column didn’t make it into this post. Blame Blogger for that; the links appear on my draft - NP 

It’s always assumed that those of us who felt certain of Hillary Clinton’s victory in 2016 were putting too much trust in polls.


I was putting too much trust in Americans.


I’d seen us err. I’d watched us stray. Still I didn’t think that enough of us would indulge a would-be leader as proudly hateful, patently fraudulent and flamboyantly dishonest as Donald Trump.


We had episodes of ugliness, but this? No way. We were better than Trump.


Except, it turned out, we weren’t.


Never mind that the Russians gave him a boost. Or that he lost the popular vote. Some 46 percent of the Americans who cast ballots for president in 2016 picked him, and as he moved into the White House and proceeded to soil it, most of those Americans stood by him solidly enough that Republicans in Congress didn’t dare to cross him and in fact went to great, conscience-immolating lengths to prop him up. These lawmakers weren’t swooning for a demagogue. They were reading the populace.


And it was a populace I didn’t recognize, or at least didn’t want to.


What has Trump’s presidency taken from us? I’m reasonably sure that many Americans feel the same loss that I do, and I’m struggling to assign just one word to it.


Innocence? Optimism? Faith? Go to the place on the Venn diagram where those states of mind overlap. That’s the piece of me now missing when I look at this beloved country of mine.


Trump snuffed out my confidence, flickering but real, that we could go only so low and forgive only so much. With him we went lower - or at least a damningly large percentage of us did. In him we forgave florid cruelty, overt racism, rampant corruption, exultant indecency, the coddling of murderous despots, the alienation of true friends, the alienation of truth itself, the disparagement of invaluable institutions, the degradation of essential democratic traditions.


He played Russian roulette with Americans’ lives. He played Russian roulette with his own aides’ lives. In a sane and civil country, of the kind I long thought I lived in, his favorability ratings would have fallen to negative integers, a mathematical impossibility but a moral imperative. In this one, they never changed all that much.


Polls from mid-October showed that about 44 percent of voters approved of Trump’s job performance — and this was after he’d concealed aspects of his coronavirus infection from the public, shrugged off the larger meaning of it, established the White House as its own superspreader environment and cavalierly marched on.


Forty-four percent. Who in in God’s name are we? I’m not forgetting pre-Trump American history. I’m not erasing hundreds of years of slavery, the internment of Japanese Americans, the many kinds of discrimination that have flourished in my own lifetime, all the elections in which we Americans made stupid choices and all the presidents who did “un-American” things. We’re a grossly imperfect country, our behavior at frequent odds with our ideals. 


But for every abomination, I could name a moment of grace. For many of our sins, stabs at atonement. We demonstrated a yearning to correct our mistakes and, I think, a tropism toward goodness. On balance we were open, generous. When I traveled abroad, people from other countries routinely complimented Americans for that. They experienced us as arrogant, but also as special.


Now they just pity us.


How much of this can we pin on Trump? Not as much as we try to. And oh, how we’ve tried. This obsession of the news media and his detractors with every last eccentricity and inanity isn’t just about keeping a complete record, I’ve come to realize. It’s also a deflection, an evasion: If he gets the whole of the stage, then Americans’ complicity and collaboration are shoved into the wings.


And the freakier we make him out to be, the less emblematic he is. The more he becomes a random, isolated event. We emphasized what a vanquishable opponent Hillary Clinton was because that diminished the significance of the vanquishing and the vanquisher. We spoke of a perfect storm of circumstances that led to his election as a way of disowning the weather.


We cheered on Robert Mueller’s investigation not just because it might hold Trump and his wretched accomplices to account but also because it might explain him away, proving that he reached the White House by cheating, not because he was what nearly half of the country decided that they wanted.We tried to make him a one-and-done one-off. But deep into his presidency, when his execrable character had been fully exposed, his Fox News cheerleaders continued to draw huge audiences for their sycophantic panegyrics.


Trump himself continued to attract big crowds to his rallies, like the one in Greenville, N.C., in July 2019, when he pressed his attack on four Democratic congresswomen of color, including Representative Ilhan Omar, who immigrated from Somalia. Egged on by him, his audience chanted: “Send her back! Send her back!” He stopped speaking to give those words room, and he soaked them in.


Or what about the recent rally in Muskegon, Mich., where he freshly assailed the state’s governor, Gretchen Whitmer, despite the fact that his obsessive denunciations of her had possibly been a factor in an alleged plot by 14 men to kidnap her? “Lock her up!” many of the attendees bellowed, to Trump’s obvious amusement.


