My motto as an editor: Authors are the authority on their work. I'm a full-service editor. For a reasonable fee, I'm your writing coach from the first suggested revision to the correction of the final typo.
I hurt my back again yesterday (Sunday). It happened the same way as the last time. I lift something a little bit heavy. A few minutes later I bend down to pick up something on the ground. My lower back says, Oh, no you don't!
So now I'm in pain and not doing much of anything.
I decorated the living room, especially the mantel. I only put up one tree this year. It's in the dining room so I can see it from my desk while I'm working. It has lights on it and a few ornaments. I don't know if placing more ornaments will proceed. My back is in charge.
I've already decided I'm not baking cookies this year. I don't feel up to it. I usually fill cute bags with cookies to give to my team, the IT guys (I love them), and the security guards. This year we are on J's team. I can't possibly make enough cookies to fill bags for 13 people, plus the 2 IT guys, plus the 2 security guards. So rather than wear myself out, I'm just not doing it. I have some little bags of Cheryl's cookies to share.
People will probably like Cheryl's better anyway. I don't think my homemade things are as popular as they used to be when we lived in Maryland. I've spent hours embroidering quilts for babies or decorative lap quilts for adults. People used to say, This is beautiful! This is amazing! Now they don't know what I'm giving to them and act as if it's a burden. Things have sure changed.
At least the dogs like everything I give to them.
Pardon me. I'll go now. I feel pretty whiny and unloved today.
me princess auntie rebekuh brought fritz and thanksgiving food kiss auntie rebekuh face every time she bent down
kiss fritz all over play with him took him outside 3 times with penny i poop in yard fritz smells my poop funny stinky stinky stinky fritz sniffs my butt tickles
ate some turkey clean mommy plate after she ate bitsaturkeysmashedtatoesgreenbeansyumyumyum delicious
snuggled fritz
i am princess i roar when i bark i am big i patrol house and yard and garage sniff sniff sniff with my nose look for mr rat will kill him if he comes back
i know where auntie maureen lives right across road with cars must look for cars if auntie maureen needs me she must say help princess and i will run run run to help her and will roar because i am princeeeesssss princess do not go out door alone must wear leash hurry mommy if auntie maureen needs me
run in yard with penny fastfastfast it's chilly no more hot feel good chilly run fasterest when chilly zoom zoom zoom penny arthuritis don't hurt no limp zoom zoom zoom
run in and out in and out in and out fun fun fun feel good sooooo goooood
gottagogottagogottago got lots to do will patrol kitchen maybe findapieceaturkeyyumyumyum
A gigantic palmetto bug is on the loose in my house.
I hate these bastards. They're ugly. They skitter around where they shouldn't be.
I'm terrified one will crawl on me when I'm sleeping and run into my mouth or my nose or lodge inside my ear and plant itself inside my brain . . . no, that's a worm in the brain for Robert Kennedy, Jr., who doesn't want your children to be vaccinated so they can enjoy the pleasure of childhood diseases.
But, ah, I digress.
I've spotted this particular bastard five times.
Sighting #1. Middle of night Tuesday–– I couldn't sleep and went to the kitchen for a drink of water. Turned on the lights. I screeched when the bastard darted across the kitchen counter. Tried to hit him with the fly swatter. He dropped to the floor and disappeared.
Sighting #2. Wednesday evening–– I was watching TV and he galloped up the wall behind the TV. I screeched and sprinted for the swatter and bug powder.* He ran to the underside of the doorway and threatened to descend on my head. I evaded him with a zigzag pattern. Then he flew to the floor and disappeared.
Sighting #3. Later Wednesday evening–– I got up to head for the bathroom and there he was, making a run across the dining room, headed for the hall. I screeched, but approached with swatter and powder in hand. He scurried up the hall door. I blasted him with powder once, twice. Tried to stomp on him when he plunged to the floor. He ran in the linen closet and disappeared. I hoped the next time I saw him I would be disposing of his grotesque corpse.
Sighting #4. Thursday evening–– The bastard is still very much alive. I can't remember where he was. Screeched. Tried to powder and swat him. He got away.
Sighting #5. Last night (Friday evening)–– Opened the dishwasher and there he was on the edge of the door. Ran for the powder and swatter. He was gone when I returned.
I give up. I'm inviting him for Christmas dinner. I'm sure he'll bring his friends, the sonovabitches, along with the entire Bastard Family. I'll move out on Boxing Day. The house belongs to them.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
*
This chalky stuff does not kill bugs on contact, but a large dose of it tends to slow them down.
