I am too quick to anger, too prone to tears, trigger happy and ready to hate, scorn, and yes, wish ill to those who ascribe to viewpoints I see as harmful to people, to our nation, and the world at large.
The protests in Portland have ebbed and flowed for the past seven weeks, and are now back to peak crowds as baton wielding Federal officers sent by Trump have stepped into the fight, supposedly to protect the U.S. courthouse. I can't think about much else these days. I go to sleep and wake up with it. It has detonated the air with the deafening flashbangs, thick clouds of tear gas, and pepper bullets. Worst of all, protesters are getting dragged into unmarked vehicles - minivans and SUVs for god's sake.
It was hard to know what disaster to pay attention to yesterday. And yet we keep on with our small lives, surviving, loving, laughing, singing. I'm privileged to be able to turn away.
Alan and I seem to be competing for who can make the other one cry more, as we share things we've read and seen and heard. The planeload of marchers arriving in DC on the Patriots' plane - of course marked "Patriots." Emma Gonzalez' speech. Martin Luther King Jr.'s granddaughter. Kids speaking more clearly, coherently, … Continue reading Shoulders and Coattails