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i don’t. at least, i didn’t. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

we overheard a conversation. a few teenage girls were walking together in the park, just ahead of us on the sidewalk. one turned to the other – in the middle of telling a story about a boy – and said, emphatically, that she told him, “i don’t know you like that.”

i texted it to myself, not because her specific boy-story was relevant to me in the moment, but because her statement was.

“i don’t know you like that.”

in these troubled and highly-charged times, it feels like a repeating chorus.

there are repeating-choruses – the kinds that are used to raise the spirit of a group of people together. repeating-choruses create shape, underscore the theme, the hook, or the important message. they encourage singing along. think about queen’s we will rock you or neil diamond’s sweet caroline or elton john’s your song, the beatles’ let it be. if you’ve ever been in a concert with everyone singing one of those songs, you know how powerful voices raised together are.

and then there are repeating choruses – the kinds that are used to raise the ire of a group of people together. those repeating-choruses also create shape. they are choruses of untruths, choruses of ferocity, choruses of bandwagon, choruses for ‘rushees’ rushing to get into an elite group to be popular, rallying choruses that make angry people part of a club. watching the insurrection in horror – live on television – with everyone chanting and screaming – no examples needed – gives you an idea of how powerful voices raised together are.

“i don’t know you like that” is the chorus that plays over and over in my mind. over and over i am aghast at the commentary of people – people i don’t know, people with whom i am acquainted, people i am friends with, people who are dear to me. it is personally devastating to see or hear their political positioning, as they sing repeated praises of what can only be interpreted as evil intent, and know what – and who – they are willing to sacrifice. what of those who will be marginalized, those who will be diminished, those whose lives will be upended, those who will not have freedoms promised to them, those they are supposed to love? i want to implore: but wait!! how is this possible? i don’t know you like that! i don’t know your good heart like that!

and media continues to beat the drum of propaganda. the ludicrous spreads. the people are gaslighted. and the choruses build.

the teenage girl in the park was clear. insisting “i don’t know you like that” dissuaded the boy and all of his attempts to spend time with her. we know this because we heard her story. it was simple. he had ill intent. she pushed back.

what will dissuade people from all the false narrative, the misinformation? what will reveal to them the cruel hidden-agenda-in-plain-view – the real plan for this nation that they are avowing with a maga vote for this? what will make those motives abundantly clear? what will make people less rabidly reactive, more discerning? what will make them listen, hear the truth? what will make them push back against this evil?

does it matter that i feel flabbergasted – shocked, really – and heartbrokenly distraught – by your apparent lack of concern for my gay son and his future, my daughter’s womanhood, every single “red and yellow, black and white” of any age, gender, orientation, socioeconomic status, religion, your lack of dedication to truth, justice, democracy?

and the toughest thing?

i don’t know you like that.

at least, i didn’t know you like that.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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what will be left? [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

and what will be left when the fog lifts?

it is a period of lost horizon. right and left, groups of peoples are being marginalized. right and left, rights are being stripped. right and left, the insinuation – no, the out-and-out statement – of violence is threatened. right and left, the environment is suffering. right and left, the clouds are ever closer to the horizon. they are sinking down nearer where the sky meets the ground. the sun is not getting in. truth is cloaked in agenda. the experiment is suffocating. right and left.

and what will be left when the fog lifts?

in the backyards of this country, in the middle of hot dogs and potato salad and apple pie, red, white and blue bandanas and sparklers in the chubby hands of small children, are we being at all vigilant about clearing the fog? are we discerning? are we observing and weighing and thinking-it-through? are we casually watching fireworks that celebrate the independence we stand to lose? are we aware? are we fogged in?

it is a watershed time. right and left. all the way around.

this is not just about us. this is about all those who follow.

when you gaze at your grandson, your granddaughter, do you ponder his or her life moving forward?

do you ponder if they will understand – will respect – that this america was built on the diversity of its people?

do you ponder if they will have choices, if she will have autonomy over her body?

do you ponder if they will have access to social programs – like public schools, access to welfare, medicaid, social security, medicare – like you do?

do you ponder if they will live in a climate environment that is healthy, that is sustaining, that is replenishing, that is balanced?