I also sprinkle diatomaceous earth in the back of cabinets and behind appliances.
At one time I had a big jug of Orkin bug spray. I could shoot that stuff on palmetto bugs until they were in a puddle of it. It didn't slow them down a bit.
Sunday afternoon I mowed the back yard, which doesn't take long, and then I went to the front because I wanted to plant some bulbs so I'll have tulips and daffodils next spring. As I perused the area where I want to put the bulbs, I bent down to pick up some sticks and something on the right side of my back went
Sharp pain! No bulbs went in the ground.
Monday evening I was in the kitchen and leaned down a little to toss a little something in the trash. The left side of my back went
As I gasped in discomfort, I turned my head a bit and something in my neck wentAnd just like that, I became an official member of The Mitchell Block Aching Back (and neck) Club. We meet at Moving With Mitchell, where we see glorious photos of Spain, and a couple of times, we've seen the moon, a.k.a. Mitchell's bottom. We also eat San Geraldo's baked goods. I love Mitchell dearly, and I think everyone who knows him feels the same.
I had also hoped to start getting out some Christmas decorations. That hasn't happened. It's a good thing my work requires I sit. Although I'm stretching and moving carefully, the pain persists.
Likewise, the psychic pain from the election persists. To soothe my battered soul, I've been rewatching Downton Abbey. The first season alone offers such delights: The removal of Mr. Pamuk's corpse from Lady Mary's bed in the middle of the night! The machinations of Thomas and O'Brien, especially O'Brien "dropping" the soap! Branson has a thing for Lady Sybil, who has a thing for women's rights!
I can hardly stand to look at the news. He nominates one violator and idiot after another. The only good thing I can say about Pam Bondi is she's not Matt Gaetz. She has vowed to prosecute the prosecutors and investigate the investigators. Jack Smith moved to dismiss the election subversion case against the orange creep. There will be no justice.
Bob mentioned something at his brilliant blog, I Should Be Laughing, that I've been pondering for quite some time. It's something Carol and I have discussed. Don't you think it's strange the orange creature doesn't talk about the attempt on his life? That's something Carol and I, and I'm sure some other people, expect he would fixate on and not stop talking about how everyone screwed up and he's going to fire them all because "they" allowed him to be shot (maybe not shot, but something hit his ear and it bled). It was a big photo op for him. I bet he was scared shitless, or shitty. It's weird. Just think about it.
Moving on, I've been pleased to see gas prices decrease, but that won't last after the cretin enacts his 25% tariff on Canada. We get a lot of our gas from our friends to the North. I wonder if anyone has even tried to explain to him that WE are the ones who will pay for the tariffs? Probably not. Everyone should know by now that it's pointless. This is a man who thought a hurricane could be stopped by dropping a nuclear bomb in the eye.
We are going to miss Joe Biden and Kamala Harris.
I have turned down any and all invitations for Thanksgiving. I appreciate the kindness of my friends who issue invitations, but all I want to do tomorrow is take a nap and only talk to Princess and Penelope. It will be lovely to have a day without any questions from our clients, who do not read the documents we send to them. I'm happy to help them. I really am. I just want a day of NOT doing it.
Our current supervisor, J, is relaxed and laid back, yet he is thorough about taking care of our needs. I appreciate the way he has taken us on. I am thankful for him.
I am also thankful because Carol is here after spending the summer in a cooler climate. She fell recently, though, which concerns me greatly. She has a huge bump on her forehead at the hairline and terrible black eyes. It breaks my heart to see her discomfort. Carol is 85 and verly lively and independent but she also had a bad fall last year.
Carol told me she has a t-shirt with a quotation on it from Democratic Congresswoman Jasmine Crockett: BLEACH BLONDE BAD BUILT BUTCH BODY
As Franklin so often said, snicker snort.
Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate it. Let's all try to Keep Kamala and Carry Onala. 💙💙💙💙💙
Hello, it is I, Penelope, and something horrible has happened and I cannot stop crying WAAAAAAAH sniffle sniffle WAAAAAAAAH blubber sniffle Auntie Rebekah left and SHE TOOK LITTLE FRITZ WITH HER! WAAAAAAAAH!
I knew something was up. I just knew it. Auntie Rebekah was all busy busy busy putting clothes and things in suitcases and boxes and taking this and that out to the car. I spent an entire night in the bedroom closet, watching her so she couldn't sneak out when it was dark.
