An imperturbable demeanor comes from perfect patience. Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened, but go on in fortune and misfortune at their own private pace like a clock during a thunderstorm.—Robert Louis Stevenson
Gary is beginning to say: I am going to miss this. The madness and ridiculous claims. This is what red glitter party hats and alcohol can do for our mood.
Yes, we are not entirely responsible.
The “witch hunt” has landed. We turned the baby tree lights on and the sky in the west is cherry red. It took him forty-five minutes to say “beautiful.”
It took him an hour to say “the rapist and murderers” from Mexico. I will say that my Hispanic students, regardless of nationality, were good people. Oh yes, the “most racist president,” a “dog whistle.” The treatment of drug history or incarceration—oh, my goodness, Biden admitted a mistake. Trump keeps blaming Biden for every single thing (including a lot of imaginary things) that happened in past administrations. Obama’s was never allowed to do what it needed to do. The Republican Congress explicitly and deliberately (thank Mitch) obstructed every single thing the Obama administration tried to pass.
“Many other things.”
Biden attempts to be a reasonable human being; Trump says whatever occurs to him at the time.
Biden is hope, Trump is despair.
“”He’s actually president of the Unites States. I can’t believe it!”
We are watching New Tricks and then something funny to get the taste out of our mouth. Fortunately it’s about old bands from the 69s/70s (Blind Faith and Cream, the original Fleetwood Mac and someone playing a righthand guitar upside down and backwards) and so Gary keeps commenting about the guitars.
Today would have been her 91st birthday. Ursula K. Le Guin was born in 1929. I just read through the story collection, The Wind’s Twelve Quarters, which contains Le Guin’s earliest work and “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.”
As soon as I open a document and before I begin typing, I select ‘Layout’ to indicate margins on my page. The guidelines do not show when I print, but they help me know where I am as I write.
Ursula K. Le Guin helps me know where I am.
She is not gone.
from Brevity
The obituaries are respectful. They list her more obvious accomplishments—the awards, the publications, her activism and generosity to other writers. They want to label her a “popular fantasy” writer, though these are not terms she would have chosen. “Why Are Americans Afraid of Dragons?” she asked in 1974. We dismiss what we consider “unrealistic” in our country, but that is a mistake. In the hands of a philosopher with substantial anthropological credentials, essays and poems, novels and stories are not escapism but challenges to our imagination.
For more than twenty years, I began my Junior English classes with Le Guin’s “The Wife’s Story” (1982) from Buffalo Gals. I read the five pages aloud, and then we talked about the nature of betrayal until the bell rang.
That most famous story, “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas” (1973), provokes questions: Would readers walk away or stay in paradise. Are we willing to allow another pay for our perfection? They are troubling questions, but contain another, underlying moral assumption: Must someone pay? In our superstitious faith in balance, do we demand another’s pain for our pleasure?
She gives us the suffering child in the basement because we insist that child exist.
“If you cannot or will not imagine the results of your actions, there’s no way you can act morally or responsibly,” Le Guin said in 2005.
My husband was standing at an information desk in Powell’s Book Store, a couple of years ago, when he recognized Ursula coming up the wide stairs and duck around into the Purple Room.
“There goes Ursula Le Guin,” he said to the millennial behind the counter.
“Who?”
We laughed about this again just the other day. Young sales clerks being what they are, they will learn.
Imagination is not mere child’s play, it is the only way we pursue what is possible, what is grand and just and beautiful.
She should have had the Nobel. She should have lasted longer because we need her here. We should have appreciated her more while we had her. My deepest sympathy to her family, her closest friends, and to all the rest of us. ___
Jan Priddy took classes from Ursula K. Le Guin, took tea in her Cannon Beach kitchen, ferried her to readings, and attended Jane Todd’s writers’ book club where Molly Gloss sat on her right, Ursula next, and Cheryl Strayed on her left. She read her books. They both had two years of Latin in high school and loved the beach.
My husband ordered a pair of shoes identical to the pair he’s worn out and plans to use for gardening, replacing the identical pair before that, which has holes. In one day this order of shoes traveled via FedEx from Knoxville, Tennessee to Nashville. Three days later they made it to Troutdale, Oregon outside Portland, Oregon and more or less 100 miles east of our home. Three days after arriving in Troutdale, they had traveled further away, 167 miles north to Kent, Washington. I predicted that.
If a used paperback book purchased from a charity shop had gone USPS from the beginning, I would have found it in my box the last time I went to the post office. Instead it was shipped via a USPS “partner,” One Stop Mailing. That book’s journey started in Portland, Oregon, then it went to Illinois. It’s in Las Vegas today.
You can’t make this silliness up.
The painting shipped via UPS from the other side of the country is lost forever. Now, every time we see a shipment arrive in Hodgkins, Illinois, we hold our breath till it leaves that hub.
The hand sewn doll from Russia took months to get here. I suspect U.S. customs took her apart because she wasn’t put back together quite right. But at least she arrived.
