The Mermaid and the Astrologer

"You have to be nice to people, you have to give the best of yourself every moment of your life, and you have to believe in yourself."

-Walter Mercado, Mucho, Mucho Amor

I miss whimsy. I mean, I miss a lot of things: seeing friends, buying paper towels without undergoing a massive search effort, going to concerts, thinking our president is just terrible and not a fascist who's going to get us all killed, getting coffee, reasonable people. But whimsy is pretty high on the list. It's hard to be whimsical right now. Whimsy seems like an extravagance, something that we need to put on hold. I've been buying into this idea since the end of May; scale back the whimsy. Rage bake. Rage blog. Donate. Advocate. Work at home and ignore the the obvious - that you could always do your job at home. Everything is wild. We're all in this perpetual state of something: anxiety, fear, anger, uncertainty, sleepiness, sleeplessness, rage, random joy. Emotions are on hyper drive and the mood swing set is out of control. Ignore whimsy. 

Well, ignoring whimsy has to give a little, even if temporarily. I decided to do myself a small favor and invest in some whimsy this past week. I was in a bit of a funk, which is probably the most obvious thing in the world, but also a complete understatement. I took some solace in the fact that people I follow on Twitter, who have very serious jobs, seemed to be embracing whimsy too. Maybe "return to whimsy" is a stage in a pandemic. It comes after hoarding toilet paper, cultivating your own yeast, and excessive online shopping (I've only done one of these, so I'm skipping ahead). Anyway, one of my favorite people on Twitter received a mermaid tail blanket for her birthday. An adult woman with a mermaid tail blanket! I was intrigued. Where did one get a mermaid tail blanket? 

Turns out the answer is pretty much wherever you can buy frivolous things - Amazon, Target, Etsy. I'm sure there are other places, but those came up first. I went the Etsy route and ordered a lovely mint green mermaid tail blanket. I haven't bought many frivolous things since March, so this feels particularly lovely. It's legitimately everything I hoped it would be. 

Unfortunately, my blanket didn't arrive in time for the truly exceptional moment of whimsy and joy I experienced last week. The blanket came the following day, but the association is enough. I watch a lot of documentaries. I tend to watch documentaries about cults (tiger-based or otherwise), serial criminals, cats, the mafia, random pop culture figures, and baking. I have a lot of interests. Anyway, I wasn't prepared for the utter delight I felt while watching Mucho Mucho Amor: The Legend of Walter Mercado. I truly believe the only thing that could have made the experience better was having the mermaid tail blanket. Walter doesn't strike me as mermaid tail blanket kind of guy, but I bet he had a cape with a mermaid tail, so basically the same thing. 

I had no idea who Walter Mercado was before watching the documentary. I'd seen the preview for the film, but all I really took away from it was "this man has a lot of capes." And he does, he has a cape room (basically). It's possible I have a vague memory of him being on talk shows in the 1990s since he did appear on all of them, but I had no idea who he was or the impact he had on millions of people. If you haven't watched the documentary, I highly recommend doing so to get the full impact of Walter on your life. The film debuted on Netflix in early July. 

The quick, quick version: Walter was a famous astrologer and Spanish language television personality. He got his start as a dancer and actor on telenovelas in the 1960s in Puerto Rico. His life as a tv astrologer started by chance; he was on a talk show promoting a play in costume, and ended up talking astrology with the host. His "reading" was so popular that it became a fixture on Puerto Rican television for decades. Eventually, he would become famous across Latin America and then worldwide. His show was theatrical; high camp might be a good description. He wore extravagant jewelry and so many amazing capes. Walter did for capes what Elvis did for sequined jumpsuits. That's one of my main takeaways from the film. He was over the top and flamboyant. He wore beautifully applied makeup and had perfect hair. Just watching him for a few minutes, you can see his dance training in his gestures and his presence. He combined multiple religions into what he called "interfaith religion." He was an icon in Puerto Rico, which is traditionally both very Catholic and very macho. It shouldn't have worked, but it did. 