Again, how has his approval rating not fallen to negative integers?


I’m not saying that support for him is spun entirely of malice or bias. Keen economic anxiety and profound political estrangement are why many voters turned to him, as my Times colleague Farah Stockman explained especially well in a recent editorial that was set in America’s disheartened heartland. “Even false hope,” she noted, “is a form of hope, perhaps the most ubiquitous kind.”


The headline on the article was “Why They Loved Him.” But why haven’t more of them stopped loving him? And how did so many Americans beyond that group fall so hard for him, thrilling to his recklessness, applauding his divisiveness, indulging his unscrupulousness? He tapped into more cynicism and nihilism than this land of boundless tomorrows was supposed to contain.


He tapped into more conspiratorialism, too. And I do mean “tapped.” Trump didn’t draw out anything that wasn’t already there, burbling beneath the surface.

He didn’t sire white supremacists. He didn’t script the dark fantasies of QAnon. He didn’t create all the Americans who rebelled against protective masks and mocked those who wore them, a selfish mind-set that helps explain our tragic lot. It just flourished under him.


And it will almost certainly survive him. The foul spirit of these past five years — I’m including his hateful campaign — has been both pervasive and strangely proud. That’s what makes it different. That’s what makes it so chilling.


I could be overreacting. Maybe, just ahead, there will be moments of grace, enough of them to redeem us. Maybe I’ll look up on or after Nov. 3 and see that Biden has won North Carolina, has won Michigan, has won every closely contested state and the presidency in a landslide. Maybe I’ll have to eat my words.


Please, my fellow Americans, feed me my words. I’d relish that meal.


© Frank Bruni, The New York Times, Oct. 29, 2020


The author of three best-selling books, Frank Bruni has been with The Times since 1995. After holding a variety of posts, Bruni became a columnist in 2011. 

October 29, 2020

Whoosh!

What’s on my mind? 


Hey, you! Lighten up! Your thoughts are in a negative loop. 


Yes, the virus sucks. Yes, this is a time for worry and sadness. Your inner adult knows that, but your inner child wants to rebel. Sorry, kid, that big anniversary party needs to wait. Unfortunately, honey, this isn’t the year to take that exotic vacation. If you don’t curb your impulses, that party or vacay may be the last you and those you love ever have.  


Yes, you still need to nurture your inner child, and yes, you still need to live your life, but do it safely. Learn to use video-chat ... Explore new hobbies … Return to old ones … Call a friend to ask: “Howya doin’?” … Donate to the food bank … There are plenty of ways to connect without actually “being there” in the time of COVID. Consider what works for you. Then do it!


I firmly believe most of us are dorks under the skin. We do and say unintended things that look and sound silly. There are glimmers of light even in a time of tragedy. There are times to shake your head and think: “Dork!” Look at yourself in the mirror. Lighten up! 


If you aren’t already doing it, smile at yourself - not in an “I’m such a useless person ...” way, but in a head-shaking, self-amused way. Get in touch with your feelings. Ask yourself: “Howya doin’?” If you can answer: “I’m doing the best I can” ... Give yourself permission to feel okay about that.


This health crisis will get better. But we all need to do our part - you, me, our families, our friends, our co-workers, our elected representatives … everyone.  


Turning the corner? Not yet. But we will if we all pull together ... Wear a mask. Keep a 6 ft. (2 m) distance ... Maintain your safe “bubble.” Wash your hands - often! Don’t attend large social gatherings - especially indoors. 


Being depressed, angry, sad, and scared is normal. I sometimes ride the same roller-coaster. Doing even a small good deed for someone else will lift your spirits. Kindness will help you cope. Finding the smile hidden under the sadness will make you feel better, even if momentarily.


Here’s a calming exercise to help in moments of crisis. Don’t rush through it. Don’t expect to master it immediately. Take your time. Trust me … It will help. It takes only a couple of minutes. Read it over until you “get it.” Then do it.


Turn off the TV. Set aside any distractions. Get comfortable on the couch or in your favorite quiet place. Use a pillow or a warm blanket if that helps.


Close your eyes. Empty your mind. Sit or lie quietly until you’re ready to do more. Your eyes are getting heavy. Close them. Focus on your breath. Nothing more. 