The US Postal Service does not deliver to our physical residence. This is true for several communities in our county. The thing is, they do almost always deliver.
A FedEx delivery person walked into our garage unmasked a couple of weeks ago, and because of that I tried very hard to find a shipper of the popover pan that would deliver to our post office box. The shipper accepted our P.O. Box address but then could not deliver to the P.O. Box. “We never deliver to Post Office boxes,” I was told by FedEx, the shipper I had been trying to avoid. Well, then why accept the package and ship it across country . . . ? That led to a series of desperate measures on my part and eventual delivery of the popover pan to a drop-off station fifteen miles north, after a replacement popover pan arrived our Post Office box, and eventually yet another popover pan via FedEx. Gary is afraid we have been charged for all three; I am certain we have been billed for just one. I even contacted the company to ask how to pay for the excess, but they don’t want me to pay anything more. The pans are made in America and if I am right about what we’ve been billed, I will go order more stuff from them. (If they promise not to ship FedEx.) They really did go overboard making it right.
We order used CDs and books, fabric and handspun yarn, and the part Gary needed to repair the phantom flush of the toilet. He tried to buy that one locally, but the store was so crowded he decided it was safer just to order online.
Since we try not to pick up the mail more than once (or twice) a week, we pay close attention to tracking. The local drop-off station for private shippers (who eventually received and delivered two of the popover pans) says the rush of shipments has already exceeded what he would normally expect around Christmas. He’s a little concerned about how everyone will manage in a couple of months.
For a few weeks in midsummer, I ordered nothing except food. But yesterday I ordered a skein of yarn and then another skein from the same hand spinner in Texas. The vendor messaged me, suggesting that she refund the purchases so that I could reorder them together and earn free shipping. That was just so sweet! I look forward to yarn arriving though it does mean I will have to get the next warp on my loom sometime soon.
All of this fuss about shipping is trivial, we know. There are more important, life-altering events heading our way.
In the mean time, tracking provides much-appreciated comic relief.
“I look at the ocean every day, for hours at a time. Perhaps [Homer’s] wine reference refers not to hue, but purely to darkness, richness. The ocean’s surface is various, it glisters and gleams, lies flat and dull, is blue or green or gray or purple. I have seen the water’s surface appear both dark and the color of wine.”
Allison K Williams recommended I listen to a Radiolab podcast about color. For people interested in color, this is a good podcast. (This is where I admit how much I do not enjoy podcasts. It was a challenge for me to listen even though color is a fascinating topic to me.) And Gladstone’s observations about color in Homer’s work . . . this led to the absurd theory that no one could see blue or most color until recently. sigh It’s “ridiculous,” as the presenters in the podcast say, but some people did take him seriously and on some level it’s sort of true. And here we go with them insisting “blue is actually very rare in nature.” Not true, but even though I had not read this theory, I suspect they are right that you “don’t need a name for a color until you can create it.” I had hypothesized that myself, but blue is the last and red is the first color name in nearly all cultures. Blood. You have to notice a color as a color to name it, and apparently to “see” it. Red is at least as difficult to create as blue in fabric and even more difficult in glass or glaze. Yet we notice blood more emphatically and emotionally than blue.
The UK had plant dyes of madder for red and woad for blue until they found access to cochineal (an insect that dyes red) and indigo (a plant with the same chemical found in woad that dyes blue). In the mean time, yellows and greens are easily achieved with all sorts of plant sources. Purple comes from over-dying red with blue or vice versa but in ancient times, a rich purple came from a particular Mediterranean shellfish. I got it from purple iris flowers, though it was a fugitive color. Cobalt blue, derived from cobalt carbonate, is also fugitive in fabric but one of the most stabile colors in glazes.
In my public high school, I used cobalt carbonate to make blue glazes and radioactive “vanadium stain” to create a brilliant yellow glaze when I was 15 years old, but I only got a lovely pale violet (using nickel as best I can recall). Red was impossible to achieve at the temperatures I was firing—the chemicals (such as cadmium) vanished into the air in an oxidizing environment. Copper gave me only green glazes, and a blue-green when a tiny amount of cobalt was added. In a reduction kiln (where a fuel burns away the oxygen) copper can produce red-copper glazes. In making glass, red is created with gold. That might work in glazes too, I do not know. It would have been an expensive experiment. Today I would not be allowed to do any of this as the chemicals are all toxic. I used asbestos gloves to unload the kilns too.
I first studied color theory in my freshman year of college as an Art major at the University of Washington. A boy in my Design class who thought he knew everything began arguing with what we were learning about color mixing. (Yellow and blue make green etc.) Hazel Koenig patiently explained that the colors of pigment and light mix quite differently. The perception of light through three color receptors (red blue green) is not at all how we interact with colors in the physical world of pigment or paint.