I won't spoil the story by telling you about the drama and revealing some of the more amusing parts of the film. Seriously, watch it. If you spent time watching Tiger King or watch any amount of the daily news, you deserve Mucho, Mucho Amor. It's delightful, a little bit whimsical, and so very affirming. 

And that's where I sat with the movie last weekend. I felt so good after watching it. I was upset for Walter at the appropriate times, but overall, the whole film was affirming. That's the word that keeps coming to mind when I think about Walter. He made a career out of reading daily horoscopes on television. In theory, anyone could do that job. But the way he did it was so positive and beautiful. Every clip of him doing one of his readings is so full of positivity; you can feel it through the television. Even clips from 50 years ago still feel so real. He was sending actual love and light through the television to people. His sign off was always "mucho, mucho amor" (lots and lots of love). Yes, he was theatrical, but that wasn't necessarily the point. Did that hook a person in? Yes, but that wasn't why they came back. People responded to him, and the way he made them feel. There's never an example of him telling someone about a terrible tragedy or telling them they're going to win a million dollars. He doesn't really predict anything. He simply gave people encouragement and inspiration without it sounding like watered down empowerment, or what I like to call "Girl, Wash Your Face empowerment." It's a simple message of being kind, caring about others, and doing your best. No wonder he was so popular. 

Walter died in 2019. The documentary was one of the last things he worked on before his death. He was a lot of things for people: a part of their culture and childhood, a non-binary pioneer, a positive influence in the universe. The filmmakers, all Latinx, grew up with Mercado in the background. They associate him with grandmothers and childhood memories. There's so much love and joy in this documentary. I have to believe the universe gave us this film right now for a reason. I'm not saying Walter knew I needed a little whimsy and extravagance in my life at this exact moment, but I'm not saying he didn't.

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter.

Walter Mercado meme

The monster is us

At the start of the pandemic, when stay at home orders and lockdowns were still a new thing for most of us, I made a joke in a text to someone (possibly my brother) that I was "prepared" for what was to come because of my love of the epic 1978 novel by Stephen King, The Stand. I've read the book, in its full glory, a few times, and have an obsession with the 1994 miniseries (a new version is coming soon...probably...maybe). I can't help but love a miniseries, even if it is about the destruction of the world. Rob Lowe, Gary Sinise, Molly Ringwald, and Ruby Dee make up a small fraction of the wonderfully 1994 cast. Remember the guy from the show Parker Lewis Can't Lose? Well, he's one of the bad guys. It's a fairly faithful adaptation of a monster novel. As with any Stephen King adaptation, changes are made and things are cut, but it still works. I don't think it's streaming anywhere, but if it is and you find it, you should watch it. And let me know where you find it. I have a VHS copy, but no VCR (sad face). 

If you're not familiar with The Stand, it centers on a group of survivors of a deadly plague (a weaponized version of the flu, released by the government, so not like our current pandemic, but still it's a deadly virus that kills a lot of people) coming together to figure out what happens next. The survivors are drawn together by the forces of good and evil, and of course, have to face the apocalypse as one does in a Stephen King dark fantasy novel. There a lot of characters. There are tons of subplots and small scenes of the way the world "ends." There's also hope and love and friendship, so like every King novel I love, I didn't leave my readings of The Stand hopeless, but hopeful. Yes, the world could literally go to hell, but our humanity would figure out a way to bring us back.

There is a scene early in the book, that also appears in the first episode of the miniseries, where Frannie is listening to the radio while caring for her ailing father. They're listening to a talk radio show and the show host, Ray, is discussing the appearance of soldiers in cities and towns all around the country. I think Ray is a he in the book, but is portrayed by Kathy Bates in the series. Ray is having a conversation with a woman about her dying family when soldiers/military police break into the studio and demand that Ray shut down the program. Ray refuses, continuing to broadcast what is happening live on the air until one of the soldiers shoots him(her). The radio signal whines, and Frannie and her father are left horrified by what they just heard. 

