Once upon a Time on Facebook

“It’s time for the American people to take back our USA!”—Facebook Post

Take back “our America...Take it back, from—whom? Who came and stole our America? Perhaps we gave it away—traded it for some magic technology beans, for bread and circuses; for stuff, and things, and more.

Perhaps our American ran away from home, got sick of our nonsense and longed for the open road. “YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF AMERICA!” she cried. Doors slam. Windows break. Tears. Tear gas. Broken bodies of those who would have justice—to whom equality is just a dream. America, struggling to grow up.

Where does our America live? What zip code does she call home? Does America have a home? Homeless America, too many of us, broke or sick, addicted, or haunted.

Or is it the American Road Show—appearing contentious, unable to stay on one continent—circling the globe—fighting her demons, but doing it abroad. Our America, her better angels taking flight…missiles by dawn’s early light. And when we come home, our demons come with us.

Our America you say? What does she look like?

Seriously. I wonder if I know her at all.

Our America. When was she ours?

When we waded ashore and wrapped up her First Peoples in blankets of death? Was she ours, when we built her with blood and sweat, from the ground up? The blood and sweat and stolen labor of people we enslaved? Was she ours then?

When was America our America? When did she stop? When we grabbed her by the —-?? Well, you get my drift. But she was asking for it. Wasn’t she?

We made America great! Once? What did that look like, I wonder? When America was great, when she was ours, when —when was that, exactly? When did she stop?

America, “My America,” is more an idea, than ideal. My America is still becoming—she is still being born, and some times, brother, let me tell you—-birth is messy. It is bloody, it is sh***y, and beautiful, and painful, and all of those things at once.

I don’t want to take her back—I want to push forward. I want some thing BIGGER. I want something BETTER than whatever “same as it ever was” was like.

I want an Our America —for All of Us.

Happy Birthday America.

Thinking of Lanston Hughs--Let America Be America Again
https://poets.org/poem/let-america-be-america-again

Vote November 6

I voted today. 

Right now, some of you are probably saying, “Dang! Was that today?”

No worries, you haven’t missed it, Election Day is still more than a week away. I took advantage of the ballot coming ahead of the Big Day and filed it out already.

Voting is a lot easier with mail-in ballots, you don’t have to get out of your jammies to do it, or get a sitter for the kids, or catch a ride, or any of those other, pesky details that are often a part of leaving the house. All you need is an ink pen and your voter’s pamphlet—you don’t even need a stamp anymore!

As convenient as all that is, I still kind of miss heading out to my local polling place—for me it was the Senior Center in Packwood. The line was never too long, and it was fun to chat with my neighbors, and buy some bake sale goodies. Usually, I had to undergo some gentle chiding by the sweet—some not as sweet—little old ladies who were tasked with implementing the voting process. Seems I was always the last in my family to vote and they always pointed it out to me that everyone else had already managed to vote by the time I showed up. “Best for last!” I would proclaim and sign the book.

I can’t say I liked punching the metal stylus into the appropriate slot next to my candidate’s name—on more than one occasion I had to request a replacement ballot. Once because I didn’t properly insert my ballot and so all my votes were “off” and once because—well, I’m very pretty, have I mentioned that?

But the very best thing about going out to vote was getting the little “I Voted” sticker afterwards, sort of a good citizenship gold star. Walking around the grocery or hardware store afterwards, I felt this real sense of shared community, all of us sporting our democracy participation awards.

I think I’ll write a letter to the fine people in charge of elections and suggest they include a “I Voted” sticker with our mail in ballots next time. Some things are just too good to be improved on, and “I Voted” stickers are one of them.

Mobbed Up Commie

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a member of the Communist Party.

I mean, I like parties—especially the kind that serve cake. I often joke that I would join any committee that serves cookies and have served my share of time on a wide variety of committees, with an array of cookie types. For the record, Tea Cakes are my favorite.