Demi Lovato, performing “Commander In Chief” during the Billboard Music Awards, broadcast on Oct. 14, 2020 from the Dolby Theatre in Los Angeles. Well. I cried.
If you can’t see this video here with many people seeming to sing, maybe go find it on YouTube. I did my best. It’s wonderful.
“NBC reportedly edited from broadcast the word ‘VOTE’ in large letters behind her during Lovato’s pre-recorded performance. The network published the original edit of Lovato’s performance on their website, with the large backdrop appearing at the end, but this version was not aired during the Billboard Music Awards telecast. Instead, Lovato’s performance ended with a closeup of the singer looking down at her piano, sans ‘VOTE’ visual. Before the telecast ended, the NBC Entertainment account tweeted out a photo of Lovato’s performance with “VOTE” being a dominant aspect. Even though this image did not air, Lovato retweeted it without comment.”
Lovato’s tweet.
A reminder to us all, those of us who went to Sunday School or Temple or had parents who sat us down and reminded us to think how the other person feels, those of us who refused to accept the cynical message that winning is the only thing. You are not alone. We are not alone. America is better than this.
By facing the president head-on when other artists have been oblique, and confronting him on a human level, the US pop star’s song Commander in Chief has intense potency.
Responding to the scolding of a Republican fan on Instagram yesterday, Lovato wrote: “I literally don’t care if this ruins my career. This isn’t about that … I made a piece of art that stands for something I believe in.”
“I’m urging you to look out for one another, to support your loved ones, your neighbors, & those you may not have met yet in your community.”
—Demi Lovato on Instagram
•
I cannot discover who is signing on this video, but I break down every time she’s up. Anyone know who she is?
Despite nearby forest fires and smoke and helicopters, power outage, impossible travel and seclusion due to covid, and an earthquake for Heaven’s sake—despite these trivial challenges, a former student and friend managed to marry today in a beautiful backyard garden. Her father was the officiant, her mother spoke, a neighbor added heartfelt wishes, the couple said their vows and danced, and two people who love one another are married.
Something wonderful happened.
[I won’t identify the couple as I do not have permission. Gary and I attended virtually.]
The air is clear here and has been good for days now. Rain has settled smoke out of the sky and made fighting the fires more possible in other parts of the state. Two weeks ago a powerful windstorm knocked leaves off trees, stripped some alder trees almost bare, stripped flowers and leaves from the lacecap hydrangea in our yard, and knocked down trees and power lines locally. Our fallen power mast has been replaced and insurance will pay all but the $1k deductible. No one was hurt, but that and the smoke might explain the behavior of some birds. The clean air explains this morning’s sky tinted pink the way it should be, and two skinny trees are still clinging to the cape.
Our sons and their families are well. As Gary said just a few minutes ago: We did the best we could and not a bad job raising our boys. Now it’s up to them.
We walked long yesterday and creek to creek today. The baby crabs have continued to surprise us in their variety. There was a seal just offshore the other day. We heard but did not see our favorite black oystercatcher child. The young eagles have moved on, the ravens are about, fifteen crows have been hanging together on the sand, in trees, in flight. An extended family.
Ruth Bader Ginsberg has left the building. I read some comments in major newspapers that blame her for not retiring earlier while Obama could have replaced her. Why pretend it’s her fault for not guessing she would die? Why pretend McConnell would have allowed anyone with her heart, honor, and steel to replace her? Why not blame how people ought to have voted in the last Presidential election? Why not go back to the 90s and blame the failure to eliminate the Electoral College? Why not blame . . . well, this does no good at all.
We all did the best we knew how. Now it’s up to us all to find a way to make it better.
Today is the last full day of summer. Gary and I sat on the deck and talked about repairs and gardening and tidying that we will begin now and complete . . . probably never. There is always something that needs doing. Something we must put on a list and check off after it’s done.
This past year has seen many changes for us. A marriage is coming apart, but not ours. I vowed to buy no more than eight items of clothing during this entire year and it looks like I will manage that. We stopped gathering trash off the beach, though Gary still carries an old plastic bag in case of syringes or fluorescent lightbulbs cast onshore—we’ve gathered many. We gave up all seafood at New Years and going-on nine months in, I think we do not miss it much. We are fully vegetarian. I have only the frame and border to sew onto a quilt top and I expect to finish it tomorrow. I have lost count of how many quilts and weavings I have completed so far this year, but there is a present waiting for me to pack it up for mailing to a dear woman and a wedding present for a former student who is having a virtual ceremony next month. I am invited to participate in a couple of events virtually that I would not have been able to attend in person. It is the new normal, in a good way.
I painted the stair treads dark green. I let the front yard grow wild. I have hung things on my walls that I have been meaning to hang for years. The painting by Jeanie Tomanek never arrived. “Soul Queen” is lost forever, but I have “Bramble” on my wall. The handmade Russian doll by Marina Glebova took four months to arrive and I am more than half convinced that customs took her apart before sending her on. Now she lives under a glass dome on my dressing table that once belonged to my mother.
