When I got the text, I cranked Spotify as loud as it would go, opened all the back windows, and went out on the deck and danced (you and me, both, Marti! And Nancy!) Kool and the Gang: CELEBRATE Good Times, C’mon.
There came neighbor J, emerging out her back door to ask if it had finally happened. YES! Which state? I don’t even know yet! She disappeared inside to tell her husband, who was in the shower.
Across the fence lines, two parents at the playground looked at their phones, yelped, and gave each other high fives. Then waved at me, understanding the backyard ruckus.
A bunch of us spilled out into the street and gathered on a front lawn two doors down. Champagne. More dancing and hooting. Queen: We are the champions!
“Oh my god!” seemed the most frequent comment. “Oh my god!”
K’s sister and her husband were due any minute, so we couldn’t cruise into Boston and see the crowds celebrating.
But that’s okay. Given the glorious weather (high 70’s and clear blue skies), we had decided to celebrate Thanksgiving on Saturday. But let me tell you, what started out as a pandemic-compensatory event turned into a moment of giving genuine thanks.
Now I am baking Irish soda bread (there’s a new season of The Great British Baking Show!). I hope it’s not stodgy.
Also rearranging books subsequent to a garbage picked perfectly intact ikea three drawer cabinet with bookcase on top. We put it in C’s room. It’s allowing me to unstuff bookcases in both boys’ rooms, which is nice.
And now I’ll bid you adieu. WordPress has reached that inevitable point in the process where it’s tired of me. Slowed down. Resistant. So forgive typos, I’m gonna just post and run!
Somehow that thread hanging down says it all.
Considering hawk head design. After seeing the phenomenal outpouring of support for my brother on GoFundMe, I’ve decided to call this quilt, “It Takes A Village,” and give it to one of his most generous friends.
He is back in LA, by the way.
Stitching and watching TV. Perfect after a poor night’s sleep. Manuscript sent back to editor, making for a pause. No calls. No deadlines. My kind of day.
Here’s a funny fact: during first hospital visit, my brother’s partner revealed that he watches Hallmark movies. How strange! Billy? Really? (Did I already share this?) My husband now smugly proclaims that the Mallons have a Hallmark Schmaltz gene. I can’t explain it any other way.
Here’s something else: the gofundme fundraiser put up by a friend of my brother’s (to pay for medical transport, an in-home elevator, specialized equipment, etc.) topped $150,000 in three short days — almost all donations in the $100 range. Just amazing love and support. It’s been so touching to read people’s comments about “Dr. Billy” — his memorable witticisms, his teaching and generosity, his larger than life character.
I almost went to freakout-mode this morning when I pulled two of the darkest cards in my SoulCollage deck out about the election. The one on the left was made in response to the 2016 election. The one on the right was meant to express something about toxic masculinity.
Then I listened to Pam Gregory talk about the Full Moon on Halloween, as well as some heavy aspects with both Uranus and Pluto. Think: upheaval, social unrest, chaos, the tearing down of structures. Continuing through the 14th. Ugh.
But Gregory emphasized the importance of choosing to watch the play about light while rejecting its violent, dark cousin. She said we can become addicted either to fear and tumult or to joy and compassion.
I choose joy.
May I be peaceful. May I be free of inner and outer harm. May our nation be peaceful. May our nation be free of inner and outer harm.
On the fateful night, although not the decisive night, one friend plans to zoom with her Quaker community, another to block out all media. I say with a barking laugh: “Oh, it’s ice cream and Steve Kornacki for me!” Last time, I stayed awake. I drew a map of Florida and prayed over it. I saw the dismal, bleak, heartbreaking result before dawn, which by the way was not shocking because ever since a certain lanky G-man had made a catastrophic announcement about emails, I’d been sick to my stomach. Part of me knew already. Could not be shocked. Is it a good and decent sign that no such sick feeling attends these final days? Flutters of panic, passing visions of chaos in Pennsylvania, but no stomach ache.
