We are now up to our elbows in politics and pretty pastry.
When I was a senior in high school, the city or the county or the feds or the League of Women Voters set up a table in the cafeteria and spent the morning helping 18-year-olds and soon-to-be's register to vote. I was one of those kids. I was already 18 and was eligible to vote in the presidential election in the fall.
I remember standing in line behind some boys from my history and English classes. They were smart boys, young men really, ambitious and outspoken and confident in themselves and their futures. Jimmy Carter was president then and not very popular, Iran hostage, Olympic boycotts, gas lines and all. Ronald Reagan was a movie star, good-looking and personable, and his wife had yet to buy red China. Those boys, standing in that line that day and speaking up with confidence in all those classes, were “conservatives” then, whatever that meant way back then to someone who had never voted before. I know it didn’t mean then what it means now. I liked those boys then (and in fact, remain friends with some them now, if only on Facebook), but I imagined myself very different from them.
So when I heard one or more of them say they wanted to declare a party — Republican — I knew that was not the way for me. I also knew, being from a family that mostly, but probably not always, voted to the right, that I would not be declaring myself a Democrat that day either. That never even occurred to me.
So I registered as an Independent, and that’s where I’ve been ever since. I’ve stayed there for different reasons over the years — among them to maintain some semblance of neutrality when I was a reporter and columnist. These days, my growing frustration with the political system, steeped in money and controlled by political operatives who all but shut out voters, keeps me tied to the prescient teen I was then. Without losing sight of my personal values or getting caught up in the “good people on both sides” trap, independent is who I am.
The first time I voted, I filled out an absentee ballot in my dorm room at CSU, my high school chum and roommate voting right beside me. Fifty-six hostages, one of them from Colorado, had been held in the Tehran, Iran, embassy for exactly one year when Election Day rolled around, and voters held that against the incumbent. That probably gave Reagan the election. Well, that and my first ever vote. Sometime later, in the next eight years, I would be disappointed by Ronald Reagan, but I never regretted my vote.
What I remember even more than that vote for president, however, is that Colorado was embroiled in a controversy about bank branching. At the time, Colorado was among only 12 states that prohibited big-money national banks from opening branches throughout the state. A proposition supported by those banks wanted to change that. Other interests, like local banks and credit unions, objected, believing the strength of Colorado’s banking industry and indeed Colorado’s economy was dependent on keeping deposits in the state. Upto that point, it was the most expensive ballot battle in Colorado history, with partisans spending a combined $2 million.
Voters got in line with the in-state interests and sent branch banking packing.
A few years later, the legislature, with the governor’s blessing, overturned the will of the voters; and now, there’s a bank branch on nearly every corner.
Not a very auspicious introduction to democracy, if you ask me.
In the ensuing years, I recall other times that lawmakers — national , state, county, city — decided they knew better than voters and came up with innovative methods to circumvent the ballot box to get their own way. Merrick Garland, anyone? Plastic bags?
***
Last week, I watched the State of the Union address.
A report to Congress about the state of the union is required under the Constitution, “from time to time,” so this spectacle has been going on in some form since 1790 when George Washington gave what he called his “annual address.” Most presidents, but not all, have chosen to give speeches. Starting with Thomas Jefferson, who thought an in-person speech was too reminiscent of the monarchy the revolutionaries had just escaped, all the way to Woodrow Wilson, 100+ years of presidents gave a written report to Congress. (Two presidents — William Henry Harrison and James Garfield — didn’t live long enough to address Congress.)
Wilson, who thought the American people deserved an “active and visible” president, had the inspired idea to make the State of the Union address an event — and as much as you can do that at 1 o’clock in the afternoon with no TV and no radio broadcasting the speech to the world, he did.
I love this event, not really because of what’s said; it’s usually pretty much the same thing every year. I love it because it’s one night a year when all branches of the federal government, both parties and regular Americans (although by invitation only) come together. There’s usually glad-handing across the aisle and some sense of decorum (although that’s not as pronounced now as in times past). And for one night, you get to hear what’s good about America and how the things that are broken or troublesome or persistently painful could be fixed. You know, while you’re watching the speech, that it is part laundry list of past accomplishments, part wish list for a different reality. Much of it is hyperbole, obviously, and it is unlikely to come to fruition without a lot of angst, a lot of ugly partisanship, a lot of years. But once a year for about an hour (more or less, depending on whether you’re Bill Clinton or George Washington), you can suspend disbelief and sign on to the fantasies politicians try to sell you.
The next day, of course, everyone retreats to their respective corners, and the political punches recommence. According to most analysts, President Joe Biden started the punching early, making his State of the Union more political than most others have been. He mentioned his “predecessor “ more than a dozen times, taking aim at him for instigating the Jan. 6 uprising, overturning Roe v. Wade, failing to enact gun control and kowtowing to despots. It was less an address to the citizens of the country about the future of their homes and families and more a full-blown stump speech.
All this to say, no turning back, we are now deep into it.
On Tuesday, both Biden and former President Donald Trump clinched the nominations for their respective parties — to no one’s surprise.
The same day, Ken Buck, a Republican representing Colorado’s 4th Congressional district for the past nine years, announced he was vacating his post in a matter of a days. He said frustration over Congressional inaction had prompted his decision.
