Monday, October 7, 2019

Let the (Impeachment) Games Begin

Written on Sept 26, 2019

So Drumpf admits to making a deal with a foreign power to influence the 2020 election.

This is how out of touch he is - he either doesn't  understand how wrong that is (because he can't be bothered with the distinction between business relationships and government-based relationships between nations) or he doesn't care. Perhaps  because he thinks he's the Golden Boy who can't be touched; that he won't be caught and won't be punished. This is the narcissistic hubris of an ego-centric sociopath. He might have flown high, but he has learned zilch on the way. There is the smell of a Greek tragedy in the air, a downfall of his own making. Much like Nixon.

I imagine Ms Pelosi finally sighing, throwing up her hands and saying, Jiminy Cricket -- it's so obvious, there's not much I can do now.  Drumpf's action are structured as a dare. And so now, finally, we have impeachment actions.

This not to say that we can predict how far it will go or what will happen next. But Drumpf is so obviously uncontrollable by anyone, that it is now anyone's guess what he will do or say as the pressure mounts and the investigations begin. I'm sure many Republicans just want to throw their own hands up and say - you got yourself into this mess, get yourself out of it. Because it's not like he listens to anyone anyway. So there you have it. Impeachment is now on the table and investigations have begun.

And as far as his protests - who  really listens to what Tiny-Hand Drumpf has to say anymore? He lies and hyper-exaggerates every little thing, so who can believe anything he says? I don't. Will there be a civil war? I doubt it. Maybe there'll be one in his mind as he wanders around his private mental-institution jail cell.  He can call this whole thing a hoax or a hoarcrux, but I no longer care - because it won't be that funny or made-up when he's in the witness box. I hope Kamala Harris gets to grill him and grill him good. On national TV - because then we just might see what a coward he really is.

It also shows you how insecure he is about winning the election on his own merits - that he has to cheat to win, just as he did in 2016. Just like students who don't do their work or don't understand the subject matter resort to cheating because they can't accept either their own limits or the consequences of their inactions. Because this whole thing smells as rotten as roadkill skunk on a hot day - it shows us that Drumpf is familiar with this routine; that this is not the first time he has (traitorously) reached out to a foreign country to influence our elections.  And that he's capable of doing it again.

This makes passing Election Security legislation imperative. Better remind my MOC about that right now.

Friday, January 4, 2019

The Women's March: 1/19/ 2019

I trust you all know about the Women’s March on January 19th.  2019. I hope many of you can find your way to one somewhere – there's one in most of the major cities all over this country. Locally, in the North Bay, you'll find one in Santa Rosa, Petaluma, San Francisco  and Oakland, beginning at 10 or 11 a.m.  They each have their flavor, but all carry significance; it’s important to show up and be counted, to stand up for the reality of women’s lives. It’s important to show our determination to right the wrongs of this administration, to defy their racism and blunt their attacks on immigrants.  We have been fighting for equality for a very long time, generations in fact, and this current Liar-In-Chief, with his misogyny and racism, is a slap in the face.  His Republican cronies aren't much better. 

The more people on the streets, the more we show how deeply and seriously we protest this illegitimate presidency; that we will not forget, that we will be there for each and every election, that we will vote and we will run for office.  Remember, the first Women’s March in 2017 had far more attendees than the inauguration for the false president. And on Nov, 6th, 2018, we tasted the first results of that march.

I know that not everyone can make a march, can walk in a march, can handle the crowds, can spare time that particular day. But this makes it all the more imperative for those of us who can to march and show up and represent for those who can’t.  Here's the link for more info and to find the closest march to you.....