Breathe in through the nose, and WHOOSH! Out through the mouth … 


Focus on the slow rhythm of your breath. Slowly, slowly … 


In through the nose ... Out through the mouth …


Empty your mind. Your thoughts are floating away like soap bubbles. Hear them pop. Keep your eyes closed. Focus on your breath. Nothing more. 


In through the nose ... WHOOSH! Out through the mouth …


Nothing more. 


In through the nose ... Out through the mouth …


Focus on your breath.


In through the nose ... WHOOSH! 


Do this for two minutes. Open your eyes. If you feel it’s necessary, do it a little longer.


Rest. Remain in your comfortable sofa or chair. Listen to quiet, relaxing music. Calm your anxious mind. Things will get better.


Focus on your breath. 


In through the nose ... Out through the mouth … 


Done.


Do this again, the next time you feel stressed. Now get on with your life. A crisis is an event that doesn’t go on forever. This will not go on forever. Despite those dark clouds, the sun will shine again.

© Nicole Parton, 2020 

October 28, 2020

In Donald Trump’s World, Everything’s Fake News

What’s on my mind? 

The coronavirus hit 8,835,861 cases in the US earlier today. Actually, that’s no longer true. As I prepare to file this post at not quite 8:30 pm PST, worldometers.info reports the number of cases now stands at 9,120,751. The pandemic is increasing by 70,000 new US cases daily; by the Nov. 3 election, the daily tally is expected to hit 80,000. Nearly 1,000 Americans die of COVID-19 every day.

The US has had more than 500,000 new cases in the past week. To date, the pandemic has caused more than 227,409 American deaths - nearly four times the number of American soldiers who died or went missing as a result of the Vietnam war. By theelection, the virus will have killed nearly four times as many Americans as the number of American soldiers killed in battle during WW II.


In Donald Trump’s world, everything’s fake news. 


The US leads the world with the highest number of coronavirus cases and the total number of deaths-per-million.


In a late-September news story, The Washington Post reported that the number of US coronavirus deaths stood at 200,000. Trump’s reply: “It’s a shame.”  


A shame ... Death is just a number. Fill in the blank as the number rises. Death isn’t someone’s child, or granny, or uncle, or wife, or brother. It’s a number … Death is just a number. 


Trump’s view: “That’s all I hear about now. That’s all I hear. Turn on the television … ‘COVID, COVID, COVID, COVID, COVID, COVID.’ A plane goes down, 500 people dead, they don't talk about it … ‘COVID, COVID, COVID, COVID.’ By the way, on November 4 you won’t hear about it, anymore.”


In Donald Trump’s world, everything’s fake news.


All across the USA, you’ll find T-shirts and masks emblazoned F*CK FA*CI, HOAX, FAKE NEWS, DEFUND THE MEDIA, and MIND CONTROL. 


Politico, a reputable online news agency, this week reported that the Trump administration’s science policy office ranked “ending the COVID-19 pandemic” at the top of the list of Trump’s first-term achievements. 


Forget the balloons and party horns. There’s not a scintilla of truth to the claim. 


In Donald Trump’s world, everything’s fake news.


As Trump recently said: “People are tired of hearing (respected epidemiolist Anthony) Fauci and all these idiots, these people, these people that have gotten it wrong. Fauci’s a nice guy, he’s been here for 500 years, he called every one of them [Fauci’s predictions about the virus] wrong.”


And son-in-law Jared Kushner? Here’s what he told author Bob Woodward in a recently released recording: “Trump’s now back in charge; it’s not the doctors.”


Still playing the sympathy card, Trump continued: “People are tired of COVID. I have the biggest rallies I’ve ever had, and we have COVID … People are saying whatever. Just leave us alone. They’re tired of it. People are tired of hearing Fauci.”


In Donald Trump’s world, everything’s fake news. And death is just a number.


© Nicole Parton, 2020

October 25, 2020

A Trump-Free Future - Starring Donald J. Trump

What’s on my mind? Here’s what a friend posists about the upcoming US election, with input from Himself and from me. 


• Trump loses. 

• Widespread civil war breaks out.

• In a rambling speech littered with dog whistles and unsubstantiated claims of voter fraud, Trump resigns.

• Pence becomes interim President. 

• Pence pardons Trump for alleged high crimes and misdemeanors. 

• Barr supports the blanket pardon, which he helped craft.

• The Trumps and Kushner leave the building - heads down, spirits up. The FU factor is high on all sides.

• In an emergency sitting, the federal and Supreme Courts uphold Pence’s controversial pardon.

