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.
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.
“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.
“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.
a time for women. to stand up. to speak up. to speak out. to vote. a time for men. to stand up. to speak up. to speak out. to vote. in support of women.
though i have not remained quiet, i cannot be silent. i – literally – cannot stand the hypocrisy another second.
in a tip-of-the-iceberg quote from the maga candidate about illegal immigrants, an argument he has amplified over and over for remigrating as many non-whites as he can, “they’re bringing drugs. they’re bringing crime. they’re rapists.” (time magazine 2015)
my rapist was not an illlegal immigrant. he is a white citizen of the united states.
e. jean carroll’s rapist was not an illegal immigrant. he is a white citizen of the united states.
frankly, with my apology for the strong language, i am weary of the bullshit.
i am weary of the double-standard. i am weary of the lies, the warped narcissism, the self-aggrandizing, the distractions.
i am weary of this appalling concerted effort by white extreme misogynistic nationalists to limit women, to undermine their choice, to silence their voice.
i am weary of the rapist running for president. his vileness should have destroyed his presidential aspirations long ago.
but what i find even more unconscionable is the utter complicity of men and women who will vote for this repulsive movement, who will turn a blind eye, who will vote for this predator. how low will you go to sabotage your daughters, your mothers, your granddaughters, your sisters, your girlfriends? women, where is the value you place on womanhood, on yourself, on your freedoms, on how you have fought for and lived your actual life? and men? where is the value you place on womanhood? or don’t you?
stevie nicks says it well in her new song, the lighthouse:“don’t let them take your power…don’t leave it alone in the final hours. they’ll take your soul, they’ll take your power. don’t close your eyes and hope for the best. the dark is out there, the light is going fast until the final hours. your life’s forever changed and all the rights that you had yesterday are taken away. and now you’re afraid. you should be afraid, should be afraid….is it a nightmare? is it a lasting scar? it is, unless you save it and that’s that unless you stand up and take it back, take it back.”
we watched roed, a short video by dawn lambing, earlier this week. it took my breath away as it depicted two women pulled over, subjected to a urine pregnancy test on the side of the road. it was horrifying, and, in this maga-triumphant post-roe climate, not unlikely.
yet, this is the direction maga wants to go, this is just merely part of the road – the swift controlling highway – of project 2025.925 pages of mandates to remove freedoms, to marginalize people, to undermine democracy, to abolish any checks and balances, a takeover of the federal government shifting power to an authoritarian leader, a document designed to rule the populace.
are you listening any more? are you paying attention? are you merely entertained by this chaos? have you considered this maga candidate’s incoherence, his ugly, his rhetoric, the propaganda?
or does the maga plan make you somehow feel good, feel powerful, feel justified in your complicity, in your support, in your vote??
have you THOUGHT about any of this? do you have a bottom line to feeding – what is obviously – your abundant hatred?
it’s unconscionable. and you know it.
and it makes me weep to think you think it is ok.
it is a season for pink.
“try to see the future and get mad. it’s slippin’ through your fingers. you don’t have what you had. you don’t have much time to get it back.”
we’ve been making do. one sprinkler – the kind that goes in a circle – has duct tape keeping on one of the nozzles. the other sprinkler simply refuses to sprinkle back and forth. it will sprinkle to ninety degrees and then returns to zero. it has ceased being a 180 degree sprinkler. nevertheless, we are diligently watering, despite the quirks of our roster of sprinklers. “next year,” we say, “we will get a new sprinkler.”
but right now it is time for us to get new hiking boots. our brown leather boots – which took some serious time to break in – have hiked with us for the last eight years. they’ve hiked locally, in the high elevation mountains of colorado, the red rock of utah, the rhododendron-rich mountains of north carolina, the door peninsula of wisconsin, along the coast of california and on the beaches of long island. it is likely they are hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of miles past their prime. they have little to no tread and, therefore, little to no traction. however much we love these boots, it is way past time.
