i’m not sure how much more my heart can handle the absolute madness of this election.
every day i think that it can’t sink any lower. yet every day it sinks lower.
every day there is more screaming bigotry, more undermining misogyny, more threatening rhetoric, more conspiracy-laced propaganda, more demonizing vitriol, more inflammatory lies, more exploitation, more distraction, more utter insanity. all with no moral compass.
it is truly beyond my comprehension why people want to support this maga candidate and a platform filled with – and unleashing – so much dangerous rage. the hatred is mind-bogglingly heart-stopping.
we get to live this life one tiny time. why is it there are millions of people who wish to do that without civility? without caring for one another? without compassion? without a thoughtful, informed investment in fact? without peace? with so much anger, division, blatant disrespect for the ideals of democracy?
and here’s the thing i now know: they can see it – the ugly. and they are choosing it anyway.
decency is on the chopping block. and it’s terrifying.
please vote with a measured and conscious heart, leading with goodness, sanity, unity, truth. this is the future of your children, your grandchildren, your family, your friends, your community, your country.
i tried to find an adjective to describe the things people are saying and doing ‘these days’. the current political climate has seemingly swung open a door to the undeniably crass, the vulgar, the rude, the shocking lie, the exaggeration, the pontificating of extremism, crudeness and base-ness beyond any description. i gave up on adjectives. because the descriptors confounding, perplexing, astonishing ….. don’t even touch it.
every single day i utter the words, “why.on.earth???!!!!” i am shocked at the things people are saying and i can’t understand why they are saying the things they are saying. i am shocked at the things people are doing and i can’t understand why – on earth – they are doing the things they are doing. so, yes, perplexed, confounded, astonished. but also stunned, disappointed, dumbfounded, bewildered, sickened.
where have manners gone? what about respect? courtesy? decorum??
you CAN feel it. there is hope in the air. there is light. there is possibility.
i – for one – am very, very, very tired of the darkness we have seen over the last decade. i am weary of the name-calling, the maga bastardizing of the honor of running for or being president, the hook-line-and-sinker of people who are in the trickle-down of mean-spiritedness, of incoherent narcissism, of a vector heading to autocracy.
i can feel the light and i am standing in it, proudly.
last saturday night i had an event that seemed in every way to be a heart event. for a half hour – in the wee hours of the night – i struggled with intense pain, wondering if there was a way that i could lessen it, wondering what to do. though i don’t necessarily feel 65, i know that i am 65 and so i was frightened.
we went to the ER to make sure this was not an emergency and, gratefully, the tests all came out fine. the mystery will be one for my personal physician and i to solve. but there is a learning – as always – here.
there is way too much darkness. in the middle of saturday night, while laying in bed thinking about life itself, i knew that the lesson presenting itself – the wisdom repeating itself – was none too small.
we have one opportunity to live this life. we can either live it ugly or live it with as much goodness as we can muster. we can greet each dawn with hope and light and generous possibility or we can perpetuate the dark of night, starless and with evil in our hearts.
i can feel it – this new hope surging through our nation. i can feel the energy, the light, a wide-open future full of wonder and blessed by simply breathing.
this trickle-down – of freedom and good intention – is contagious. the joy of the harris/walz campaign – the humanity of the harris/walz campaign – the spirit of the harris/walz campaign is washing over us.
and for that – and for sunday morning and each morning since – i am grateful.
technology – stuff – is like that. and we are surrounded by old technology and old stuff. now, don’t get me wrong. i’m not complaining. it’s just a fact. besides, i heard kamala loud and clear when she said, “don’t complain. dooo something about it!!”
and so, i do the workaround. it’s a bit like the electric shuffle, a mix-up of the hustle and the bump, maybe a little macarena-ish. it’s not a pretty mash, but it moves and shakes and gets it done.
a little over a week ago my laptop died. there is a grey folder with a question mark flashing when i turn it on. this is not good news for a macbook from 2008 – the year my girl graduated high school – and i immediately shut it down, in the hope that the next time i turn it on all will be well and it – personifying it, of course – will have forgotten its troubles and will simply get back to work.
in truth, i haven’t tried that yet.
i’m not anxious or excited about the outcome. well, to be fair, i am anxious, just not excited. i – listing heavily to optimistic – am hoping against hope that it will turn on and remember everything that would otherwise be lost. anxious. yes.
and so, in the meanwhile, i am typing on a mini ipad and trying to find creative ways to do what it is we do. so a little redundancy will have to work.
we have classic stuff.
our three vehicles (littlebabyscion, big red and my vw superbeetle) add up to 97 years old. my iphone is a 6, from the dark ages of 2016. this ipad is a mini2, only five years old but way past retiring. our tv is a non-smart late teen. it is as it is. and we totally make the best of it. not complaining, nope, nope.