• In a move months in the making, Trump seamlessly announces the Trump TV channel, streaming to a platform near you. One of the first people onboard is former Fox, NBC, and podcast star Megyn Kelly, who of late has been praising Trump on social media. 


So whaddya think?


© Nicole Parton, 2020

October 23, 2020

Women and the Tortured Mind of Donald J. Trump

What’s on my mind? 

Watch the women: They include the white suburbanites President Donald Trump so desperately wants to win over. And esteemed television interviewers Leslie Stahl and Kristen Welker. And all the “fat pigs, dogs, slobs, and disgusting animals” - to quote Trump’s words for the exhaustive list of women he dislikes. 

Keep your eye on those women. Watch as they and those who went before and those yet to feel his wrath hold their heads high as the misogynist-in-chief attacks them. Keep your eye on first lady Melania Trump and former second lady Jill Biden, too. More about them in a moment.

What’s the deal with Trump’s repeated attacks on women? Mid-September national polling showed nearly half of suburban women don’t like Donald Trump, believing he’s made their communities less safe.


“Women …” Trump begins at an Oct. 19 rally in Arizona. “I like women (growly voice) … Women … You used to call them suburban housewives. I’d better go [stet] politically correct.” 


He reels them in with the natural-born skill of a carnival barker:  “Is there one woman here that minds being called a ‘suburban housewife’?”  


A scattering of voices: “No!” 


Physical attraction aside, Trump doesn’t attack women if he wants something - and what he wants from these suburbanite women is the bump he needs in the polls. And so, as he’s done for months, he recites his not-always-coherent law-and-order sales pitch, claiming that under a President Joe Biden, “low-income housing (will) be built right next to your America’s dream.” 


The picture he paints is that crime and “these ANTIFA people and the radical left” will move in to “destroy these incredible communities …”


He flirts, he cajoles, he flatters, he threatens, he pleads … Anything to win their votes. A CNN fact-check of Trump’s repeated theme to suburbanites was that “parts of this are extremely misleading, while others are blatantly false.”


In 2015/16, the first time this creep ran for the Presidency, GQ Britain magazine questioned if Trump had retweeted a cover shot of a naked Melania taken in 2000, before the Trumps were married.  


The photos were shot on Trump’s private jet. As a woman, I recognize that Melania Trump’s elegance and tact long ago surpassed her modeling career. Surely, the photos are a lingering embarrassment for her. As the world’s most powerful man, Trump could surely have them struck from the Internet. Why he hasn’t, mystifies me.


Trump tweeted at least twice that Melania had posed for GQ, doubtless prompting a run on that particular back issue of the magazine. This strikes me as the coup de grâce in Trump’s Cruelty to Women campaign.


(When Melania vanished with a rumored kidney procedure, Trump seemed to go out of his way to comment that “Some people say it was plastic surgery, but ...”).


On Thursday, after becoming annoyed with seasoned anchor Leslie Stahl’s line of questioning, Trump stalked off the set mid-interview, during the taping of Sunday evening’s 60 Minutes


Trump then posted his own video of the show to Facebook, urging his followers to “look at the bias, hatred and rudeness on behalf of 60 Minutes and CBS.” In walking out, he gave one of the nation’s most popular news programs heightened status for the show on which he was appearing and - not unimportantly - gave himself a flurry of furious headlines less than two weeks before the US election. 


Was the walk-out a strategic publicity ploy? Or was Trump aggrieved with good reason? Even Trump may not know, anger being his go-to response.


Trump wasn’t finished. In trashing 60 Minutes and Stahl on Facebook, Trump took a swing at the moderator of that night’s Presidential debate: “Kristen Welker is far worse!” Slam, bam, no thank you, ma’am.


Having steadily criticized Welker days in advance of the debate, Trump knowingly or unknowingly constructed a plausible “out” should he lose: “She’s always been terrible and unfair, just like most of the Fake News reporters, but I’ll still play the game,” he tweeted.  


Trump had already called Welker “extraordinarily unfair … a disaster ... totally partisan ... very biased … a radical left Democrat, or whatever she is.” To seal the deal, Trump said Welker had been “screaming questions at me for a long time. She’s no good.”


Elsewhere, Trump twice commented that Welker’s parents “supported the Democrats” and had contributed to the Democratic National Convention as well as to Biden’s campaign.


Welker wasnt fazed. Her unflappable, even-handed fairness during the debate was widely praised. Although it’s not in the official debate transcripts, Trump headed straight for moderator Welker’s desk in the pre-debate moments after he walked onstage. Despite the hubbub of debate prep, a single camera caught what happened next. 