do you ponder what they will learn about history in school? will it be real history or some edited abdicating version of history? from where will they draw wisdom?

do you ponder if they will hold a sense of gratitude for the veterans of this country – their great-grandparents, their grandparents, their parents, possibly themselves – for fighting for the independence of this united states of america, for fighting for the integrity of the constitution?

do you ponder if they will be able – to be free and welcome – to move about in the whole wide world, to pursue dreams, to love whomever they wish?

do you ponder if their world will be equitable for all people, all genders, all orientations, all races, all economic statuses, all worshippers, all agnostics, all atheists?

do you ponder the life of your grandson or granddaughter should he or she be gay? a woman? a person of color? poor? not christian?

do you ponder if they – as all men and women – with no exceptions – will be held accountable for misdeeds, will be held to the values and the law in this land of the free and the brave?

do you ponder if they will experience aggression – here at “home” – at the highest level?

do you ponder if they will live in a peaceful world or a darkly dangerous world, a world of main streets and neighborhood grocery stores and festivals and schools and religious institutions with concealed automatic weapons, a world ravaged with war, a world of hatred, a world built instead on nationalism and extremism?

what – exactly – is your definition of freedom? is it a manifesto – “project 2025” – built on a governing system sans checks and balances – a transitional template to tyranny? have you read these “promises” of “change”?

have you truly done a deep dive into what could happen – in this country – the one with spacious skies and amber waves of grain?

what do the fireworks symbolize?

are you circumspect at all about what will be there when the fog lifts?

and, in really defining who you are – now, in the partisan sense of the words “right” and “left” – will you turn right or turn left?

will you truly – truly – evaluate all that is at stake?

will you stop listening to the screaming voices and clear the fog and sort to what is really being said?

will you look beyond the hype and the surge of adrenaline and the shot of popularity that comes from expressing anger and riding the bandwagon?

will you read, research, ask questions, seek truth?

will you be responsible? will you be a responsible citizen?

will you step back, turn away – even momentarily – from the fervor of spectacle and actually look at that which is in plain sight, that which is up-close, clear, terrifying?

what do you want for that grandson, that granddaughter? really?

what do you want for your children? really?

what do you want for you, your family, your community, this country? really?

do you wish for amorality? tyranny? fascism?

what is our individual and collective legacy to Next?

the fog will dissipate and the horizon will become clear. that’s how fog works.

what will be left when the fog lifts?

what do you want to see? for you?

what do you want to leave behind for them?

what will you vote for?

*****

WHEN THE FOG LIFTS from THIS PART OF THE JOURNEY ©️ 1997, 2000 kerri sherwood
WATERSHED from AS IT IS ©️ 2004 kerri sherwood

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rhyme and reason. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

“and you wonder where we’re going
where’s the rhyme and where’s the reason
and it’s you cannot accept
it is here we must begin
to seek the wisdom of the children
and the graceful way of flowers in the wind“

(rhymes and reasons – john denver)

when i was little my family took vacations at upstate new york state parks. we stayed in rough-hewn cabins where, at night, my sweet momma would warn us all to pull up the covers and she’d run around the cabin spraying raid everywhere. the mosquitos were ruthless but the fun was grand.

one summer both my brother and sister and their spouses and children vacationed as well. we all had cabins next to each other and explored the lake and the woods and surrounding towns. one of these towns had a county fair. so we went.

naturally, those traveling carnival rides were a part of the fair – the ones where they tear them down and put them back up, trailer them to the next venue day after day. as an adult i feel somewhat leery of those – always wondering if they had leftover reassembling bolts or when the last time was that they checked belts and such – but as a child, i don’t think i gave any of that a thought. i just believed in goodness and that all was well.

because i simply cannot do anything spinny, we went on the merry-go-round and then my dad convinced me to go on the ferris wheel. it seemed inordinately large and went high into the sky. we stood in line and then took our seats in the little cabin.

i was excited until we went around once. then they stopped the wheel at the top, loading other riders down at the bottom. i must have felt imperiled. i began to freak out.