oliver sussed us up pretty quickly. the gentleman who had been helping us left to go on break. he had been steering us to a certain brand – clearly his favorite brand – and he grimaced when i asked to try on different pairs of boots. oliver took over where he left off. and we are grateful to him. in the matter of a few minutes he was able to change ”steering’ to ‘accompanying’ us along on this new-hiking-boot journey. he laughed and asked us a few questions after we told him we were suffering through this new-boot-decisions. joking, he lightened the spirit around our shoe-trying-on-chairs and zeroed in on the way we would use our boots. “functionality,” he pointed out. he was both practical and reassuring and he spoke straight-up about the choices that were there in front of us, never being pushy, aware that there are other places with other brands or models that might work better. and sometimes there is a boot that will become the in-the-meantime boot. functionality. he became our favorite boot salesperson.
when the drain-guy was at our house he described two ways of fixing the piping under our sink, one way more involved than the other. i’m pretty sure he could see us both staring at him, in decision purgatory. he began to speak again, this time explaining that he is a functionalist and giving us the nitty-gritty on what he thought. his candid approach – with truth and common sense – was the help we needed. we chose the simpler fix, acknowledging that the other was likely overkill at this time. he is our favorite drain guy.
i had only seen my doctor twice before, both visits within the brief time parameters of whatever it is the healthcare company and insurance company deem appropriate. when she – at the end of my follow-up for that what-seemed-like-a-heart-event – recommended that i try myofascial massage, her confidently professional voice softened a bit and i could feel empathy in this physician i barely knew. it was in those unrushed moments of concern and in her caring recommendation that i felt nurtured. in those moments she became a person i trusted and with whom i would look forward to establishing a patient-doctor relationship.
it doesn’t take too much. but a slight tilt of the head, a person really listening, a few extra minutes all make a difference. it all matters. each of these seemingly inconsequential experiences was a validation of the consequential power of nurturing another. d and i talked about each experience later.
and we talked about how much different our world might be – if every time we had the chance to nurture someone in some way – even the simplest of ways – if we took that opportunity. to go the extra. what might happen. the concentric circles would explode outward.
we will never know how big our tiny nurturing moment of another might actually end up. but it matters nonetheless.
“the longer i live, the more beautiful life becomes.” (frank lloyd wright)
if it wasn’t ‘copying’ i would also get this inked on my body. but my beloved daughter – a bunch of years ago now – chose this as a tattoo and copying it – despite the clear wisdom of this quote – would be taboo.
it is intensely true.
the longer you live, the more beautiful life becomes.
if you take sweet time to notice.
in a most wonderful day tuesday we jaunted about, gathering knowledge and trying on new hiking boots. we joked about falling arches and bunions, our feet – somehow – getting substantially bigger, the trail-running we won’t attempt, heck, the running we will never do again, pinky toes resistant to closed shoes. it is somewhat liberating to not have the same expectations we once had. there is a different bar.
at the end of this wonderfulday i stepped outside and was struck by the moon. we immediately took off – practically sprinting (note: not running) – down the road to the lake, so that we could watch the harvest moon rise and feel its moonbeam as it chased us on the shoreline.
we sat on the deck after a long walk in perfect night air along the lake. and we celebrated our day. for in it we had tended to things that feed us – writing, exercising, eating well, planning for future hikes, laughing.
we know that our next will not resemble our past. we know that there are no corporate or organizational positions in our future. we know that aging is perceived differently by the hiring crowd than by the aging. we also know that we have aged each and every day of our lives so we don’t place parameters on what is possible. we don’t underestimate the wisdom of the ages or the insights of aging, though the word sort of makes me shudder.