In a low voice, Trump told Welker he knew about a meeting she’d had at (I believe the time was - NP) 6:15. Staring closely into Welker’s face, he added: “You both want me to lose.” The chilling subtext: I know where you go. I know who you see. I know what you say. I know where your parents go. I know who they see. I know what they say.


Returning to her notes, Welker carried on, seemingly unrattled.


That Trump would approach the woman moderating the debate comes as no surprise. That he would make a covert comment she wouldn’t forget is also not surprising. That such a comment would unnerve many women and intimidate others is just the way he rolls ... It’s not his fault, is it? 


Trump is a bully, and bullies are cowards at heart. Decent men do not normally perceive strong women as “enemies.” Donald Trump does. 


And Melania? Post-debate, the first lady strode onstage for the mandatory show of support and congratulations. Where Jill Biden flung herself into husband Joe’s arms, Melania was cool, aloof, and dressed entirely in black. One fashion writer described the effect as “somber.” 


Melania’s monochrome dress drew attention to her red-soled, Christian Louboutin black patent leather shoes. These are expensive shoes; elitist shoes; shoes with a sharply pointed toe box and 4.7 in. knife-sharp stiletto heels; shoes that squash the toes and squish the foot. These are not “We the people …” shoes.  


As the Trumps exited the stage hand-in-hand, Melania yanked her arm forward, releasing Trump’s grip. Walking ahead, she turned her back on the President of the United States. In turn, he gave her a little “back pat” that might have unbalanced a woman less accustomed to impossibly precarious shoes that make a “statement.” 


A friend once described such stilettos as “F*ck Me” shoes. In choosing to walk alone, Melania’s statement was a resounding “F*ck You.”


© Nicole Parton, 2020

October 16, 2020

We Came From Her Leg

What’s on my mind? If you missed my Oct. 8 post titled Where Did We Come From?  I hope youll read it before this follow-up.

For one thing, my pal Lorna Blake wrote: “My precocious eldest asked a variation of the same question when she was 5. I dont know what she expected, but after I honestly replied, she said, ‘Thats ridiculous!’ and walked away.” 


For another, the Modern Love section of this morning’s New York Times now offers Modern Love in miniature, featuring reader-submitted stories of no more than 100 words. My favorite?  


We Came From Her Leg, by reader Nancy Shayne:


“I sit in my mother’s bed in Michigan. She asks, ‘How did I make you?’ Her eyes are fresh flowers. Her thin arms are stems. ‘I came from your leg,’ I answer. She has a long scar above her knee from an old accident. When we were young, she convinced my three sisters and me that this was how we were born. I run to the fridge before we continue our game. Nothing is there but a box, her hospice package. Morphine and pills. She has dementia and doesn’t know she’s dying. I do. Brave for love, I walk back in.”


© The New York Times and Nancy Shayne, with commentary by Nicole Parton, 2020

October 12, 2020

The China Syndrome

What’s on my mind? 

My Darling Children:

As you remember, last Christmas you gave me the gift of the New York Times! Amazing, even if all-consuming and hard to keep up (Did you know Joe Biden has just won the Democratic nomination for President?). Because your gift was electronic, I won’t turn into one of those hoarders with stacks of newspapers heaped all around my desk, ha-ha!

You also gave me four exquisite sets of turquoise china and a set of salt and pepper. I fell over in shock! And then I thought: “Four?” Perfect for us and two guests in the kitchen nook, but what about a larger gathering in the dining room? So I bought two more sets. 

And then I thought: “Six sets? What if something gets chipped or broken?” So I bought a seventh. 

And then I thought: “This china would be perfect outside!” Our outdoor tables seat 10. So I bought three more sets. 

And then I thought: “Mugs! Must have mugs!” I bought 10. “Cream and sugar!” I bought a set, and then another, “just in case.” 

And appie bowls! And salad dishes! And cereal bowls! And little bowls for crème brûlée! And a butter dish! And a gravy boat! And a wine cooler! And a water jug! And small platters!

Himself has just surprised me with three big bowls for salads and mashed potatoes. A turkey-sized platter arrives Friday. It’s a sickness. Himself is my beloved enabler.

I had nowhere to put all this china - especially with the turkey platter on its way. So I bought a new china cabinet for the living room. What didn’t fit in it is stored in the china cabinet in the kitchen nook, the main china cabinet in the living room, and the china cabinet in the dining room. 