“Soul Queen” by Jeanie Tomanek
But RBG is gone and members of my family are way beyond “unwell” and into what I cannot call anything less than “mentally ill.” One of them spills madness into my husband’s ear on the phone, believing all the conspiracy theories and that everything is ugly and cruel. But then so do other people I know (and many I do not know) believe in cruelty—people who are not even schizophrenic. While I was writing this, one of them tried to post a vile comment about Ginsberg, but I will not approve it. I am not such a “toad” or “fool” as to allow space to someone who posts hate, and anonymously. That poster meant only to hurt, and succeeded. Yippee for them. I would prefer to be hurt than hurter.
Stories stir in my head, but I am not yet writing them. I think maybe in November I will try NaNoWriMo here. I have an essay coming up on 16 October on Brevity, the day before my birthday. I thought I didn’t have anything left to say, but then I did.
I am taking a break from this blog. This is my last post for a while. I thank my readers for being here, for reading, and for their thoughtful and often kind comments. I expect to be back. Maybe in a few weeks, or in winter or the new year or even sooner when something wonderful happens.
I cannot begin to do her justice. She was an uncaped crusader, an advocate for justice at every stage of her life—the finest role model I can think of. Ginsburg expressed a modest view of a Supreme Court justice’s role: “Judges are something like firefighters. They don’t make the fires, but they do their best to put them out.”
Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, a diminutive yet towering champion of human rights who became the court’s second female justice, died Friday at her home in Washington DC. She was 87.
“Joan Ruth Bader was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1933, the second daughter in a middle-class family. Her older sister, who gave her the lifelong nickname ‘Kiki,’ died at age 6, so Ginsburg grew up in Brooklyn’s Flatbush section as an only child. Her dream, she has said, was to be an opera singer.
“Ginsburg graduated at the top of her Columbia University law school class in 1959 but could not find a law firm willing to hire her. She had ‘three strikes against her’—for being Jewish, female and a mother, as she put it in 2007.
“She had married her husband, Martin, in 1954, the year she graduated from Cornell University. She attended Harvard University’s law school but transferred to Columbia when her husband took a law job there. Martin Ginsburg went on to become a prominent tax attorney and law professor. Martin Ginsburg died in 2010. She is survived by two children, Jane and James, and several grandchildren.
“Ginsburg once said that she had not entered the law as an equal-rights champion. ‘I thought I could do a lawyer’s job better than any other,’ she wrote. ‘I have no talent in the arts, but I do write fairly well and analyze problems clearly.’ ”—Associated Press
The loss is enormous. Our loss. The nation’s loss. The loss to humanity.
Mourners gather at the steps of the Supreme Court.
from Heather Cox Richardson’s post “Letters from an American”:
Tonight, flowers are strewn on the steps of the Supreme Court, where “Equal Justice Under Law” is carved in stone. More than a thousand people gathered there tonight to mourn the passing of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who died today from cancer at age 87.
Justice Ginsburg was born in Brooklyn, New York, on March 15, 1933, in an era when laws, as well as the customs they protected, treated women differently than men. Ginsburg would grow up to challenge the laws that barred women from jobs and denied them rights, eventually setting the country on a path to extend equal justice under law to women and LGBTQ Americans.
Joan Ruth Bader, who went by her middle name, was the second daughter in a middle-class family. She went to public schools, where she excelled, and won a full scholarship to Cornell. There, she met Martin Ginsburg, and they married after she graduated. “What made Marty so overwhelmingly attractive to me was that he cared that I had a brain,” she later explained. Relocating to Ft. Sill, Oklahoma, for her husband’s army service, Ginsburg scored high on the civil service exam but could find work only as a typist. When she got pregnant with their daughter Jane, she lost her job.
Two years later, the couple moved back east where Marty had been admitted to Harvard Law School. Ginsburg was admitted the next year, one of 9 women in her class of more than 500 students; a dean asked her why she was “taking the place of a man.” She excelled, becoming the first woman on the prestigious Harvard Law Review. When her husband underwent surgery and radiation treatments for testicular cancer, she cared for him and their daughter, while managing her studies and helping Marty with his. She rarely slept.
After he graduated, Martin Ginsburg got a job in New York, and Ginsburg transferred to Columbia Law School, where she graduated at the top of her class. But in 1959, law firms weren’t hiring women, and judges didn’t want women—especially mothers, who might be distracted by their “familial obligations”– as clerks. Finally, her mentor, law professor Gerald Gunther, got her a clerkship by threatening Judge Edmund Palmieri that if he did not take her, Gunther would never send him a clerk again.
After her clerkship and two years in Sweden, where laws about gender equality were far more advanced than in America, Ginsburg became one of America’s first female law professors. She worked first at Rutgers University– where she hid her pregnancy with her second child, James, until her contract was renewed—and then at Columbia Law School, where she was the first woman the school tenured.
