Rawness, passion, and terror

This man is your man
This man is our man
From California
To the New York island
From the redwood forests
To the Gulf Stream waters
This man is Robert Kennedy.

You can hear the raw passion in their voices on this audio, recorded on the night of June 5, 1968.  (The audio is from the Pacifica Radio Archives and is posted on David Von Pein's YouTube channel.  DVP has hundreds of hours of JFK and RFK-era video and audio posted; I recommend him highly.)

They are exuberant and idealistic.

Their man, Robert Kennedy, is ahead in the California primary, a "winner-take-all" state as far as delegates are concerned. 

The audio goes from singing to the chant of, "Sock it to 'em, Bobby!" 

Eight minutes and thirty-one seconds into the audio, their hero enters to an ovation of shouting and the rousing cheers of, "We want Kennedy!  We want Kennedy!"

The first person he mentions is Don Drysdale, the Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher who'd pitched his sixth straight shutout that evening; Kennedy hoped they'd have as good fortune in their campaign.

At 21:00, he ends the speech with, "and now it's on to Chicago and let's win there."

The screaming starts less than a minute later. 

It's not the ovation the crowd gave a victorious candidate.  Rather, it's the screams of terror, panic, and confusion. 

A second audio recording, of Andrew West from the Mutual Broadcasting System, also captures the moment:  "Senator Kennedy has been shot, is that possible?" "He still has the gun, the gun is pointed at me right at this moment," "Get the gun, Rafer . . . get his thumb, break it if you have to!" 

And of the video coverage from the three major networks, perhaps two clips best illustrate the raw confusion:  1.  A bewildered Terry Drinkwater, CBS reporter, trying to figure out what had just happened (around 15:31 on the clip), and 2. the NBC coverage, about 40 seconds into the tape, showing one of Sirhan Sirhan's shooting victims being carried out of the Ambassador Hotel kitchen.  The NBC reporter speaking insists -- incorrectly -- that Stephen Smith, Robert Kennedy's brother-in-law, had also been shot.

In the first 24 minutes of the CBS video, there were no fewer than 28 pleas for a doctor and no fewer than 36 pleas, requests, and orders to "please clear the room", leave the room, or variations thereof. 

These were the moments when panic took over, when terror took over and the raw jubilation of only a few minutes ago turned with fierce suddenness to raw fear. 

John Kennedy's assassination also showed how quickly events can turn.  He'd received a warm welcome in Dallas, Texas only to be gunned down by an assassin who took six seconds to fire three shots.  (Oswald acted alone.  Deal with it.)  We saw the panic and terror of the crowds only after the film was developed; we heard the confusion as technicians in master control frantically flipped switches and yelled instructions into headsets offstage.

Five years later, broadcast technology developed to the point where we could see the raw panic, terror and confusion the moment it started happening. 

This is life, at it rawest, unedited and unscripted, but captured on film and on audio. 

Perhaps this was the moment that hope in our political system really began to fray, wither, and die. 

Jack Newfield, in his 1969 book Robert Kennedy: A Memoir, ends his book with these words:

Now I realized what makes our generation unique, what defines us apart from those who came before the hopeful winter of 1961, and those who came after the murderous spring of 1968.  We are the first generation that learned from experience, in our innocent twenties, that things were not really getting better, that we shall not overcome.  We felt, by the time we reached thirty, that we had already glimpsed the most compassionate leaders our nation could produce, and they had all been assassinated.  And from this time forward, things would get worse:  our best political leaders were part of memory now, not hope.  

The stone was at the bottom of the hill and we were alone.

Fifty years later, how much has really changed?  Has the raw passion and terror heard and seen that night in the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles morphed into a fatalistic depression about the future?

I fear so.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Finally, it's last year

It's January 1, 2018, and I can finally say it:

My mother died last year.

Last year puts it a little more in the background.  Maybe it takes some of the pain away.

I have been dealing with what I call "the weird phase of grief".  It's the phase where I'm having to tell myself, "my mother died" because I'm afraid that if I don't stop telling myself that, I'll forget that she's dead.

I've been told that I'll cry when I'm ready.  It could be that I may not have that "good cry" that I think I should have.  I actually "lost" my mother over a year before she died; when I could no longer have a coherent conversation with her.  So it could be that I've been doing my grieving for some time. 

I hate grief.  I hate the "missing" part of grief, the part where you miss the person's presence in your life.  I think that's the hardest part of dealing with loss.  You can mentally accept that the person's gone, then poof, something happens and you want to tell them about it . . . and you can't. 

I don't think I "feel" my mother's loss as much as my sister and my niece do.  It's different when you see someone decline day after day after day.  I didn't see that with my mother.  I just heard about her decline from my sister.  My sister and my niece saw her decline.  Especially my sister because she was the one who took her to the doctor's, took her out on errands, made sure that she was taken care of, made difficult decisions regarding her care. 

