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Thursday, January 28, 2021

A Time to Heal

 On November 8, 2016, I had a blanket over my head and was crying by 8:30. My friends gently teased me for being a pessimist, but I was a longtime political wonk and I knew.

It’s just as well I had taken the next day off, because the hubs and I barely slept that night. I cried through the night. We had had what was to have been a celebratory sleepover with our friends. The next morning, as I came downstairs, my friend gathered me into a hug. “Oh honey,” she said. “It’s going to be all right.”

“No it’s not,” I said. My next words were prophetic: “I feel terrible for all the poor working-class people who voted for him,” I said. “They’re going to feel so betrayed.” 

After four years, we have learned the supreme resiliency of our democratic experiment. It has been tested to the utmost. It will be tested still more when 45 Republicans vote against convicting Mr. Trump for inciting sedition, which is precisely what he did.

Mitch McConnell is being blatantly hypocritical. First he said the Senate could not take up the articles until January 19; then he ssaid that since Mr. Trump is no longer in office, there is no point.

There is indeed a point. We must reinforce our democracy. We must ensure that Mr. Trump is never again allowed to hold elective office,


Meanwhile, like millions of others, I am healing, but it’s slow. The wounds are deep from five years (including campaigning) of outrage, misogyny, racism, white supremacy, lies, watching a con artist at work, personal enrichment, open nepotism, isolationism, sexual assault, graft, the careless explosion of geopolitical alliances— seriously! Don’t undo major policies of decades with a 2 a.m. tweet, the fawning kowtowing to dictators and rulers who are our enemies and who have nukes, openly craving a Soviet-style military parade, inspiring a million anx a half people to march on Washington and mlions more on every continent... But everything pales next to this heart of darkness. He has blood on his hands. In a ghastly replay of the early 1980s and AIDS, he at first ignored COVID because it appeared to be affecting blue states (that is, more populated areas). Then he said it would go away. Then he played politics, openly helping governors of friendly states and hijacking supplies destined for other governors. In a global pandemic that cried out for federal strategy, he said, "I take no responsibility." He refused to wear a mask and loudly mocked people who did. He threatened and handicapped Dr. Anthony Fauci. He insisted on holding huge maskless rallies, the only thing that would assuage his huge ego. When he finally got up a task force, he put his son-in-law in charge. And when he contracted it, he put people at risk by indisting on an unmasked car ride so he could see the prople cheering the naked emperor. So yes, the wounds are deep. I have post-Trump traumatic stresz syndrome. Every day I have watched him engage in words and deeds, any one of which would have sunk any other politician. And still people voted for him! He has made clear his comtempt gor his fawning supporters. Don't you dare tell me that you're terrified of what President Biden will do. He is a fundamentally decent man with a lifetime of public service. He is already opening doors snd throwing out lifelines. Do not underestimate the significance of having dogs in the White House. It is exhausting to hold on to sustained outrage and grief for so long. Allow us a few deep breaths. The scar tissue will be slow to form. And since I believe in show up, stand up, speak up, speak out, I will continue to make good trouble and hold the Biden administration to high standard. But if we still jump at small noises, give us time.

Tuesday, January 26, 2021

Ponder Anew

It's been almost three weeks since I've posted. In those three weeks, I have been engaged in packing up a 1600-square-foot house; laying out $2,300 to begin an apartment rental; renting a U-Haul (because that tapped out our savings); putting as much as we could fit onto the U-Haul; driving 260 miles northeast; unpacking the U-Haul; and, oh yeah, starting a new job.

Since COVID ate my job of seven years, I was fortunate to find a new one in my field. And I do mean fortunate. I came within a whisker of being hired to work in a supermarket deli, which is supremely physical work and hard on the feet. 

There is more to the U-Haul saga. The hubs brought another load up this past weekend, and we offloaded some of it into the apartment and some of it into a storage locker. Firstborn and I now have to repack the storage locker to make room for a loveseat and secretary. Seriously! In my next life, I want to be preliterate.

For the best part of thirty years, I have lived in the Piedmont, the foothills of North Carolina. I enjoy the changing show of the trees with the seasons, but other than that, I guess I've become immured to their charms. Changing regions has been an eye-opener.

I am now in the Tidewater region of Virginia, in the southeast part, which includes Norfolk, Hampton, Newport News (hello!), Chesapeake, Suffolk, Virginia Beach, and Portsmouth. This is a part of Virginia that consists mostly of water with a few fingers of land laid over it. The trick is to identify the body of water. This part of Virginia has so much water, I almost always flunk. "That's got to be the bay, right?" I asked a colleague as we crossed a large body of water. "Oh, no, that's the James River," she said casually. Bodies of water I think are the ocean are the bay; what I consider the bay is a river; and if I see a body of water small enough to be a river, it's invariably a creek. I have concluded that this part of Virginia has so much water that residents are casual about it.

The upside, besides all this great natural beauty and being half an hour from the beach, is that so much water begets many, many bridges. I love bridges. I think they're cool and am always glad to go over one. I credit this to a childhood in suburban Fort Lauderdale and Miami, where there was a great deal of travel back and forth over two long causeways. One was a drawbridge, which sometimes was up. Whee! I still miss the Sunshine Skyway Bridge on the west coast of Florida.

The other day, a slight wrong turn led me onto the James River Bridge. The only recourse was to cross it, make a U-turn, and cross back. Which I did. Later in the week, I found myself near the bridge again, so of course I went down and rode it across and back just for the fun of it. Because, of course I did. The bridge is five miles long and takes five and a half minutes to cross. You see why I thought the river was the Chesapeake Bay? The thing had waves!

Even as I am delighting in my landscape, I am pleased to be back to my roots. Not just my own, growing up in a coastal city, but my ancestors, who came from the Tidewater region. I am tempted to re-read William Styron's A Tidewater Morning. 

Too much new stuff can be overwhelming. But if I take my new life in pieces, I expect to find lots of enjoyment in living in a new part of the country.