On Stolen Signs and RBG's Stolen Seat
Tweedledee, Tweedledum, and The Larch
I’m feeling lost today. In all the years I’ve been following elections I’ve never been afraid that the outcome could be manipulated and made illegitimate. Not before the election, anyway. (Remembering Bush v Gore) But this one feels different. There are too many major forces out there working to create chaos over an election that could have an impact on our lives for generations to come.
Yesterday, on Hillary Clinton’s birthday, the Republicans voted in Amy Coney Barrett to fill Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s precious SCOTUS seat and then they held a celebration/campaign rally afterwards, which Barrett attended, against all protocol that says Supreme Court justices must not be seen as political. So much for that. She’s in there because she IS political.
The whole process was political. Mitch McConnell stole Merrick Garland’s seat and handed it over to a serial wiseass named Brett Cavanaugh. Now they’ve stolen RBG’s seat and handed it over to an untested novice whose only qualification is her dogged attacks on women’s reproductive rights and her willingness to agree with the Right Wing faction on the court, making them an impenetrable majority.
I wrote a bit about the vote in this new piece about preaching to the choir. (I’m all for it.)
But closer to home: Someone stole our Biden/Harris yard sign. This exact sign. Out here in the boonies. I’m shocked. I really am. What is more childish than stealing a yard sign because you don’t happen to like the candidate? Do they think everyone who saw that sign will vote for the guy they chose instead, now that the sign is no longer there? Is there some kind of victory in stealing signs? I don’t get it.
I feel like Alice in Wonderland sometimes, where up is down and down is up and the crazies are running the show. (I just realized this is the second time I’ve used an Alice in Wonderland picture in my newsletter. So, see? I really do feel like her sometimes.)
I needed to take a break from politics last week so I did some reading that took me away. I found an essay that left me breathless, and as I was reading it I was thinking about the reasons it affected me the way it did. It really made no sense. It wasn’t the kind of essay I would usually get all woozy over. So when I was finished, I wrote a quick piece on how music and art and writing affects each of us differently. I called it “Read it and Weep”. It’s here.
Here on the island some of the birches and all of the tamaracks are still in full golden glory and, by all appearances, life is good. The hardwoods have all dropped their leaves so we’re treasuring those few splotches of gold before our world turns dull. Do you have tamaracks where you live? They’re sometimes called American or Eastern Larches but the word “larch” always reminds me of that funny Monty Python skit. These beauties are tamaracks.
They’re a deciduous conifer, which sounds like an oxymoron, but they do drop their needles; so much so they look completely dead in winter. But just before they quit for the year they turn yellow, then golden, then bright orange.
This group lives up on the corner and they’re gorgeous right now. I took this picture about an hour ago.
A short one this week, and late besides. I’m going to try and calm down before next Tuesday. I want to make sure I live to see Joe Biden win and Donald Trump lose. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.