When I think about reading and watching The Stand, this is one of the scenes that bothered me the most. It's not a long scene and happens so early in the story that you would assume I'd forget about it by the time I finished the book because so many other terrible things happen along the way, but this scene has always stuck with me. In the novel, the government is responsible for the release of the deadly flu into the world, so sending soldiers and other military personnel is exactly what they're going to do to try to cover things up and quash any sort of dissent that would tell people otherwise. I was 14 or 15 when I read the novel for the first time, and I understood enough about how the world and governments of the world work to know this was the inevitable in the world of The Stand. I was also not stupid, and understood how fundamentally wrong this was even in a work of fiction. 

This is exactly what came to mind this week as news came out of Portland, OR that protesters are being "arrested" by unnamed police forces in military dress. People are being forcefully removed from the streets, thrown into unmarked vans, and taken to federal courthouses where they're detained for hours. These "soldiers" don't identify themselves, don't tell people why they're being arrested, and have been captured on video throwing people to the ground and causing other harm. Since initial reporting started, it's been revealed that these "soldiers" are from Customs and Border Patrol and that the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) is behind sending them into the city. Since I wrote this on Sunday, these forces have beaten up a veteran and shot tear gas at a group of mothers protesting their tactics. The mayor of Portland and the governor of Oregon have called for these "troops" to be removed from the city, and the ACLU and other organizations have sued the federal government over this unnecessary use of force. It's another example of the impostor in chief testing what he can get away with when it comes to those who disagree with him and his racism. 

If what's happening in Portland doesn't bother you, well, I'm not sure why you're reading my blog. The protests going on around the country and the world are what democracy is about. If we don't question the systems and policies and practices of our government, we have failed as Americans. It's part of why this country was founded in the first place. If you're not supporting Black Lives Matter protests, if you're not questioning why the 45 sent military personnel into Lafayette Square with tear gas to clear protesters, and you're not asking why people are being whisked away in unmarked vans by the government, you're part of the problem. And you can support this movement without being physically present; we each participate in the way we can. I've been donating to groups supporting protesters, sharing relevant information on social media, and making sure my elected officials know this needs to stop. We are watching fascism live on tv, and we need to stop it. I know it's been one video after another, one story after another since the end of May, but this is how movements work. It's not one protest and we're done; it's a long process. 

I know everyone is dealing with a lot right now. We're all balancing a million things while living in a pandemic and a constant state of fear and uncertainty. I understand this. The pandemic isn't going away - I hate to be the one to tell you that, but it's not, at least not in the US. We squandered four months of staying at home to be right back where we started from in many states in the country. We rushed, when we should have figured out a national testing plan and contact tracing. Instead, the 45 ignores experts, declares children will go to school in the fall, and has removed virus data from the CDC's website. He spends his time golfing, selling products (which he's not supposed to do), and being racist. He doesn't care about you. He barely cares about his own family, so let's not pretend he cares about anyone else. 

I'd love nothing more than to start sharing my novel again or post something about the movies I'm watching or my embroidery work or literally anything other than what I keep writing about, but the reality is that none of those things feel right or okay to me right now. As a person who processes things through writing, I have to get this down and a private journal isn't cutting it anymore. Something I love about Stephen King novels is that the horror of monsters and plagues can be stripped away to reveal the true villain: us. Our relationships to one another, our humanity or lack thereof, our choices are the real villains in every story. That's what makes Stephen King such a terrifying writer, it's not the ancient, homicidal clown or vampires or possessed cars - it's one another or our fears come to life. We can choose to not wear a mask and show we don't care about anyone. We can choose to vote for a racist. We can choose to be okay with unnamed military police manning US cities for no reason. When we do choose these things, Randall Flagg (the big bad of The Stand) or Pennywise or the vampires (Salem's Lot) or the killer car (Christine) or the rabid dog (Cujo) or whichever other King big bad you want to pick, wins. 

Or we can be like Mother Abagail's group in The Stand or the Losers or anyone else who goes to battle in one of these novels - we confront the evils head on to become the hero. We can wear the mask and vote for someone who is not a racist, and we can question and fight when unnamed military police start manning US cities for no reason. Is this route easy? No, it's harder and more painful, but it's what we have to do. 