At Rutgers, she began her bid to level the legal playing field between men and women, extending equal protection under the law to include gender. Knowing she had to appeal to male judges, she often picked male plaintiffs to establish the principle of gender equality. In 1971, she wrote the brief for Sally Reed in the case of Reed vs. Reed, when the Supreme Court decided that an Idaho law specifying that “males must be preferred to females” in appointing administrators of estates was unconstitutional. Chief Justice Warren Burger, who had been appointed by Richard Nixon, wrote: “To give a mandatory preference to members of either sex over members of the other… is to make the very kind of arbitrary legislative choice forbidden by the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment” to the Constitution.
In 1972, Ginsburg won the case of Moritz v. Commissioner. She argued that a law preventing a bachelor, Charles Moritz, from claiming a tax deduction for the care of his aged mother because the deduction could be claimed only by women, or by widowed or divorced men, was discriminatory. The United States Court of Appeals for the Tenth Circuit agreed, citing Reed v. Reedwhen it decided that discrimination on the basis of sex violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution.
In that year, Ginsburg founded the Women’s Rights Project at the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU). Between 1973 and 1976, she argued six gender discrimination cases before the Supreme Court. She won five. The first time she appeared before the court, she quoted nineteenth-century abolitionist and women’s rights activist Sarah Grimke: “I ask no favor for my sex. All I ask of our brethren is that they take their feet off our necks.”
Nominated to the bench by President Bill Clinton in 1993, she was confirmed by a vote of 96 to 3. Clinton called her “the Thurgood Marshall of gender-equality law.”
In her 27 years on the Supreme Court, Ginsburg championed equal rights both from the majority and in dissent (which she would mark by wearing a sequined collar), including her angry dissent in 2006 in Ledbetter v. Goodyear Tire & Rubber when the plaintiff, Lilly Ledbetter, was denied decades of missing wages because the statute of limitations had already passed when she discovered she had been paid far less than the men with whom she worked. “The court does not comprehend or is indifferent to the insidious way in which women can be victims of pay discrimination,” Ginsburg wrote. Congress went on to change the law, and the first bill President Barack Obama signed was the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.
In 2013, Ginsburg famously dissented from the majority in Shelby County v. Holder, the case that gutted the 1965 Voting Rights Act. The majority decided to remove the provision of the law that required states with histories of voter suppression to get federal approval before changing election laws, arguing that such preclearance was no longer necessary. Ginsburg wrote: “[t]hrowing out preclearance when it has worked and is continuing to work to stop discriminatory changes is like throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.” As she predicted, after the decision, many states immediately began to restrict voting.
Her dissent made her a cultural icon. Admirers called her “The Notorious R.B.G.” after the rapper The Notorious B.I.G., wore clothing with her image on it, dressed as her for Halloween, and bought RBG dolls and coloring books. In 2018, the hit documentary “RBG” told the story of her life, and as she aged, she became a fitness influencer for her relentless strength-training regimen. She was also known for her plain speaking. When asked how many women on the Supreme Court would be enough, for example, she answered “nine.”
Ginsburg’s death has brought widespread mourning among those who saw her as a champion for equal rights for women, LGBTQ Americans, minorities, and those who believe the role of the government is to make sure that all Americans enjoy equal justice under law. Upon her passing, former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton tweeted: “Justice Ginsburg paved the way for so many women, including me. There will never be another like her. Thank you RBG.”
For many, she seemed to be the last defender of an equality they fear is slipping away. Robyn Walsh, a University of Miami religion professor, watched the outpouring of grief after Ginsburg’s death and wrote “It says a lot about us that the loss of one voice leaves women and their allies feeling so helpless. I am grateful for RBG, her advocacy, and her strength. I’m enraged that we find ourselves here.”
That rage, prompted by the prospect of a Trump appointee in Ginsburg’s seat, led donors to pour money into Democratic coffers tonight. Democratic donors gave more than $12.5 million in two hours to the ActBlue donation processing site, a rate of more than $100,000 a minute. The effect of the loss of her voice and vote on the court will become clear quickly. On November 10, just a week after the upcoming presidential election, the court is scheduled to hear a Republican challenge to the Affordable Care Act, also known as Obamacare. In 2012, the court upheld the law by a 5-4 vote.
Ginsburg often quoted Justice Louis Brandeis’s famous line: “The greatest menace to freedom is an inert people,” and she advised people “to fight for the things you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you.” Setting an example for how to advance the principle of equality, she told the directors of the documentary “RBG” that she wanted to be remembered “Just as someone who did whatever she could, with whatever limited talent she had, to move society along in the direction I would like it to be for my children and grandchildren.”
Upon hearing of Ginsburg’s death, former U.S. Attorney and law professor Joyce Vance tweeted, “We should honor the life of RBG, American hero, by refusing to give in, refusing to back down, fighting for the civil rights of all people & demanding our leaders honor the rule of law. This is our fight now.”