i just know – in the middle of these workarounds – that there are those of you out there who get it. i wonder what it would be like to never have to figure things out, to never have to make it work, to never have to stand where you are and just be grateful and not wanting of more.
when i wash my hair today and tip the bottle, slapping the bottom of it over and over to get the last vestiges of shampoo out, i will think of my sweet momma and – apparently – kamala’s as well.
i’m thinking beaky and shyamala are visiting together on some other plane, maybe having sweet tea and, though they know we have plenty to complain about, watching us all dooo something – the best we can. and that, my dear friends, is classic.
i don’t usually eat thomas’ english muffins these days – the “real” ones are not gluten-free and i have been pretty much sticking to a gluten-free diet. but lately, i’ve been trying a little gluten here, a little gluten there, just to see if i can push the envelope a little. plus, “real” english muffins are one of my favorite things and eating them seems a tad bit happily indulgent.
so the other day – when david was talking about his weathered face, the wrinkles, the aged-ness – it just seemed like the highest complimentary comeback to tell him they – his wrinkly wrinkles – are simply nooks and crannies…just like my favored english muffins.
i’m not sure he was pleased with the comparison, but i love his face even more than i love english muffins, so it was meant with a whole world of reassurance.
we are what we are – wrinkles and all – and we need to celebrate THAT extraordinariness.
PLEASE NOTE: my 2008 macbook pro has crashed so i have zero access to the tools i usually use to produce SMACK-DAB. please bear with us as i attempt to continue this cartoon with workarounds while sorting out having to invest in new technology. xoxo
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it made third and fourth grade recess tough. i would be outside on the playground with my little group of girlfriends and – all of a sudden – there would be this incoming-bully, chasing after me as i ran my heart out to get away. he was faster and dedicated to his mission of twisting my wrist, so he would always catch me. he never really got in trouble, though. i wonder how that has carried him through his life. i suspect he is still a bully, only now uses words or actions that don’t involve twisted wrists (at least not in the literal sense.)
we just got off a call with a dear friend out of state. we played ukuleles and sang together over a zoom call. we chatted. and it was a joy. the thing we most agreed on was the fact that there is not enough time as it is in life to be anything but joyous. we don’t have time for ugly.
truly, none of us has time for ugly. the bullying and name-calling and undermining and hurtful harm stuff is the stuff of third grade – a period when the whole world is stretching out in front of you and you have no true concept of time’s limitations. it is closer to adulthood – and, certainly most definitely in adulthood, i would think – that we become aware of our mortality, the fragility of this life, the gift of being present on this good earth. and – with that all in mind – who’s got time for ugly?
david asked me if tommy remained my friend. i answered honestly. he did not. i no longer trusted him – his bullying was tormenting and mean-spirited. and there is no reason why i would want to be friends with anyone who would treat me that way. there is no reason why i would want anyone to treat people that way. anyone at all.
bullies have no place in a reasonable, compassionate society. they have no place in the public eye. they have no place in leadership.
we all don’t have enough time for them or their ugly.
i imagine that we are not alone – dreaming of what it must be like to be an olympic athlete, an olympic stand-out, an olympic champion. it is truly riveting to watch these incredible athletes do the most incredible things with their bodies. we marvel and have great respect for the dedication and commitment it all takes. not to mention talent.
neither of us is particularly athletically gifted, though it is clear to me that david has me out-prowessed. nevertheless, we exercise together and hike together and have biked together and – in our stand-out skill – nap together.
jessie holmes – on life below zero and referencing the iditarod – once said, “where your mind goes, your body follows.” we suspect oprah, with her feelings about visualization and manifestation, would agree. we do find that to be true. what you visualize is often what you become capable of, so it’s best to visualize the best. dream it, do it.
even so, there are certain limitations.
when i was eight i sat on a porch rail, with a string rein tied around a vertical post in my hand, in klamila, finland, visualizing myself as an equestrian. i was galloping over hill and dale, flying over jumps. the only thing that stopped me? i had no horse. my life-long dream…dashed with this single small detail.
when i was in junior high we were introduced to hurdles in gym class. i set up rope between trees in our yard and ran an obstacle course over and over and over, trying to perfect my time, perfect my hurdle. somehow – and it still baffles me – i never turned into a track and field star.
when i was thirty and we had just moved to wisconsin, i decided to pursue my life-goal of being an olympic ice skater. i could skate forward and backward and do crossovers, but i had never learned how to do salchows or axels or anything in the spinny bucket. with the other eight-year-olds in my class i attempted my first spin. my feet got it right but my inner ear has never caught up. i – a motion-sick-queen – was instantly dizzy. it had not occurred to me that spinning was a part of spinning. i retired my new figure skating tutu and turned to my piano.
some things are just not doable for some of us. and that’s what makes this world so wonderful. because there are people who are good at all sorts of things. really good. and together, we can put it all together and be the best we can be. together. the olympics are such a heartfelt and touching example of this ever-present, though somewhat under-recognized in the off-years, possibility.
we looked at each other, pondering which of the sports we would want to excel in – given the chance to pick one. we agreed it all looks incredibly hard.