Next week: Maybe we'll discuss a documentary I just watched (not about a cult) that was all about the kind of positivity we need in the world right now. Maybe something else horrible will happen and I'll have to rage again. I don't know. I don't know what our lives are anymore. 

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter.

When Can I Stop Screaming Inside My Heart?

I had to take my car in for an oil change and for an issue with the AC (as we move into day 18 of 90+ degree weather in the DMV). I didn't really want to do this, but I also don't want to buy a new car right now, so it's best to take care of my car when I can. Of course, AC services are no longer available even though it's on the website. Always call first. But I digress. I was sitting in the waiting area wearing a mask (plain pink cotton, not super cute, but super efficient) waiting for them to finish the oil change, when another woman came in to wait for her car. The waiting area was set up for social distancing, so we were well over 6 feet apart. She was wearing one of those bandanna-style masks that make people look like old West train robbers. I really need to get one of those. 

She said hello to me, which I didn't expect, and then asked if I'd been to this place before. It was my first time as well; I mentioned I moved to this side of town "recently," but had heard good things about this place. She was quiet for a few minutes, then proceeded to ask me if I was married, if my non-existent husband was in the military, and if that non-existent husband happened to be the man in the white SUV who arrived in front of both of us. I politely answered no to all of these questions and wished her a good day, signaling that I was done with our conversation. She gave me a look that could only mean "I don't understand why you're annoyed with such questions; a woman your age should be married with babies and stuff." She was by herself, but heaven forbid, a woman younger than herself be unaccompanied in public. 

I tell you this not to share my annoyance with the woman, although I was annoyed, but to say that she could still be herself while wearing a mask. We would have had this conversation if the mask mandate here in Virginia didn't exist or if we weren't in the middle of a global pandemic because this is the kind of conversation that happens to me all the time when I'm around women I don't know in a public place. I've been asked this question at the dentist, the bank, restaurants, while waiting at the salon for a haircut, and at the grocery store. Even if I was married, why would I bring my husband to the grocery store with me? That sounds terrible; he'd inevitably put things in the cart incorrectly or bag groceries like a crazy person with no respect for order. It's always an older woman, sometimes a few years older, sometimes a few decades older. She's always by herself or with a friend, never with a husband or man-friend, although she always has one. I know this because she always tells me about how wonderful her husband/man-friend is and that I should really find one for myself. Thank you, random woman for the advice. I'll get right on that. (Spoiler: I will not get right on that.)

Anyway, the point of this is not about random conversations with strangers but about the mask. The point is that this woman was wearing a mask, and was completely comfortable asking me questions that were none of her business while we both experienced a public space while wearing masks. Her right to be a busy body was in no way obstructed by her wearing a mask. My right to completely disengage was also not obstructed. In fact, it was probably easier to do so because I didn't have to waste energy fake smiling. Fake smiling takes so much more energy than it's worth. 

I hate that wearing a mask has become some sort of political statement. There is literally nothing political about wearing a mask right now. Mask usage has been promoted as a best practice, at varying levels, since the beginning of the pandemic. I started wearing a mask at the end of March, and now have quite the collection of them, including a cat one and a Detroit Tigers one. Wearing a mask reduces the spread of viruses, not just COVID-19, by putting a barrier between you and others, while still allowing us to be out in public. The CDC, WHO, Johns Hopkins, and hundreds, maybe even thousands, of other legitimate medical journals, hospitals, and experts have shown the effects of mask usage in stopping the spread of COVID-19. Countries who have slowed the spread, and even returned to mostly normal life, can credit mask usage among the reasons. It's science.

So why is it so hard for some Americans to wear a mask? I would love nothing more than to lay the blame at the feet of the 45, but it's not entirely his fault. It's mostly his fault, but not entirely. Since this is my blog, I get to share my observations and theories about things, so that's what this is. I have no scientific proof to back what I'm about to say, but I hope one day, someone way smarter than me, will do a study on this and prove my theory. 