my dad had this loud whistle – he could whistle perry como tunes as well, but this was a really loud whistle. he whistled his whistle and the attendant looked up. my poppo yelled down to stop the ride when we got there – we needed to get off. and so the attendant stopped the wheel and we disembarked.

i wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about wanting to stop and get off. not back then.

and i’m not the least bit embarrassed now about every now and again wanting to stop the world and get off. i feel like we all need some time off. quiet time. time out. time outta this world that has gone off the deep end. time away from feeling imperiled. a breather.

the last weeks – months, years, really – have been over the top. though you don’t know my whole list, we all know our whole list. it is not an exaggeration to say that we are imperiled. we are on the top of the ferris wheel and the attendants are not quite sure they installed all the bolts.

on these days – of too-much – we – d and i – do stop the world. we go for a hike in beautiful places. we sit on our deck with our dogga. we read together. we prepare and cook food. we appreciate the sun streaming in the windows, spilling onto our quilt. we find rhyme. we seek reason.

and, before you screech me to a halt – stopping the world and getting off is not the same as sticking your head in the sand. it’s simply a way to reassess. it’s a way to think and plan. it’s a way to evaluate what can be done about the ferris wheel. it’s a way to be able to come back to the trenches and get back to work. it’s a way to resupply the energy drain that reading the news exacerbates every single day.

i wonder where we’re going. i wonder what the rhyme and what the reason of the bigotry and division and marginalization and diminishing of rights and the barreling toward extremism and authoritarianism and downright meanness. i’m astounded and not astounded. remember, we don’t know each other’s stories.

i do know that if stopping it were as easy as having my poppo whistle from the top of the ferris wheel, he would do it. in a second. for he and my sweet momma would have nothing to do with the direction of all this. no. my dad was not missing-in-action and a POW in world war II to watch his beloved country heading toward the possibility of turning into THIS. THIS is what he fought *against*.

i’d imagine that as my mom and dad are watching from that other plane, they are also astounded. and not. for they are just as aware as you and me that there are just really evil people with inordinately evil ideas ready to pounce in unconscionably evil ways.

and i’d imagine that – yes, in the same way he looked after me on that day at the county fair – he wishes he really could just whistle and make the ferris wheel stop. he likely wishes that the world stop in suspended animation for a moment and then come back to its senses – to the place where the children and the flowers are actually from where we draw wisdom. to a place of goodness. to a place of rhyme and a place of reason.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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the light between us. [two artists tuesday]

on the side of the willis tower – downtown chicago – is affixed the atmospheric wave wall. created by the same artist whose rainbow bridge we loved at the milwaukee art museum, olafur eliasson’s piece is striking and imbues the colors of the lakefront – sky, clouds, water in all its moods.

in speaking about his piece, olafur – also a climate and community activist – says, “what we see depends on our point of view: understanding this is an important step toward realizing that we can change reality. it is my hope that this subtle intervention can make a positive contribution to the building and to the local community by reflecting the complex activity all around us, the invisible interactions and minute fluctuations that make up our shared public space.”

the steel catches the light of the sun. the piece seemingly shifts with the movements of everything around it, with time as time passes.

we have not yet seen it at night – lit from behind – but i imagine it is stunning – with light escaping from the intersection of the colored tiles. the places of light: in-between.

just as weird as it was to sit on the train it was equally with wonder to move freely about in the city – after all this time and so much that has happened in our country – sans innocence. it is with a bit of heightened awareness we move in the world now, though i don’t suppose heightened awareness helped any of the victims of the latest violent rages at the hands of angry out-of-control people. it is impossible to figure out why the wrong front door or the wrong driveway or the wrong ask-of-a-neighbor could elicit such unconscionably brutal responses.

we were driving to the grocery store. we took the route we usually take, a side street. two-thirds of the way down this road – before the traffic light – our attention was driven to a guy on the sidewalk, staring at us. brandishing something – we don’t know what – he flailed his arm around, pointing to the sidewalk, swinging, pointing, staring at us.

pre-whatever-phase-one-would-call-the-phase-that-this-country-is-in we probably wouldn’t have thought twice. we might have wondered what he was doing, might have wondered why he stared at us, might have pondered what he was brandishing. but we wouldn’t have been entirely creeped out and we wouldn’t have planned a different route home and, perhaps, a different route to our store for the continuing future. it felt like the place between was unsafe. and i find that devastatingly sad.

