Just a couple things so I can lay my head down. The pain and heartbreak and terror of too many people I love is so palpable it’s keeping me up.
I’m a Christian and here’s not-a-newsflash about this Christ guy.
Whatever Jesus/Jeshua/Yeshua was or wasn’t, he was DEFINITELY and unequivocally a Jew. Deeply. Reverently. He lived his Jewishness way out loud. Sure, he pissed off some members of the Sanhedrin with his sometimes scandalous ways of living his Jewish life and newfangled ways of interpreting scripture, but he was a Jew, through and through. Went to all the parties, read the scrolls in the temple, said all the prayers, observed Jewish rules and tradition with his food and his hygiene…all of it, sometimes joyfully, sometimes solemnly, usually vigorously…he practiced his faith in whatever manner the moment called for in order to best serve what he needed to get across. He was so Jewish that his Roman torturers mocked him with nothing less than a mean-spirited extra kick in the crotch by posting a “King of the Jews (neener neener)” sign over his head while they killed him. So to be a Christian and not claim a Jewish inheritance and shared rich socio-religious-cultural history is just absurd crazy talk. Sorry bigots.
And also, as my Muslims out there know, the Qur’an honors that same Jewish Jesus, yep Jewish Jewish Jesus, as a highly revered prophet. And not only that, this sacred text also honors his mother…his JEWISH mother. A woman!!! Mary. Or Miriam if you prefer. It’s anecdotally said that she gets more attention in the Qu’ran than she does in the New Testament, but I’d have to fact check that to be sure. Point is, to read the Qu’ran is to read about Jesus and Mary and what importance they hold within Islam, these Jewish Jewish Jews. Therefore, we don’t get to call ourselves Christians or Muslims without embracing Jewishness as our heritage, woven into who we are. We can’t even tease our ancestry apart (send your DNA out for analysis and just see what comes back). We’re bound together.
I’m not saying all this to try and simplify or trivialize the literal hell going on in The Holy Land, or to pretend that I can wrap my head around the depth and endless facets of the conflict, or the intensity of the vile, atrocious hatred that’s slaughtering innocents by the thousands. I’m saying it so that my Jews and my Christians and my Muslims and any of you otherwise-affiliated or non-affiliated ones who walk in the Light know that I’m with you. Threats of violence against Jews worldwide is a threat to my people, and likely yours. And it’s utterly irrational. It’s an invented hatred spawning wars that benefit filthy rich overlords we’ll likely never even know the names of, and who could most assuredly buy and sell each one of us many times over. Trying to wrap your mind around anti-semitism is like trying to understand what makes a Nazi a Nazi. Knowing the inextricable link amongst all of us makes this hatred and violence and amorphous ancient grudgery create a Mobius strip in my head.
But that’s the intention of evil. Hatred and violence doesn’t need to make sense when it’s being fomented by evil for evil’s sake. And we’ve got to fight it because it’s here and it’s real. Deep, dark forces that keep to the shadows are rubbing their hands together with glee at the murderous chaos they're causing in the name of a Force none of us have a monopoly on. The Force is the Something that truly loves AND likes us all the same, no matter where we live, who we were born to, or what land we think is ours. The ones in the dark are thrilled with the monsters they're creating and the violent death they're inspiring. It feeds them, can't you see? Without us killing and torturing each other so effectively, this darkness would shrivel up and die, because we'd have starved it. Consult the logical part of your brain, link it to your heart, and KNOW that.
So to all of you living in this heartbreak and fear, Jews that have been my sisters and brothers since we were kids, and those who’ve come into my life wherever and how ever, I’m sending love and compassion and hoping it somehow miraculously helps. And now I’ll sleep, maybe.
It's a random day in early March. Nowhere near that day in September we all know and remember and deal with in a billion of our own ways. But yesterday, on a random day in early March, I decided it was time to click on Apple TV and watch Come From Away.
Like with so many Broadway musicals, I'd wanted to see it live and in person. But like with so many Broadway musicals, things like money and hard-to-find-childcare-for-a-disabled-child and, well, just life...it all got in the way, and the show closed in New York. But thanks to Apple TV, I got to have a Come From Away experience, and it turned out to be the best one possible for me at this moment.
[Sidebar on Apple TV. I hear all of you. "Dammit. I have to get another streaming service for this???? No, just no, gotta draw the line somewhere." You're preaching to the choir, brothers and sisters. There are too many, and I have too many. But for the sake of Come From Away and Ted Lasso and Schmigadoon and a lot of Snoopy/Charlie Brown stuff that my son and husband adore, here we are. I accept your judgment.]
