When will it be too late?

For most of my life, I've enjoyed crafts such as cooking, and more recently, knitting, although I've also dabbled in other things (in high school, ceramics; under my bed, a freeform miniature quilt in progress). I love the challenge of cooking fresh and delicious things, and when the Brookford Farm CSA starts up again in a few weeks, the push will once again be ON to figure out how to eat all those greens.

I learned how to make yogurt this weekend. This particular DIY project expresses exactly why I enjoy these things: the finished product will be tasty, I will know what I put in it, and it actually cost less for me to make it myself. (Obviously knitting doesn't pass that test, but the uniqueness of each object makes up for this!)

But, for the past couple of days I've struggled to enjoy the fruits of my labors. Last Saturday night, my husband and I were out of town, enjoying an evening of delicious food and beer after a day-long cheesemaking workshop (hence the inspiration to make my own yogurt). We had just received our entrees, and so we were rather quiet, focused on our food, and could hear the table behind us very clearly having an outspoken conversation about the U.S. presidential election. We were in Northampton, Mass., where it's perfectly normal for white people to have dreadlocks, so their conversation slanted pretty left, and was mostly focused on Hillary vs. Bernie.

Their conversation resulted in a conversation with my husband about the spectre that is Donald Trump. How can so many people seriously consider, even champion, a man who clearly thrives on hate? As my husband said, everyone has to have someone to put down - all of us feel a little better about ourselves when we know there is someone below us to step on. I know that. He knows that. We know this is simply a human trait, one to be recognized and dealt with in a mature way. To do otherwise would be to invite the sort of hatred Trump is spreading. It sickens me to think there are so many Americans who aren't self-aware enough to realize how Trump manipulates them into this kind of hate. I want to throw up when I recall his nasty, schoolground behavior at one of his recent rallies, from a clip I happened to catch on the national news. "Oh, go home to Mommy," he sneered at a protester, before complaining that there are no adverse consequences for protesters any more. Is he insinuating that someone with an opposing point of view should face consequences?

Seriously? This is what we want for our President? This is who we think should represent our people and our ideals? (In contrast, this is how George H. W. Bush handled a protester. Listen to Act Two).

I got up to go to the restroom, and heard for the first time the ambient music playing in the restaurant - a fabulous, 1940s-era big band swing sort of sound, a sound popular when another leader of a first-world country was denouncing large groups of people for the religion and heritage they happened to be born with. I imagine that in the early days, most of the German people went about their daily lives while knowing something wasn't quite right with their leadership. And when it was too late -- it was too late.

When will we realize it is too late for us?
And what is the point of crafting at times like these?