we live in a normal midwest town. only – i guess – not so much. our town is now known – in these last years of the more-unsafe-phase – for a plethora of events that have no light in-between. our small city is as broken as every other small city, as every other big city.

were there to be a wall of art to represent this phase of our world what colors would it be?

in his rush to get one of the coveted front spots at costco, the guy in the infinity cut me off in the parking lot. i parked in a different row, but watched as he got out of his car. he bent down and pulled out some kind of revolver, tucking it into the back waistband of his pants. then he walked into the store.

i must say – i haven’t ever felt a need to protect myself in costco. maybe from overspending, but never from violence. it was disturbing – almost to the point of turning around and going home – to know this guy was walking around – maybe getting a rotisserie chicken or ribs or a bottle of wine or eddie-bauer-sweats or glucosamine-in-bulk – with some big handgun in his pants. i told d about my reticence to go into the store.

we have a code word for anytime we are in a situation that suddenly feels unsafe. post-parade-massacres, post-grocery-store-shootings, post-concert-devastation, post-festival-tragedies, post-school-maulings – post-all-of-it and in the middle of all of it – we know to drop everything and get out or get away if either of us senses danger. no questions asked. no lingering. just go.

it is without light in-between that this country has come to this point. the intersections of peoples and genders and ethnicities and belief systems and economic statuses and, apparently, any differences whatsoever, seem to have no light. they are not backlit nor are they reflective of the sun streaming over this land.

“our shared public space.” shared. from sea to shining sea.

how do we create the invisible interactions and minute fluctuations of a safe shared public space? how – in a country that seems to have insidious anger and no shortage of violence – do we find the light in-between us? because “we can change reality”.

*****

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momma, poppo and dolly parton. [merely-a-thought monday]

i wish – every day – that my sweet momma and poppo were still here. that we could coffeesit with them, make them great soups for lunch, spoil them for dinner. that we could take them apple-picking and introduce my dad to a new scotch or two he hadn’t tried yet. that we could maybe adventure a little or just be quiet and listen to their old stories. i wish.

the thing i know, though, is that they would be beside themselves in this circus of a country we now have. it would make both of them irate to watch the vitriol being tossed about, the divisiveness that is being fed by rabid spewers, the lack of transparency, the lies. my daddy-o would have a few choice words to describe these folks and they wouldn’t be pretty.

and my mom? well, she would have no time for anyone who is less than kind to another. she would want nothing to do with any politician or religious leader or pundit who skips kindness in their approach to life, who excuses their own behavior, stance, agenda, platform, control tactic, extremism based on warped interpretation of law or scripture. she would point out the colossal hypocrisy. she might reiterate the story about when, in the dark night, they parked their little vw bug next to a small hill off the road. tired while traveling europe by car, they needed to rest and could find no guesthouse nearby. the little hill would serve them well, they thought. they woke up next to a gigantic dung pile, covered with black tarp held down by old tires. she would trust that we could connect the metaphoric dots. sometimes a hill is not a hill.

i think that both of them – were they here – would be ashamed of what it’s all become. my dad would wonder how his service – missing-in-action in world war II and then as a POW in a bulgarian camp – mattered now to these people who are making a mockery of democracy. my mom would be aghast at how people are being treated, marginalized, discriminated against, excluded. she, who worked hard to be kind to everyone, would worry about the popularity of this ugly trend. yes, they would both – were they here – be astonished at how, in so many arenas and in so many circumstances, people are just downright not good to each other.

i guess that – were they here – they would love a sit-down with dolly parton. they’d probably all talk at once, new yawk and a southern drawl all intermingling in conversation. and they’d all agree that they didn’t understand why anyone at all would “let religion and politics and things like that stand in the way of just being good human beings.”

and then – were they here, the three of them together – they would remind us all to stay away from dung piles posing as hills.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY


