matching tracksuits

fun in threes, sometimes fours

Shifting Ground

Coming out of cultic, conspiratorial thinking is a process. It's not something that happens overnight. It's not the flip of a switch: "I believe in lizard people. BOOM! Now I don't believe in lizard people." There's a push and pull, a rise and fall to the process. It starts with the most basic thought: "I could be wrong about this." But turning your back on a set of theories (for lack of a better term) that one has invested so much into is difficult, and giving up all that, admitting that one is wrong is tantamount to admitting that one wasted a significant portion of the short life we have here on earth.

DeAnna Lorraine, the QAnon conspiracy theorist and rabid Trump supporter who recently ran for Congress, seems to be making those mental movements in a recent video. She begins with the assumptions of QAnon:

Because we have so much trusted this plan, we always think he's playing 5-D chess. Anything that looks questionable, we think, "Okay, it's a strategy. He's playing 5-D chess. We don't have anything to worry about." Is it possible that that is a detriment to us?

That's a level of self-reflection and vulnerability I would not have expected. She seems to be suggesting that her assumptions about Trump's acumen and about the whole farcical idea that he's battling a cabal of Satanic, cannibalistic pedophiles that has embedded itself in the government and entertainment industry -- she sounds like she's suggesting she might be wrong.

Later in the video, she says,

We're going to know for sure. Is Trump really the 5-D master chess player who is just going to totally decimate the swamp and arrest all these deep state operatives and everything we've seen up to now is just a massive, you know, all these brilliant chess moves and it's all going to come into play in a sting operation and QAnon is real and everything is happening and everyone was right. Is justice finally going to be served? Are we finally going to see that checkmate? Are we finally going to see the traps close? Or, we're not. Or we're going to find out the truth. Maybe things failed. Maybe QAnon operation wasn't real. Maybe, maybe some things weren't really the truth, right? But we're going to know in about twenty-five days.

Such an admission, it seems to me, is something we should be applauding. Yes, Lorraine has done tremendous damage in spreading the QAnon nonsense, but if she can manage a shift, if she can see the light for herself, perhaps there's hope for others. Perhaps she could be a force that mitigates the damage of the QAnon cult.

Unfortunately, I fear she's going to be mocked. Right Wing Watch explained the video thusly:

https://twitter.com/RightWingWatch/status/1343999462633570304?s=09

Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps she'll never stop rationalizing. One user tweeted in response:

https://twitter.com/WasOptimist/status/1344001808906256389

But maybe that pessimism is wrong. Maybe we should give her the benefit of the doubt and not mock her. Mocking never works. It's fun, I know -- I've done it enough in my online life. But we know it never works. It's like a cold wind trying to blow the jacket off someone: she just holds on more tightly. It's a natural reaction. Mocking certainly does little to reverse this slide into hyper-partisanship we're suffering in America now.

If anything, the more I think about it, the more I realize folks like this need compassion more than anything. They're trapped in conspiratorial thinking that is not often easy to escape. That sounds condescending, but it's not meant that way. These people aren't stupid. They might have ruts in their thinking; they might lack critical thinking skills; they might gain a certain comfort from this kind of gnostic, insider thinking; they might be lacking in education to one degree or another. But they're not stupid.

I think Michelle Obama was right: when they go low (however we might define that), we go high.

Reflections on a Family Evening Out

“Tomorrow we go back to normal.” It was a thought in everyone’s mind. Of course, this covid-normal is far from normal, but it has become our new normal: masks, plexiglass, and social distancing while at school. We decided, though, to have one last little hoorah and went to Barnes and Noble for a little shopping. The Boy got a book about Stan Lee comics, in part how to draw them, in part how to conceptualize comics. The latter is a little advanced for him, but he’ll grow into it. The Girl got the newest addition to a couple of series she’s been reading. I thought about getting Bob Woodward’s Rage since it was half-price in hardback, but I’m ready to be done with Trump entirely, so I just let that go.

Afterward, we went to a shoe store for the Boy to get his first pair of Vans. He explained he’d wanted them forever — “My dream shoes!” — but I don’t recall him ever mentioning them. Still, he had the money from Christmas, and we let him choose how to spend it. I wouldn’t have imagined spending my gift money for shoes at his age, but he’s his own person.

On our way out of the shopping center, a young woman stood in the median with a sign proclaiming that she was homeless. I gave her five dollars as we passed her, but I haven’t stopped thinking about her that much since then. She looked to be in her mid-twenties at most, and she appeared relatively healthy, but her shoes, tattered and filthy, told a different story. All evening, on and off, my thoughts returned to her. If she was as young as I conjectured, she’s only about a decade older than L. What would I want for L if she were in such a situation? Obviously and simply, I’d want her to call us and ask for help before she ever got to that situation. Did that young lady have no one to turn to? Was she living in a car she’d parked in one of the vast parking lots of the shopping center? And, of course, there’s the common refrain: was she faking it?

A lot of people don’t give money to beggars because they feel they’ll just waste it. “He’ll just use it to buy booze.” “She’ll just use it to buy drugs.” It’s as if they don’t want to be taken for suckers, to be seen (or to see themselves) as gullible. We’d just spent a fair amount on books, shoes, and volleyball equipment (while the Boy was buying shoes): the five dollars I gave her will not make a dent in our budget. I’d rather be generous but gullible.

