pretty much every day he makes me a sandwich for lunch. guess that is going to have to stop. he also makes me breakfast – after he brings me early morning coffee. to my pillow. hmmm. now i wonder about that…
the other day i went on a deep dive into the womanosphere– to which i clearly do not belong.
it is an anti-feminism movement that aligns with the pro-natalist movement which aligns with grossly understated inequity and disenfranchising. the articles i read truly nauseated me. i had to stop and re-read paragraphs, struggling to believe the article was contemporaneous and not from some other era. “what the hell?!!!” i kept thinking.
every now and then i talk about my sweet momma – who, before she discovered jeans and keds in the 90s – wore lots of house dresses around home – the kind with snaps down the front and big pockets, in a (likely) floral (most definitely) pastel print. we’ll be on the treadmill and I’ll be joking with d that i need to stay on it for eons so that the only thing that fits won’t be house dresses, whereupon i describe my fantasy house dress to him and we both crack up, knowing i would never put on anything vaguely resembling a house dress.
but in this you-must-be-thin-sexy-fertile movement, you might want to cue up your bonnets and peasant dresses, because barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen is coming back.
oh, and don’t forget to be all soft and giddy – while being ultra-hot – and be sure to make your man a sandwich.
in a country where women have valiantly fought for the same rights as men, it is gross negligence to see the undercurrent that is rising: eliminating all forward movement, all empowering. submission and servitude, throwing out birth control, awarding monetary bonuses for babies, autocrat-founded motherhood medals for multiple children, minimizing personal and professional goals, perpetuating dangerous self-hatred for “less-than” bodies, colonizing those who either lack discernment or follow blindly the bright colors and shiny lights of these new influencers. omg. so entirely disempowering. so repulsive.
and so – here we are. this is america. it’s an “ive” land. but not progressive or affirmative or adaptive or inclusive or generative or sensitive or curative or supportive or collaborative or representative.
more like regressive, deceptive, manipulative, suppressive, repressive, abusive. divisive. degenerative. destructive. authoritative.
i read through the lyrics of the star spangled banner, america the beautiful, my country ’tis of thee. i read the words on the statue of liberty. and i read the pledge of allegiance:
“i pledge allegiance to the flag of the united states of america. and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under god, with liberty and justice for all.”
this administration is peeling back the layers of democracy. as the nucleus of this republic – in dead center – stands naked and utterly vulnerable – we continually wonder if this absolute and vile destruction is what you wanted.
if it is, this is no longer your pledge.
because – republic (noun): a state in which supreme power is held by the people and their elected representatives, and which has an elected or nominated president rather than a monarch. (oxford)
because – republic: a form of government where power is held by the people, either directly or through elected representatives…a system where the citizens hold the ultimate authority…the government is expected to serve the interests of all citizens. (AI)
and then i re-read the declaration of independence, stunned by the sheer number of current parallels written into this noble historic document. and these words: “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, serving their just powers from the consent of the governed.”
nevertheless, it is getting darker and darker here.
and so i whisper the lyrics of irving berlin as a prayer: “god bless america, land that i love. stand beside her and guide her through the night with the light from above.” (irving berlin, 1918)
three sources. the bible, the statue of liberty on ellis island, the declaration of independence. all pointing – pointedly – to the same thing: no one is lesser or unworthy of respect.
in the current climate of these most-obviously un-united united states, it might do one good to remember any one of these powerful quotes. because the disrespect, minimalizing, oppression, degradation of people, the disenfranchising, the marginalization, the injustice, the out-and-out cruelty is mind-bogglingly unconscionable.
this administration’s pathetic excuses for validation are rampant gish gallop. and you – the anti-woke out there are being taken for a dangerous ride. at any moment, the gish-whip can be turned on you. but remember – you wanted this. you voted for it.
we are not forming “a more perfect union“. we – instead – are heading for dystopia.
a more perfect union loves one another. a more perfect union celebrates the richness of all diversity. a more perfect union learns from each other. a more perfect union is a place where “e pluribus unum (out of many, one) ” counts, where equality is a thriving verb, where each person’s life – regardless of any differences – is valued and cherished.
please wake up, you anti-wokers. your complicit sleep – on the galloping bandwagon over hill and dale all across this country – is killing our democracy.
“…its first three words – ‘we the people’ – affirm that the government of the united states exists to serve its citizens.” (re: the constitution of the united states – senate.gov)
“of the people, by the people, for the people…” (president abraham lincoln)
we the people. the citizens of the united states.