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all we really want. [flawed wednesday]

it’s disconcerting to round the corner to your street and see five fire trucks parked there, lights on, hoses at the ready. more fire trucks continued to arrive, police cars blocking the entrance to the road at both ends. the instant we got out of the car in the driveway it was obvious. there had been a gas line puncture; natural gas permeated the air, heavy in the warm humidity. the firefighters directed us residents into our homes, our tendency, otherwise, to stand on driveways and discuss the happenings. it took a while, but the gas company came, a worker climbed into the hole (i would assume that person receives hazard pay) and, much like the story of the boy and the dike, somehow plugged up the puncture. after some time, the fire trucks left one by one and a semblance of order returned to the neighborhood, though no one was anxious to light a bonfire or a grill or cause any sparks for a while.

the news of more wildfires – again – still – in california is overwhelming to read. with temperatures hovering at one hundred degrees and drought a repeating theme, i cannot imagine the insurmountable task of the firefighters, the constant worry about loss of lives and homes and wildlife.

and then, on the other end of the wet-dry spectrum, the floods in kentucky. worried about the owner of the tiny house we stayed at south of lexington, i texted her. she and her whole family are from the hollers of kentucky, growing up near rivers that are now flooded. i didn’t hear back, but checked facebook and found that her church was underwater and she had – already at that time – devastatingly lost two neighbors.

both extremes. catastrophic.

it seems that these events never end. one morphs into the next into the next. our fragile planet suffers while politicians debate inane issues and, from all evidence, seemingly seek to stoke their own financial objectives. meanwhile, in every corner of the globe there is mighty confirmation that this good earth is in crisis. this puts each of us in crisis, our children, our children’s children, the children of our children’s children. and yet, politicians, in every corner of the globe, sneer and attend to their own shortsighted power grabs. wow.

it would be hard to choose to be a firefighter. it would be hard to work for the red cross, crisscrossing this country in an attempt to attend to the extreme needs of its populace. it would be hard to be a climate scientist, likely frustrated out of their gourds watching and listening to the pushback of idiocy.

and there are more it-would-be-hards. it would be hard to be a teacher or a school principal, as the new 2022-2023 school year rapidly approaches and the worry about potential school shootings revives after summer break. it would be hard to be the manager of a grocery store, the managing director of a concert venue, the owner of a dance club, the grand marshal of an idyllic holiday parade, the owner of a movie theater, the director of a medical facility, the leaders of a religious institution….

we-the-people face down emergency after emergency. i would think that all we really want – now’days – is to think that our safety – whether from climate crisis or gun violence or extreme aggression or marginalization – would be foremost. all we really want is to avoid catastrophe. all we really want is to believe that the leaders of our communities, our states, our country have our best interests – and not their pocketbooks or personal agenda – at heart. heart. yes.

all we really want is to not pull down our own street-that-we-live-on – wherever it is – and see a multitude of fire trucks and a catastrophe – from anything within human power to prevent – that is insurmountable.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this FLAWED WEDNESDAY


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this day and age. [merely-a-thought monday]

“will you get to watch any fireworks?” she texted.

our city has spectacular fireworks. for over three decades i have marveled at the extent of the fourth-of-july display over lake michigan, sitting on the rocks along the shore, in the parks along the lakefront, down by where they set them off by the harbor. the fantastic light show goes on for about a half hour, culminating with a finale that bursts open the sky with color.

this city has a festival down by the lake, a carnival in the downtown, food vendors and dock-jumping-dogs and lots of music. there are children with ice cream cones melting on tiny fingers, bubble machines making iridescent bubbles float all around passersby, red, white and blue tchotchkes/chotchkes/chachkis on carts and people, bike parades with flags and streamers. there are hot dogs and brats sizzling, cheese curds and funnel cakes, lemonade and icees and dippin’ dots. there is no shortage of fun celebration and it’s all right there, within walking distance.

but in this day and age…

we won’t be going to watch the fireworks. this will be the fourth year now.

in 2019 we had just moved on island and didn’t leave dogdog and babycat during the display; they were adjusting to a new house as it was and we had no idea how loud the fireworks would be.

the city cancelled the fireworks in 2020; the global pandemic was early-on and there was a healthier respect for distancing.

last year, following the insurrection at the nation’s capitol, along with little to no leadership-held-responsible-for-all-of-that or any accountability, we stayed home.

