“…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.
i am distracted by the two days. the two days that are left. the two days before. two days. a whole two days. only two days.
“now it’s your turn to stand guard. may you all be the keeper of the flame. may you keep the faith.” (president joe biden – the united states of america)
so.
acknowledge dread, the quaking in your chest. know that in a hug one might feel the fluttering of another’s heart; one might calm the storm a bit.
be vigilant, ever watchful, particularly for opportunities to help preserve decency. know that there is power in compassion.
speak to truth; expose trickery and deceit and cruelty. silence is not golden, especially now. know that you are not alone in your grief nor your wish for goodness to prevail.
sweet potato casserole is, admittedly, one of my favorite dishes in a thanksgiving feast. that and stuffing. and maybe that string bean casserole – the one with the french-fried onions on top. oh. and mashed potatoes. even though turkey and gravy and any variety of cranberry relish are traditional, i’m not crazy about any of that. i’m perfectly content with sweet potatoes and stuffing and mashed potatoes and maybe those green beans.
this year we will not be making anything traditional. instead, we’ll make an irish guinness stew with plentiful root vegetables. something that seems grounded, reassuring. but probably without the carrots since carrots are on the don’t-buy-don’t-eat list right now. so…substitute in maybe butternut squash and some sweet potatoes – to add the sweetness that carrots would have provided. it seems right to wait and stir and wait as a good stew simmers.
liminal space is defined as a transitional period or place, often evoking a sense of unease, a waiting area.
if you are like me, i would guess that – at this holiday – you may also be feeling in a sort of liminal space, a waiting place. these are troubled times.
but just as dr. seuss described the waiting place, he also described the places you go:
“you’re off to great places! you’re off and away! you have brains in your head. you have feet in your shoes. you can steer yourself any direction you choose.”
it is my hope always that we access great places, that we steer ourselves any direction we choose. it is my hope that – past my life here on this planet – those left behind me will also have the same american freedoms i have taken for granted throughout my life on earth. it is my hope that democracy will have survived the next years – years that will test its resiliency and fortitude. i guess we’ll see.
i have shed many tears during these last months and weeks. i have mourned for solidarity of family, of friends, of community, of state, of country. i am weary of crying, bone-tired of the grief.
my sweet momma wrote to me long ago – at a different time when my rooted energy felt depleted, “live life, my sweet potato.”
and that is what we will do. live life. looking for the great places, the places to which we might be off and away, the directions we might go…in our home, in our artistry, in our world. it is still time to create, to generate goodness, to adhere to our values, to begin.
i give thanks for our old house, full of memories – a long river of time. i give thanks for the abundance i have experienced, for my sweet momma’s legacy of the imperative of kindness. i give thanks for david, our grown-up children and their beloved partners, the people we love, the people who have generously held us close, who have helped sustain us. i give thanks for opportunity, possibility, the gift of time, sweet potatoes.
i hope we – as a nation – find a way of virtue through this liminal time to the other side – the place where our constitution breathes a sigh of relief, where we gratefully grab onto the coattails of every person who has fought for our freedom – holding on for dear life – where we stay vigilant and dedicated to democracy, where we heal and re-commit to unity in these united states of america.
and today, as i write this – the day before thanksgiving – all that is left for preparation is to breathe thanks and pick up a butternut squash and some sweet potatoes.
a closer look. i like to turn my macro-lens eye at things…to look at the detail of them. the close-up is often so very different from the overarching view or the afar – and, out in nature, it reveals tiny worlds we are generally unaware of.
i aimed my camera at the reed grass plumes. gorgeously graceful, arcing, they are plentiful in our yard – and their dance in the wind brings life to our gardens. i was astounded at the closer-up photographs, ropey, twine-like, fibrous. are these jute fibers shot with a macro lens?
there is so much more than meets the eye. from a distance, we give nod to the plumes, appreciate them but not necessarily the complexity of their makeup or their role. as a singular object – a reed grass, a plume – it is likely of little consequence to us.
but contextually – in the context of the garden – it is a haven for the winter, a place where creatures will find safety and warmth, protection from predators. this singular grass may make the difference between survival and not for some critter out there.
there is a lot going on now in the arena of this country. incompetent leaders are being selected to destroy the hard work of the past that protects rights and freedoms, that addresses survival for the populace.
we could giggle at the singular choices – laugh – guffaw – at the insane maga administration and cabinet picks that can only point to destruction. were this to be a movie – a farce, satire – about the country, it would be tempting to laugh – it is that unhinged, that thuggish. but it is not a movie and each singular choice has profound consequence – even if it does not directly affect specifically me or you…yet.
and so, contextually – in the context of our country – it is a breeding ground of calamitous policy – deliberately harmful to our democracy, deliberately regressive, deliberately hurtful – expressing the wish even for crushingly austere hardship – led by a catastrophic kakistocracy. there is nothing to giggle about there, nothing funny about that. the close-up is a macro view of a cold overarching exploitation of these united states.
we can sit back – and watch the show – some of us (though not including the personal “us”) feeling somewhat impervious to the destruction-to-come. one can poke fun to get through a moment or two. but from afar or close-up – either one – the consequences of this election – the choice that almost half our fellow voters chose – will eradicate what we know.