From a very young age, particularly in the US, we're told we can be anything we want to be. We can be successful and make a life for ourselves in this grand experiment called America. If we work hard and do the things, we'll be able to own a home and/or a car, have a fulfilling job or maybe even open our business. We can exercise our right to vote, and also have a right to voice our opposition to those in power if we disagree. Democracy is cool! Capitalism is awesome! This is the story most of us have been told since we were young. For those who come to the US as immigrants, I'm sure some version of this story is told, but with limitations, especially if you're not white. You can still come here, and do the thing, but it's going to be harder and more limited and people are probably going to be assholes. That's the adjacent story. (NOTE: This is a gross simplification of the immigrant experience and the experience of any person of color. I am aware of this; it's not my intention to be disrespectful or dismissive about anyone's experience.) 

So a global pandemic hits. We're told that we "have to" stay home and wear masks when we go out in public. Kids can't go to school because we don't know much about this virus and it could be hard to contain with kids going to school. Lots of jobs move to remote work setups because they can; many more people continue to go to physical work locations because they're essential and have to be there in person. Hospitals fill up. People are scared. There's no national response; states have to figure it out on their own. States, like mine, who put mask orders in place early and moved through reopening phases carefully, see the numbers decrease in positive ways, although we're seeing spikes again because people are being stupid. Other states, do the bare minimum, and their cases skyrocket. They reopen too fast and it's more damaging. People start throwing "COVID parties" to prove the virus exists. I guess 130K+ dead isn't proof enough. 

All of this is to say, people don't want to wear masks because they're no longer controlling anything else about their lives. Mask usage is the most physical and personal thing we're being asked to do after staying home. It requires us to wear something that identifies the fact that a virus exists and that it can do serious harm. A mask says, "I care about you, my community, my family, myself." We're not used to such bold statements of humanity in the US...at least not since November 9, 2016. Every new video featuring another person throwing a tantrum/being horrible in a public place because they're asked to wear a mask is less about the tantrum and more about fear and loss of control. It's hard to all of the sudden be powerless when you're used to getting your way or always being "right." When I watch these videos or read about another "white woman in the wild," I react in three ways: 

1. I feel terrible for the people, usually a cashier or store manager or a dude walking in his neighborhood or a mom in a parking lot with her kid, who have to deal with this person. I physically want to reach through the screen and do something to help the person being yelled at. I want to punch the person causing the problem in the throat.
2. I'm angry at the person causing the problem because I don't understand why being asked to abide by the rules of an establishment you chose to frequent immediately means you have to become violent and hateful. A store or coffee shop or other place of business is private property. You have to follow the rules of the property owner if you want to be there. That's how a civil society works. 
3. I feel sorry for the person throwing the tantrum because all I see in their face is fear (even through the hate and anger), and I think about how awful it must feel to have that much fear over something mundane, like wearing a mask. And I wonder if they've ever experienced actual fear or if this is performative. And then I spiral into thinking about all the "think pieces" written about people who voted for the 45 being scared about their way of life being threatened (translation: they don't get to be hateful people anymore), and I'm back to being angry almost immediately.

It must be exhausting to be that hateful and full of fear all the time. Imagine getting angry at a sign in a store window that says "Masks only" or "Masks required." I'm exhausted listening to these types of people on social media and the rare times I do go out in public. If we don't continue to do the simple things like wearing a mask, social distancing, and washing our hands, AND the big things like staying home as much as possible, we'll never get to do anything again. Your kids will be home in the fall. Concerts, theatre, sporting events - not for you! I hate that we have become a living example of why we can't have nice things. 

If you can't be motivated by simply being kind and caring about others, wear a mask so we can do things again. You want to go on vacation? Wear a mask. You want your kids to go back to school in the fall? Wear a mask. You want to go to a baseball or football game? Wear a mask. Wear a mask and you'll get to do things again. You don't get to be hateful and racist; we're still going to call you out on that behavior, but you'll be able to go places again and return to whatever normal means these days. If this has to turn into the country-wide equivalent of pizza parties for finishing summer reading, I'll support this movement 100%.