But even more than that, he said, most people he’s talked to are dissatisfied with the election that we’re facing in November: “Everybody I’ve talked to is complaining about the choices they have for president. And it is time that we start talking about how we elect presidents and how we elect senators and congressmen and local leaders.”
According to some polls, as many as 6 in 10 voters are dissatisfied with the presumptive nominees.
So many of us, it appears, share Buck’s concerns, myself included.
I’m frustrated that this contest was in the books for Trump and Biden before a single ballot was cast. I’m frustrated that more than half of American voters don’t want either of these candidates in the White House and that that dissatisfaction means nothing to the political operatives, the parties or even the candidates themselves. I’m frustrated that any challenger (except, of course, Nikki Haley who was surprisingly stubborn) was out of the race before Super Tuesday, so only a minute number of voters got to cast a meaningful ballot. I’m frustrated that Colorado moved its presidential primary from June to Super Tuesday so that state voters could have a voice in choosing the candidates and that voice was, for all intents and purposes, silenced before any Coloradans filled out a ballot.
I worry the chip-chip-chipping away of regular American voters’ ability to meaningfully participate is undermining our democracy and is a much bigger threat than anything that is happening or will happen in the White House.
I don’t know what the answer is here or how we reverse troubling trends and take our democracy back from moneyed interests and party operatives, other than to participate to the best of our abilities. Do the things our parents, and the generations before them, advised us to do: Register to vote; stay informed; be skeptical of things that sound too good to be true; engage with candidates and representatives at every level of government; write letters; make phone calls; demonstrate; speak up; reject the candidates and the behaviors and the narratives we know to be repugnant and dangerous.
And vote.
If you can do nothing else, at least vote.
Just vote.
Democracy is hard work; but it’s worth it and we’re up to the task.
As Washington said, all those years ago, in that first State of the Union address: “The welfare of our Country is the great object to which our cares and efforts ought to be directed. And I shall derive great satisfaction from a co-operation with you, in the pleasing tho arduous task of ensuring to our fellow-citizens the blessings which they have a right to expect from a free, efficient and equal Government.”
The Pie: Tart Cherry Pie
Not only was George Washington the first president of the United States, he also chopped down a cherry tree, could not tell a lie and liked pie. Well, some of that’s true — or not. I don’t know. I made up the part about pie.
When my dad retired from Colorado State University, he took a part-time job as volunteer coordinator for an organization called SAINT, Senior Alternatives in Transportation. The organization’s mission was to drive seniors to appointments and errands and rendezvous around town, using volunteers and their own vehicles, sort of neighbors helping neighbors. My dad’s job was to recruit volunteers and to make them feel appreciated. One of the ways he did this was to throw parties.
For several years, one of those parties coincided with Presidents Day, or more specifically Washington’s birthday. On the menu: homemade ice cream, hand-churned by some amiable lady who had a farm outside town, and cherry pie made by my mother. My mother was a great, although reluctant, pie maker, and those parties sort of became a thing. One year, she made 11, or even 12, pies for that party — a Herculean task in her little home kitchen.
I recently found my mom’s recipe and made this pie for my brother who was visiting for the weekend. I hadn’t eaten cherry pie for a lot of years and was amazed at how delicious it was. “No wonder those parties were such a big deal,” I thought. “No wonder the mayor used to come.”
It’s an easy pie to make, not too sweet, a little tart, with just a hint of almond and a simple double crust. Try it. You don’t have to wait for a party. Or a president. No lie, you’ll love it.
The recipe
Tart Cherry Pie
Double-crust pie pastry (recipe below)
3/4 to 1 cup sugar
4 tablespoons flour
1/4 teaspoon almond extract
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon (optional)
1/2 cup fruit juice (from canned cherries)
3 1/2 cups (about two cans) canned sour or tart cherries, drained*
Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
Drain cherries, reserving juice.
Mix together sugar, flour, almond extract, cinnamon (if desired) and 1/2 cup fruit juice in a saucepan.
Cook over moderate heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens and boils. Boil for 1 minute.
Add cherries and mix thoroughly until cherries are coated with the sugar-flour mixture.
Pour into a crust-lined pie plate. Cover with top crust. Trim and crimp crust. Pierce top crust several times with a sharp knife or fork to vent. Dust with sugar-cinnamon mix or with sparkling sugar. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes until crust is nicely browned and the juice begins to bubble through the slits in the crust. Allow to cool before serving.
*Do not use canned cherry pie filling
Two-crust Pie Pastry
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup shortening, plus 2 tablespoons if using hydrogenated shortening
4 tablespoons water
Mix together flour and salt.
With pastry blender, cut in half the shortening until the mixture looks like meal.
Cut in the other half of the shortening until particles are the size of giant peas.
Sprinkle with water, a tablespoon at a time, mixing lightly with a fork until all the flour is moistened. If necessary, add more water, sparingly, a tablespoon at a time. Do not over mix.
Gather dough together with your hands so it cleans the bowl and press into two balls. Roll out for immediate use or wrap in waxed paper or plastic wrap and store in refrigerator until needed.
Pie Paints
If you are interested in trying your hand at painting the crust, mix food coloring with a little vodka, about a 1:1 ratio. Using a clean, preferably new, paint brush, create a design on an unbaked crust.
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