there are gleefully menacing people – predators – out there, just chomping at the bit to have power, to reign with supreme control, to remove all the reed grasses from our gardens and leave us there without the safety or warmth of democracy.
if we had looked only at the sky, it would have reinforced the black-and-white-photograph world we felt we were in. the sky was so november. but the photo was in color and, despite feeling differently to our core, the world was in technicolor.
the trail was mostly empty, which was a good thing. we needed to be there – our lack of hiking through interminable covid was taking a toll. exhausted from covid, exhausted from doing nothing, exhausted after doing anything.
and so the sky heightened our feeling – of walking in the black and white of this past week.
by now you know i am horrified by the election, by its results, by the actual people voting for these results. it cannot be clearer to me that there is a dividing line between me and those people who voted against my own family. it is black and white…that clear.
i’d like to go all maya/mlk jr./gandhi, heck, i’d like to go all jesus christ (“love one another; as i have loved you.” john 13:34). i suspect they would be just as horrified. quoting any of them as any kind of justification in or support of this horror story is hypocrisy.
because you have knowingly undermined the safety, security, the rights of my family, of people dear to me – and that’s pretty black and white to me. and i realize i can maybe love you, but not respect you, not want to be around you, not trust you or feel safe with you. your heart is different than i thought i knew. and i can’t pretend i don’t know or that it doesn’t matter. this – this – is becoming black and white to me.
love is a two-way street. turning your back on humanity is not love. the cruelty and immense intentional hardship you intentionally voted in for other people – yes PEOPLE – no better or lesser than you – is not love. hate, misogyny, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia are not love. fascism is not based on love – you have fallen prey to cultish, narrow, extreme, bullying, propaganda-laden thinking that is not – despite the whipped-up and warped misinformed disdain you express at the price of eggs, individual gender identification, compassionate social programs – definitely not – based on love.
i’m pretty sure that many are struggling with this right now. we are all out here, internally trying to figure out the unthinkable – how our families or friends have betrayed basic rights – values – upon which we thought we agreed. it’s unimaginably brutal and painful and hard to wrap our heads around. it is so very, very sad. but it is pretty black and white.
it’s november. i drag my eyes from the november sky – where i was beseeching the universe for answers. and i look beside the trail, where leaves are still turning and the deer wait as we approach.
the stable – way back when – had a whole bunch of horses, stall upon stall in a long barn.
but i remember four.
buck and hercules and mardigras and lucky.
buck was a, well, buckskin-colored horse. he was kind of elderly, perfect for new riders. i imagine that in his heyday he was quite the looker – tan with black forelegs, a black mane. he was gentle and slow-moving, predictable and sweet.
hercules was a palomino. a smaller horse with spirit and a real love of people, hercules was a favorite and could be counted on for a good ride, wherever and however you might adventure together.
mardigras was a stunner. a big black horse, highly spirited and capable, he was my favorite. he loved to canter and gallop, and he jumped with ease, graceful and fluid. he was a horse who could go the long haul, trail rides of miles, paddock-training for hours, show jumping with the best of them.
and then there was lucky. lucky was a bay. he had attitude – but not the i’ll-cooperate-with-you-let’s-go-for-a-ride-together kind of attitude. his was an impatient i-want-what-i-want-no-matter-what kind of mindset, i-do-what-i-want behavior. he had a dubious reputation. no one was entirely thrilled with drawing the ride-lucky straw. but there were days that was the straw you pulled.
i was assigned lucky on a trail ride. we saddled up in the paddock and rode past the barn. we rode nose-tail-nose-tail, following each other up into the woods. as taught, i held the reins in my hands, concentrating on good posture and the messages i was sending my horse. i leaned over under his mane and hugged him, speaking quietly to him, trusting we were working together. in retrospect, i’m pretty sure he smirked at my innocence, curling his lip back and thumbs-upping his true nature.
once we were way up in the woods and had ridden for some time, it was the moment we turned back toward the barn.
lucky tossed his head and whinnied loud. every other horse looked at him, surprised at how noisy he was.
and then he took off.
no one had warned me that – at any moment – lucky – undeterred, unconstrained – would likely take his head, that he would show no mercy. on this first trail ride with him, i was shocked and scared at his out-of-control.
he ran – down the trail – not caring if branches were thrashing at me, not caring if i were jostled around, not caring – at all – if i were still on his back. by the time we neared the paddocks, my young, strong body was exhausted from merely holding on. we got to the barn and he reared up on his hind legs, throwing me off to land hard in the dirt. he swaggered off, uncaring, heading for the feed troughs.
my instructor immediately got me up on another horse, handing me the reins, encouraging me to ride more, getting me past the trauma.
there were other lessons, other trail rides, horse shows after that.
but even at nine years old, i knew better than to ride lucky, knew better than to trust lucky. his base desires had overrun all his kind-horse-ness, all his he-knows-better. his willfulness had overrun all his goodness.
lucky had taken me for a ride once. i wasn’t going to allow it again. there were other choices, other horses to ride.