Rest in power, Justice Ginsburg.
Tonight, flowers are strewn on the steps of the Supreme Court, where “Equal Justice Under Law” is carved in stone. More than a thousand people gathered there tonight to mourn the passing of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who died today from cancer at age 87.
Justice Ginsburg was born in Brooklyn, New York, on March 15, 1933, in an era when laws, as well as the customs they protected, treated women differently than men. Ginsburg would grow up to challenge the laws that barred women from jobs and denied them rights, eventually setting the country on a path to extend equal justice under law to women and LGBTQ Americans.
Joan Ruth Bader, who went by her middle name, was the second daughter in a middle-class family. She went to public schools, where she excelled, and won a full scholarship to Cornell. There, she met Martin Ginsburg, and they married after she graduated. “What made Marty so overwhelmingly attractive to me was that he cared that I had a brain,” she later explained. Relocating to Ft. Sill, Oklahoma, for her husband’s army service, Ginsburg scored high on the civil service exam but could find work only as a typist. When she got pregnant with their daughter Jane, she lost her job.
Two years later, the couple moved back east where Marty had been admitted to Harvard Law School. Ginsburg was admitted the next year, one of 9 women in her class of more than 500 students; a dean asked her why she was “taking the place of a man.” She excelled, becoming the first woman on the prestigious Harvard Law Review. When her husband underwent surgery and radiation treatments for testicular cancer, she cared for him and their daughter, while managing her studies and helping Marty with his. She rarely slept.
After he graduated, Martin Ginsburg got a job in New York, and Ginsburg transferred to Columbia Law School, where she graduated at the top of her class. But in 1959, law firms weren’t hiring women, and judges didn’t want women—especially mothers, who might be distracted by their “familial obligations”– as clerks. Finally, her mentor, law professor Gerald Gunther, got her a clerkship by threatening Judge Edmund Palmieri that if he did not take her, Gunther would never send him a clerk again.
After her clerkship and two years in Sweden, where laws about gender equality were far more advanced than in America, Ginsburg became one of America’s first female law professors. She worked first at Rutgers University– where she hid her pregnancy with her second child, James, until her contract was renewed—and then at Columbia Law School, where she was the first woman the school tenured.
At Rutgers, she began her bid to level the legal playing field between men and women, extending equal protection under the law to include gender. Knowing she had to appeal to male judges, she often picked male plaintiffs to establish the principle of gender equality. In 1971, she wrote the brief for Sally Reed in the case of Reed vs. Reed, when the Supreme Court decided that an Idaho law specifying that “males must be preferred to females” in appointing administrators of estates was unconstitutional. Chief Justice Warren Burger, who had been appointed by Richard Nixon, wrote: “To give a mandatory preference to members of either sex over members of the other… is to make the very kind of arbitrary legislative choice forbidden by the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment” to the Constitution.
In 1972, Ginsburg won the case of Moritz v. Commissioner. She argued that a law preventing a bachelor, Charles Moritz, from claiming a tax deduction for the care of his aged mother because the deduction could be claimed only by women, or by widowed or divorced men, was discriminatory. The United States Court of Appeals for the Tenth Circuit agreed, citing Reed v. Reedwhen it decided that discrimination on the basis of sex violated the Equal Protection Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the Constitution.
In that year, Ginsburg founded the Women’s Rights Project at the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU). Between 1973 and 1976, she argued six gender discrimination cases before the Supreme Court. She won five. The first time she appeared before the court, she quoted nineteenth-century abolitionist and women’s rights activist Sarah Grimke: “I ask no favor for my sex. All I ask of our brethren is that they take their feet off our necks.”
Nominated to the bench by President Bill Clinton in 1993, she was confirmed by a vote of 96 to 3. Clinton called her “the Thurgood Marshall of gender-equality law.”
In her 27 years on the Supreme Court, Ginsburg championed equal rights both from the majority and in dissent (which she would mark by wearing a sequined collar), including her angry dissent in 2006 in Ledbetter v. Goodyear Tire & Rubber when the plaintiff, Lilly Ledbetter, was denied decades of missing wages because the statute of limitations had already passed when she discovered she had been paid far less than the men with whom she worked. “The court does not comprehend or is indifferent to the insidious way in which women can be victims of pay discrimination,” Ginsburg wrote. Congress went on to change the law, and the first bill President Barack Obama signed was the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act.
In 2013, Ginsburg famously dissented from the majority in Shelby County v. Holder, the case that gutted the 1965 Voting Rights Act. The majority decided to remove the provision of the law that required states with histories of voter suppression to get federal approval before changing election laws, arguing that such preclearance was no longer necessary. Ginsburg wrote: “[t]hrowing out preclearance when it has worked and is continuing to work to stop discriminatory changes is like throwing away your umbrella in a rainstorm because you are not getting wet.” As she predicted, after the decision, many states immediately began to restrict voting.
