June 21, 2018--Jack's Secret

"You know, Jack, I'm so disgusted by what Trump and the Republicans are up to that I don't want to have anything to do with them or, for that matter, you."

"Here I popped in to share a cup of coffee with you and you're giving me all sorts of grief. What did I do this time to get under your skin?"

"Are you kidding me? Did you just get back from Mars? Even if you did I assume they have Fox News there."

"On Mars?"

"Don't try to wiggle out of this by pretending to be cute and innocent  You know what's going on. You know how despicable you and your people have been. I'm so angry about what you are doing at the border with Mexico that I don't want to see your face much less sit together and pretend nothing is going on."

Jack remained standing in place in the middle of the diner. 

"For years I tried to talk with you rationally. Even respectfully. To hear your views. To try to understand where you were coming from. How you could possibly think Trump would be a good president. Why you thought he could be elected and when he won, as much of a hallucination as that was, I listened to you talk about about how he would surprise me and get all sorts of good things done. That he wasn't a monster. How he might even be a closet Democrat. You remember how he was going to clean out the swamp, which I agreed needing doing? Tell me about that now. Among others, he and his family have taken over the swamp." 

Jack remained fixed where he was.

I paused to catch my breath. It felt as if I was going to have a heart attack. "But then this. This. You remember at the beginning of the campaign how he out of the blue savagely attacked John McCain? How he blasted him because he had been captured during the war in Vietnam? Trump the draft dodger said he liked winners, not people who were taken prisoner. Saying this about McCain, who was shot down flying a bombing mission, I thought for sure would doom Trump's candidacy. But he rose in the polls as he did after he claimed he could shoot someone dead on Fifth Avenue and get away with it. Any normal candidate saying that would have been ridden out of office. But no, his poll numbers continued to rise. Well, he's just topped himself again. What he's up to would politically doom anyone else. This one you're going to have to explain to me."

"Can I . . . ?"

"No. Stay right where you are, or yet better, leave." I had never talked to Jack this way.

"And to think I came in this morning to share a secret with you."

Not finished, I ignored him. "Tell me one thing and after that I'll see if I ever again want to have anything to do with you."

"Shoot," he caught himself, "Forgive me, I know you don't believe in guns. Please continue."

"I don't need your permission. Stay where you are. I have a few other things to get off my chest. Since you had the audacity to show up I do have a question for you."

Jack leaned toward where I was sitting in the booth. 

"My question is how any of your people, I mean the non-crazy ones (though there are too many of those for my taste), how do they justify what's going on with those families seeking asylum in America? I know, Trump and his most awful people want to send a message to anyone heading north from Central America and Mexico that if they show up at the border with children they will be taken away from them and the parents will be sent right back home, leaving their children behind in cages and tents without air conditioning. In the hope that this will deter others from following in their footsteps. I know we can't welcome everyone fleeing poverty and violence--that would be millions of refugees, but is what the government is now doing justified by wanting to keep immigrants, OK, undocumented immigrants out of the country? To treat children this way? Is this their perverted way of making America great again? It's making America evil again."

I raged on, "I mean, this is far from what we did to Japanese citizens during the Second World War. Citizens. What we did then was worse. We put them in 'internment' camps. A fancy word for concentration camps. We took away their property without any due process and held them for years. Years. During Roosevelt's time. During a liberal Democrat's time.  So there is plenty of blame to go around. But shouldn't we at least learn a few things from history? Minimally, what not to repeat."

"I . . ."

"Answer that for me."

"I came in to talk to you about donuts. What you been writing about . . ."

"Forget donuts. Enough about donuts. What's going on in our name, as Americans, is evil. How can anyone justify this? How can anyone . . ." I was sputtering.

"The donut thing is relevant to what you're saying."

For the moment I was out of gas, "This I have to hear."

