the canvasser walked up the driveway toward us. “well, there’s no doubt who you are voting for,” she stated and then continued, lifting up the democratic presidential candidate who had inspired her to hit the sidewalks, to knock on doors and talk to people.
“we already voted,” i smiled and told her, so she could breathe for a moment, replenish her energy and move on to the next house, with the hope that she could make a difference in this unparalleled election, an election of utmost importance to our country and its populace. i thanked her as she smiled wearily, turned and walked on.
yes. it is obvious who we voted for. we have zero need for this choice to be secretive.
we exercised our right – to vote – granted by amendments to the constitution of these united states.
we exercised our civic dedication – our duty – to democracy, voting for the most appropriate candidate to be president of these united states, the candidate who will uphold and protect that very democracy.
we exercised our right to vote to protect those rights, our freedoms, the constitution, its amendments, to protect these united states.
yes. we voted for kamala harris and tim walz. with gratitude for them.
because any other vote is a vote to undermine the privileges of freedom we – every single one of us – have in this country, to undermine the compassionate humanity we all share, to undermine the democracy of america.
we are truly – like mika brzezinski said – ” counting down to the election of America’s life.”
if there are no alarm bells going off in your head, you have not been paying attention, you have not read the intentions of the maga party, you have sloughed off the reprehensible words of the maga candidate.
if you are not trembling as you think about the outcome of this election, you have not elicited any part of your good conscience, your moral center, the part of you that cares about this country or its inhabitants. you, instead, have bought into hatred and violence. you have abdicated your character, your integrity to the abhorrent character of this maga leader. and, if i knew you before, i don’t know you now.
if you don’t feel like sobbing thinking about the darkness that could come with the maga intentions of the maga candidate, his cronies, project 2025, every single mean-spirited, depraved, cruel, sadistic undermining of rights, freedoms, opportunity, you have closed off your heart. you clearly don’t care what happens to the people of this country – of which you are one.
i am stunned we are here, at this nightmarish moment in the history of the united states. it feels surreal to even try and wrap my head around the unconscionable, ghoulish possibility that we – free americans – could find ourselves in a fascist regime under the authoritarian rule of this unscrupulous maga candidate and his drooling-for-power contemptible sycophants.
when you drive almost 1900 miles around the southwest – on backroads, highways, interstates – you get to see some real life.
we drove from nevada to utah to arizona and back to nevada- a big loop. there was so much to see – even just out the window of the suburban stuffed with six people and six suitcases, six carry-on backpacks or tote bags, six water bottle koozies and lots of snacks. there were many lessons along the way as we drove through small towns, farms, ranchland, desert, canyonlands.
there were people. people living in these small towns, on these farms, on this ranchland, in the desert, homesteading by the canyonlands. real live people, an exclamation point of diversity.
i had the good fortune of meeting the woman who opened her home to us – through airbnb – a half hour or so south of the grand canyon. hers was not a five-star hotel. hers was not a resort-amenity-rich spa. hers was not a photo-shoot instagram-worthy house of smart finishes and interior design. hers was a home – her beloved home to which she was soon going to return to live.
you knew as you drove down the gravel road – past the mobile homes and modular houses. you knew as you pulled into her dirt driveway and pulled up to the porch, a little worse for wear. you knew as you drove in and the outbuildings scattered within the split-rail fencing were numerous. you knew as you walked in – the laundry room off the porch door – and the floor was worn. you knew as you strolled about in her home, filled with antiques, charming tchotchkes and quirky notes everywhere that explained how things worked or invited you in to her life.
she pointed at one of the outbuildings and told me that was to become her she-shed. she pointed at what looked like a pile of rubble and told me that was the beginning of a barn for her husband and his workbench. she was so excited to tell me that we were the last guests at her home and that after a couple weeks she and her husband would return there, would move back into their forever home, would be looking forward to the peace that space, that horizon, the mountains in the distance, the desert up close and personal afforded them. this was her sea-to-shining-sea. this place represented her freedom, the place she would heal from several medical challenges, the place she would grow old, the place she truly loved with all her heart. i wanted to weep for her happiness.
this is the time – RIGHT NOW – when we all get to vote for the place that represents our freedom. this is the time – RIGHT NOW – when we all get to vote for healing our nation from the division that has been stoked by the voices in maga-land. this is the time – RIGHT NOW – when we all get to vote so that we might grow old in a democracy, so that our children and their children can grow old in a democracy. this is the time – RIGHT NOW – that we all get to vote for a place we love with all our heart.