Her dissent made her a cultural icon. Admirers called her “The Notorious R.B.G.” after the rapper The Notorious B.I.G., wore clothing with her image on it, dressed as her for Halloween, and bought RBG dolls and coloring books. In 2018, the hit documentary “RBG” told the story of her life, and as she aged, she became a fitness influencer for her relentless strength-training regimen. She was also known for her plain speaking. When asked how many women on the Supreme Court would be enough, for example, she answered “nine.”
Ginsburg’s death has brought widespread mourning among those who saw her as a champion for equal rights for women, LGBTQ Americans, minorities, and those who believe the role of the government is to make sure that all Americans enjoy equal justice under law. Upon her passing, former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton tweeted: “Justice Ginsburg paved the way for so many women, including me. There will never be another like her. Thank you RBG.”
For many, she seemed to be the last defender of an equality they fear is slipping away. Robyn Walsh, a University of Miami religion professor, watched the outpouring of grief after Ginsburg’s death and wrote “It says a lot about us that the loss of one voice leaves women and their allies feeling so helpless. I am grateful for RBG, her advocacy, and her strength. I’m enraged that we find ourselves here.”
That rage, prompted by the prospect of a Trump appointee in Ginsburg’s seat, led donors to pour money into Democratic coffers tonight. Democratic donors gave more than $12.5 million in two hours to the ActBlue donation processing site, a rate of more than $100,000 a minute. The effect of the loss of her voice and vote on the court will become clear quickly. On November 10, just a week after the upcoming presidential election, the court is scheduled to hear a Republican challenge to the Affordable Care Act, also known as Obamacare. In 2012, the court upheld the law by a 5-4 vote.
Ginsburg often quoted Justice Louis Brandeis’s famous line: “The greatest menace to freedom is an inert people,” and she advised people “to fight for the things you care about, but do it in a way that will lead others to join you.” Setting an example for how to advance the principle of equality, she told the directors of the documentary “RBG” that she wanted to be remembered “Just as someone who did whatever she could, with whatever limited talent she had, to move society along in the direction I would like it to be for my children and grandchildren.”
Upon hearing of Ginsburg’s death, former U.S. Attorney and law professor Joyce Vance tweeted, “We should honor the life of RBG, American hero, by refusing to give in, refusing to back down, fighting for the civil rights of all people & demanding our leaders honor the rule of law. This is our fight now.”
Rest in power, Justice Ginsburg.
May her memory be a blessing.
•
Generalizations about ‘the way women are,’ estimates of what is appropriate for most women, no longer justify denying opportunity to women whose talent and capacity place them outside the average description.
Justice Ginsberg, 1996, in arguing that Virginia Military Academy (a public educational institution) should open admission to women
There is a spruce tree falling off the headland—you can see it sticking out not quite at the top. Even nature changes direction over time.
This year I developed a new habit with books. As I finish a book, I make the decision: Will I ever want to read or refer to this book again? Will I want to lend it to a friend or give it to someone as just right for them? A couple of years ago, I went through my books and sorted out the ones I knew I’d read but didn’t like well enough to miss. Even so, I have thousands of books. Whatever anyone tells you, you CAN have too many books. When there is no longer room to place one more bookcase against a wall, start making the hard choices.
attempted comment on “Aspirational Clutter”
My comment (above) is awaiting moderation on a website I frequent. It’s been there for an hour. I cannot see how to either delete it or fix it. I do not know what I should fix. That’s never happened to me before. I was invited to describe personal decluttering challenges, and that’s what I did. I understand there is some sort of logarithm that determined my post might have violated the site’s “community standards”, I just can’t figure out what I did wrong. Can you? No vulgar words here. No personal attacks. It does not contradict another person’s comment—quite the opposite. Is the use of all caps in “CAN” the problem? But someone else did that too.
The editors are not censoring me. They only want me to be polite. At least I hope that’s the goal. They also want to protect their brand.
Of course I monitor all the comments on my own blog. I try to address them immediately, though I can do this only from my laptop. The only ones I do not let through would be spam, and the WordPress filter pretty much always catches that before I do.
That got me thinking: Surely the filters for FaceBook and Instagram could do better than this. They must. Assuming the effort is made to keep lies and cruelty off the sites?
On the other hand, the reason I left FaceBook was that I was tired of putting out fires. Metaphorical fires, but the similarity to the literal fires we are suffering from here in Oregon might stand. Ugly lies are spread because people believe them and fail to factcheck. Factchecking was about 20% of what I did when I was grading persuasive essays written by teenagers as a teacher. I got to be pretty good at it. And as a teaching professional, I took it upon myself even before FaceBook to confirm or debunk claims.