"It may surprise you that I agree with you about separating families. About zero tolerance. We are still a nation of immigrants. We need immigrants. We don't have enough workers. And we should welcome refugees. Not all of them but as many as our cities and workforce can handle. But real refugees who are trying to escape from persecution."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"We should increase the number we allow into the country legally. How can anyone feel good about having ten million here illegally? We should figure out a way to make most of them permanent residents. I don't know about paths to citizenship kinds of things. But we shouldn't be rounding them up and deporting them. And, by the way, your Obama was a pretty good deporter. And we sure as shit shouldn't be separating families. Conservatives are supposed to believe in families. And not just white ones or families who are here illegally. Families are families. That's what conservatives should believe. And liberals too. We can have our disagreements about what a family is, but we should do what we can to help people remain families."

I was stunned. Though I did know about Jack's very troubled family and his childhood.

"Which brings me back to the donuts."

"Shoot," I said.

At that he smiled the familiar Jack ironic smile and continued, "You wrote that you needed a break from the serious news and that the donuts stories--which I loved, by the way, especially the ones about your friend who comes from a longtime Maine family and the one where you and another friend thought there was a bear in the woods--that the donut stories and the bear and chipmunk story were a diversion from the awful hard news. 

"I get that," he continued, "But here's the secret--you're playing right into the hands of Trump and his people. Not that you're writing for the New York Times or are that influential, but they want all of you who are left-wingers to get so exhausted and frustrated by what's going on that you'll give up and opt out and look for things to distract yourselves. In, other words, capitulate.

"Yeah, you'll vote for Democrats in November, but not in overwhelming numbers. Which could tilt things Trump's way. They want you to get so frustrated that you come to feel that the situation is hopeless. That if you lose your enthusiasm that will be good for Trump, whose approval numbers, by the way, are creeping up. 

"One example--two nights ago, during her show, Rachel Maddow began to cry--cry--while reporting about the children who are being separated from their parents. Among other things, it revealed how exhausted she is by all of this. I assume others are feeling the same way. It could lead to many, out of self-protection, to pull back. 

"But my secret is that what Trump is up to every day, when he creates another crisis, is designed to overload the nation's circuits. He's putting it to Democrats, who are so good at talking and criticizing and writing and being smart about everything to see if they can punch back. To see if you have staying power or if you'll fold up in frustration."

I continued to stare at Jack. 

"That's it," he said.

Shrugging, after a moment he turned to leave. I made no move to stop him.

June 16, 2017--Midcoast: Colonoscopies

It used to take at least a half hour before any of us would mention colonoscopes. Now we get to it right away. Even before we are served our first cup of coffee.

Just yesterday we not only talked about them but also bladder infections, melanoma, detached retinas, atrial fibrillation, shingles, abscessed molars, Hashimoto's Disease, and kidney stones.

And of course we share health insurance, doctor, and hospital stories. Few of them good.

My colonoscopy story was about my recent visit to a new internist. After taking my medical history and giving me a thorough examination, including a cardiogram, when he was done, he told me things look pretty good except for a heart murmur and my right hand tremors.

Ignoring that for a moment, I asked him about a colonoscopy. "I haven't had one in a few years," I said, "So maybe it's time . . ."

Before I could complete my thought, he said, "At your age we no longer recommend colonoscopies (he's a gastroenterologist no less) because no matter what we might find, at your age, you'll die of something else."

In a way that sounded good, but in truth, on reflection, not really.

I said, "I guess that gives me something to look forward to. Dying soon."

He doesn't have much of a sense of humor, or maybe his waiting room was full of patients and he didn't have time to schmooze, and so he barely smiled.

The cardiologist and neurologist he referred me too said pretty much the same thing--about the murmur, something else will get me before it becomes a problem; and the same for the tremor--"I'll write you a prescription for L-Dopa," he said, "And we'll hope for the best." He hardly needed to add, "that you'll die before . . ."

I stopped listening.

When I told the story to friends at the diner yesterday, one said, "This reminds me of a joke." We all groaned. Lou is not known to be a good joke teller. Undeterred though, he began, "Morty goes to his doctor who gives him his annual physical. When he's done, Morty asks, 'So how did I do?'

"The doctor says, 'Ten.'

 Confused, Morty asks, "'Ten what?' Years? Months? Days?'

"The doctor says, 'Nine, eight, seven, six . . .'"

