This past Saturday’s Women’s March 2017 was inspiring. I hope this will keep you inspired to continue the work, every day, as we rally for decency and rights for all Americans, and truly, everyone the world over.
I have endeavored to use only photos for which permission was granted, or for which none was needed. If you feel your picture was used improperly, first, I apologize, and second, please contact me at emailjanestreet@gmail.com
As promised, here is a link to the article that I mentioned on tonight’s (11/28) show. There are so many things one can to to help fight to ensure that we remain a country that accepts all Americans at the table.
Fight the good fight, darlings!
Darlings! Don’t be resigned. Don’t be complacent.
Now, more than ever, let your voices be heard.
For info on TWSS’s home on the air:
On last night’s broadcast of That’s What She Said (8/22/16), I presented a little piece in defense of facts. A dear friend requested that I create a Moment with that piece. Always eager to please, I, here it is for your consideration.
For info on TWSS’s home on the air:
www.bctv.org
You can tweet us at @shetweetstome
Follow us on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ShePostsToMe/
In the still reeking wake of the hate-fest that was the Republican National Convention, I present this clip from our 6/27/16 broadcast of That’s What She Said. My dears, love one another. “Me, me, me,” is the cry of a two year old; and it is no way to live your life.
For info on TWSS’s home on the air:
www.bctv.org
You can tweet us at @shetweetstome
Follow us on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/ShePostsToMe/
Tootling ’round town today, happy as a clam, perhaps even happier, in my trusty 2cc, I was listening to NPR, which I like to think of as “Culture on the Go!” Does anyone listen to the radio whilst stationary? Rhetorical; I’m sure many do, however, I am not of that persuasion. The radio means the smell of the asphalt and the wind in my hair. Well truly, the wind in the scarf that covers my hair. At any rate, the road represents “freedom” to me, a freedom not felt whilst in the confines of my own home. Perhaps it was all those years being constricted by my late husband, Otto.
Where was I?…
Oh yes, road, 2cc, NPR…Well, there I was. And on came the most fascinating piece.
Sandor Ellix Katz, quite the name, was chatting about fermentation. Of food. He is a, or possibly, the, “fermentation revivalist.” His exploration and experimentation in the area of food preservation is seemingly encyclopedic. He has written a couple of volumes on the subject, his latest being “The Art of Fermentation: An In-Depth Exploration of Essential Concepts.” Well la-di-da say I, in the most reverent way possible. If you are going to love a subject, I say, love it to the depths of your soul. And he certainly has. Perhaps this is what comes of being a Jew in Tennessee; one can only speculate. But yes, preservation!
Well, you all know, or should, that I am fascinated by anything to do with preservation. I love old books, papers, furniture, my 2cc, myself… To that preservationist end, I am currently soaking my face in a tub full of vinegar. This is not something Mr. Katz recommends, but I thought, “Why the heck not?” At the very least, it is refreshing, and allows me some quiet, albeit wet, time to share with all of you. The burning in my eyes is but a small price to pay for our wonderful time together!
I am very glad, however, that I invested in that waterproof and, it seems, vinegar-proof, case for my cellular telephone on which I am writing this entry. Frivolous then, prescient now.
Should you be interested in more information on Mr. Katz and his fermented life, you may follow this link: Wild Fermentation.
Oh my, my hands have gotten quite prune-y, and I’ve become overtaken by a strong desire for salad. Time to say, “Bye” for the while. Until next time we meet, here’s a thought: Try to live each day with a little more kindness than the day before. It’s just a thought.
Love, Jane
Dear friends! Jane has returned.
I must apologize for my absence, but it was a necessary one. You see, it seems I had broken my funny bone. Or at least strained it in an extremely torturous fashion.