“where your mind goes, your body follows,” he reminded us.
this olympic athlete stuff is exhausting! “phew!” we sighed.
sometimes smack-dab is based on something we saw or heard. sometimes smack-dab is completely made-up. and sometimes smack-dab is autobiographical. this time – this cartoon – is most definitely that – from the first person.
i do lay awake – wide awake – at night thinking about this election. i spend hours thinking…thinking about the issues at hand, thinking about what is at risk, thinking about what the fallout could be, thinking about what others are thinking. particularly people i love and care about.
it worries me that there is bandwagon-energy-infused-reactionary-anger that is blocking the good and rational, critical-thinking hearts of voters ensconced in maga-world.
it alarms me that the screaming-fired-up propaganda thwarts people’s true consideration of reality, of how their votes would affect those they purport to care about, of how this country would change from by-the-people-for-the-people to under-the-thumb-of-autocracy – the very fascism my sweet poppo, 20’s dad, my brother-in-law, david’s nephew, dear friends fought and fight against.
it disappoints me to the core for my daughter’s future to think that the diminished rights of women my sweet momma endured – and which she gratefully watched as that ever-so-slowly changed – would once again fall under a patriarchal iron fist.
it devastates me that there are people – who i clearly know – for a maga vote is a vote against LGBTQIA rights – who will vote against the possibility of my son’s right to marry, his right to possibly adopt a child some day if he would wish to.
it confounds me that the same people who are on medicare and receive social security, or whose children go to public schools, or who subscribe to healthcare via the affordable care act or medicaid, would want to change these social programs in any way that negatively affects their benefits or those who follow them.
it confuses me that people would vote for the further pushing-under-water of the middle class and for exponential growth for the wealthy, when most people in this country are just getting by and making the chasm between classes even wider would elicit even more emotional division and even less potential, fewer possibilities.
it disgusts me that people would wish for the tiny children of our country to look up to this person they will vote for who has so little integrity, who is a puppet to the biggest of big money, who is down-right mean-spirited in every arena, who is a narcissistic criminal, who is apparently soul-less. i can’t fathom telling my three-year-old, my eight-year-old, my twelve-year-old, my teenager, “this – THIS – is the best man to be our president.” i can’t wrap my head around gifting my children, my grandchildren, my great-children or this democracy with THAT as a legacy.
so i lay awake at night. wide awake. i think about what people are thinking about. i wonder what they care about, who they care about. i worry if it’s just too late to hope that they are thinking or caring.
i can’t think of a better subtitle: if it’s not one weird thing, it’s another.
in these ‘new’ days of gettin’-a-teeny-weeny-bit-older we’re thinkin’ we need a good measure of flexibility. or at least a good sense of humor. “goin’ with the flow” is kind of an understatement.
we wake up and check in with each other over coffee…did you sleep/are your ears ringing/how’s your neck/back/hip/knee/shoulder/pinky toe/do you feel achy/why do we keep waking up at 4??
dogga patiently listens at the end of the bed. he knows our list o’ woes will stop soon and we’ll joyfully have breakfast – which means he gets the treat of bites of potato. he’s familiar with our waking-up process and knows we actually do wake up happy most of the time and – so far – we are pretty good at fording the ever-raging river of … ummm … aging.
nevertheless, it does seem to be an increasingly weird list.
the fireworks were exploding everywhere. all over the neighborhood. up-close-and-personal in the yard riiiight behind us. down the street. around the corner. e-ver-y-where.
but we survived.
dogga is frightened by fireworks. and it is unfortunate that the fourth of july is his birthday, which makes it seem unusually wrong for him to be frightened.
we made absolutely no plans. we knew we needed to be there for him. we turned on the noisy window air conditioner in the dining room and tried to help him settle in. but they were ridiculously loud – particularly from neighbors who – each year – set them off right behind our backyard.
so we brought him into the kitchen with us, closed all the gates and pulled out the rummikub game.
and somehow – miraculously – that did the trick. he settled down – no longer in charge – and, even though we could still hear them pow-pow-powing all around us, he went to sleep. i can’t tell you how relieved we were that he was relaxed.
just like his first impulse is to protect us, so is ours to protect him.
we love our dogga. but i guess you already know that.
reverse threading 