First Tournament 2021

The girls won the first four, lost the last.

A good start. They're not too humbled and yet their egos got a little check.

New Year Old Pics

A few more pics from K's iPhone.

2020

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

Beaufort Day 5

The Boy finally found his shark teeth. We went back to the beach famed for its shark teeth and within seconds, he'd found his first. It wasn't his last.

"Once I found one, I was in my prime!" he declared shortly before asking, "Daddy, what does it mean to be 'in my prime'?"

Photo by K on her iPhone

"I love when you use words you don't really know!" I laughed.

"What?! It was on Cupcake and Dino. I'm just not sure what it means."

I explained. It pleased him that he'd used it correctly.

Photo by K on her iPhone

Beaufort Day 4: A Day-Trip to Savannah

Our last full day in the area was not in the area. We went to Savannah because, well, it's Savannah. You can't come within 40 miles of Savannah and not spend at least some time there.

Of course, with a bunch of Poles in the group, we had to go to Pulaski monument in Monterey Square as we headed to Forsyth Park and its famous fountain.

Afterward, we headed to the water front where we visited a saltwater taffy shop, watched ships come up the river into the harbor, and wandered in and out of shops.

And of course the Cathedral Basilica of St. John the Baptist.

We finished off the day -- and, in essence, the trip -- at Tybee Island.

Beaufort Day 3

Today we headed back to Hunting Island State Park. It was in part because of something K wanted to do: there is a long trail through a coastal forest by a lagoon that leads to a bridge to a small island, and K, always the hiker, wanted to make the journey there and back. It wasn't that long -- about two and a half miles one way, but it's enough to get some folks fussing if they don't really want to participate. However, the potential fussers were sold on the simple idea that it would lead to more beach time.

It also led to something that someone had asked about before we set out on the hike ("Is that the way to the boneyard?" Boneyard? What are you talking about?) but we'd never heard of. A virtual forest of driftwood -- whole trees half-sunken in the sand, bleached by the sun, surrounded by rippled, hard-packed sand.

It was the perfect place for a series of portraits.

Beaufort Day 2

"Daddy, I have one dream for this trip," the Boy has been saying since we arrived. "I want to go shark tooth hunting." We watched a couple of videos on how to do it, and it seemed entirely possible that the Boy could find a number of them during an hour or so of searching.

After a little hunting, we asked someone who seemed to know what he's doing. "You just have to look for black triangles," he explained, shaking out of a small bottle the small black fossilized teeth he'd found during the morning. "Like that one," he continued, reaching down and plucking up a small tooth that he'd just discovered.

If it was that easy to find, we all thought it would be a simple enough matter for the Boy to discover one.

"It's my dream to find a shark tooth," E reiterated. Multiple times.

Soon enough, L found one. Then K found one. Then L found another. But E found nothing.

"Maybe we can come back later today and look again," E suggested. It was, after all, not quite low tide yet.

We headed off to the historic district of Beaufort for a little lunch and exploring. We found a charming church with an old cemetery that had a few graves from Revolutionary War soldiers. E was impressed with the age of the graves, impressed with the size of the church, but still thinking about that shark tooth he still hadn't found.

We finished up our time in Beaufort with a walk along the waterfront where marveled at the homes of the rich, large mansions that spoke of fortunes beyond our own considerations and imagination. (We got echoes of that in the evening when we watched Pride and Prejudice.)

Finally, we found a good spot for a few portraits.

Then we headed back to the beach where we'd started the morning searching for shark teeth.

The tide had risen, and the search was all the more difficult for it. Everyone searched for teeth; everyone found shark teeth. Everyone except the Boy.

It crushed him.

The whole way back to the car, he was on the verge of tears. "Everyone found a tooth! Everyone! Even L found a tooth, and she was not even interested in it until this morning!"

When we got back to the place we're renting through AirBnB, he threw himself into the corner of the couch and fought back the tears. "It was my dream to find a shark tooth!" he whimpered. "My dream!"

Earlier in the day, in a gift shop, we'd bought a small bag of shark teeth. He bought them because they were cool; I encouraged him because I knew after that morning that finding a tooth is not a guaranteed adventure. I used this to try to reason with him: "Look, you wanted to look for shark teeth. You wanted to find a shark tooth. And you wanted to go back home with a shark tooth. You're accomplishing two of your three desires."

I knew it was a long shot, and he saw right through it. "But I wanted to find a tooth!" If he'd managed that one simple feat, the other two would have automatically been fulfilled. My cleverness might have soothed a younger boy, but not an eight-year-old E.

These are the silly things that happen in the course of parenting that seem both highly significant and completely trivial. His pain and frustration were highly significant: I recall wanting something so badly at that age, how I used to get my heart so set on it that if it didn't come to fruition, I might as well have died, so bleak seemed my prospects afterward. Yet it was at the same time so trivial: he's going home with thirty to forty shark teeth in his bag. In a few weeks or a few months at most, this will be an almost-disappeared memory. It will be a foggy memory he recalls as his own son deals with similar frustration.

Beaufort Day 1

The card reader I brought is broken. How to get the photos downloaded? Connect the camera to the phone, download the images to the phone, and edit them on the phone.