“we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.” (declaration of independence – archives.gov)
we the people. all citizens of the united states. equally.
the constitution of the united states has merely 4543 words (including signatures) which will take about one-half hour of reading. with the 28 amendments (now including the ERA) there are 7615 words, adding less than another half-hour.
the declaration of independence is 1458 words (including signatures) and takes about ten minutes to read.
today – this very day – might be an apt day to read these.
today – this very day – might be the day to consider – carefully – the words of these most sacred documents of this country.
today – this very day – might be the day to ponder what you consider integrity, truth, values, morality, decency.
today – this very day – might be the day to study the alignment of what you say you hold dear and what you do with your vote as a citizen of these united states.
today – this very day – might be a time to reflect.
because it’s way too late to not pay attention.
shamefully, today – this very day – is evidence of that. where now is this country today – this very day?
“we have also come to this hallowed spot to remind america of the fierce urgency of now. … now is the time to make real the promises of democracy.” (martin luther king, jr.)
“the time is always right to do what is right.” (martin luther king, jr.)
we the people are watching.
because today – this very day – there is most definitely a fierce urgency to do what is right.
and it’s time again. two years have gone by since the last time. it was two years prior to that.
and now, another. another Y. the third one.
appropriately timed, i’d say.
it’s not common to come upon a branch that is a literal letter y. most of the time it’s a stretch. but this is pretty obvious – and it gets my attention.. again.
like those previous two times – mid 2020 and mid 2022 – there is just as much reason now for nature to be asking “why?”. truth of the matter is – there’s more.
sometimes, there just isn’t time for a long, belabored, ponderous “why?”
this is one of those times. there isn’t. the time for this country is running out. we are accelerating down the pike toward the november 5 election day and it feels like things are beginning to spiral out of control.
i am truly having a very hard time grokking the current political state of affairs of our country. every day now it feels like the fabric of our democracy is on the verge of shredding. in extremist-agenda-riddled moves, at best, the destruction will be a demolition of this republic, at worst, it will be a hellish bend to authoritarianism. and the words of the declaration of independence “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” will cease to exist for all men and women. full stop. period. what is the united states if not united? what is this democracy if not a democracy?
baffling me beyond reasonable comprehension, it’s being facilitated by people whose evil intent seems obvious and it’s supported by those who are not asking “why?” it’s downright frightening to watch others rabidly embrace any and every single thing that will ultimately destroy this nation as we know it.
now, don’t get me wrong. i’d love to write about something lighthearted, something trivial, something that doesn’t feel like the weight of the world is hanging in balance.
but it is.
and – before november 5th, i hope you ask yourself “why?” for who? for what? why?
the morning dawned crisper and drier than previous days. there is nothing like sleeping with the windows wide open and a blanket on. even dogdog was feeling refreshed. we looked at the weather app. there is a tiny reprieve of the weather of late – yesterday and today. and then it’s going to soar back up into the 90s, with humidity making all the ferns and the basil outside grin.
the fourth of july will be beastly hot – as fourths often are. we may or may not walk to the lakefront. we know it will crowded and this still feels like time to be careful, pandemic-wise. fireworks will culminate the festivities with people on blankets and bag-chairs, with coolers and bugspray. there is a possibility that this plant – on the side of the trail as we hiked – may be our sole firework. and that’s ok.
each morning lately i have awakened around 4. and each morning i hear loud pops. i don’t know what these are. i assume they are fireworks, though i hardly know why someone is setting them off in the wee hours of the night. i hope they are not gunfire, though i’m not sure i would know the difference from a distance. since the violence that erupted in our town last year, merely blocks away from our home, i always wonder now. so i stay awake, waiting to hear if there are sirens. i find it unnerving.
dogdog is not a fan of fireworks; though he does not cower from them, he is clearly nervous. babycat would also be wary, sticking close to dogga and us. i know there are many people who have expressed how nearly terrified their pet is of fireworks. and, in these times we have been through, with the insane rise of gun violence in this country, i can relate to people being wary, being nervous.
i consider this too: fish and foraging creatures ingest the debris from these fireworks, often set off over water or rural areas. loud noises cause wildlife to flee. without plan and disoriented, birds and bees and so many other animals-sharing-earth-with-us panic, bringing undue harm to themselves. they are not celebrating. they are not even understanding. they are in flight mode, scared.