I’ve been a lot of things in my life: daughter, sister, wife, mother, grandmother. I was once—albeit briefly—even a Girl Scout. ‘’Be Prepared, is the Girl Scout motto, and I occasionally was. I was not prepared, however, to *sell* cookies, I was more prepared to *eat* them, and my time as a Girl Scout had a sell-by date.

In the early ‘70’s, I became a card-carrying member of the Young Republicans. I sent Ronald Reagan’s failed presidential campaign a whole dollar—which my father gave me, probably some sort of campaign finance violation, now that I think about it-- and they sent me a Young Republican’s card. Sadly, no cookies came along with it and, perhaps for that reason, political activism took a back seat in my life.

Until now.  

These days, my political activism has climbed out of the back seat, hollered “Shotgun!”—which is what you say when you want to sit up front, but not yet behind the wheel—and started paying closer attention. I care where America is headed.

I subscribe to the radical notion that libraries are A Very Good Thing and that our tax dollars should continue to fund them. I believe that children are our future, that we owe them clean air, clean water, and renewable energy sounds like a good plan to me. I believe that education is the great equalizer. I believe in the humanity of all people, where everyone from every walk of life, has a shot at the American Dream; that we humans have more commonalities than differences; and that elk are the juvenile delinquents of the animal kingdom and are delicious when served with gravy.  Pretty much most of that aligns with the Democratic Party—I’m guessing the Elk Thing, not so much-- and while I don’t have a card proclaiming me to be a “Young Democrat”—or even a middle-aged one—that’s probably how I identify. I don’t think that makes me a member of a “mob”, as the POTUS called me—I think that makes me a person, and American who plans to “vote Blue.”

Carolyn Long, People over Politics

 I have met both candidates for Congressional Dist. #3, but it’s been a couple of years since I’ve seen Jaime Herrera Beutler in person. I have been frustrated with her unwillingness to meet with her constituents and hear our concerns. “We the People” are her boss, after all.

 I am very impressed with challenger Carolyn Long’s background as an educator. The fact that she literally teaches a course in “Public Civility”—how to go out into your community and have difficult conversations—gives me great hope for healing our divide. Heaven knows we have a lot to bridge. 

Cookies would probably - couldn’t hurt, either.

Happy Birthday America!

  America turns 242 years old this month, and I’m not sure what gift is appropriate to mark such an occasion. I checked all the usual suggestions --the first is paper, the second year is cotton, the tenth tin, etc. But America is older than that, so I had to dig a little deeper to find that the 27th is statuary—nice idea, but America already has that really nice one France gave us--the 50th is gold—too tacky; the 60th is diamonds—no blood diamonds please.

I even consulted Hallmark on the matter but, alas, their list doesn’t go up that far. Being the unstoppable problem solver that I am, I’ve decided to just add 200 to the years listed and go from there.

Hallmark suggests that the 42nd –remember to add 200 for America’s birthday—be celebrated with the gift of clocks. While this seems challenging, it’s not as difficult as last year’s suggestion: 4

1st was desk decor. I think we can all agree that America has plenty on her desk as it is.

  Year 241 was an interesting year for our country. We experienced growing pains as we stretched to reach our full potential of a country “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all (people) are created equal.”  America, that “shining city on the hill,” the unequaled land of opportunity, that “last, best hope of earth” stands again at a cross-roads. Who do we want to be as a nation? Where do we go from here? What time is it in America, anyway?

    We are a nation of immigrants, a nation of dreamers, of go-getters, bootstrappers and can-doers. We have reached for the stars and walked on the moon. We believe in giving people a fair shake, we believe in second chances, and we believe in ourselves, in American exceptionalism. I believe America’s clock is not set at five minutes to midnight; it is more than morning in America, I believe it is closer to noon.

What can I say? I’m an All-American Optimist.

Happy Birthday, America!   Next year, I’m just going to send you a card. Hallmark will approve, I’m sure.