Even with one of the Orange Buffoon’s Supreme Court appointments practically quoting the propaganda machine in an anti-democratic voting rights decision favoring republicans, I don’t feel sick yet. (There’s Gorsuch parroting Fox News about the need to have results on Election Night, adding “or soon thereafter,” just to sound lawyerly).
Isn’t it awful that “anti-democratic republican position” is now a redundancy? One Party Minority Rule is their game — and not a good solo party, either, but a regressive one with allegiances to business that will wreck the environment, with Federalist Society reasoning that tries to mask their sexism and racism, but can’t. Bye, bye voting rights! Bye, bye legal contraception (and you thought just abortion was on the line?) Bye, bye legal same sex marriage. Due process will have three months to fall during the next President’s 180-day Commission, that is, if we win and win big.
If we win and win big, the centrist party will have to turn a fire hose back on the other side of the aisle. We wont’ stand for less! All legal, of course, and perfectly Constitutional — “balancing” to “packing.” But really, why take it sitting down, with our heads in our hands?
Here’s the thing — AND IT’S NO SMALL THING — the right wing will revile whatever we do — even the centrist politician’s tip-toeing along, touting the virtues of incremental change — so we might as well be bold and decisive. Which is not to say I’m about to put a rose in my twitter moniker.
She makes calls to Wisconsin, another to North Carolina. The friend from Cleveland shares the podcast about white suburban women changing their minds (not my mind, mind). I gave a chunk of money to secureblue (again!) because who can say NO to President Obama? Also: made a gift to a Wisconsin voting advocacy group, because: Gorsuch. NO MORE MAIL!
Because a certain handmaid on a balcony stands ready to proselytize in jihadist extremes from our highest court. There she was in black with a tight smile, I’m guessing her only kind of smile, and pearls, standing next to the fat orange transgressive machine of destruction. Posing for Reality President TV. Will we be free of the beige, racist eunuch of a son-in-law, who’s speciality, for all I can make out, is failure? Well, and maybe crimes against humanity. Will we be rid of the Goya-posing reconstructed daughter that Daddy would’ve liked to fuck both before and after her many surgeries? Please say yes. Rid of them. Gone. Please say yes.
May those with sense be ready with a replacement health care plan, Supreme Court work-around built in. Then let the minority (may they be a minority!) bring 50-60 — or WAS IT 70? — bills to try and repeal THAT. McConnell closes up what some have called “the most expensive lunch club in DC” until November 9. Can you imagine being so cravenas to advance his justices with lightning speed and leave Americans in need hanging? Seriously, (and Mr. Necrotic Hands did more than take a fall, by the way), he knows his Stupid Prick of a leader is about to go down. He knows he himself hasn’t got much longer. Else he might not have taken such an inglorious and hypocritical approach to the Supreme Court vacancy. He’s grossly miscalculated, says one. It’ll backfire, many assert and I want to believe them.
Meanwhile, there’s joy at the polls. Trucks with music, activists with pizza. The moon is waxing. The leaves are falling. Babies are being born, dogs walked, prayers uttered. May they go down in flames. May the defeat be so decisive that not even the machinations of a certain MIA TOAD attorney general can pervert it.
May I be peaceful. May I be free of inner and out harm. May our nation be peaceful. May our nation be free of inner and outer harm.
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Collage made with dianaphoto app and includes a paper collage made while in Italy (the Buddhist monk — probably from National Geographic) and an image of Mahershala Ali (probably from Vanity Fair). Prayer is from Buddhist tradition. Lanky G-man is of course, James Comey; the recent SCOTUS opinion concerned whether Wisconsin could count ballots post-marked before Nov. 3, but arriving some days later. The answer was no; the miscalculation of McConnell’s was explored in a long thread on twitter by @realhoarse and the thread is here.
Joy at the polls — you’ve probably seen