I had been watching too much news: the world, the earth, our politics. And then one day, I felt it go. Oops, and ouch. My eyes glazed over and I became numb. Well, not actually numb; that’s what one got after one of Mr. Capote’s soirées. It felt more like being trapped in a very small room with many people you really don’t care for, and you simply can’t find the door. All you want to do is scream, “Let me out!” And, of course, no one does, let you out, or listen to your plea, so your anger grows and grows. But the room is so very small that there is no where for it to go. So you shut down; you withdraw, you close up shop for the night, or for however long it takes you to find a way out of that tiny dungeon. With your broken funny bone flailing along uselessly by your side. Actually, that is how I always felt at Truman’s. Anyway…
I have led a very free life. I have led a life of “don’t bother them and they won’t bother you.” It’s what I grew up expecting from the world; I suppose this is what happens when you cocoon in the soft silk of like-thinkers. Not that my eyes, ears, and mind were closed to what was going on around me. No, not at all. I am ever diligent; ever amused, and yes, I’ve tried to live my life as, well, an example. Some would say an example not to be emulated, but an example nonetheless.
You see, I believe that people are at heart good. That the ladies and gentlemen of the world have better things to do than to worry over other people’s lives. The rise of the politically correct movement and reality television should have been my clues that this belief was, if not wrong, at least not wholly right.
Of course, reality television is entertaining. Well, some of it is. We get to forget our own chaotic lives for a moment and be o’er-washed by other people’s chaotic lives, which, for broadcast purposes, are generally, and hopefully, far more chaotic than our own. But it does have the insidious tendency to allow us to feel free to judge. To feel better than. To look down upon. To, in the end, dehumanize our fellow human beings. And how can that not carry over to our “real” lives.
It seems we’ve become a nation of snippy little grannies with too much time on our hands. We seem to miss the irony of being judgmental of others whilst ignoring our own foibles. We all have foibles; I’ve got a box full. On a shelf. Labeled “Box of foibles; always room for more.” This is what is lovely about the human animal: We are fallible. Leave perfection to the Gods, or to God, or fate, or to whomever or whatever you choose to believe in.
And then there is politics. I have been alive a very long time (I sense the smirk; I carry my years wonderfully), and I can honestly say, as have many others, this is not a new thought I’m expressing, I’m simply expressing it in my own fashion, that I have never in my life seen a time when people were so divided, and so divisive. We have become a nation of black and white, and of course, there are many shades missing from that particular view of the spectrum.
And really, I do believe that the politically correct movement started that ugly ball rolling down a very steep hill.
Political correctness is, in and of itself, a lovely idea. Communism is, in and of itself, a lovely idea. Fried ice cream is, of itself, a lovely idea. But the practice, the reality, of these things is where things can get pretty messy (especially in the case of fried ice cream).
When the PC craze started, happy day!, we were to be aware of other peoples feelings, religions, beliefs, what have you. It was an ideology that was to make us more empathetic to, with, I’m never sure, our fellow human beings. Unfortunately, what is did was to create a legion of snitches, snipes, and overprotective whiners who were more interested in what other people were doing than in their own doings, all in the guise of “doing good.” It was, is, like being in a giant nursery where everyone weeps and wails, and no one takes responsibility for themselves, being, of course, too busy worrying about the others.
And then this latest political season hit, and I truly mean hit. Like with a big nanny stick. And I mean no disparagement to grandmothers everywhere; I could have been one myself. But I am not.
Watching these gentlemen and ladies turn the waa-waa tables; it has been a masterclass in, to use the political parlance, “spin.” There is no way to think, act, believe, other than what they espouse. If you do think, act, believe otherwise, and this is the rich and horrible part, you are treading on their rights.
I wake up each morning and I go out into the world with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. At no point in my day, do I expect people to agree with me, or even to like me. If they do, that’s grand. If they don’t, that’s grand, too. Live and let live. Enjoy your day. You hate people who are different than you, fine, I’ll give you a chance, try to see what makes you tick, have a little lively conversation. If at the end of the conversation, not argument, not shouting hysterics, conversation, if then you still strongly believe that you are somehow better, more entitled to your opinions than I am to mine, again, fine. Go off, carry your beliefs proudly, just don’t try to foist them on me with violence or legislation. I probably won’t like you, but so what, you probably won’t like me either. The world is a big place with room enough for all of us. As my dear late friend Bob used to say, “That’s what makes the phone book.” It seems, however, that some people out there won’t be happy until “John Smith” is the only name in that book, endless repeated over and over, page after page.