Wear a damn mask so I can stop screaming inside my heart.

 

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter.

This Republic of Something

Back in 2017, I submitted a photo and personal story to the National Museum of the Army. The museum was still being built, and they were gathering exhibition material from the larger Army community for various permanent and special exhibits. What I sent in was for the exhibit "Growing Up Army," focused on the children of Army families. I wrote about postcards and adventure. My dad sent me my first postcard in 1987. He was on TDY (temporary duty travel) in Puerto Rico. In the postcard, he described going to the beach when they had downtime, and seeing and catching fish. He signed off with "Be good," something my dad has written on every postcard he's sent me since. It's a thing; he says it to me on the phone before we hang up and when I leave after a visit. I guess my dad always knew I was the "troublemaker" of the family (a rather tame troublemaker, but still). I also sent in copies of a couple of pictures of me, my brother, and dad at an Army field day at Ft. McCoy in Wisconsin (at least I think that's where it's at). I'm a very little girl, sitting inside a very large Army vehicle, smiling like it's the best day ever (because it probably was at the time). It's adorable.

I have no idea if my submitted materials will be in the exhibit. The National Museum of the Army was supposed to open in June, but of course, that's been put on hold right now. My dad is a volunteer at the museum, because of course he is, and he's hopeful that they'll open soon. I'm guessing sometime in 2021, but who knows when anything is going to happen anymore. 

My dad was in the Army for 30 years. We moved all around the US, and he had an amazing career. He worked at the Pentagon, ran logistics for units during the first Gulf War, commanded a base through its closure, and served as Deputy Chief for the Pacific Command. He was/is respected by his colleagues, and probably did a lot of stuff I'll never really know about. When we lived in Hawaii, I was taking classes in the political science graduate program at the University of Hawaii, and I'll never forget the time my dad agreed to come to one of my classes to discuss modern warfare. He had read the book we were discussing in his own graduate program, and was well versed in a few of the other books we had on our syllabus for the semester. I think my classmates thought they were getting some uneducated "grunt," but instead got to debate with someone who knew a lot more than they did. One of my classmates argued that all military operations should be unclassified. My dad explained, and I can't remember his exact words, why that was a terrible idea and more specifically, why none of us really want to know that sort of information. We think we do, but we don't. I think about a lot. 

When you grow up in the military, patriotism is a very interesting point of discussion. I think a lot of people have this set idea of what a military family is and should be like; very "rally round the flag" kind of stuff. That's not my experience. My dad has never told me to think a certain way or believe a certain thing because of his career. Did he instill a love of country and service and respect in us? Yes, but he didn't do in a way that was absolute. My parents have always encouraged me and my brother to question authority and injustice. They wanted us to form our own opinions, even, and especially if those opinions were different from their's. I wouldn't be the delightful feminist/activist you all know and love if they hadn't been supportive and encouraging. We don't agree on everything. They push me, I push them. 

Growing up in a military family is weird. My family is the least military military family I know, but there's still stuff that doesn't make sense to people from outside. I've been to way more airshows and patriotic programs than I care to admit (some good, most very bad). I've seen the extraordinary sense of duty of of my father and his colleagues in action. I've heard people say hateful, ugly things about the military for no reason. I remember my dad telling us about changing clothes before flying because he and his unit didn't want to be harassed (in 1989). I spent the first Gulf War worrying my dad was going to die in Iraq. (His larger unit went in country, but he did not. I didn't understand the difference at that time.) While I appreciate the fact that everyone "loves" the troops now, I question how we got to this point. When did y'all just decide that recognizing those in the military at sporting events was a thing? 

But I digress.

Where am I going with this? 

I'm struggling with the idea of celebrating July 4th this year. Normally, I love the 4th. Fun fact: it's my third favorite holiday. Military celebrations of July 4th are always the best; this is one of the "traditional" things I loved about being a "child of." The 4th was special always so special. One of my favorite memories from my dad's time at the Pentagon was being able to sit on the Pentagon lawn to watch the fireworks from DC. We hung out with his co-workers and their families, had a nice picnic, and watch the fireworks. It was so beautiful and patriotic and so very American. The civics nerd in me just loved it. 