So why was sitting in my basement office, with a blanket crochet project in my lap, all alone, with Apple TV queued up on my largest tablet, the best possible Come From Away experience for me? I'll try to explain.
It felt right to be alone. At least for me. Because folks, I'm not over it. And neither are any of you, of course. And I KNEW I was putting off watching the thing because of the bottomless pit of grief and terror and despair that was immediately dug into all of us on that day twenty-one-and-one-half years ago. It just has to be the right time and place to go there, to have that experience, and be able to come back and do all the things you need to do. You know what I mean?
Maybe you don't know what I mean, so let's fix that. If I'm talking to anyone who doesn't know about Come From Away, you may have Googled it by the time you've gotten to this paragraph. But in a nutshell, it's about a 9/11 event that answers the question, "Wtf happened to all the planes in the air when it happened?" An airport in Newfoundland, Canada, in a town called Gander, is what happened. That's where thirty-eight planes carrying about seven thousand passengers touched down and that's where a nearly indescribable event happened to the people of the town and the people on the planes. The population of that town doubled the moment those planes touched down, and the show tells the story of this monumental, unprecedented, surreal event in ways too beautiful for this writer to articulate, just see it.
I say that the event in Gander is "almost" indescribable, because a few brilliant individuals found the perfect way to describe it. A musical. On a stage. Yes, the theater. Two people, named Irene Sankoff and David Hein, somehow, by some unknowable miracle, described it. And yesterday, in my basement office, working with my crochet hook on the blanket slowly growing in my lap, I had the story told to me, and I won't ever be the same.
While I regret not experiencing Come From Away from a seat in a darkened theater (an alternate dimension of space and time where everything is possible and you're transported to realms you've only dreamed of, or haven't even yet dreamed of), and while I WILL see it from a seat in a darkened theater if I ever have the opportunity, I'm grateful I saw it the way I saw it. Sitting in my basement office, growing my blanket stitch by stitch, soaking said blanket as tears upon tears fell into my lap while I relived that day with those people. The ones from Gander, and the ones from away.
Do you crochet? Or knit? (I can't knit, it's too hard.) If you're working on something with a regular pattern, like a blanket, for example, you slip into a place where your hands are doing the thinking and your mind is free to be places it might not normally have access to. And stitch by stitch, not that you're aware of it, your hands are making something like a prayer. It might be like with beads. Prayer beads. Rosary beads. Bead by bead. Stitch by stitch. Prayer by prayer gets woven into the fabric in your lap. And tear after tear that falls, they bless it.
The people in Come From Away--we watch them learn about the events as they happened. And we're transported back to where we were, what we were doing, how we coped, how we did not cope. If you haven't experienced Come From Away yet, I'll tell you what will happen when you do. Some person on that stage will indeed BE you. Maybe more than one of them will BE exactly you. You'll go, "Jesus Christ, that's exactly how it was, that's exactly how I felt."
You'll remember trying to process the loving-kindness amidst the terror. You'll remember trying to wrap your head around how something so cruel could be done by people made of the same kinds of cells and tissues and blood and bone as the people who helped, who gave everything they had.
You might remember, like I did, waking up on September 12, having a few blissful seconds before remembering, and then feeling the weight of a thousand cinder blocks crush your chest as you came to the surface and knew you hadn't dreamed it. You might remember, like I did, singing "It's the end of the world as we know it and I DON'T feel fine" on a loop in your head for weeks and weeks. Because it was. And I didn't.
Whoah it hurts. It hurts a lot to go back there. But then there's a surprise as something else rises up. If you watch like I did, the credits will roll, and the fiddle music will play, and you'll sit and you'll breathe and you'll pull yourself back into your life, and something will lift. Unexpectedly. You'll wonder what it is until you figure out what it is, and this is what it is: It's something healing that's been long left unhealed. That's what you'll be feeling. I swear it's true. Not that the whole thing will heal. Not the whole abyss. That's not how it works. But something dark in you from that day twenty-one-and-one-half years ago, from that experience, from that "nothing will ever be the same" moment that changed us all...something of that darkness will retreat a bit, and something of the Light will fill that space for you. I don't know how I know it, but I unequivocally know it.
In my basement office, with my hook and my yarn and my hands and my tears and each breath and each stitch, I was moving just the tiniest bit closer to healing the tsunami of grief that we all share from that day. Every last one of us that was a conscious person on September 11, 2001, are exactly the same in that way. Like the playwrights and the cast and the musicians and the crew of the show are telling us with every breath and word and note, we're all the people from the planes and the people of the town. We are them and they are us. And because of the genius of the theater, all of the dozen cast members are sometimes playing an islander and sometimes playing a plane person. Perfection. Pure and simple.