and then I wonder why. why does the word “aging” give me a bit of the heebie-jeebies? I looked up the word. multiple sources. and each time i discovered that 65 is considered “elderly”. sheesh. no wonder ageism is alive and well in this country. developing nations base their assignment of old age on a person’s ability to actively contribute to society. though the united nations considers old age to be 60 and beyond, i also discovered research that suggests only a tiny percentage of adults 65 and older actually consider “old” to happen before the age of 60. we are most definitely in the camp that rejects old-before-old.
according to britannica.com, “there is no single theory that explains all of the phenomena of aging.”
no single theory. well, of course not!!
barney is still out back, soaking in summer sun and winter snow and everything in every season. he houses chippies and is a resting place for birds and scampering squirrels. he doesn’t serve as a piano now, but his soul is still a piano. barney is more beautiful than the day he came out of the dank basement boiler room and arrived in our backyard.
prior to going up-north i had only been on a pontoon boat once – in the carolina mountains with a black lab who loved to swim and a tiny little life-vested girl who equally loved the water and who spent time rafting alongside. our little boy had not yet even joined us, so it was a long time ago and the memory, although faded in detail, is clearly peaceful and beautiful. gloriously great fun.
the pontoon of up-north means laughter and snacks, old-fashioneds and slow cruising around the connecting lakes. it means conversation and story-telling, the search for loons, and the art of spontaneous plan-making.
we haven’t solved all of earth’s mysteries onboard, nor have we come up with a design for world peace, but we have found solutions to less pressing problems, offered and heard advice, dreamed a bit.
there is nothing quite like a pontoon boat to remind you of the power of community. and, more than once on that pontoon boat a few weeks ago, i looked around and gave abundant thanks for the others on the boat. snugged into comfy seats, sun on our faces, a summer breeze blowing, we are in a cove of deep friendship, people who can count on us and upon whom we can depend.
moments like these lend themselves to carrying a kind of a pontoon boat philosophy of life everywhere…a place of inclusion, of generosity, of comfort, a place of openness and caring. a place to share some time, to float ideas, to listen, to feel heard, to have raucous fun, to be quiet. a gentler ride through life, with people around you who will be there when the seas are rougher, when you need a little help with forward momentum, when their support is like oars in a rowboat.
we are fortunate – when we can give over to the pontoon boat. we are fortunate – life presents us with people with whom we can ride along together. we are fortunate – we are reminded of the sheer gift of community. we are fortunate – and we take time to be grateful.
the loons watched us and then, after a few seconds of study, they determined we were simply co-existing with them. they paddled away, riding our rippling wake.
“i go to nature to be soothed and healed, and to have my senses put in order.” (john burroughs)
to draw a paddle through silky water, to listen to the call and response of the loons, to feel the breeze off the lake and to catch the first and last glimmers of sun rising and dropping through the trees…it is completely unremarkable to say this is soothing, that these moments are healing. it is unremarkable because it is obvious, because these are so remarkable – each – and because our senses rise to these offers of peacefulness, to these opportunities for rejuvenation…every time.
we have viewed each night of the democratic national convention. the joy, the energy, the hope – they are palpable. to say that our nation needs all this is an unremarkable statement, because – of course – it is obvious. we need joy. we need energy. we need hope. we need this kind of light. we need to be soothed and healed. and we need our sense put in order.
it should be unremarkable to have – to own – this kind of hope and light and joy in this country. it should be a given. this is supposed to be the fruitful land of opportunity, a place of freedoms, a nation where – with goodness our north star – we may be who we are. and, when our senses are put in order, we remember this…each and every one of us.
when we are in chaos, when there are those wreaking ugly havoc, when division and mean-spiritedness are being stoked, when soothing and healing is far from the minds of those who wish to be leaders, it is a time we must rejuvenate our country. we must move forward, not back. we must seek the best in each other, aspire for unity, clutch onto fervent hope with all we’ve got, put our faces to the sun and get sensical.
because it should be obvious in these united states of america that democracy and freedom are the only choice, that kindness and loving one another is the way of life, that equality and acceptance and inclusion are undeterred, that sense – real sense – is in order. and that – in all its brilliant remarkableness – pointing out that those are fundamental to these united states of america is completely unremarkable. because it is obvious. because it is the way.