I'm the one who just heard about what was going on and tried to give my sister support, and I'm not sure how well I succeeded in that at times. 

This past year has not been an easy one for a lot of people.  It's been a year where we've seen division and anger, a year where the chasms dividing us as people seem just to get wider and deeper, and there are no bridge-builders to be found.  It's been a difficult year for me in some respects with loss and other circumstances.  I don't like where we're headed as a country, and I don't like feeling as if I'm walking on eggshells around people when discussing certain subjects. 

And of course, losing Mom topped it all.

Maybe that's why I'm just glad to say that finally, it was last year. 

That phrase puts a hard year and a hard loss in the books and helps me look forward to what I hope will be better times and a better future.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Conversational volleyball

There are too many times in life where I feel as if I am trying to play a game of conversational volleyball.

When I'm talking one on one with a person, I do okay. 

But the minute someone else joins the conversation--or two or three or more people--I start feeling doomed.

Because often, the flow of the conversation is such that 1. the exact second someone stops talking, someone else starts, leaving me no room to jump in, or 2. I"m able to open my mouth and get a breath out, or maybe a word or two or three, but then I get interrupted. 

I feel like I'm playing a game of volleyball, but just as the ball comes my way, someone steps in front of me and, whack!  They hit the ball, not giving me a chance to play. 

Here's an illustration of what I'm talking about:

(Me in a group of three people)

Scenario 1:

Person #1:  "Did you read where it might snow this weekend?"
Me:  *thinks yes, I did read that, but before I can open my mouth . . .*
Person #2:  "What?  It might snow?  I'd better go and get my bread and milk!"

Scenario 2:

Person #1:  "Did you read where it might snow this weekend?"
Me:  *opens mouth to say, yes, I read that, but as I inhale . . . *
Person #2:  "What?  It might snow?  I'd better go and get my bread and milk!"

Scenario 3:

Person #1:  "Did you read where it might snow this weekend?"
Me:  "Yes --"
Person #2:  "What?  It might snow?  I'd better go and get my bread and milk!"

Scenario 4:

Person #1:  "Did you read where it might snow this weekend?"
Me:  "Yes, I --"
Person #2:  "What?  It might snow?  I'd better go and get my bread and milk!"

Scenario 5:

Person #1:  "Did you read where it might snow this weekend?"
Me:  "Yes, I did.  It's --"
Person #2:  "What?  It might snow?  I'd better go and get my bread and milk!"

It does not seem to matter what group I'm in.  It's happened in church, it's happened among work people, it's happened so many times that I've just about given up trying to break into a conversation.  One time, I said that breaking into a conversation was hard for me because I didn't want to interrupt people.  The response I got was, "Well, Tina, you just haven't learned how to be rude."

I can remember one time when I heard someone make a reference to Pampered Chef, and it took ten minutes from the time I first heard the reference to the time when there was enough of a lull in the conversation to finally ask the question, "What is Pampered Chef?"

I did get so frustrated one time trying to break into a conversation that I threw a tantrum.  Admittedly, it wasn't appropriate for me to do so.  I'm too old for tantrums. 

I understand that good manners dictate that you are supposed to wait until the other person finishes talking before I say something.  I am supposed to wait my turn.

But what happens when it's never your turn?

What happens when someone whacks the conversational ball out of your hand before you can even hit it? 

I don't know the answer, and I wish someone did.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

How Orkin did not steal Christmas

That headline is slightly unfair to Orkin.  My husband pointed out today that the timing of Orkin's visit could have been a lot worse.

Friday, I wrote this entry about how we got a nasty surprise from Orkin, telling us that we needed work on our crawlspace that was going to cost us a big chunk of change, and that I was going to get very creative on how we celebrated Christmas this year. 

I didn't expect the response I got.

Yesterday, a Facebook friend messaged me asking me what my email address was.

A minute late, I found a Walmart gift card resting in my email box.

When I messaged her back to tell her thank you, she said, "No one goes without Christmas on my watch." 

This morning at church, a man slipped money into my hand so that Matthew could have something for Christmas.  And later, Frank told me that someone had given him another Walmart gift card for Matthew as well.

So I dropped Frank at a nearby Barnes & Noble and trotted off to Walmart (while Matthew was helping out at our second service). 

Thanks to the generosity and kindness of people, this is what my tree looks like: 

I have another gift to finish for Matthew. 

Christmas would have come for us tomorrow, like it did for the residents of Whoville when the Grinch stole Christmas.  Christmas does come without ribbons, bows, and presents.

But Christmas also comes with kindness and generosity, and this was what we experienced this weekend.

Orkin may have "stolen" Christmas, but it was more than returned by others. 