it matters not if we have a fancy home or a plain home. what matters is that we are grateful for this democracy that houses whatever home it is we have, wherever it is we live in these united states . what matters is that we are grateful for the freedoms, the constitution, the checks and balances of power, the mutual respect of each other – our sameness and our differences, the ability to have a voice.
we drove about 1900 miles. we saw the ultra-fancy and we saw the hovels in the middle of nowhere. we marveled at the uncanny ability of people to be resilient, to tenaciously cling to life and livelihood, regardless of their circumstance. we dreamed that this country would continue to address hardship – in all its forms – and that we would continue to step only forward.
we spoke about the airbnbs we stayed at. there were five, all different. this home – in the desert and unlike any of the others – touched my heart. this woman did the best she could to offer up her house to others who are traveling, to invite people in, to envelop them in warmth and the reassurance of home, albeit temporarily. i have so much respect for her – her unapologetic sharing of her home. she offered her beloved and imperfect space to complete strangers, trusting we would care for it. it was so much more than the option that offered a stark, austerely modern building, sans thoughtful gestures. it was a slice of real life.
real life is a country filled to the brim with people – all different. real life is a country that stands by e pluribus unum – out of many, one.
real life is meeting people – across this country – everyone different, in every different kind of circumstance – knowing we are all in this together.
real life is recognizing the urgency we face. it is being honest about what we could potentially lose and to whom we could lose it.
real life is RIGHT NOW – when it is completely and utterly delusional to think that everything would be better if the maga agenda wins, if hatred and bigotry and extreme nationalism and misogyny and the undermining of democracy win.
real life would never be the same. this country – our home – would never be the same.
everything else – every single thing else – can be sorted out.
because without democracy, none of that other, er, stuff will matter. at all. ever.
and so i am poised to vote for kamala and tim. i am poised to vote for a way forward. i am ready to do the work, carry the hope, feel the inspiration, rejuvenate the optimism of this country.
i do not want to be surrounded by ugly, by division, by anger, by revenge, by a candidate whose vulgarity is lacking any degree of maturity or reasonableness, who pushes vitriol and hatred.
i am ready to step into a future that holds firmly to the bedrock of this nation – its democracy.
i hope you have cut to the chase as well.
i mean, really, fellow americans – fellow voters – first things first.
“we can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.” (james baldwin)
i would add – or unless your disagreement is rooted in the oppression and denial of the humanity and right to exist of people you purport to care about – people in your beloved family, in your cherished community.
growing up, there were straw placemats in a circle around the perimeter of our kitchen table. each one had inked initials in the bottom corner – to designate whose placemat it was. ba, ea, wa, ka, sha, they read. in some moment, a guest circled around the table, reading them aloud, in order. “sha-ba-ea-wa-ka,” he read. and then, more quickly, “shabaeawaka!”
shabaeawaka became our family’s shortcut of the combination of our names – my mom always lovingly referring to the moniker and telling the story of its origin.
shabaeawaka – in all the ups and downs of a regular family – became a synonym for invincible ties, for family-sticking-together.
my sweet momma, even in the last moments i saw her, believed with her whole heart in the devotion of this family to each other. she believed in kindness and generosity, in acceptance and goodness, in joy and positivity, in love no-matter-what.
my sweet poppo – a mostly quiet man – died three years before my momma. he wasn’t one of those dads who would sit you down and bestow wisdoms upon you. but i could feel his staunch support of me throughout my life…as a child, as a young adult, as i finally made my way into my artistry, as a parent.
my momma stayed in their house in florida on the little lake as long as she physically could. she surrounded herself with the familiar of their lives together, always missing the actual presence of my dad, lonely for him. the empty vase – the one my poppo kept filled with grocery store flowers – stood in the foyer, an acknowledgment of unwelcome change.
but my sweet momma – well – she kept on. and as it became obvious she would need to leave her home and move into assisted living she chose to give away things from her home. the dining room table went to a family of immigrants who didn’t have a table at which to eat. her blue leather sofa went to a family across the street. my momma was not discerning. people in need of something were precisely the people to whom she wanted to give those things. even in her grief of moving, her generosity and love of others prevailed.
i did not feel the need – nor did i have the logistical ability – to fill rooms with items of my parents after my momma’s move or even after she died. but i do have remembrances of them. and i have their dna.
mostly, i have the ideal they taught me – that no matter what, you stick by your family, you uphold each other, you protect each other, you love each other. in no uncertain terms, my mom and my dad would stand tall next to each of us, buoying us and believing in us – the lesson of acceptance – no matter what – of the right to exist, to sustain, to thrive.
