Monthly Archives: March 2018

On Stormy Giving Voice

Stormy Daniels
Thanks to Bill Haber
AP File, 2009

There’s something about the way Stormy Daniels struts her boobs, defiant, proud, in your face, so to speak, the perfect parrying partner to Mr. Trump, our president, the ultimate defiant boaster. I am grateful for Stormy’s willingness to tell her story on 60 Minutes. I am intrigued by the strategy of this woman who is going toe to toe with our president for the attention of the media.

Am I grateful to watch Melania, her head bowed as she pushed ahead of her husband as she exited the plane at Mar-a-Lago? No. I have empathy for Melania. She is tall and stately, elegant in her repose a day before her husband’s former paramour will tell a story that will only pile more shame on the first family.

Am I grateful that two more women have come forth? Yes. They carry the story of the underbelly— the fact that Mr. Trump believes he can do as he wants at will and then clean it up. What Stormy is doing, what Stormy is saying, is that there is no cleaning this up for Mr. Trump. It’s a messy mix of excess hubris, licentiousness and misplaced power that fuels the wave Stormy is riding.

Will I watch 60 Minutes tomorrow night? Marv and I have the ritual-every Sunday night- of watching 60 Minutes. This will be no different though I must admit I am very curious about the details and how much these details will affect public opinion. I am among the frustrated who watch Mr. Trump pivot, deflect, change the subject, attack, blame, obfuscate in any way possible rather than to acknowledge what is fact.

Stormy promises a “reality” story about her relationship with the “reality show king.” Anderson Cooper, a cool, calculating commentator will be asking the questions, pulling up the threads. I doubt he will shy away from trying to expose the underbelly of the contracts and I’m hoping she will not disappoint. This will be, after all, her time. Unlike Hilary, she will not have Mr. Trump skulking at her back, pacing, pushing into her space, attempting to constrain her voice.

I am grateful that Stormy has the means and ability to take her space and to use it. I hope that the other two women, Playboy model Karen McDougal and Apprentice contestant Summer Zervos, who have simultaneous suits have their say in court and in the media. Mr Trump is a media hog. Every morning, he rises, not to open the blinds and greet the day with positivity, but to use free media to deride and divide, to Tweet at will, far and wide.

As for sex and the presidency, for some, it’s part and parcel, about the attributes and perks of power. But power gone too far must be dealt with. Will Stormy’s story make a difference? The complexity of this story cries out. How can it not? Stormy’s interview, her willingness to go toe to toe with Mr. Trump, is about her right to give voice to her part in the story, a story that a very powerful man paid big money to bury.

 

After The Storm

During the most recent ice storm, waffle sized snow pellets fell from trees and crashed onto my roof and skylights. I rushed from room to room to make certain that the jolting noise did not forecast an implosion of shattered glass and leaks inside. For two hours, the glass and seals held. I was grateful for dry floors and ceilings, the absence of drip and drip lines.

Afterwards, as I walked down the driveway to search for the Boston Globe, my smoke bush seemed off balance. One of the main branches had slit in two and crashed sideways into a pile of snow. Thankfully, plants regenerate. I was grateful to reflect upon how this corner shrub, exposed to the street, had been assaulted and felled by snow and rain yet regained its stature time and again.

Now on alert, I took note of three large severed branches off the tulip tree. A thick limb rested on the Daphne whose spring-fragrant branches were wrapped and secured to wooden poles. The shrub, a favorite, with a lifespan of five years, had survived double. Each year beyond the five had seemed miraculous. The felled branch means breakage near the root and likely a certain death knoll. For now, I am grateful the Daphne still stands.

Yes, there were many others— branches split in twos and threes, their jagged arrow shapes beseeching skyward. I am grateful for Jon, my go-to tree expert with eyes that scan and note the unusual— a cut, a misshapen turn in the crown, a thickening of branches, a sign that the tree is vulnerable to wind or ice. He comes by yearly to assess the tree line, recommend trimming or removal to keep us safe from trees uprooted or splitting off into a side or roof window.

Around the corner, up the hill, my neighbors were not so fortunate. The street, my access route for getting around the city, was roped off for days. Yesterday, at dusk, I did a double take as I drove to the top of the street and passed a four-foot wide ball root of a massive double oak tree lying in a driveway. I was grateful there had been no news of injury and more grateful for the many trees surrounding that remain rooted.

Here, in the Boston environs this past week, two massive Nor’easters moved up the coast pummeling high winds, massive tides, torrential rain and a mix of ice and snow. Houses were swept away. The sea raged for days, flooding roads, houses and trees, taking electric wires with them. On the 6:00 news, a street in a local suburb, without power for five days, finally had a visit from the electric company.

In contrast, my inconvenience is minimal. How can I not feel grateful to be among those who were sparred, to be able to cook my meals, sleep in a warm bed, to awaken safe in my home. Another Nor’easter is nearly upon us. I’m uneasy about high winds and the possibility of outages but grateful to be forewarned and as prepared as possible.