so this year, as spectacular as planned fireworks are, i find myself thinking that it might just be nice to stay in the backyard, quietly contemplating this democracy and all its flaws. we’ll maybe turn on the torches to keep away the mosquitoes and light the firepit tower and watch the flames in the breeze. we’ll play music and maybe dance on the deck. we’ll keep dogdog reassuringly close, sip wine and try to remember last fourth of july and the one before that and the one before that…
we’ll hear fireworks all around us. our neighborhood on the lakefront will be noisy and packed with cars – people who have driven here and parked on all the streets, toting their picnics and rolly-coolers and blankets down the sidewalks.
and i will hope that all will go well all over this country in this celebration of a day – a celebration of things so many seem to have forgotten, things written into the declaration of independence: “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
when i was a child i didn’t know. i watched fireworks with no sense of irony. i was in awe at the spectacle of the parade and the pomp and circumstance.
“it ought to be…commemorated with….illuminations from one end of this continent to the other from this time forward forever more.” (john adams on the celebration of the declaration of independence)
they had fireworks at the walt whitman mall on route 110 in huntington. sometimes we’d go. we’d park in the parking lot and watch fireworks overhead, my dad quietly admiring them, my mom zealously gleeful. those times we left the charcoal grill, hot dogs, hamburgers, beans and chips behind, i loved anytime we went – a child who was innocently proud of my country.
they had fireworks over the lake. we’d go every year. we’d walk over to the rocks and, climbing up and over the top, we’d sit on a flat-top boulder, mosquito-repellent in the air, and watch. in later years, people would set off firecrackers right near us and that was frightening as a parent with small children. but i loved anytime we went – an adult in the middle of early parenthood who was mostly proud of my country.
for years now they had moved the fireworks that had been set off on one of the beaches to a spot down by the harbor, set off by the public museum. we used to walk down with our blanket or chairs-in-a-bag, oohing and ahhing over a fancy display that belied the size of our city, but something stopped us the last few years. it was palpable, the dismay. red took on different meanings, especially in hatwear. the pride of being-an-american was tarnished with the behavior of a new president who gloried in obnoxious, toxic-talk, whose example was nothing shy of injurious, who touted his own self-serving agendas. we didn’t go to the fireworks.
last year they had fireworks at the ballfield on island. we were days-new there and attended a barbecue late afternoon and in twilight hours, but we knew that dogdog and babycat, both getting used to the littlehouse, would be fearful of the loud booms in this place we didn’t yet know, so we didn’t attend. we heard they were beautiful, but we didn’t miss going.
this year they didn’t have fireworks. the city cancelled them because there is a global pandemic. but people gathered nonetheless and the sounds that mimicked the soundtrack of a warzone went on for hours into the wee night. two yards over, the neighbor had m80s and a giant illuminating-the-skies display. next door, the neighbors set off fireworks lower to the ground, while clapping their hands to the loud and raucous displays in the sky around us.
we had seen footage of the fireworks over mount rushmore the day before. we had seen footage of the hate-speech given on a day of supposed-celebration for our country, but instead filled with chasm-digging language, filled with loathing and disdain, filled with the narcissistic viewpoint of a self-indulgent small unkind man whose anger granted him a job where the hatred others feel toward humankind is given a voice, is given power, is, sickeningly, given control. yes. footage of the fireworks and the pomp and circumstance in south dakota. a new definition of the word “patriotism”. embarrassing on a global scale.
we sat on the deck just a bit, but the thick fog of smoke made it impossible to breathe. the many-families-of-children in the yard out back were screaming loudly and it made me think of earlier years, more innocent years, years when social distancing wasn’t a thing (although it’s hardly a thing now), years when we weren’t advised by intelligent medical staff to wear masks in public (again, hardly a thing). it made me think of times i could point to the president of the united states and speak of him (no pronoun neutrality for there is not yet a “her”) to my young children, without disgust, without the rising nausea that results from listening to hate-talk, without explaining why he’s lied thousands and thousands of times to this country, without the intentional explicitly divisive vitriol coming from some sad place in his soul. we went back inside the house and reassured dogdog and babycat. we just could not attend, physically or emotionally. what is there to be proud of?
i wonder whenever and wherever there will be organized fireworks nearby again. the fireworks that encourage love of country. the fireworks that make you have goose bumps of excitement and a sense of pride. fireworks that remind us of the uniting of all people. fireworks that speak to liberty and justice for all. fireworks that are a recognition of “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”
the explicitly divisive rhetoric spewed from the top down is suffocating us and is no salve for the wounds, new or old, that have been imparted on this country’s populace.
reverse threading 