Neither Apple TV nor the producers of Come From Away are paying me to write this piece, but they're welcome to.
Love to you all. See some theater. Stream it if you can't get there. Get there if you can. The Light is always there just waiting to be invited back in, even if it's a little at a time. Come From Away reminded me, and we can use all the reminders we can get.
I attended my local school board meeting a few nights ago, and it was a doozy.
Little backstory first, though, for those of you unfamiliar with our little hamlet of Florida, NY. Our tiny school system, through some kind of miracle, hired a great new superintendent back in, what was it, 2021? One look at his resume, ten minutes of getting to know him, and you had to think, how the hell did we get this guy? Well, by 2022 he was gone. It’s a long, disgusting story, but at the school board meeting back in November of 2022, around the time this ejection took place, I was able to express my thoughts in an allotted two-minute statement, and it will shed some light on the events of that moment in our recent history around here:
Hi, my name is Tracy Stroh and I live in Florida, NY.
When Larry Leaven was hired, I was delighted to learn that he was a former colleague of a family member who glowed about his leadership and told me, outright, what an absolute asset he would be to our schools. At the same time, I did feel a quiet, deep-down sense of worry that the political climate here wouldn’t be kind to him, because he happens to be a gay man, in a same-sex marriage, something he never felt the need to keep hidden, nor should he, nor should anyone, anywhere.
I introduced myself to him soon after he arrived, and in our initial conversation he emphasized how warmly he’d been accepted and welcomed by the school board, as well as by the faculty. So it seemed like the best was yet to come, and I hoped my quiet, deep-down worry was for nothing.
But it wasn’t for nothing. And what developed was worse than I could have imagined. A handful of very loud, very toxic voices swiftly created an environment that became so hostile and poisoned that no self-respecting professional would ever be able to carry on and thrive within it.
I have seen the flood of social media hate-posts targeting him, insinuating everything from improper behavior with students, to embezzling, to Marxism, to anti-white racism (which isn’t a thing), and to everything in between. All without a shred of evidence or merit.
I’m ashamed that this has happened in my town and incredibly sad that there weren’t enough of us on hand, loud and proud and organized enough to prevent it. The good news is that this has changed, many of us have been shocked out of denial and into awareness. So nothing like this will ever happen again. Not on our watch.
Thank you and good night.
So that happened. What I didn’t say at the time, and maybe I should have, is that the school board had recently been overtaken by a cadre of individuals–they ran as a team of three and called themselves “Team Florida.” This gang of three had one thing in common, and that was their alliance with a group that call themselves Moms for Liberty, a moniker that gives the rest of us a chuckle because of how much they love banning books they don’t like, but I digress. One of the pre-existing members was also affiliated with this group, so Moms for Liberty now has a lock on our school board, plain and simple. It was the constant, unrelenting abusive tactics by Moms for Liberty and their sympathizers that finally put the nail in the coffin of Larry Leaven’s service to our community. As I said in my remarks above, a professional of his pedigree was not going to be able to thrive in the festering cesspool the board had become. It was a fait accompli when the board went south like Sherman.
I wasn’t alone when I spoke out in Leaven’s behalf back in November 2022, by the way. Far from it. I had recently discovered and joined an organization called Defense of Democracy whose sole aim is to bring attention to, and get in the way of, the dangerously bigoted and fascist objectives M4L is trying to force down the throats of the the rest of us. We gathered together to support each other in publicly saying what needed to be publicly said. It was hard not to feel it was all too little too late for Mr. Leaven, but we at least got to say our piece, and at least we were heard. I also tried my hand at getting some newspapers to publish an op ed I wrote on the subject, and I was unsuccessful, so here it is, it was pretty decent, why waste it:
Dear Editor
There is no language strong enough to express my disgust and horror at the forces that caused Florida FUFSD to lose Superintendent of Schools Larry Leaven. My worst concerns about how Mr. Leaven would fare in a community tainted with hate groups like Moms for Liberty became a living nightmare over the past fifteen months, A consummate professional with a stellar background and history of excellent leadership in education was effectively run out of our town on a rail.
A flood of social media hate-posts has targeted Mr. Leaven from practically the moment he was hired. Demonstrably false defamatory statements like, “This is what happens when a Western ‘educator’ in Hong Kong who quickly garnered a reputation for extra attentiveness to small boys ‘suddenly’ flees Hong Kong and sidles into a small, rural school district” can be literally cut and pasted from a Village of Florida Facebook page.
