Social recap, styling notes, and a thought about the debate fallout

After her wedding dress fitting last week, my girl and I went for dinner and margaritas at our favoritie place by the river. We laughed, we shared tender heartfelt things, and at one point she cried, still gutted by grief, even as she prepares for her happy day. As the tears fell, I quietly held her hand, marveling at the way one can allow the rain to fall while never relinquishing the sun. But that's life, right? It's never just one thing. And so just two days later my cousins from Virginia and Maryland came to town so that we could all attend the funeral service of another cousin, Derrick, the patriarch of our generation, who recently died. Our generation of twenty-nine Stiebel first cousins is now only twenty souls strong on this earth, with my brother as the new patriarch.

Derrick loved music, used to engineer his own speaker sound systems, and he and his wife were famous for basement dance parties at their home on Long Island. At his service, everyone joined in singing Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" as a moving send-off ("Don't worry, 'bout a thing, 'cause every likkle thing, gonna be alright ..."), and the repast afterward, held on the upper floor of a Uniondale firehouse, was a rousingly DJ'ed dance party. Derrick was in his eighties when he died. He had a good innings, and everyone was in the mood to celebrate his life, and to remind ourselves of the particular blessings and joys of growing up close to so many cousins.

Continuing the social round, we rang in my son-to-be's thirtieth birthday on July 4, at his family's cookout in upstate New York. My daughter and her love took off early the next morning on a flight to Maine for the first of three weddings this month, which will culminate in their own. I took the advice of some of you here and consulted with a stylist about what I should wear as the mother of the bride. The upshot is I now have three good options, all of them quite simple, nothing fussy, which means I will be comfortable in any of them. I will probably go with the a floaty green tunic over white for the photos, but who knows, I might change into a second look for the reception! 

One of the stylist's most critical contributions was advising me on what garments worked well together, and also sourcing accessories that I love—well, the metallic gold sandals look great, but I think I'm only going to wear them for the pictures, and change into my old faithful Finn Comfort sandals afterwards. But the necklace and earrings are a definite win; they totally lift the whole look, and they didn't break the bank either. But the thing I am most grateful to the stylist for is that she brought in her tailor and is having the pants and gauzy white shell altered to fit my specific body. 

The stylist is a gorgeous woman, who is herself plus size, and she had me ordering smaller and smaller sizes, thereby demonstrating to me that I have been wearing tops four times larger than my actual size, and that I should be wearing pants two to three sizes smaller. At one point, trying on a garment, I complained to the stylist, "But I can feel the armholes of this blouse," to which she replied, "That's because it fits you." It was a revelation. Once I knew my actual size (she took all my measurements), I realized that a blouse I loved that I thought didn't come in a large enough size to fit me, could actually be mine. So I ordered it. It arrived. And it fits! It is one of the three options.

So that's my wedding news. As for my daughter, she is refusing to overthink the details. "My dog died, I'm not stressing it," has become her mantra and, you know, it's actually a very healthy attitude. This new sense of perspective is carrying her through.

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A word on that disastrous debate showing by Joe Biden, which is all anyone can talk about, even though the orange wannabe dictator lied his way through the whole thing, and made outrageous promises about all the fascist actions he will undertake once in office, and the revenge tour he will embark on to neutralize his enemies. With the Supreme Court conservative majority ruling he is immune for official acts—and, not incidentally, reserving the court's right to determine what actually constitutes official acts—such revenge might well include tribunals and worse. You may think I'm being hyperbolic, but if Trump gets back in office, it's well within the realm of what's possible. 

Now everyone is calling for Biden to step down, and right after the debate, I thought he should too, but now I think we all better strap in and go along for the ride, because if anyone is actually depending on who is on the Democratic ticket in order to vote blue, then we're in trouble. Apart from the fact that Biden will have more moral people in positions of authority around him, helping to guide the country forward, the only criteria for this vote is to ensure that Trump and his Heritage Foundation Project 2025 handlers do not win the White House in November. If Project 2025 is implemented, women, immigrants, LGBTQIA people, teachers, the disabled, pregnant people, the elderly, Muslims and all other racial and religious minorities will have hell to pay. Social security, Medicare, the Department of Education, the FBI, and Environmental Protection Agency will also be abolished, and that just for starters.

The first step, on day one, will be to fire thousands of federal workers and replace them with Trumpers willing to sign a loyalty pledge and do as he directs. Go look it up. Believe me, even if you think you have nothing to fear from a second Trump presidency, unless you are a straight White man of some means, you'll be just as f*cked as everyone else.

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I'm just really gobsmacked as I contemplate the extreme duality of life, right now. Life is good. Life is horrifying. Both are true.