For my Libtard friends who think the Dems need “new leadership” or “someone young” or a “fresh perspective,” what’s your rationale? Who exactly do you have in mind? What’s their track record? What’s your person’s plan?
Let’s not forget how well “new blood” worked for the GOP and their golden boy, the impotent Paul Ryan…
If you’re gonna play, play hard. Blue took the House in a huge wave. Now is not the time to cower, to tinker, to tread lightly. Back a champ, one who’ll get it done, someone with a proven record. Like her or not, she knows her caucus and *always* has the votes.
Don’t worry about the vilification coming from the Right…that’s just fear.
The Times’ profile is genius in what is says…as well as what it doesn’t.
So 32 people have gotten sick from a product and the government unilaterally says, just before the national eating holiday, DON’T USE THE PRODUCT and everyone’s freaking out….
Sometimes, in your deepest rage, you imagine terrible things, the awful things you’d say at that darkest of moments. You rehearse and refine them while you’re raking the leaves or cleaning the commode. Steeling yourself, you forge forward, sharpen your blades, prepare to pounce on the unsuspecting prey.
And the next day, nothing broached or uttered or subject skirted, you spend the day creating, laboring, testing, trying. The moment comes and goes. The anger passes by like a whisper, in the dark, miles away.
And cleaning the dishes, somehow it bubbles to the surface. It breaks from the crust, clean and delicate and wonderful. Much like the meal. It comes out of you in a hug, a moment of honesty and tenderness, acquiescence and oneness.
And it works. That airy souflée of truth. At its apex. Luscious and wonderful, light and not yet deflated.
Received and responded to with equal honesty, realization, guilty regret and promise.
And it works. Far better than you planned or plotted in your sabotage. The combination better than the single ingredient.
When does one learn? When does one listen? Where is patience? Where is understanding?
Quit imagining more.
We ask ourselves.
I learned something this week, in Provincetown. Not that that’s unusual. Quite the opposite, actually.
I learned more about the definition of Hospitality. That definition that I’ve been chasing for quite some time. What I discovered was that it does not have to include a huge or elaborate or fancy or, even, correct meal. It only has to include the idea that welcoming friends and strangers into one’s home is the most basic of human gestures.
In fact, it recognizes quite a few universal needs….nourishment, contact, interaction, relaxation, safety….love.
So thank you for the ill-received fried shrimp, shell-on. Thank you for the the grunts and groans and non-communication as you sat at your computer making lists each morning. Thank you for the reluctantly-accepted, spur-of-the-moment invitation that turned out to be a delightful evening and the impetus for new, lasting friendships. And thank you, for the hug, the recognition, the “hey John Brown!” and the embrace of the newest addition to my life.
I’ve said before that a restaurant can change one’s life.
I may might not have specified which restaurant, and I think perhaps I was thinking collectively: Prune, TopFlr, La Tavola, Osteria al Doge, Devon’s.
Tonight, my thinking was reaffirmed. I ate with Kris at the bar at LaTavola. I dined solo. Kris, my friend and former co-worker, poured my drinks. She was happy, in a good space despite recent loss. We talked about life and important things and reconnected and realized our love for each other and our friends. And this place. This service. This process. This family.
And I dined in what I consider a holy temple.
A temple of friendship, hospitality, encouragement, forgiveness, creativity, refuge and respite.
And a place that continues to inform my life.
It’s odd that two buildings cast such permanent shadows. Somewhere there’s a picture of me on the roof of one of them, looking at a tight-rope artist’s signature on the window washing rail. In this one, taken 8 or 9 years later, I’m standing a bridge watch onboard the USS MacDonough, sailing into New York Harbor for Fleet Week 1989. And today, those shadows still linger, having changed our entire way of life, from politics to art to our ability to travel unencumbered through our days.