Women's March 2018: San Francisco

Monday, October 29, 2018

What We Must Survive - and Fight

This week we've had to confront the violence and racism that the current administration of this country has allowed to flourish and I'm left queasy, anxious, furious and heartbroken.  And more determined than ever to make a change.  
This past week has reached a new epitome of horror: two Americans were randomly shot in the street because the shooter, driven by racial hatred, couldn’t get into a church to slay even more; eleven Americans were shot in their place of worship; over a dozen political opponents of the president were threatened with mail-bombs. And yes, I am looking at the Republican leadership. They refuse to condemn the racist, anti-Semitic, violence-encouraging words and actions of their president, who unapologetically speaks the lingo and code-words of the white supremacists. The Republicans won't condemn  and therefore, they condone; they must own them.
Jeff Sessions, Paul Ryan, Lyndsey Graham, Jeff Flake, a hundred others -- all could step up and take a stand against Mr Trump's tacit support of this radical, anarchist behavior.  I understand that their leader won't pay attention to them, but the Republican leaders must stand up and speak to the American people; they must re-assure us that this violence and hatred is not the America they seek -- or is it?  Republican leaders bear the responsibility to restore a tone of civility in public life; they must re-affirm that in a democracy we can have differences of opinion, of religion, of skin tone, of heritage and not fear for our lives.  
If they can't do that. for whatever reason, we must vote them out.
We must vote; we must vote like our lives depend on it. Because it does. 

Sunday, October 21, 2018

Knitting to Survive

The BlueWave Cowl Project continues - it keeps my fingers busy between bouts of postcard-writing and chills my mind. Yes, they are technically hats -- but the top one in the first photo began as a cowl. Though between the gauge and the yarn (Chickadee from Quince) it wasn't working out. So I tightened it up a bit and made a hat. And then I liked it enough that I decided to improve on the model ... so now I have two very similar hats. Hmmm.  And yes, I've started another one. What, you ask, will I do with three very similar Blue Wave Cowl-Hats? I do have a plan, dear readers, I do. More to be revealed.....

Saturday, September 29, 2018

What We Do, Ocean Version

It feels like we are living in a culture spiraling through retrograde. We fight and we fume against the injustices that are piling up; it's exhausting.  Sometimes we need to take a break from the endless cycles of outrage and fury. Because we have to be in this for the long haul.

 So - out to the coast to let ocean waves drown my fulminating thoughts. This fall day is a mix of distinct patches of cold and hot, like cold milk poured into a tall glass of hot coffee, before the stirring. A sweep of hot sun, then a whisk of brisk, cold air; golden light on the hillsides and dark, damp shadows under the trees. 

In Northern California, fall is not a gaudy season that clobbers the eyeballs; one has to learn to recognize it, to feel it in the softening air. There's a brittle dampness to the morning fog, a certain depth of blue in clear skis, then a dense ceiling of moisture-laden clouds.  There's a  splash of yellow along  a short row of birches, a carpet of gold under a ginko tree.  Perhaps a maple flaunts orange and red here and there, but for the most part, it’s a subdued season, the fields cropped down to dusty greyish dirt, oak leaves browned and compacted into slippery layers, a faint dust raising underfoot. The hillsides are dun-colored and scrubby, exhausted after the golden riot of summer’s end. And fires have left their black scars in pitches and patches, in ditches and dells, along roadsides, across vales, over slopes. 

Just past noon, I pull into the parking lot at North Beach in Pt Reyes National Seashore. This is the closest and wildest of the beaches along Sir Francis Drake Boulevard – not the more famous North Beach district in SF. The smell of ocean rushes my opened window, fishy but fresh.  Yellowish scum smudges the break lines of the waves, crab guts, perhaps -- or who knows? The sand is about 60-grit, a dermabrasion on the soles of my bare feet as I walk. I welcome the dermabrasion of my mind, too, as the waves pound and the wind skates along the shore. Snarls and coils of kelp, speckled with tiny black flies. Grey skies and grey ocean, but still a commanding brightness.  

Walking on the loose sand buckles my knees; walking along the wet sand chills my feet. Waves boom and thrash. Fast waves catch my lazy feet, soak the hems of my pants. I sit on a windchuffed log, and shove my feet deep into the grainy sand for warmth. Behind me, the ochre dunes are runneled by water and wind, capped by ice plants, splotchy with a brickish red.  Pelicans trace the leylines along the shore, first up, then down, gliding imperturbably - somehow prehistorically smug. Groups of plovers flash up the shore, swirl and swivel around as one and continue on, black sides, white sides, flicking, flickering.

Here, in the boom and thrash of wave, a kind of silence sits, a caesura between these days.  
So needed.

Because tomorrow, we'll be right back at it.