But when the sun came up in the morning, she left anyway and SHE DID NOT COME BAAAAAACK WAAAAAAAAH!
Mom Mom said she went to apart meant. I did not know where apart meant could be, but then I realized Auntie Rebekah meant to be apart from us. But how could she take our adorable little Fritz? When she brought him here, I thought he was ours to keep.
Princess and I took such good care of Fritz. We kept him from falling when he was in the yard. We never stole a treat from him even though we could have because he was so tiny. When Auntie Rebekah was gone and he cried Maaaama Maaaama we comforted him.
And now he has been stolen away from us. I cry night and day and night. I cannot sleep. All I do is cry. No one comes to comfort me. I cannot eat a treat or play with toys or run in the yard because my heart is broken.
I do not think I will ever recover.
That is all. Goodbye.
P.S. I realized I should add some information WAAAAAAH to my blog post. Princess also misses Fritz, but she mostly misses morning coffee and a cigarette with Auntie Rebekah. I warned Princess not to get addicted but she did.
And I think I know why Auntie Rebekah took Fritz to apart meant. WAAAAAAH sniffle sniffle I need to blow my nose. Just a minute.
I think they went to apart meant because Mom Mom was mean to Fritz so Auntie Rebekah had to protect him by taking him away. Mom Mom is so cruel to me, the saddest, most abused little dog in the world. When I napped, Mom Mom probably picked on Fritz and told him he's a bad dog and made him all sad and unhappy so Auntie Rebekah had to go away with him. I do no know what I will doooooooo. WAAAAAAAH WAAAAAH Mom Mom will get no sleep tonight because I will not stop crying WAAAAAAAH I need to blow my nose again. Pardon me.
I was working in the yard a few days ago and needed something from the garage. I realized someone was watching me.
I went in and out of the garage for hours, grabbing various tools and then putting them away. He was always there. I got as close to him as I dared. His name is Buddy. We chatted. Penelope and Princess accepted his gentle presence without question or barking.
In the early post-Daylight Saving Time darkness, I bade him good night.
He wasn't there in the morning and hasn't returned, but I left the door open for him.
After the break of morn, after the dancers' leaving, after the stars are gone, many a heart is aching . . . .
After the excitement of Kamala Harris replacing Joe Biden as our nominee (although I love and appreciate Joe Biden and still felt he could do the job) and the thrill of the debate, I sensed her opponent would win.* The people who love him do not care that he is out of his mind, that he will lie when the truth will do. We can't say the media didn't report on the crazy crap he said. It was certainly on CNN.
But the MAGATs don't watch CNN. They laugh and cheer no matter what he says. Some of them repeat lies––such as hurricane survivors only receiving $750––without knowing the lie originated with him. They get their news from click bait and TikTok.
I can hardly bear to look at any news now. I see headlines such as TRUMP PREPARING FOR MASS DEPORTATIONS.
So good luck to you, ya idiots.
I just deleted the rest of what I wrote about the election because it was bitter and angry and served no purpose.
The past couple of weeks have been difficult and distressing.
The day before the election, something occurred at work that had me so disturbed I frightened Princess and Penelope with my anger. I hate upsetting my innocent friends. Rebekah kept quiet while I let out my fury and supported me emotionally until the issue was resolved by management. I still miss my first supervisor at this job, Bryan, so much. He was only in his 20s, yet he was the best supervisor I've ever had.
I do not mean to imply the problem was with the supervisor who replaced Bryan. She and I gradually developed a warm relationship. However, we stopped hearing from her around October 10. We were shocked when we learned she passed away October 21. She was 40 years old.
We don't know the cause of death, but I was aware––and I imagine other members of our team were, too––she wasn't well.
Rebekah and I went to her funeral in Orlando Sunday. The drive was about 2 1/2 hours each way. The funeral was supposed to start at 9 a.m., actually began about 10, and ended a little before 2. We did not go to the cemetery and the meal after the burial, but we stopped for lunch on the way home. We left about 6:15 a.m. in rain and darkness and returned home in heavier rain and darker darkness a little before 6 p.m. My back and head rebelled after the long day.
We think we will be assigned to the other supervisor in Jacksonville. Rebekah is on his team. He's a pleasant fellow. He's been on vacation and I'm not sure when he'll return, so more to come.