Christmas is just around the corner. Please give us nothing. We can’t afford it.

xox   Mum

After emailing my kids this note, I thought: “COVID-19!” And felt like a fool - a fool with a very large, very costly set of china. Himself saw this in a different light: “You believe in celebrations! You believe in a future without COVID! You’re a positive person!” A positive person with honkin’ big set of china. As Edith Piaf sang: Je ne regrette rien.

© Nicole Parton, 2020




October 8, 2020

“Where Did We Come From?”

 What’s on my mind? I must be getting doddery because I’ve been thinking about the time my grown children were toddlers. I have three: Roger Leon Parton, born in January, 1971; and twins Samantha and Erin Parton, born in December, 1971. They were precocious; they were adorable. 

Being so close in age, they frequently huddled together, whispering and sharing what little each knew of the world. Erin, younger than Sam by 10 minutes, was often leader of the pack. And so it was that Erin emerged from one of these huddles when all were three years old.


“Mum?” she asked, “where did we come from?”

 

(I remember thinking: “ACK! So soon?" As I’ve said, they were precocious.)


Confronting the question matter-of factly, I sat down as three toddlers stared, awaiting my answer. As I began, I remember forming a circle with the thumb and index finger of my left hand, as well as extending the index finger of my right. 


I then told them their Mummy and Daddy had taken off all their clothes and Daddy had ... and Mummy had ... The straightened index finger of my right hand was now slipping in and out of the thumb-and-index circle I’d created with my left. 


I went on and on ... The egg …! The sperm …! The egg, again! My right index finger moved faster and faster and faster! When I began this story, my toddlers were mesmerized. When I thought to look up from my furiously in-out-in-out finger, all three were sobbing. 


They wanted to know where they’d come from; I’d told them. Why the tears? 


Still the leader of the pack, Erin choked out: “We meant … We meant … Which hospital?”


© NicoleParton, 2020

September 24, 2020

The Crying Season

What’s on my mind? I am not a young woman. I feel young, but when I look in the mirror … Well, I’m not. As a woman in her mid-70s, I’ve entered the Crying Season - that sad time of life when beloved friends of a similar age have become less vigorous, are gradually losing their minds to dementia, or are sick or dying. 

Yesterday, I had the distinct pleasure of speaking to an exceptional man I deeply admire and respect. He is a good man; a kind man; a generous man. He is now 95. He and his also-exceptional wife have been married 72 years - she, at 17, he at 23.


Many years ago, I met the housekeeper who began working for them when she was 15. She retired at 80. That’s the kind of devotion good and kind and generous people inspire. He told me he’s going to shoot for 100, and after that, 105. I hope he succeeds in that aim.


The world is a lesser place when good people exit it, as they’ve started to do in my little life. People die at every age, of course. The Crying Season is universal. But when it intrudes on your life in ever-greater numbers, it assumes a sobering reality.


I was devastated when a friend two decades my senior died of a brain tumor. We’d lost touch; I wasn’t aware she was sick. It’s been three years; I miss her still. When two other older women dropped of the map, I checked the obits to learn they’d died, and said a little prayer. Their regular phone calls offered such pleasure; if only I’d told them, at the time.


A third - who with her many boyfriends and trilling announcement that: “It’s Lil-yeeee!” - was such fun that I sometimes let her motor-mouth for an hour. She disappeared, too. The was no obituary: It took some sleuthing to learn she’d died. A raven-haired,  blue-eyed beauty when she was young, she’d become so stooped she paralleled the floor, yet still attracted men well into her 80s. Her infectious joy inspired love and loyalty. I miss her phone calls, too. 


One of my closest, longest friends requires what is euphemistically called “memory care.” Our lives have been intertwined since we were teenagers. Nothing should come as a surprise in the Crying Season, but sadness still seeps into my bones.


A distant friend, 79 this month, is emotionally ill. Watching him struggle is painful. 


A pragmatic couple dear to my heart recently wrote the most difficult letter of their lives - telling friends of his soon-to-be fulfilled wish for an assisted death: “After 14 years of valiant effort and dedicated support of the medical community, and in our 38th year together and on our wedding anniversary, (he) will reach the end of (his) increasingly excruciating pain. 


“He and I both thank you for the days of his journey when you walked the road with us … So much laughter interspersed with tears and sorrow. So much happiness and wonder! Treasure the memories. They will bring you comfort when you reach your December …”


The Crying Season: It hurts.


© Nicole Parton, 2020