I am grateful.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Tina's "Long Winter" Christmas

In the book The Long Winter, one of Laura Ingalls Wilder's "Little House" books, there's a scene where Ma tells the girls that Pa hasn't been able to get work for wages that year, so they can't spare money for presents.  But they could have a happy Christmas just the same.

Laura started thinking, and she realized that there were things she had that she could give as gifts:  a cardboard picture frame she'd been embroidering, a cardboard hair-receiver, some knitted lace.  So she did just that, and that was how the Ingalls family had a merry Christmas in the midst of a brutal winter.

Recently Frank and I had a visit from the Orkin man.  We have a termite bond with Orkin, and last year, during the termite inspection, the Orkin man said that we were having moisture problems in our crawlspace and we needed the crawlspace encapsulated. 

Well, we put off having it done . . . and then termite inspection time came around again.  The Orkin guy showed up at the house unexpectedly (in fairness, he'd called before and I had not returned the call) and Frank and I both happened to be home.  He discussed the different options with us, and we told him that we would let him know what he decided when he came back the next day to do the termite inspection.

What I think he really wanted was for us to do a full encapsulation for over $6000.  Instead, we decided to have a moisture barrier put down and the wood treated for about $2600.

What this all boils down to is that we got hit with a big chunk of change we didn't expect, and as a result, Christmas would be very skimpy.

When Frank told Matthew that we had had to spend money on Orkin and that, as a result, we wouldn't have presents under the tree, I thought, "Not if I can help it."

Thus, Project "Long Winter" was born.

You see, while I have the ingenuity and the creativity that Laura Ingalls had, I also have a resource she did not:  the local dollar store.

The other night, Matthew asked me if we weren't going to have any presents at all, and I said, "No, we're just not going to buy presents this year."  Then I told him that I was going to show him how we could have Christmas without spending a lot of money. 

Yesterday, we went to Dollar Tree, where I bought five tins for a dollar each.  Then, we went to Food Depot and bought six boxes of butter (each box containing four quarters of butter) and two and a half dozen eggs.  (The butter and margarine was being restocked while I was there, and while the big boxes of eggs were still there, the boxes of eggs packed by the dozen were GONE.)

Today, I plan to make brownies and cookies.  Two of the tins I bought will be packed with brownies and cookies.  That will be Frank's gift. 

One of the tins will be packed with a (used) power pack and a couple of (probably new or maybe used) charger for Matthew's phone. 

I will also make him a blue and white hat so he can wear it while watching Doctor Who. 

This year, the fates conspired to ruin Christmas.

What the fates did not take into account was that they were dealing with me.

Merry Christmas.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Mom's eulogy

Abraham Lincoln once said, "All that I am, or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother." 

We all know that Abraham Lincoln grew up to be President of the United States.  And while neither my sister nor I will ever occupy the White House, it is true that much of what we are, we owe to our mother.

Mom, obviously, carried us in her womb.  She made sure that we got to church and Sunday School.  Because of that, I carried my faith over to my adult life and made sure that my son also got to church and Sunday School.  She said bedtime prayers with me.  Because of that, I ended up saying bedtime prayers with my son.  And although family lore says that it was my dad who taught me how to read, it was my mother who taught me how to enjoy books.  She once told me that when she was potty-training me, I'd sit there as long as she'd read to me.  She was the one that introduced me to the public library and got me a library card.  And because of that, I grew up to be a librarian and a writer. 

Mom was born and grew up in a small town in Kentucky.  Like most women of her time, she wound up getting married, having kids, and putting her time and energy into her family.  I'm sure she wanted better for Renee and me.  More than that, though, she wanted us to grow up to be good people.  I think she succeeded.  My sister and I both married decent men.  My sister partners with her husband in business, much as our parents did when they ran a preschool.  I used my love of books, which she gave to me, and had a career as a librarian.  Now I proof legal transcripts, write a blog, and plan to publish fiction.  

Mom was always proud of her grandchildren, and she had reason to be.  One grew up to work in the mental health field, connecting people who need help with the resources they need.  The other is training for job skills and will eventually find his niche after he leaves school. 

When Daddy was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig's disease, Mom put in every ounce of time and energy into caring for him.  Our Uncle Jerry said that she did everything she could for him, "and then some".  I didn't appreciate the stress on her at the time, and perhaps I still don't, since I have not experienced caring for someone who is terminally ill.  I do know that she took the "in sickness and in health, till death do us part" section of the marriage vows seriously.  When Daddy died, she lost the person that she considered her best friend. 

When my sister called and said that Mom had died, one of the things that she said was, "we loved her".  My sister, in particular, absorbed the lessons my mother taught while caring for our father.  My sister was the one who made sure that Mom got the care she needed.  She advocated for her.  And she made the agonizing decision to let nature take its course when it was time. 