“there is nothing to be learned from the second kick of a mule.” (mark twain)
those of you whose base rage overran your decency, who voted for the sneering, contemptuous no-mercy agenda of maga-land, where did the nine-year-old in you disappear to? how is it possible this mule kicked you a second time??
the monday-morning-armchair-quarterbacking is over the top. there is no one excuse for these election results. to be real, there cannot be enough reasons for the despicable – what the majority of voters voted for.
in the aftermath – afforded from even little to no doom-scrolling that highlights the absolute tsunami of finger-pointing, blaming, history-touting, policy-pummeling, we now see that the maga-voters voting for all the maga-sh*t did not quite understand what the maga-candidate’s maga-agenda really meant.
many of them had tuned into fox news where they learned – and clearly believed – things like people were eating other people’s dogs and cats and you could send your child to school and they would arrive home the opposite sex.
and, worst of all, they poo-pooed any talk of the abject cruelties of project 2025, jumping on the he-doesn’t-really-mean-that-he-wouldn’t-really-do-that bandwagon.
weren’t they surprised when – post-election – all the maga-cronies paused very few milliseconds and posted what would amount to a naa-naa-nah-naa-naa, stating that it was the actual agenda all along.
adding fuel to the what-the-hell fire, “…catherine rampell and youyou zhou (washington post) showed before the election that voters overwhelmingly preferred harris’s policies to trump’s if they didn’t know which candidate proposed them.” (heather cox richardson – american historian, professor of history – boston college, previously MIT, university of massachusetts amherst )
if you don’t fact-check, if you don’t ask questions, if you don’t care about any potential work in the aisle or if the country’s democracy could be decimated, if you don’t worry your little head about character or details of a candidate’s experience or qualifications or with whom they choose to surround themselves, you have chosen to be a voter voting on whatever your rage is, you have voted to follow the lemmings off the cliff.
amanda marcotte (senior politics writer – salon) opined, “a lot of voters are profoundly ignorant. more so than in the past.” ya think??
so, yeah. now what?
i’m going to clean out my closet, take a hike, hydrate and try to breathe.
there has been little air in me these last days. like many of you – but clearly, not all of you – i feel gutted.
i, too, watched as this nation elected what it elected. and, like you, we all know what that means, voting in cruelty, burying compassion, damning moving forward and any what-could-have-been’s.
someone dear to me texted me on election day, writing: “and the thing is, people will never not know who they [others] voted for and supported.”
exactly. we cannot un-know what you voted for.
as I quoted yesterday, you are who you elect. (michael ramirez – the washington post)
i woke up yesterday, my eyes still swollen – like yours – feeling strangled by the results of this election. it was as if color had escaped, as if texture had been jackhammered away, as if air was only to be found in shallow hyperventilated gulps. my children, i kept thinking, pondering their future, my daughter, my son.
there is much to do. and I don’t even know what that means right now.
we took a walk in the woods.
there was the simplicity of our footsteps – one foot in front of another – step, step, step. boiling it down. movement.
it was quiet but for rustling squirrels, blissfully unaware of the election, merely gathering for the fallow that will soon befall the forest.
there was beauty. inevitably. and, for a bit of time on our hike – the time when we weren’t spilling our grief on the path – i got just the tiniest bit lost in it.
i fear that things, that living – for the rest of my life – will never be the same again. that the darkness – darkness which people we all know have chosen – will engulf everything.
so i know that there is much to do, despite the utter grief and despair i feel right now. there is much to do to bring back the light.
this morning i woke when the sun was just coming up. dogga jumped on the bed as soon as he knew we were the slightest bit awake. we were quiet as the light began to stream into our room. we sipped coffee.
we will clean the house. we will go take a hike. we will attempt to breathe. we will be aware of beauty. we will study it – its astonishingness – and i will try to figure out how to bring it to this aching world any way i can.
and all the air will circulate ’round – the wind of next days and next days – filling our tired lungs, drying our eyes, helping us take one step after another, so that we can do the much that needs to be done.
“you are who you elect.” (michael ramirez – the washington post )
dismay doesn’t begin to describe it. devastated doesn’t begin to describe it.
the betrayal of any goodness is rampant. over half of this country voted for it. whatever your flagship policy issue was – when you stepped up to that voting booth – it should have absolutely paled in comparison to the potential of the cruelty that is now coming, the cruelty you chose.
in your vote you have eliminated all options for meeting in the aisle, for affording change that would have addressed your concerns as well as mine. in your vote you have forever undermined the constitution of this country, undermined democracy, paving the way for authoritarianism, people gleeful to have absolute power and control. in your vote you have done away with – trampled – the rights of women, of minorities, of the LGBTQ community. in your vote you have decimated healthcare, social security, medicare, education. in your vote you, who have descended from immigrants, gallingly voted to remigrate the country into whiteness, into extreme nationalism. in your vote you have opted to give your complicit nod to the alignment of this country with dictators and tyrants around the world. in your vote you have doomed any hope for our physical planet. in your vote you have thrust this country backwards.
but silly me. why would i spell out what your vote meant? you already knew. and you didn’t care.
i did not know your heart was quite this cold. i am horrified. i fear i no longer know you.
reverse threading 