In the 90s, a medical resident who was also poetry editor for a prestigious literary journal foolishly (imo) revealed on a literary chat-site how he sorted the poetry submissions as they came to him. The first cut was whether they got his name right on the outside envelope. Then he tossed the ones that were not typed, had typos, etc. People were outraged, they threatened his safety, questioned his humanity. To be fair to the editor, the man received thousands of submissions in a week. Working through his inbox would be a nightmare for anyone, and he was almost a doctor. He was an unpaid volunteer doing the best he could. Plus publication in the highly-respected journal he worked for would be a professional coup for any poet. If the submitter didn’t care enough to spell the editor’s name correctly or know enough to type their work, they probably are too new to have earned publication. Let those who have devoted years to their craft advance to the front of the line. Younger, newer poets found his strategy for shortening his to-read pile arbitrary and cruel. I tried hard to balance acknowledgement of understandable outrage with the overwhelming and unpaid task the editor faced.
There have been other verbal firestorms I have attempted to douse and nearly always without effect. It was hard for me to accept that. I wanted to help, my intention was always to be helpful, but there is a kind of arrogance in that thinking—assuming I know best, and all that. Most people do not appreciate being corrected even if they are actually wrong and will resist changing their minds on principle. While trying to put out fires I sometimes fanned the flames.
Literal fire, on the other hand, is dangerous in other ways. The West is on fire and the very air we breathe is unsafe. However much we might want to place specific blame—the campfire that got out of hand, the homeowner allowing brush to build up to close to their home, the lack of funding to research wildfires and develop a proactive approach to fire—the truth is complicated and deadly.
The West is on fire, and I came to understand why east coast newspapers were giving so much space to the smoke when I realized it had drifted over Iceland and was approaching the European mainland. What happens here affects people many thousands of miles away.
Gary has a brother in Tennessee and a niece in Kentucky, but the rest of our close family lives in the PNW. Some of our friends and relatives are Trump supporters, some are solidly democratic. We have a friend who recently transferred his loyalty from Trump to Jesse Ventura. There is just no telling people what or who to believe.
In The Fire Next Time, James Baldwin explored the roots and responses to systemic racism. That is another fire we seem finally to have decided to fight—the burning devastation of bigotry. I highly recommend Baldwin’s book. Baldwin is brilliant, compassionate, and true. And yet, the feds have recently outlawed training that confronts “white privilege”. That term comes from an essay by feminist Peggy McIntosh, who made it simple in “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.” There are many versions of this 1989 essay available, and I can recommend it. I can also recommend a powerful response from another woman: “Explaining White Privilege to a Broke White Person” published in 2014. Between the two, they might just start a fire for anyone willing to read and think about them.
Some foresters have been trying for decades to explain why not all fires are bad, that some are necessary to make us safer in the future.
What we do here and now affects not just those around us but our entire world. What we are willing to research and factcheck makes a difference. Many fires are burning. The solutions are not simple, but they rely on all of us if we hope to thrive.
I have too many books, more than I can find space for on shelves. That doesn’t mean I will stop reading.
We’ve had our walks yesterday and this morning and did not smell smoke at all. I smelled only ocean yesterday, just purely ocean. Today, also chlorine in a stream and then something unidentifiable and sweet in the air.
Heavy fog when we went out just after low tide today—so thick we found the sweet spot where we could see neither shore nor surf. It is a rare thing and did not last till we turned around for home. The fog lifted as the sun rose. Every receding wave has left a line of spruce needles on the sand—a dozen lines—where usually there is only a single line of broken shells, seaweed, and feathers. Whole trees and shrubberies were nearly stripped of leaves during the wind last week. The sun was red coming up today, but my camera cannot capture that effect.
Overhead blue sky with clouds like thin curdled milk.
Gary was out scrubbing and refilling the bird bath yesterday. He says Steller’s jays have been picking up and moving rocks around in the garden. Not tiny rock, but rocks he thought were too big for them to lift. He watched them doing it but can’t explain why. Perhaps they are teasing.
There is a new pair of scrub-jays in the spruce trees next door. We have never seen them here before. (We saw them last summer in the NE corner of the state and so did others who were told by an officious biologist they were absolutely wrong because such birds could not exist there. Gary and I said nothing but exchanged a look and shrug. [photo below] I was told by a man in 2005 that I could not possible have seen Steller’s jays in Portland as a child or at the coast. He had lived in the PNW for a little over a year. “Men explain things to me.” Ha!)
The black oystercatcher pair have successfully raised a baby this year—the species is struggling but the juvenile seems well (see above). There were no birds resting at Asbury Creek north of our home this morning. [Current maps show Shark Creek as a tributary of Asbury, but my 1941 map shows Shark Creek reaching the beach further north where my online map shows a different, unnamed waterway.]
On the way home we saw several gulls eating stranded crabs.
The bald eagles have also successfully raised two babies.
Hundreds (Gary says thousands) of brown pelicans have flown over with fourteen in residence this season. When we moved here in 1979, we saw no brown pelicans because they were on the endangered species list. Today they are “of least concern.”
Thank Rachel Carson and her warning book Silent Spring.