And perhaps, I need to put another ice pack on that funny bone of mine.
Be well, my friends. Try each day to look at the beauty and peace that is all around you, instead of the fear and hatred that is being thrown like tear gas into a loving world.
And don’t forget that I, and the rest of the ladies are back on the air, live, on Wednesday, May 16th at 9pm! Thank you BCTV for picking us up!
Love, Jane
Ok, darlings. I am finding it evermore difficult to hold my tongue during this barrage of political yammering that is the Republican nomination season. And so…
For several years now, and ever-increasingly during this political maelstrom, I keep hearing that “we need to take our country back”.
My goodness, “back” from what, exactly?
As I look over the history of this country, what has made us strong, vibrant, and desirable (much like me) is our growth, adaptation; our desire to, and for, progress. And now, it would seem, listening to the rhetoric being blasted all around us like piercing shrapnel, we have progressed too far; we need to go back, we need to stop this bold march into the future and return to the values and ideals that “made America great!”
This seems a conundrum. Well, not so much a conundrum as simply misinformed blather. How can we return to what made us a shining example for all the world – albeit lately somewhat tarnished – when what made us great was our desire for progress? How does one go back to go forward? Well, I suppose it is a conundrum. And one that hasn’t been addressed at all in this season of condemnation.
Call me crazy – and many have – but I like my right to vote, my ability to choose what I do with my body. I like to know that the food I eat is reasonably safe to eat; that there is some attempt to assure that the air I breathe is relatively non-toxic. I am comforted by the fact that, while not perfect, our education system is not just a crazy quilt of philosophies and methodologies. I like that I have friends of many varied beliefs, religions, orientations, and pet preferences. And I like that we all have the right to be different; to march to our own drumbeat; to follow our own path.
And that is what made America great; the ability to be who we are without interference. And sometimes, paradoxically, one has to implement controls in order to make sure those freedoms are not trampled upon. Yes, darlings, sometimes we need rules in order to be free; wrap your head around it: even chaos has an order.
When I hear these folks running for office say they want less government interference, it seems to me what they are really saying is that they want greater ability to interfere without restriction or consequence.
And that, my dears, would be a truly frightening step backward in the progress of this great country of ours. Regression is for cowards; progress is what keeps us alive. And I, for one, love being alive!
Love, Jane
Oh, my dears! What a day this has been!
I am sorry to be so late in posting. My aeroplane from Bulgaria was delayed, ah the travails of modern travel!
Yes, I hopped to Bulgaria for a quick respite from the daily grind. Jane was in need of her beloved town of Pomorie and its medicinal, healing spas. The people are lovely and the mud is heaven! A special “Thank You!” goes out to Benesj, my lovely young man with a trowel. His muddy hands are magic! Then, I had to pop down to Burgas to do a little shopping. And then, home I came.
What do I find upon my return? Scandal and stupidity! Truth be told, and I try to always be truthful, when I left the States, the Double S’s were omnipresent anyway. They seem so difficult to avoid these days. While I always expect to find gold when turning over rocks, I seem lately to find only…well, unpleasant creatures. ‘Tis a sign of the times, I suppose, and one that will undoubtedly circle ’round again, as the times always do.
I had a lovely time voting last week. (Thank you, ladies, for reminding me.) It was the last thing I did before flying out. I returned to find some I voted for had been elected, and some had not. All-in-all, I was not unhappy. I suppose I would have liked to see what Mr. McHale would have done with Reading, being a relative newcomer; not part of the existing, grinding, political machine, as it were. But “Hail” to Mr. Spencer, and God be with you as you take the wheel of this largish and ungainly ship.
And now, ‘ere this post becomes even later than it is already, I shall sign off. As my dear late friend, Mr. Welk, used to say, “Until next week, keep a song in your heart!”
Love, Jane