The world probably knows by now that I am disabled and a bit elderly. That is, I’m a walking disaster about to happen. My family treats me as fragile and that’s fine with me, as long as they also love me and fear my wrath at the same time. I have spent a lot of years becoming formidable, and I don’t intend to lose that attribute now.

Which makes it particularly annoying to have to spend a good part of every morning figuring out what I can and cannot do that day.

Is this a minor China breakage or a Lenox Apocalypse kind of day? How many things will I drop and can I bend to pick them up? And if someone else has to pick them up for me, will I accept graciously? Gracious is also what I aspire to be, but it can be a struggle when I feel like a doddering old lady—my, my, what an awful thing to be in our society.

To be old is to be irrelevant. Most cashiers in most big box stores know this. Their eyes are busy roaming the oncoming lines for someone they might like to talk to instead of the Grey Panther in front of them. I make an effort to be gracious, nonetheless.

One of my younger female doctors recently completed a checklist audibly. “Sexually active, no.“ You can imagine how much I enjoyed startling her with a robust affirmative. With a large smile, of course, because one must be gracious.

Today is a possible China apocalypse day, so I am lying in my armchair with the heat and massage built in and working up to slowly, oh, so slowly, unpacking my husband’s grandmother’s China. It will happen one plate at a time, with both hands.

Sometimes I dream of twirling, and running, bouncing on trampolines, riding horses—anything that would send my family into hysterics if I actually attempted to do them.

Then I handle the China carefully and am, oh, so gracious while I serve whatever I have managed to concoct for dinner. A simple affair these days. But what leads up to it is always full of drama.

I’m baaacck! I’ve decided to revive this blog as best I can, disabled and addled and old as I am. Always be yourself, my grandmother told me. You have very little choice to be anything else, my peers say. Tune in for my matutinal thoughts, my continued efforts to educate the world about Roma and Native culture, my writing tips, and yes! Study Hall will be back! Listen to podcasts of some posts at https://anchor.fm/glenda-bailey-mershon.

https://www.canva.com/design/DACF1pmdCBg/vq2HSl5AeD9rq2gSkiBDfg/view

Like. many of you out there, I’m still a bit stunned, but it’s time to pick ourselves up off the mat and get to work. Even though the landscape has changed around us, we must remember that this is real life, not the world in our head. 

We have options. As writers, we have the privilege of showing our readers a world that could be, whether for better or worse, or the world as we see it. We could hole ourselves up and write a diversion, much as J.M. Barrie wrote Peter Pan to exorcise the death of his brother, David.  Our response could be to write a fantasy in which all becomes right with the world. Or we could write the unvarnished, naked truth. 

I’m feeling more like the unvarnished, naked truth these days. I have a feeling that for the next few years, my favorite people will be satirists, or comedians. Wanda Sykes on Trump  

We’ll see what comes out.
Today, I will lay hands on my new novel, The Man Who Loved Chocolate. 

I will also write a little love letter to Hillary Clinton, who I’m sure isn’t getting enough love, and never enough appreciation, these days. If you’d care to join me in that venture, the address is:
Hillary Clinton, Post Office Box 5256, New York, NY 10185-5256