i know – without a doubt – they have cheered on my life – in all its phases, in its ups and downs. i know – without a doubt – they have cheered on my daughter’s courageous and adventurous spirit finding home in the mountains, my son and his incredible and cherished LGBTQ community in the city, around the world. i know – without a doubt – they would support them to the mat, thwarting anything that might come between them and their freedoms as americans, as human beings. i know this not only because it was how i was raised, but this is what shabaeawaka is. it is the legacy of shabaeawaka.
and so i wonder what they are thinking now.
i suspect they are on board with james baldwin.
there were times of disagreement, yes. my quiet dad could get rather loud in moments. my sweet momma could push back on inequality, on the crushing of human rights, on evil.
but all was ok if the basics were still in place, if the disagreement – in the words of james baldwin – was not rooted in the oppression of them or their loved one, if it did not deny their humanity or the humanity of their loved one, if it did not undermine their right to exist or their loved one’s right to exist. those were the basics and the basics of any faith i ever learned from them.
I wonder what they are thinking now as they – from a plane of existence far away – watch this election, as they watch the unthinkable, as they watch oppression and the denial of humanity and right to exist on the up-close-and-personal do-we-love-each-other line, as they witness the undermining – the throwing away – of the tenets of their precious shabaeawaka.
i don’t know where the placemats went.
i just know i don’t need the actual placemats to remember what they meant.
sometime between 300 and 1300 c.e. there were people in this south central utah area who wanted to tell a story, to preserve it. their narrative – told in petroglyphs – was about their daily living – their families, livestock, wildlife they hunted. it was a narrative of living in community. it is astounding to witness the carved chiseling of so long ago, humbling to imagine living in such a harsh, difficult environment. you can feel a pull from the earth as you stand there – something that binds you to those moments so many centuries before. you gaze at these figures and are struck by the humanness of this history – despite absolutely different living conditions, we all simply wish to tell a narrative of our living.
the petroglyphs we were fortunate to see at capitol reef did not depict fighting. they did not depict division nor hatred. they did not depict power or control struggles. they did not depict what would certainly be pictured as part of petroglyphs were there to be some telling the tale of right now.
in absolute embarrassment about how low this country’s people have sunk – the inability to hold democracy and freedom-of-all-to-live as essentials – the spewing hatred and vitriol – i cannot imagine what story petroglyphs etched into big red rock canyon walls now would tell – later.
covid has given us some free time. in-between moments of feeling absolutely horrendous, we have succumbed to reading articles, scrolling the news. it is utterly disturbing.
i want to scream, “this is not about you!!!” to people caught up in the despicable hate, in the misinformation, the disinformation, the conspiracies. i want to beg people to consider the future of this country’s democracy, the future beyond their own lives, to vote for something hopeful. i want to ask people to just stop, listen, think, consider.
i do not recognize you – you, who are supporting the heinous intentions of the maga-party. i do not recognize you – you, who are turning a blind eye to people in your midst who you claim to care about or even love – as you sign on to extreme changes of freedoms in these un-united states. this is not a difference in policy-embracing; this is a deeply undermined philosophical difference on humanity. i do not recognize your heart, turned so very angry, exclusionary, cold. and, in turn, my heart is broken, seeing this, seeing you – now.
but i know the power of rhetoric, the sheer toxic force of those who lie. i have experienced being the subject of warped narrative, of agenda-riddled powermongers. and in my tiny subset of experience, i have seen people – who i never would have expected – support the lies, push the ugly agenda, fight to win. but it is in their winning that they truly lost. and i believe they know that.
if there were to be petroglyphs or pictographs on red rock canyon walls telling our story – the story of we-the-people of these times – what would we wish them to depict?
it boils down to a pretty basic question.
is it a story of community? or a story of devastating division and hate?
we have been really cautious through all this time – years, really – trying to be respectful of and avoid getting covid.
but here we are…in our matchy-matchy red buffalo plaid flannel pjs, suffering together.
those who have been through this already know about the fever, the headache, the incessant cough, the intense sore throat, the congestion, the tightness in your chest, the exhaustion, the aches and pains and all that. it is one hellish virus. it’s somewhat stressful for me just knowing i have this. i can’t help but remember the early days of the pandemic and the heart-breaking devastation it wrought. we have been fortunate; we haven’t ever tested positive before though we have each had some of the symptoms.
but here we are…in our matchy-matchy flannels, complaining and whining together.
a good night’s sleep seems like a really good idea – until you are laying there, coughing your silly head off all night.
dogga doesn’t seem to mind how we look or sound – and we are ever-so-grateful to be home.
but we are a bit worse for wear.
so don’t mind us as we stay put – here in our house or out on our back deck…in our red buffalo plaids, sniffling and coughing and making our way out of covidland.