and in this day and age…

we will stay home again. for the farcical supreme court has begun absolutely dismantling the freedoms that we are supposed to be celebrating. extremism and religious right are suffocating citizens of this country, thwarting the ability to live freely and make one’s own decisions. equality is going the way of centuries ago. discrimination is rising up, like fog on a wind-shifting hot summer’s day over the great lake. gun violence is dramatically increasing and, yet, guns are not limited. the extreme climate crisis is heaved off to the side in favor of big business; the epa is undermined and our children’s futures will feature many more “air quality alerts” than we could ever imagine, not to mention the global warming fallout from fossil fuel emissions. we watch lake mead drop and drop. we read of the po river in italy receding, lives substantially and critically affected. we see that australia is under water and that there are red flag warnings across the southwest – fires will be prevalent as the heat is heating up. the relationships between countries are strained. politics are warped. politicians play on stages of self-agendized blather. there is a lack of responsibility. there is a bigger lack of looking out for the big picture, the long haul, the world that will be inhabited by the children of our children’s children. kindness, consideration, compassion are looked at as weakness. we are flabbergasted at the stupidity. more, we are incredulous at the lack of people to see the stupidity. it seems the more clownish, the more vile, the more popular. it seems that evil lurks. and i wonder about the hypocrisy of watching fireworks while there are people quietly – and not so quietly – undermining democracy. we could ignore it all and go cheer – as loud as my sweet momma used to cheer – at the fireworks. or we could take a pause.

our old backyard neighbor played two things in their backyard. one was the soundtrack for “mamma mia” and the other was an album of john philip sousa marches. never insanely loud back then, both made us smile. a relationship three decades long.

but in this day and age, there are multitudes – truly multitudes – of children in that yard out back, a yard equipped with every single thing any generous public playground might have: full-size batting cage, full-size trampoline, three soccer nets, a basketball court, zipline, fort, swingset, sandbox, large plastic toys, atvs to ride, bikes, balls, bats, rat-a-tatting big toy guns and a new mysterious large wooden structure being built back along our lot line, where they can’t hear it or see it from their house, like most of the other entertainment devices in the large yard. apparently not at all conscious of the it’s-a-neighborhood-you-live-in-a-community philosophy, surrounded by people who have actually resided right here for decades, they play loud music through outdoor speakers so the whole neighborhood can hear – though no one gets a vote on what’s played – and the children have a spicy – and foul – vocabulary and bloodcurdling screams they don’t hesitate to use. demonstrating antagonism seems the way in this land beyond the dead arbor vitae. goodness! when did the rules of neighborhood – the rules of neighboring – change? did they not watch mr. rogers? parents need remember children are always watching their lead. likewise, leaders need remember citizens are always watching their lead. and how precisely did we get here?

this day and age.

we could make a big pitcher of iced water with slices of orange and lemon and grill some (plant-based) burgers, play a little music – at an appropriate volume – and watch our new pampas grass grow. we could admire our newly-cleaned garage or the new green blades growing in the haynet out front. we could paint rocks to hide on our trail or plant a few flowers. we could speed-dial fred rogers. all are quite likely. well, except for fred.

and we could go see the fireworks.

but we won’t.

not in this day and age.

though it will be a statement we make only to ourselves, it will be comforting to dogga for us to stay home.

besides, some things are just too much. in this day and age.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY


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it’s not the spiders. [d.r. thursday]

i don’t know when it started.

maybe the day – when i was about fourteen – when i was laying in bed, having just awakened. i was on my back and curled next to me was my sweet miniature-collie-german-shepherd-mix missi. before jumping up to get out of bed i opened my eyes and stretched. dangling right above my face – merely inches away – was a gigantic spider. gigantic: of monumental proportion.

stifling a scream, not wanting to open my mouth, i limbo-ed my way out of bed, my eyes fixed on that spider. once out, i ran down the hall to the kitchen, never thinking about the fact that it was likely crawling on my pillow after my departure.

needless to say, i have a thing about spiders.

i don’t like them.

