Once Upon a One-House-For-All

Once upon a time, there was a big, bricky house filled with all kinds of characters.  Over 2,200 of them, in fact.  Tall ones.  Short ones.  Some loud, others quiet.  They were good to look at from a distance, a lovely mix of blacks and browns, white sand and sunshine.

The variety did not stop there. Rich, poor.  Christian, Jew.  Trans and straight. Even Democrat and Republican could be seen, bumped up together in orderly rows.  Some were whip smart while others took their time figuring things out.  Which was just fine, thankyouverymuch.

On any given day, this motley crew was funny and sad and complicated--often, all at once.  They worked hard and often failed, but, sometimes everything lined up just right, which felt pretty great.  And--my God!--in those bright moments, they were something to see!

For the most part, they got along.

Sure, there were the crude cat calls, the microbursts of violence exploding in a flurry of fists.  And, on just about any day, you'd find one or two of them huddled in a bathroom stall, tears rolling down a cheek.  But always--always--there'd be someone else reaching out, building a bridge, waiting behind as the laggard caught up.  Just to be sure.

In this once-upon-an-every-single-school-day place, people knew that they may not always agree with each other, but they also were certain that they would find a way to work together, when needed.  Sure, it was messy and even a little scary to reach out to the "other," but that seldom stopped them from standing up when it was the right thing to do and extending a hand when one was needed.

And, because this is a fable, I dare say that even the adults found a way to get past their differences.  Woven into the rich fabric of this house's lore are fanciful tales of MAGA fans, Bernie supporters, NRA members and Sierra Club volunteers drinking beer together! Perhaps it was the hops that bound them.  More likely, though, it was their commitment to the young ones that helped them look beyond yard signs and tweets.

Whilst I know that it needs no saying, I shall say it anyway:  This was no place for a Cyclopian politician, who drew lines not in the sand but, rather, with a knobby stick dragged furiously through wet cement.  Although even he would occasionally be invited in, to blow hot air into the auditorium, his fetid breath clinging to the backs of bored teens, whose heads slumped into their laps, where tiny devices blinked and glowed furiously back at them.  Even he might find himself changed staring into a crowd of all those others.

No, this was no place for partisan tomfoolery, though parts and wholes were discussed daily in science and math classes.  Here, within the  rough-hewn walls that rebuffed the relentless, endlessly changing winds,  folks got down to the real business of life--learning how to live it, shoulder to shoulder, arms linked and eyes wide open.

A River Runs Through It

Isn't this photo amazing?  I saw some version of it on Facebook recently and couldn't get it out of my mind.  Captioned as the place where the Atlantic and Pacific meet, I brought the concept to the lunch table, where all things frivolous and fantastic are discussed.  There, its legitimacy was confirmed, and so I believed it.

. . . until this morning, when I did a bit more research on Snopes.

While the photo is legitimate, Snopes identified the accompanying text as misleading.  Turns out, this image is of sediment-heavy glacial-river water being carried by ocean currents near the Gulf of Alaska.  One of the first photographers of this phenomenon, ocean sciences professor Ken Bruland, also debunked the idea that this delineation is impermeable.

"They do eventually mix, but you come across these really strong gradients at these specific moments in time."

When I read his quote, I had to remind myself that he was talking about water, not our country.  And yet, his explanation easily could be applied to the United States at this specific moment in time, don't you think?

Consider my original source of confirmation--the lunch-table crowd, which is made up of a smart bunch of folks.  When they told me it was true, I assumed that it was.

But it wasn't.  Not exactly.   It's a good reminder that I need to leave my tribe sometimes and venture out for additional sources. 


His quote packed another punch for me, as well.  A hopeful one.

"They do eventually mix, . . . "

In a time when politicians and news agencies seem only to focus on the bookends--the weirdos on both sides--it's good to be reminded that, in many ways, we are still mixing it up with each other in that messy middle, where most of us reside.

Bruland also offered hope when explaining the line between things.  "Such borders are never static, as they move around and disappear altogether, depending on the level of the sediment and the whims of the water."

Regardless of what we are told each day, we are less either/or than we are both/and.  Maybe it's time to clear the sediment and resist the whims a bit.

Buckle Up, Boys

Move over, Katniss Everdeen!  There's a pudgy, "middle"-aged white woman from the heartland who's had enough, and she's not gonna to take it anymore.

Granted, I can't shoot a bow without some bruising, and I prefer protests that wrap up by late afternoon,  so that I can get back home in time to make dinner.

But, still.

Still, I've given birth--twice!  And had cancer, to boot.  Plus, there's a limited-edition badass beer with my face on the label.

Oh, and I also have developed a super power in the past few years--invisibility. Which means you don't even see me anymore.  And, while that can kind of suck at times, there are advantages to your limited vision of me.

So, yeah.   Ignore me at your peril.

Actually, ignore us at your peril, you puffy, privileged white boys in Washington.   You have seen nothing like the patience of a pissed off woman.

And, by the way,  there are five million more of us than there are of you.   Not to mention all of the good guys out there who stand with us, because they know a good thing when they see one.

Some folks have wondered why I'm retiring when I still love my job.  In part, it's so that I can join the fight without fear of consequences.  And I'm thinking there will be consequences . . . .

"For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction." --Isaac Newton