“there is nothing so american as our national parks…the fundamental idea behind the parks…is that the country belongs to the people, that it is in process of making for the enrichment of the lives of all of us.” (president franklin d. roosevelt, 1934)
it is impossible to stand in our national parks and not be filled with a pure sense of patriotism. the vistas of zion national park – and each place we experienced – sparked our “america, the beautiful“.
even right now, when the word “patriotic” presents entendre at best questionable, we could feel it…the heart-swelling kind, the proud-of-this-land kind, the we-are-so-fortunate kind. certainly not the nationalistic, extremist, exclusionary, divisive, white-man-only-drum-beating kind.
we were all trying to take a little time away from politics, from the news of the day, trying to immerse in the beauty and ignore the ugly.
but – i must say – ignoring the ugly in the middle of the beautiful seemed irresponsible to me. because just as our national parks are fundamentally ours – belonging to the people of this country – so is the constitution and the goodness of this country. and that, my friends, is in peril. and i could not forget it…even out in the sacred wild-ness of this land.
project 2025 – the playbook for maga – seeks to repeal the 1906 antiquities act – the first united states law passed for the purpose of protection of these national parks and places of national monument, protecting cultural and natural resources with historic or scientific value. project 2025 wishes to eviscerate these protections, giving that administration free latitude on decisions for all these lands.
standing in bryce, in zion, in arches, in capitol reef, in the grand canyon, we can only be too aware of the presence of the protections for these glorious tracts of land. we cannot imagine another fate for these places of intense beauty. this landmark law – the antiquities act – has safeguarded these places for the use and enjoyment of current and future generations – a law of responsibility and virtue.
the national park service pledge promises to the people of the united states “the owners of our nation’s parklands” – among other things: “to protect your right to experience the presence of superlative wildness and scenic grandeur, to communicate to all an understanding of the people and events that shaped these united states, to join with all people of this and other nations in conserving and renewing the total environment to keep this world a pleasure to live in…”
there was an older woman – likely in her 70s – heading toward us on the path. she was clearly enjoying her time at the park. and as she passed, she proudly wore a “womenfor –” maga hat on her head. i stared at her hat. every ounce of me wanted to stop her and have a conversation. i wanted to know what had happened to her in her life that made her wish for a man who demeans, abuses, detests women to be the president of this beautiful country. i wanted to know how she could – in all good conscience – wear a hat with the name of a convicted felon, a rapist, a liar, a racist, a misogynist, a grifter, an insurrectionist, an exceptionally narcissistic inward soul-less and pathetic old man. i wanted to know how she could support that candidate’s efforts to undermine the rights of so many. i wanted to know if she was thinking about any future generations. i wanted to know how she could justify that candidate’s desire for autocracy, for revenge, for a cruel and divided america. i wanted to know how she could walk on this sacred and protected land knowing that her candidate of choice doesn’t give a damn about it. i wanted to know how she could wear THAT hat.
i simply cannot wrap my head around it.
it was impossible to avoid. here we were – in the grand expanse of unspeakable and stunning beauty – and i was worried.
there is little time left before this election.
it is time to get patriotic – in the purest and truest sense of that word. protect the constitution of this country. protect the rights of the people. protect the land. protect your daughters and sons and grandchildren. protect the united states.
turn the page on this hideous candidate and the extremism of his ugly self-serving and incoherent, angry rhetoric, his vile intentions.
move forward. keep this world a pleasure to live in.
*****
patriotic: having or expressing devotion to and vigorous support for one’s country.
if it were possible to feel like a pine tree, this would have been the day.
in the vastness of this bryce canyonland, we stood on the edge – like this pine tree – and gazed over an incredible expanse. it was not merely beautiful. it was beyond words.
and, once again, i felt it in my heart – that wobbly feeling you get when you realize – truly realize – how utterly small you are in all of thissssss.
we celebrate our anniversary today. there is so much more to explore. there are many more adventures to be had. there are more uphills and downhills. there are more learnings and experiences and times to hold.
and there are more moments like this – where we are reminded of the tiny morsels of being that we are and the sheer gratitude for the chance to be here, to share this.
if you asked me to name one striking thing about our relationship, i would tell you that we are touchers. we hold hands, we walk arm in arm, we snuggle. there are exquisite moments like when he kisses the top of my head or unexpectedly rubs my shoulders.
this is not the stuff of the grandest passion of romance movies, but it is the stuff of grand passionate romance.
i will hold hands with this man anywhere, any time. for all time.
reverse threading 