this may be problematic as we thru-hike some day. i’ll have to wave my trekking poles in front of me as we hike. and i’m not sure what i will do in our tent. i’ve camped before, though it has been a while. and my fear-of-spiders has grown through the years. i must have spider-trauma.

the first years i taught school in florida, my classroom was a small building they called “the music shed”. it was tucked into a swampy area of the school campus and they didn’t mention, on the day of my hiring, the banana spider population lurking inside that little building. inches across, these are not for the faint of heart. he brought a shop-vac one day to rid the room as best he could, but every day part of my attention was always looking for something moving – on the walls, on the floor, on the ceiling, on my desk, in the cabinets. just writing this post makes me feel a little squirrely.

so when this big ole spider was walking on the bedroom screen the other day (fortunately, on the other side of the screen) i flicked at it and was relieved to see it gracefully fall and scurry off.

i suppose there are many people who are afraid of spiders. we all try our best to avoid them, even as spiders have virtually no interest in us. they are just going about their business, unlike mosquitoes, who are seeking us out, to torture us. i read that most spiders are as harmless as ladybugs and goldfish. somehow those don’t terrify vast numbers of people.

but spiders, like snakes, get a bad rap. we think of them, creatures that do their best to get away from us, as scary and dangerous. while in reality, it’s the mosquitoes and ticks and no-see-ums and mites, stalking us, that should be the target of our ire, their elimination our focus.

funny how that works. pests quietly, deliberately, going about making our lives miserable. there, often unnoticed, often underplayed. eating away at our comfort, the freedom of our existence, bringing disease.

i don’t know why this makes me think of today’s political arena.

*****

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blue and red and white weep. [merely-a-thought monday]

the color that is most associated with freedom is blue. it represents vigilance, perseverance, justice, prosperity, peace, and patriotism.

and, yes, freedom.

in a horrifyingly regressive turn of events – strategized and intended – the supreme court has diminished the freedom of women in this country. we have traveled backwards decades upon decades upon decades. the panting of their victory lap pales in comparison to the collective gasp heard around the world as the united states thwarts its own growth toward equality, toward being a nation held up as an example respecting human freedom-for-all. with no backwards glance of remorse, these justices undermined fifty percent of this sea-to-shining-sea-this-land-is-your-land land.

and so, it is time to climb out of the quiet shells in which we try to peacefully reside and speak up, speak out, shatter the silence. we must hold those responsible who have struck down the rights of women to have autonomy over their bodies. we are on a downhill vector and the rights and freedoms of gender identity, sexual orientation, racial equality run neck and neck in the justice-extremist-whack-a-mole, justices holding hands, religious-patriarchal-supremacist stickytape gluing them together and eroding the separation of church and state they are sworn to uphold. what deity would support such reprehensible action? the color blue – the sky, peace, true justice – weeps. democracy cracking, a fragile idea failing.

“…o say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
o’er the land of the free
and the home of the brave?…”

robins laid these blue eggs. birds. symbols of freedom. also of hope, renewal, rebirth.

blue. the color of freedom.

what color represents bravery?

oh yes. it’s red.

and then – white. purity. innocence.

red, white and blue.

perhaps they should change the flag too.

i’m thinking yellow.

the color of cowardice.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY


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way past enough. [saturday morning smack-dab.]

way past enough.

enough was a long time ago. enough was after the first mass shooting. “enough” is no longer relevant.

i hardly know what to say. every one of us in this country should be shocked into exhausted, sickened silence and then pushed into action, no longer sloughing off of the actual responsibility to protect the citizens of this land from the barrel of a gun, from the devastation of people’s lives blown apart.

this spacious-skies-amber-waves-of-grain united states is an embarrassment. the freedom to live life – at school, at church, at a concert, at the movies, in the mall, at the club, at the grocery store – the freedom to continue breathing is usurped by powerful money-rich-control-hungry leaders – voted into office, no less – with not even a nod to the sanctity of lives taken at gunpoint.

it is utterly shameful if you are not filled with rage, if you are not horrified with the guns in this land and those who support the exponential growth and prioritizing of their presence and the power they wield. they will utter their passive “heartfelt” “thoughts and prayers” and will soon forget their “outrage”. until the next time.

there are no more excuses.

there never were.

*****

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