Hang in there, every buddy, as Franklin would have said, and yeah, good luck, ya idiot voters. Franklin would have sneered at you.
Keep kamala and carry onala.
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
*Although I realized he would win, I thought the election would be close and we would have to wait a few days before he was declared the winner.
Election day is finally here. I voted by mail weeks ago. If I recall correctly, the election was finally called for Joe Biden on Saturday. I wonder how many days it will take this time before we know the winner.
If you haven't voted yet, of course I urge you to head to the polls and VOTE BLUE. We don't deserve a president who wants to be a dictator on day one or any other day.
Kamala Harris has both sense and sensibility. She can do this job and do it well if we have enough brains to give her the chance.
If you know you're registered to vote, don't put up with anyone telling you that you can't vote. Trump supporters may try to suppress the vote.
1-866-OUR-VOTE
ELECTION PROTECTION HOTLINE
If you don't have to work tomorrow and you're lying on the couch and thinking you don't want to go out to vote, then please think again about what an important election this is. Also, if you just can't make up your mind in spite of all the information against Trump and in favor of Harris, then vote for Kamala Harris because you'll make Jimmy Carter happy. He's 100 years old. He voted for Harris/Walz. He'll be thrilled to see her elected, and he is a great man.
If you aren't moved by the thought of making Jimmy Carter happy, then vote for Kamala Harris because Franklin would have wanted you to, and Franklin was the best boy ever. And he was a damn good driver.
I've written a lot and shared many memes making it clear that Donald Trump is mentally ill. A vote for Trump is a vote for the destruction of democracy.
But I haven't written enough about reasons to vote for Kamala Harris, other than the simple fact that she isn't Donald Trump.
So here we are, the day before the election and I must take advantage of the opportunity to share some information about Vice President Harris. I know I'm preaching to the choir, but what if someone stops by my blog, looking for a reason to vote for her? As a voter, a citizen, and a blogger, it's my responsibility to write about Ms. Harris.
Kamala Harris celebrated her 60th birthday recently. She is the daughter of a biologist from India, the late Shyamala Gopalan, and a Black Jamaican economist, Donald Harris. Kamala has a younger sister named Maya. Their parents divorced when Kamala was seven years old.
Kamala graduated from Howard University in 1986 with a degree in political science and economics. She graduated from Hastings College of the Law in 1989.
Harris' work as a lawyer quickly focused on fighting for the rights of victims, including abused and neglected children. In 2002 she was elected district attorney of San Francisco. She initiated a Hate Crimes Unit; one of its priorities was protecting LGBTQ children and teens in school. Harris also fought truancy. She pledged never to seek the death penalty and stood by her pledge.
Kamala Harris was elected attorney general of California in 2010. One of her friends was another attorney general, Beau Biden of Delaware.
Then in 2016, Harris became the junior senator from California. She fought for gun control and healthcare reform, and became known for her adroit questioning of Trump nominees, including Brett Kavanaugh.
Her run for the presidency in 2020 ended pretty quickly, but can't be viewed as a failure. She became Joe Biden's running mate.
Kamala Harris was the first Indian & Black American to run for vice president, the third woman to run, but the first to be elected.
As vice president, Harris cast a record number of tie breaking votes in the senate. No such position as "border czar" exists, but President Biden tasked Harris with cutting back immigration from El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras––a goal she met with great success.
Vice President Harris always supported President Biden. When other Democrats turned on Biden following his problematic debate performance, his vice president stood with him and did not betray him.
She has praised the president's courage and intelligence.
Now, Kamala Harris is the first woman selected to run for president as the nominee of a major political party.
She chose Tim Walz, governor of Minnesota, as her running mate.
Together, they support a woman's right to control her own body, LGBTQ rights, and increases in border security. Harris and Walz are gun owners, but want to increase gun control. They support continued aid to Ukraine and Israel.
She has plans for her administration, not concepts of plans, actual plans. Harris wants to improve the economy by ending price gouging and taxing the uber wealthy, among other items on her agenda.
Kamala Harris married Doug Emhoff, also a lawyer, in 2014. She clearly takes delight in her role as stepmom to Cole and Ella, who call her Mamala. Doug's ex-wife, Kerstin, supports Kamala's candidacy.
Kamala didn't cheat her way through school. She's worked hard, including a summer stint at Mickey D's when she was in college.
She supports faith and hope rather than hatred and failure. She doesn't think America is a garbage can.
America is a great country. It can be better, but it will not be better if Harris' opponent is elected president.
