This past weekend got off to a terrible start. The death of Ruth Bader Ginsburg hit me like a ton of bricks Friday night. I burst into tears, which alarmed my husband, and couldn't stop crying for a good half hour. Not because of her dying (although that in and of itself is sad enough) but because I knew that the Trumpers would be rubbing their hands in glee and would immediately pounce on the opportunity to fill another SCOTUS seat with a religious extremist. (I was right.) And it fills me with despair to think of that iconic woman battling to her last breath to hang in there until after November. She deserved so much better--a chance to rest and enjoy a few years of retirement, at least--not to feel compelled to leave a message with her granddaughter that her "last, fervent wish" was to not be replaced until after our election. She knew what her passing at this particular moment would mean. As my friend Marian so succinctly put it in a text she sent me later that night: WE ARE FUCKED.
It's almost too much to bear. This whole year has been nothing but fear, despair, loss. I'm not sure how I'd cope if I didn't have a strong, happy marriage and several like-minded friends to share my anxieties and heartaches with. Marla and Martina came over for drinks on the porch Saturday night, and our first order of business was raising a glass to RBG. This was followed by hours of wine, food, and talk. It was exactly what I needed. The next morning, Sunday, I met up with some other friends, Marian, Paulette, Kathleen, and Karen for coffee at a cafe with outdoor seating. They're all having a tough time with everything that's going on, just like me. Again, it was good to be with like-minded, sympathetic people. We all had a chance to do some venting and blowing off steam. Then I came back home and made a strong effort to forget about the outside world for the rest of the day.
The weather was beautiful. It's finally turned cool, and the nights have been getting downright chilly. Hummingbirds have been sucking down sugar water at the feeder furiously for the past week or so. It's got to be about time for them to depart. I wonder what things will be like here when they return next spring?
So that I don't end on a sour note, here's a little video of Marco on his porch swing the other day. Gregg said, "You shouldn't put that on your blog. He looks ratty right now!" and he does, but that's all part of molting which he's starting. He's growing new feathers, so I'm sure you all understand. :) Everyone likes a good Marco post, so this should make up for the lack of those lately and all the doom and gloom.