But this year, it seems like an odd flex to celebrate the "birth of American independence," while also thinking about the fact that 130,000 Americans have died from COVID-19. That's a hard number to come to terms with. I've been thinking a lot lately about the book This Republic of Suffering by Drew Gilpin Faust. Gilpin Faust is a historian, and the first female President of Harvard University. A lot of her work focuses on the impact the Civil War had on society, often looking at the experience of women during and after the war. In This Republic of Suffering, she details the way in which mourning customs and processing death had to change because of the devastating loss of life during the Civil War, and the way in which soldiers died. Often, a body wasn't recovered, and this completely shattered the rituals associated with the concept of "the Good Death;" the idea that someone is prepared to die. How can someone prepare to die on the battlefield at Gettysburg or in the prison camp at Andersonville? Families had to adjust to this way of mourning, often with nothing to mourn at all. Scarcity of things like fabric also subverted how women moved through the stages of mourning if they lost a husband or other family member. 

I read the book not too long after it was released in 2008. I can see it on my bookshelf when I sit at my desk for work. I keep coming back to the idea that we're in another period of time where we're forced to rethink how we approach death and mourning. People are watching their loved ones die on iPads. Funerals are on hold, or reduced to quick ceremonies that don't allow family and friends to adequately grieve together, often an essential part of healing. In New Orleans, for example, jazz funerals and second lines aren't allowed because of the restrictions on crowds. Cultural practices like this are essential for grieving, but currently cant't take place because we physically can't be together. Maybe I've been spending too much time alone these days, but I can't help think about this and contrast it with the many celebrations that will take place this weekend. While I understand the power and necessity of normal rituals, (I went to the post-Katrina Mardi Gras, I get it), this feels so different.

I think it's gross that a fireworks display is going to take place at Mt. Rushmore. This is incredibly dangerous from an environmental standpoint. The area near Mt. Rushmore is highly susceptible to fires. That's one of the reasons fireworks have been banned from the park for the last decade. It's also in violation of the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868 that designates the area as part of the Sioux Reservation. Mt. Rushmore is on stolen land, but of course, we don't want to talk about that. People coming to this event/rally don't have to social distance or wear masks. What could possibly go wrong? Literally everything. 

I don't know, y'all. How do we reconcile reality with the need for normalcy? How do we celebrate the "birth of American independence" when police are still violently assaulting peaceful protesters and people just out living their lives? How do some continue to ignore racism in our daily lives when a new video pops up every day of some white woman (white women - what the fuck are you doing?) threatening grocery store employees or brandishing weapons at a Black woman and her daughter in a parking lot? How are we okay with obvious shows of pandering patriotism like the event at Mt. Rushmore when the 45 hasn't said anything about Russian bounties on American soldiers? How do we celebrate when so many have been lost? 

I don't have any answers for you. I'm not going to tell you how to spend your weekend or celebrate this July 4th. By the time I hit publish on this post, most of my friends will have watched Hamilton on Disney+ for the 400th time. At least they're staying inside. 

It would be nice if we all took a few minutes this July 4th and reflected on what we have lost as a nation, if we collectively grieved and mourned for those lost to this horrible pandemic. I don't expect our sham president to ask for silence or to even acknowledge this at his rally, so we'll have to do it ourselves. So maybe tomorrow, before you set out to do whatever it is you're going to do, take a few minutes to recognize what we've lost. Write something, draw or paint, pray, listen to music, light a candle. Maybe do a primal scream. I don't know your life. Then, take some time to think about how you want to enter the second half of the dumpster fire year of 2020. 

Maybe if we all take a little time to do these two things we can refocus what it actually means to celebrate the birth of American independence. We can recommit to what it means to be revolutionary. This country was formed by revolutionary acts and thinking. We have the responsibility to be revolutionary again, in the way we act and vote, and in the way we treat one another with respect, dignity and kindness, rather than with hate and division. 

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter.