The Storm has Passed

The nightmare of the last four years is almost over!

While the election hasn’t been officially called for Joe Biden as of 6:00 a.m. today, November 6, 2020, I have faith that it’s just a matter of time. The terrible black cloud we’ve been living under here in the United States for the last four years is dissipating, and there’s now HOPE on the horizon.

Democracy has been saved.

After we celebrate, we need to fix the Supreme Court and restore women’s right to choose what happens to our own bodies and hurry to repair the damage to our wildlife and our climate and our pristine wilderness. Get rid of the Electoral College!

Maybe the worst part of the last four years is the knowledge that there is still so much systemic racism here. It’s like a certain segment of society can’t get over the fact that the Civil War is over. Equal means EQUAL, no matter the color of our skin or religion, or whom you choose to love. It’s obvious there needs to be a lot more education. Racism and fascism shouldn’t be tolerated.

I’m here in California and we voted overwhelmingly for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris, but I want to take the time to express my appreciation to Georgia’s Stacey Abrams for tirelessly working to uphold honor and decency and integrity and to fight the good fight for all of us.

My parting words for that failed reality show sociopath… “YOU’RE FIRED!”

Here’s a few words from the late great John Lewis that seem especially appropriate right about now:

“About fifteen of us children were outside my aunt Seneva’s house, playing in her dirt yard. The sky began clouding over, the wind started picking up, lightning flashed far off in the distance, and suddenly I wasn’t thinking about playing anymore; I was terrified…Aunt Seneva was the only adult around, and as the sky blackened and the wind grew stronger, she herded us all inside.Her house was not the biggest place around, and it seemed even smaller with so many children squeezed inside. Small and surprisingly quiet. All of the shouting and laughter that had been going on earlier, outside, had stopped. The wind was howling now, and the house was starting to shake. We were scared. Even Aunt Seneva was scared.And then it got worse. Now the house was beginning to sway. The wood plank flooring beneath us began to bend. And then, a corner of the room started lifting up.I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. None of us could. This storm was actually pulling the house toward the sky. With us inside it.That was when Aunt Seneva told us to clasp hands. Line up and hold hands, she said, and we did as we were told. Then she had us walk as a group toward the corner of the room that was rising. From the kitchen to the front of the house we walked, the wind screaming outside, sheets of rain beating on the tin roof. Then we walked back in the other direction, as another end of the house began to lift.And so it went, back and forth, fifteen children walking with the wind, holding that trembling house down with the weight of our small bodies.More than half a century has passed since that day, and it has struck me more than once over those many years that our society is not unlike the children in that house, rocked again and again by the winds of one storm or another, the walls around us seeming at times as if they might fly apart.It seemed that way in the 1960s, at the height of the civil rights movement, when America itself felt as if it might burst at the seams—so much tension, so many storms. But the people of conscience never left the house. They never ran away. They stayed, they came together and they did the best they could, clasping hands and moving toward the corner of the house that was the weakest.And then another corner would lift, and we would go there.And eventually, inevitably, the storm would settle, and the house would still stand.But we knew another storm would come, and we would have to do it all over again.And we did.And we still do, all of us. You and I. Children holding hands, walking with the wind. . . . “

Indigenous Peoples’ Day

America, Memes, and News: Indigenous Peoples Day
 Today we celebrate the people who first
 called this land home. We remember the
 struggles and tragedies they endured.
 We honor their place in and contributions
 to the shared story of America.
Alternative News Network

I don’t acknowledge Columbus Day because it’s more of the same; entitled men making unilateral decisions without regard for anything but their own selfishness.

How fitting they’re trying to push a Supreme Court appointment that will once again unilaterally strip me of my right to my own body.

Even my AB 2.0 knows what this day really is all about, good for my son/DIL talking TRUTH.

happy indigenous peoples' day!  |  HAPPY INDIGENOUS PEOPLES' DAY! A CELEBRATION OF SLAVERY, CANNIBALISM AND HUMAN SACRIFICE! | image tagged in columbus day | made w/ Imgflip meme maker
happy indigenous people day meme - - Yahoo Image Search Results

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg

First we mourn, then we fight.

Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg  official portrait

This isn’t the post I had planned for Saturday but we have all heard the devastating news.

On Rosh Hashanah, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Supreme Court Justice, died at the age of 87 from metastatic pancreatic cancer.

I think a lot of us had the same first thoughts; “Oh no, not HER” “Not now.””NOOO!!!”

We surely don’t need her gone, not now, not during this shitshow of a year that 2020 has become.

Hearing that horrible news (tragic for her family but tragic for our country and democracy, too) brought me back to the morning my mom (the original Charlotte) died of the same disease, metastatic pancreatic cancer.

Thanks to medical advancements, RBG was able to live a lot longer after diagnosis than my mom.

Hearing about her death brought up all those same traumatic feelings of loss that I felt when I found my mom had died. She lived with us and we had cared for her during her illness with the help of a great hospice.

I had checked on her at around 5am and she was fine, not in distress, still asleep, so I did a little cleaning and made my son’s breakfast so it’d be ready for him when he woke up ‘cos it was a school day. I don’t know what prompted me to check on her again so soon, but I did. She was still in the same position; she LOOKED like she was asleep, but there was a subtle difference. I had never seen a dead person in my entire 32 years on this earth, but I knew. I knew.

I checked her carotid artery and called the hospice nurse. I woke up Angel Boy (almost 7 years old) and managed to tell him all the right things. Hospice had suggested that I ask him if he’d like to kiss his grandma goodbye, so I did. And he did. That pretty much broke me, but I’m a stoic girl and you wouldn’t know I was broken. I can break on the inside but you won’t see it. Things had to be done so I did what needed to be done. I always do.

I miss my mom. Forever.

But this is about Ruth Bader Ginsberg, a brilliant woman whose entire life was inspirational. Her loss is an epic tragedy.

About RBG’s life, the film “On The Basis of Sex” featured a song written and performed by Kesha. Here’s an acoustic version. It needs to be the anthem of our revolution.
First we mourn, then we fight.

Image may contain: 1 person, text that says 'kerry washington @kerrywashington Her rest is earned. It is our turn to fight. 8:08 PM 9/18/20 Twitter for iPhone'

Here Comes the Change

One day I’ll be gone
The world will keep turning
I hope I leave this place
Better than I found it
Oh it’s hard, I know it’s hard
To be the lightning in the dark
Hold on tight you’ll be alright
You know it’s time
Here comes the change
We’re comin’ of age
This is not a phase
Here comes, here comes, the change
Is it a crazy thought?
That if I had a child
I hope they live to see the day
That everyone’s equal
Oh it’s hard I know it’s hard
To be the right inside the wrong
Hold on tight we’ll be alright
You know it’s time
Oh here comes the change
Oh we’re comin’ of age
This is not a phase
Here comes here comes the change
Hope there’ll come a time when we
We can live in and die free
I hope…