Kamala Harris had to throw together a campaign for the presidency in a hurry and she did so brilliantly.
I was worried before her debate with Trump. It's very difficult to hold one's own against someone who's insane, yet admired by people who are caught up in the excitement of the insanity. His ugliness passes as charisma with his fans who love releasing their own bigotry and hatred while laughing and applauding his.
Then the debate turned into pure joy. She laid out the bait and that fat orange rat gobbled up every bit of it.
While campaigning, Harris still managed to assist in recovery efforts following Hurricanes Helene and Milton.
Kamala Harris doesn't have a perfect record in her political life (no one does), but she hasn't been involved in any scandals. She doesn't call people pigs and dogs. She doesn't threaten people she doesn't like. She remains calm when she's heckled.
I want so badly to be able to call her Madam President.
Please pardon my absence of late. We've had some strange goings on at work. I look forward to catching up on your blogginess and hope you are all well.
As is her wont (German Shepherds shed approximately 365 days a year), Princess was shedding Saturday. As I brushed large amounts of hair from her, I wadded some of it up and put it on Rebekah's head. She said she will dye it orange and be Donald Trump for Halloween.
Yes, it's almost Halloween. And it's almost election day.
Bob and Annette, who live across the street next door to Maureen, put two Harris signs in their yard. I was thrilled.
I also saw a number of other Harris signs as I drove around the neighborhood but only a couple of trump signs. I've been afraid I might be attacked if I put a sign in my yard, but the other signs made me brave.
Here's my first ever yard sign for a candidate.
I already voted, of course, and my ballot was received.
When I was dusting recently (I know it's shocking but occasionally I clean the house), I found the sad, dessiccateded corpse of a little lizard on a windowsill. I gave him to The Top of Armoire Gang to be their pet.
The Gang didn't seem him as a pet, though. They turned him over to Vice President Kamala Harris, who pulled off his dried up tail. They all laughed.
Then Vice Presiden Harris and President Biden held the lizard and chortled about its similarity to a certain TV reality show host who cheats, bankrupts his businesses, and lies, but somehow thinks he's qualified to be POTUS.
Hurricane Milton decided to take a turn away from us. Although we got quite a bit of rain and have a few branches down, it's not as bad as post-Hurricane Helene. The electricity flickered off and came right back on a few times overnight.
We got off so easy!
Lake Junebug doesn't have enough water for me to bother with opening The Lake Junebug Resort & Rumpus Room. Sorry, everyone. You'll have make your reservations for next summer.
I feel for the people in Tampa, Sarasota, and other locations where the water is deep and they have a lot of damage.
I stayed up until 4 a.m. keeping an eye on things. Keep this top secret, confidential information to yourself: I took a new job with the Biden administration. I'm the one who hooked the weather control device to the giant faucet. I hope I can continue my work when we elect Vice President Harris.
Uncle Milty, as my great good friend Lorraine at Rocking Retirement called the latest and greatest hurricane, arrived in Florida as a Category 3 storm, then settled down happily into Category 2. According to CNN, more than 1.6 million people in the state have lost power. Wind gusts of 100 mph were recorded near Tampa. The center is 75 miles southwest of Orlando. DisneyWorld closed this afternoon. Multiple tornadoes hit other parts of the state today.
In my part of Jacksonville, we had light rain on and off most of the day. Heavy rain started at about 5:30 p.m. The wind picked up a while after that. It's now 11:54 p.m. EDT, October 9.
We are fine. Lake Junebug is very wet but the sparkling waters haven't accumulated sufficiently for me to even consider the possibility of opening The Lake Junebug Resort & Rumpus Room. I'll probably be telling a different story by morning.
About 7:30 p.m. the power flipped off and right back on three times.
We filled the bathtub with water. We have water in pitchers and some of my beloved Tupperware bowls. We have plenty of non-perishable food, just in case it gets worse, and it probably will.
Rebekah and I also took showers so when rescue workers find our bodies, at least our bloated corpses will be clean. (I'm kidding!)
Someone who evacuated from another area last night posted on Facebook that the interstate was packed and it took seven hours to travel 200 miles. Plenty of people in evacuation zones don't leave because it's so difficult. And what about people who have no transportation? What are they supposed to do? The governor said the state will have a "robust response" to storm damage, but the issue to work on next is how to get people out of evacuation zones smoothly and safely. At least Ron admitted to receiving assistance from President Biden. DeSantis is such a trump kiss ass that he's been refusing to take calls from the president and from Vice President Harris since Hurricane Helene. Who the hell does he think he is?
