Breaking Fake News Update (v17)

 Fake News Broke on August 30, 2025!

What's up with this particular bit of fake news, you ask? 

Well, it's me, fully embracing the Administration's move to 'classicalify' America, which he's been expressing for a while through Executive Orders. 

First, there was one issued on Inauguration Day, requiring recommendations to "advance the policy that Federal public buildings should be visually identifiable as civic buildings and respect regional, traditional, and classical architectural heritage in order to uplift and beautify public spaces and ennoble the United States and our system of self-government."

And, there's the MFABA order (Making Federal Architecture Beautiful Again) issued on August 28th, which requires new federal buildings to be built

in a way that “uplifts and beautifies public spaces” and “commands respect from the general public.”

The same article quotes Justin Shubow, president of the National Civic Art Society, who noted, “Classical public architecture is time-honored, timeless, and the mode most associated with our national values and a form of government is quite simply, the architecture of American democracy.”

Clearly, then, having male visitors to the White House dress as the Founding Fathers did is the best way to illustrate 'the mode most associated with our national values and form of government, right? And the portrayal of the women in classical sculpture is the closest I can think of that approximates the MAGA male's vision of the ideal woman... 

I mean, obviously, Hillary Clinton-style pant suits don't "uplift and beautify" public spaces or "command respect from the general public," do they? And certainly, suitless visitors (I'm talking about you, Vlodomyr Zelenskyy!) and tie-less, stupid-red-hat-wearing officials (I'm talking about you, FOTUS!) don't command respect from us, do they?

Now that I think about it, the creation of the Goldoval Office, the paved lawn in the Rose Garden, the comical Mar-a-lago umbrellas and fast-food-restaurant tables there, and the $200M ballroom aren't doing much to help, either. I hope we still have time to quash that last one, at least, in keeping with the EO. 

As always, when fake news breaks, we'll be here to cover it.

Another Phase of Goodbye

Wednesday, I stood in the floral department of my local grocery store, My Sweet Baboo by my side. Three bunches of flowers for $15 - a weekly special, according to the sign. 

There were a dozen or more buckets on the display rack, each holding a few bunches of different cut flowers, and it initially overwhelmed me, at a time I was overwhelmed by the task at hand. 

I touched, poked, and picked at them, picturing a kerchiefed older woman behind, or in front of, a market stall. Depending on where she stood, Ishe could be picking and poking and straightening her display, or picking and poking and rearranging it, searching for 'the best' of whatever she was shopping for. It made me smile, and gave me a moment to catch my breath before moving ahead.

There were several bunches of sunflowers to choose from. Mom loved sunflowers; she and Jen saved and planted seeds from ones they got at the market, and she delighted in their crop. There were a couple bunches with three flowers, or four. I kept picking and found a bunch with five. Whew.

What next? Alstroemeria - so pretty, another of her favorites. White? Yellow? Pink? How about soft red? Yes - those work! Baboo-approved, into the cart they went.

Most of the 'special deal' flowers were min-carnations, but that was OK. There were orange ones, reminiscent of Dad's traffic-stopping azalea that grew on the east side of the house. That's not a joke - people would stop to admire it, ask to take pictures of it, or ask if they could look at it up close. Yes, and yes, of course you can!  

There were burgundy-and-white ones, which called to mind the giant rhododendron, anchoring the other end of the east side of the house, another show-stopper they both loved. I was with her at the library one day, a few years after Dad had passed, and someone stopped to tell her how beautiful the two plants were. I listened as they chatted about the flowers, and life, and I had a bit of a happy tear in my eye as we headed back to the car.  

Ivory, and white, too - more carnations. They added light, and grace, as did she; the flowers different enough to add both to the cart. Teasel, sea holly, and statis; they're all stronger than they look, and while not classically beautiful like a perfect rose, beautiful nonetheless; into the cart they went, and then home, all of them into a pickle bucket on the porch.

Thursday morning, after my garden walk, I laid out the nine bunches of flowers on an old tablecloth on the porch floor, removed their plastic sleeves and the rubber bands holding their stems together, and I became the woman at the market, picking and poking and rearranging. I started with the sunflowers, anchoring each of the five bouquets I needed, trying to spread the other stems equally by volume, if nothing else. They weren't all the same, but that was OK. 

Neither are we - my brothers and me; my nephew; my uncle and my cousin. We are all different, too. Certainly, none of us are classically beautiful, but we are beautiful nonetheless. We are stronger than we look - we have to be, for what we've all been through individually and together - and for whatever is to come. 

On a rainy Friday morning, in a town that was her home for nearly sixty years, we placed our imperfect bouquets on Mom's casket and said our final official goodbye, sixteen years to the day after we said our final official goodbye to Dad. 

That part of it all, at least, was perfect.