we drew the paddles of the canoe through the glassy water, exploring the crannies and coves of the lake. to say we were soothed, healed – even momentarily – from worries pummeling our minds, that we were able to return to our senses would be an unremarkable statement. obviously we were.
living in this country – as a place where peace and freedom and forward movement and opportunity and goodness toward each other abounds – should be as obvious.
please vote with your senses and sense in order. let us promise a soothing, healing, joyful, intelligent, abundant future to all who come behind us.
in the same way that the bamboo along the lakeshore is suggestive of a tropical clime, so is this red banana tree. it sort of creates a different reality, for this is wisconsin and – though this summer here might be leaning in a tropical (temperature and humidity) sort of way – it is still wisconsin, after all. we are not known for our beach tiki huts or crowded sandy beaches at spring break. this is the north. and, truth be told, i – in the midst of whatever this thermostat-malfunction-post-menopausal-too-hot thing is – am grateful. but a walk in the very beautiful downtown eichelman park gardens and you will be transported, surrounded by huge tropical leaves, plants dwarfing you. really stunning. they have created a different reality, at least temporarily.
it is the same way that entrepreneurs initiate and grow buzz around a new product or service. one must convince buyers that the offered product is far better than another, that it is superior in value, that it creates a different reality for the consumer. but it’s all made up. it’s just marketing.
when you own a recording label, you are tasked with developing the trajectory of an artist. in my case, that was me. so, with the help of a small amazing staff of dear ones, it was our job to create the bubble – to buzz the albums, to work retail accounts, to attend to radio play, to book concerts and events and stages, to grow, grow, grow. the one thing i refused to do was exaggerate – to get in over my head – to represent myself as something i wasn’t. i didn’t pretend to be part of a giant label or a different genre, for i was proud of my grassroot roots, of the music i created. i was content to take the turtle’s pace and to be sure to actually get where i was going and not be waylaid by fast rabbits offering shortcuts (always exacting a price, never wholesome).
so i find it particularly offensive – no, repugnant – to look at the bombastic campaigning – marketing – that is a part of the maga party. their desire to create an alternate reality in which america is great again is an unfathomable falsehood of gigantic proportion. they are not waylaid by any conscience to the underpinnings of democracy nor do they feel bound by the parameters of truth-telling. the future plans of project 2025 and agenda 47 are parallel and real – dangerous – and we can all read their intentions, though i would point out that there is this as well: we don’t know what we don’t know, what we can’t easily read or find – or even imagine – about their suffocating plans to take america to the place they call great.
what we do know is that america is not great going backwards. america is not great thwarting freedoms of all. america is not great divisive, a place where peace does not exist. america is not great full of rage. it is extraordinarily repulsive to watch the bigoted, bullying, incoherent, rage-filled ramblings of this maga candidate, yet they are wrapping believers – everyday people – in a bubbles-and-rainbows-reality they tout…a reality that will implode on them – the everyday people – should he be elected.
in september we will walk at the gardens by the lake. because it will likely still be warm – temperature-wise – the red banana tree leaves will still likely be towering over us.
in october we will walk at the gardens by the lake. it may be a bit chillier by then. and, depending on the parks department and scheduling of available staff, the red banana trees may still be there, standing tall.
in november we will walk at the gardens by the lake. all the flowers and banana leaves will be gone. the soil will be turned over and ready for whatever is next – in the spring of 2025.
when the alternate reality is gone and the dust settles, what really remains? is it rich soil or is it just filthy dirt?
we walk in democracy in september, in october and a few days in november. as we vote on november 5 we need to choose what we wish to remain in the garden. what reality truly is. what reality we truly want.
eichelman park is not meant to be the tropics.
the united states of america is not meant to be a fascist autocracy.
reverse threading 