Anyway, the word from the Dept. of Emergency Management this afternoon was if you haven't left, then it's too late. Shelter in place.
I don't know if I'll get much sleep tonight. If the electricity goes off and comes back on multiple times during the night as it did during Helene, I wake up every time it goes off.
Just to reiterate, I am not in an evacuation zone and never have been. If we were not able to stay in the Little House On The Swamp for some reason, I would find the nearest Hilton still standing and head there with Rebekah and the dogs––Maureen, too, if she needed to leave.
Speaking of dogs, Princess is asleep on the couch next to me. Penelope is hiding in the bedroom closet. Fritz The Wonder Dog is in bed with Rebekah.
It's now Oct. 10 so I'll say good night. If you don't hear from me later, it will be because the internet is out, but that would be very unusual.
Thank you all so much for your concern and kindness.
Here we are, waiting for Hurricane Milton to arrive, although we have a second big pile of debris from Hurricane Helene at the curb still waiting for a big truck to come to whisk it away. Wouldn't you know we'd get the yard cleaned up only to have another storm move in?
My messy yard stuff is nothing compared to the suffering so many other people have experienced because of Helene.
We expect a lot more rain this time, along with the wind. *big sigh* The Little Pump That Could is back in the yard (I had just put it away in the garage), and we have plenty of hurricane appropriate snacks and drinks.
This morning I'm going to head to the pharmacy for my flu shot and the latest COVID vaccine.
I had my yearly physical last week. My blood pressure was low, low, low.
A few weeks ago I had a medical colonoscopy/endoscopy, as opposed to a screening colonoscopy. The doctor said afterward that I don't have cancer and I do have acid reflux, so I have yet another pill added to the handful I take each morning. I need to go in to see his assistant to find out what else is wrong with me, other than I'm full of shit.
I'll do my best to report on Milton. We still miss Franklin, the Weather Watch Dog. When Franklin went out and came back with wet fur, it was raining. When Franklin panted, it was hot. When Franklin decamped for my bedroom closet, it was thundering.
I hope you'll stick around for the Another Junebug Production video below, starring Fritz The Wonder Dog.
Helene made herself quite the unwelcome guest last night, but we made it through the storm more easily than a lot of people.
I had the Little Pump That Could ready for floodwaters in the backyard, but it didn't rain much. The problem was the wind. Tree limbs crashed down all night.
Here's Penelope checking out the yard this morning.
More than 100,000 people in Jacksonville are without power. We are not among them. I'm not sure what time it was that the power flipped off and on multiple times, but eventually, it stayed on.
At one point, a Roomba and a mopping robot decided to leave their charging stations to clean the house. Maybe they thought all the noise had dirtied the floors.
I'll have a lot of cleaning up to do in the front of the house, too, but the yard refuse truck came around first thing and picked up a big pile of debris I already had at the curb.
Helene blew in and broke the gate to the backyard. Rebekah and her husband, Franklin's beloved Uncle Eddie, effected a repair so the dogs can still go out.
If you were in the path of the storm, I hope you came out as well as we did. We didn't have any serious damage and no one was injured. We didn't get a lot of sleep, but we're fine.
Here's the calm after the storm:
If Helene came your way, please let me know how you are.
One of my favorite writers, F. Scott Fitzgerald, was born on this day in 1896.
I think he looks very sensitive and handsome in the above photo, although he does not seem to have been a very sensitive person in practice. He didn't have a lot of compassion for the people who loved him. If I recall correctly, his daughter, Frances Scott Fitzgerald [Scottie], didn't talk about him much but once told a friend that her father was a son-of-a bitch.
Would he have been as famous if it hadn't been for his personal life? I've enjoyed reading some biographies and a book with letters Scott and wife Zelda wrote to each other. He and Zelda were the embodiment of the Jazz Age––riding on the roof of a taxi, jumping in the fountain at The Plaza, getting kicked out of a hotel because of their wild behavior. Scott performed gymnastics in the lobby and Zelda slid down the bannister. The other guests tired of them and complained.
Lovely young Zelda
Scott mined Zelda's life, her words, and her writing for his own work. When Daisy recalls the birth of her daughter in The Great Gatsby, her words are almost an exact copy of what Scott quoted Zelda as saying after Scottie was born Oct. 26, 1921. Zelda resented the way Scott used her and wanted her own success.