From the time I left home in August of 1981 to go to college, I was never home for more than a few months at a time.  But one thing I could always count on was that I could pick up the phone and talk to my mother about what was going on in my life.  I could share with her about school and work problems, I could complain to her about hating to clean house and do chores, I could share with her about Matthew's latest accomplishments and escapades, I could tell her about the everyday stuff going on.  And I could listen to her soft chuckle on the other end of the phone.  When my mother's health started to deteriorate, one thing I could no longer do was talk to her on the phone.  That will be the thing I miss the most, having her to share my life with.

Some time ago, my mother sent me a copy of Leann Rimes' album, "I Hope You Dance".  She enjoyed the title song and said that it communicated what she wanted for my sister and me.  She wanted us to "dance".  She wanted us to live. 

Both my sister and I agree that the best way we can honor our mother's memory is to remember who she was and to remember the good things that we learned from her.  I think that is the best way that we can "dance". 

We loved you, Thelma Laverne Chitwood Sergent, Mom, Nana, born December 18, 1937; died November 4, 2017. 

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.

Faustian bargains

When evangelical Christians decided that political power was the most expedient way to achieve their ends, they struck a Faustian bargain.

Now Mephistopheles has come to collect.

Tomorrow, the voters of Alabama go to the polls to elect a U.S. Senator in a special election to fill the Senate seat left vacant by Jeff Sessions.  The two candidates are Alabama judge Roy Moore for the Republicans and former U.S. Attorney Doug Jones for the Democrats.  

Last month, several women came forward and accused Moore of sexual misconduct.  One of the women was 14 at the time that she said Moore dated her.  During one of their dates, she said, he approached her while wearing tight underwear and guided her hand to touch his private parts.

Okay, when I hear the word, "date", here's what I envision:

A man calls a woman and asks her out on a date.  He picks her up.  They go to dinner.  Maybe they go to a movie.  Or to a play.  Or to some other event.  They talk.  He pays for dinner or for the other events.  He takes her home.  If they had a good time, they repeat the process.  Lather, rinse, repeat until a) they decide they want to get married, or b) one, the other, or both decide they don't want to date each other anymore.

Nowhere in that description do the words "guiding your hand to touch my private parts" appear. 

There's questions as to whether or not the women are telling the truth.  There's speculation as to why they waited until now to tell their story. 

It's legitimate to ask, are their stories true?  I do believe they should be taken seriously because they do involve a man who has power in the legal system and who wants to be entrusted with the duties of a United States Senator. 

I also think it's legitimate to ask, why come forward now? while bearing in mind that there are good reasons why victims of sexual assault don't report it at the time it happened.  (I almost said "women".  Men are also victims of sexual assault; in fact, actor Terry Crews has filed a lawsuit against a man that he alleges groped him at a party in 2016.) 

My main problem with this whole scenario is the reaction of some Christians:  Well, maybe Moore did do what he's accused of, but hey, he's pro-life and Doug Jones is pro-abortion, and if Jones gets elected, it'll mean another liberal in the Senate, so Moore needs to be elected to the Senate.  Besides, not only is he pro-life, he's a godly man who defended the Ten Commandments, even though it got him thrown off the bench in Alabama.

To borrow a Southernism, that dog don't hunt.

I am sick and tired of the bad behavior of our elected officials being condoned because he's "our guy".  People did it with Bill Clinton, they did it with Donald Trump, and now they're doing it with Roy Moore.  

It's even worse with those that call themselves Christians.  Apparently, we have decided that someone's position on abortion trumps all (pun only slightly intended.)  If you hold yourself out as being Christian and pro-life, you can get away with just about anything. 

Please do not give me this nonsense about "everyone makes mistakes".  A "mistake" is taking the wrong exit off of I-285.  Or adding up two and three and getting six. 

And please, do not tell me, "But David sinned and God used him!"  Yes, David in the Bible sinned.  Yes, God used him.  However, 1) David repented (see Psalm 51) and 2) God, through the prophet Nathan, told David, "the sword will never depart from your house".  David's son conceived with Bathsheba died.  His daughter Tamar was raped by her half-brother Amnon.  Tamar's brother Absalom murdered Amnon in revenge.  Absalom tried to take the kingdom from David.  David paid a tremendous price for his sin.

When did we decide that the kingdom of God was best advanced by political power and political expediency?  When did we decide that someone's position on abortion--as serious an issue as it is--outweighed everything else that a person did or said?  When did we decide that having people that support "us" in positions of power was more important than holding those people accountable for what they did and said? 

Tomorrow, the voters of Alabama will go to the polls.  I fully expect to see Mephistopheles standing there grinning with his hand held out, demanding payment.

Goethe would be proud.

Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.