Not that bad a joke from Lou.

And of course everyone either has a new set of hearing aids or is about to get them. And so there's a lot of breakfast talk about that.

"Why do we always seem to be talking about medical issues?" Rona wondered. We were driving to the pharmacy to get my L-Dopa prescription refilled.

"Isn't it obvious?" I said. "We're all getting on in years and stuff happens."

"Wouldn't you think . . ." she began.

"And don't forget that Maine has the oldest population of all the 50 states. And our county, Lincoln, demographically, has the nation's oldest residence."

The next time we were at Deb's Bristol Diner, when even before the waitress arrived to take our order, Jim began to talk about his diabetes numbers, I said, "Not to sound unsympathetic, but maybe we should try to talk about something not medical."

Jim who is not the sensitive type, without attitude, said, "What would you recommend?"

"A book, gardening, or maybe Donald Trump."

He said, "I rather have a colonoscopy."

Deb

August 23, 2106--Midcoast: Peggy Pays A Visit (Part 1)

"If we agree to take you to the diner for breakfast you have to promise no political talk."

"So what am I allowed to talk about? The weather? Is the rain hurting the rhubarb?"

"It's past rhubarb season. But you could ask Dan, if he's there, how his peaches are doing."

"Peaches? I prefer rhubarb. At least it has some bite. Like me." She smiled coyly and that had me worried.

"Why don't we have breakfast at the house," I therefore suggested.

"I schlepped all the way up here from New York to munch on an white toast? Actually, I came all this way to witness the two of you in your vegetative state. Rising with the sun, going to bed at 8:00, eating kale. Everyone is asking what's going on with you. Salman, Meg, who by the way says hello. Everyone."

Passing over that, Rona said, "We also have very good bagels from a local baker." She added, to make the prospect of not going out enticing, "He used to be a broker on Wall Street."

Mockingly Peggy said, "And I'm sure you have lox from Russ & Daughters. Or is there a local source? Maybe someone who smokes salmon who used to be a neurosurgeon?"

"That we don't have but we do have cream cheese made by a local dairy farmer."

"I know cream cheese has to come from a cow on a farm, but I'd prefer mine from Dean & DeLuca in Soho."

"What the heck," I said, "Let's go out. But please, can we not talk about Donald Trump?"

Peggy ignored me and headed toward the car where she promptly plopped herself in the passenger seat. Rona, as a result, had to sit in the back.

"Do you think the Hermes scarf is a bit much for your diner?" Peggy asked Rona.

"I wouldn't recognize you without it."

Dan was there when we arrived and signaled for us to join him in his booth. Ever the gentleman, he rose to greet Peggy.

"So this is the famous Danny," Peggy bubbled, turning on half her charm. That, at least, was a good sign. Full charm would have levitated the diner.

"And you must be Peggy. I've heard so much . . ."

"Is he the one voting for Trump?" she whispered to me so sotto voce that everyone in the diner turned to stare at her. Unfazed, Dan smiled in her direction.

"So what's good, Danny?" Peggy asked wiggling her way into the booth next to him, "Whoopie pies? Maine blueberries? Lobster whatever? I hate lobster. Kale?" She stole a look in our direction.

"Actually, everything's good," Dan said. "I never eat it, but Deb makes homemade hash which she serves with poached eggs accompanied by her own biscuits. They came in sixth in Paula Deen's biscuit contest."

"That Paula Deen who used the N-word on TV?"

Here we go, I thought.

"I wouldn't know about that," Dan said. "All I know is that Deb's biscuits are among the best."

"If I were Peg--is that her name?--I would have turned down the award or prize or whatever."

"Her name's Deb," I said, "And her biscuits are the best."

"Back in New York no one would eat anything recommended by Paula Deen who's an out-and-out . .  ."

"That's not the way things work up here," Dan said, remaining calm. Peggy fussed with the knot in her Hermes.

"So just how do things work up here, Danny?" I wasn't sure if Peggy was being condescending.

"Well, how do they work down there in New York?" Dan said firmly but without attitude.

To be continued . . .