The alcoholic son of an alcoholic, Fitzgerald struggled to find success after the 1920s. During the Great Depression, readers began to lose interest in his work, which so often incorporated wealthy characters. Flappers were no longer in fashion. He failed in an attempted career as a Hollywood screenwriter.
Zelda was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1930. She spent years in and out of mental hospitals. When she was out, she usually lived with her mother and only saw Scott occasionally. Scott wrote short stories and desperately tried to sell them to pay for Zelda and Scottie's care; he seldom had time to work on novels. His drinking ruined his health. A number of people recalled his cruelty when he was drunk. By 1936, the royalties from his books amounted to $80. Scott sent Scottie to a fashionable boarding school. During her breaks, she lived with Scott's literary agent, Harold Ober, and his wife, Anne.
On December 21, 1940, Scott died from a heart attack at age 44. He believed he was a failure. His books were no longer carried in bookstores. On March 10, 1948, Zelda died in a fire at a mental hospital. She and some other women were in a locked ward and couldn't get out. Scottie became a journalist, a writer, a prominent Democrat, and married twice. Her first marriage produced four children. The children played with remnants of their grandparents' lives, dressing up in their old clothes kept in a trunk. Cancer killed her June 18, 1986, when she was 64.
My all-time favorite novel is The Great Gatsby, which is very highly regarded now but was not a success when it was published in 1925. It's beautifully written––lyrical and doesn't have a wasted word with a perfectly planned plot.
Scott Fitzgerald didn't like his own short stories for the most part and thought they were a necessary waste of his time. Many of them are classic stories that are much appreciated now. My favorite is considered "minor Fitzgerald," The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. I love it for its whimsy. (I didn't like the movie of the same title that is only loosely based on Fitzgerald's story. The movie doesn't capture the nature of his writing.)
When we moved to Maryland, on our first full day there, I insisted on a trip to Saint Mary's Cemetery in Rockville. In that beautiful churchyard, I visited Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald's graves. They are side-by-side. Scottie is buried close to them.
Scott's gravestone bears the last sentence of The Great Gatsby, and oh, what a sentence it is.
“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
Infinities of love,
Janie Junebug
Sources:
Some Sort of Epic Grandeur: The Life of F. Scott Fitzgerald by Matthew J. Bruccoli
Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda: The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald -- edited by Jackson R. Bryer and Cathy W. Barks
Thank you to my lovely friend Joanne at Cup On The Bus for posting the link to this excellent Robert Reich video that provides a cogent list of the worst things about trump's presidency––just in case someone is thinking about voting for him and can't remember how awful it was the first time around.
Reich actually gives us more than the 10 worst things during the former guy's term in office, but the list goes by quickly. If you think Reich missed anything, then please share it in your comment.
💙💙💙💙💙💙💙 VOTE BLUE 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙
When Auntie Rebekah arrived in our home, coffee drinking commenced. Auntie Rebekah stumbles from her bed each morning, bleary and bluggy, croaking out her need for coffee. And she is not fit to live with until she drinks that stuff.
I do not understand this need for coffee. Mom Mom drinks water, milk that has achieved a score of 2 percentage points, and Diet Pepsi. Mom Mom does not drink coffee, although she assures me it is ordinary for most adults in our country to want coffee in the morning. Still, I do not approve because another problem with the coffee has come up.
When Auntie Rebekah drinks coffee and eats her breakfast, we have to stay very close to her in case she chokes on something and needs me to perform the Hymen maneuver. Princess and Fritz must join me to clean up her spills. In the photo above, she has a covered cup, but she usually has an open cup of coffee and my little sister, Princess, might have accidentally stuck her tongue in the cup and now she has developed a taste for coffee.
Every time Auntie Rebekah walks away from her coffee, Princess takes a drink of it. I told her she must not do that! She is drinking the germs and bacteria Auntie Rebekah spits into the cup. Coffee will also stunt her growth, and caffeine will keep her awake at night. I do not think I can deal with a sister who has chronic insomnia.
Thus far, Princess has not listened to me. She hasn't my years of experience that have led to my great wisdom and made me the paragon of virtue that I am.
Please help me explain to Princess that she must not drink coffee.
And please tell me this is not true:
I know it is not true that people who come to live in the U.S. eat pets. I am too smart to believe in such stupidity. I join Mom Mom in reminding you to vote for Kamala Harris.