The local Moms for Liberty chapter had this to say (coupled with a cartoon of Mr. Leaven being slingshotted out of town by the Statue of Liberty): “Momma bears are relentless Mr Leaven. Take your pornographic indoctrination back where you came from. This is what happens when you mess with our children in OCNY. So long! Redman, get your wings ready, you are next ” This little gem not only defamed the superintendent about a controversial book in the school library that had been installed there at least one superintendent ago, but served as an unveiled threat to an existing school board member as well.
I suspect that a letter to the editor like this one will be met with a slew of hateful rhetoric in the comment thread that accompanies my words. It would be nice to be wrong about this, but if I’m right, bring it on, because it serves to illustrate the need for those of us with open minds and hearts to galvanize further. Knowledge is power. Our children are watching. Bullying was successful in removing Larry Leaven from his post at our school, where we needed him. Congratulations, bullies, but enjoy it while you can. We’re taking a page from your book and becoming loud and proud. We are organizing, and we will educate and activate the public so that nothing like this atrocity in our little town will ever happen again all because of a handful of toxic, hate-spewing individuals who are full of fire at their keyboards, but observably less so where the rubber meets the road.
And that was that. I sent it out. Crickets. Bummer.
So now, fast forward to last night, February 16, 2023. One of the agenda items pertained to the search for a new superintendent. The meeting thus began with a long, drawn out presentation by representatives from the search firm we taxpayers are paying to replace a superintendent who was wrongfully forced to leave in the first place. It was hard not to guffaw at all the glowing attributes that were going to be required for the star to be eventually hired. It was said, and I’m not making this up, that they intended to find someone how could “leap tall buildings in a single bound.” We chortled, without mirth, because in Larry Leaven, we already had what they’re describing. We had our Superman, and they ran him out of town.
So with all this in mind, I’d prepared another two-minute statement for the meeting. I worked long and hard to make sure it was well within the two minutes so as to respect the time constraints the Board commands we adhere to. As one of the agenda items was all about hiring a superintendent to replace the one they had jettisoned, I had no worries about being called out for being off-topic, because the very fact of that agenda item was the entire reason I was speaking in the first place. And here’s what I had to say:
I’m Tracy Stroh and I live in Florida, NY. I represent the almost 800 people who have signed a petition voicing concerns over our school board’s association with the Moms for Liberty group.
Moms for Liberty has a well documented reputation for banning books, denying America’s history of racism against non-whites, mocking and slandering the queer community, and attacking public education. Our hard working librarians and teachers are now under constant attack all across the nation. They often can’t express their concerns out of fear for their jobs. Some reach out to people like me, privately, thanking us for saying things in public that they can’t safely say themselves without risking their careers.
Such as:
You forced the resignation of an excellent superintendent with a stellar CV. You did this not only because he is openly gay, but also because he was clear on his goal to help us create an equitable and safe environment for all students, regardless of skin color or sexual orientation or gender identity or any other differences. You ousted him because he didn’t fit into your loud and proud “anti-woke” political agenda.
You have cost the taxpayers of this town over $300,000 to buy out his contract and to hire a search firm to replace him, which is unacceptable.
And finally, regarding an image that’s been circulating on social media:
This was taken from the public facebook page of a local Moms for Liberty member. This image is a huge and dangerous fiction. The messaging is that the very existence of the queer community is an attack on the rest of society, and that is a hideous lie. It just so happens that false propaganda like this is to blame for atrocities as extreme as genocide. The Nazis were very successful with such scapegoating propaganda back in the 1930s and 40s. I hope we can all agree that we don’t want to go back there.
I’m speaking out today because silence on these matters equals complicity.
Thank you.
So….that’s what I had to say. But I didn’t get to say it. Approximately halfway through my two-minute spiel, the president of the board of education, Rob Andrade, stopped me in my tracks. He told me that I was not speaking to the agenda. That’s what his voice told me. His eyes told me I’d tread into dangerous territory and I was to shut my face or else. I argued, calmly I think, that indeed I WAS speaking to the agenda. I stood there for what felt like a looooong time, enduring his death stare, trying to reason with him that I should be able to complete the second minute of my two-minute remarks, and questioned why was he so adamant that I not finish. He insisted I was not following the rules–the rules that demand that I was to stick to the agenda. But indeed I WAS sticking to the agenda. I was, however, NOT sticking to HIS agenda.
It was clearly my reference to M4L that got me cancelled. But why? It’s not a secret society. They’re loud and proud and delighted with themselves. So why on earth should my referencing that all but one Board member is a M4L-er get me all that hater-ade?
Comically, right before it was time for regular people to step up to the mic and speak their minds, Rob the Prez read from his long flowery script about how we clearly live in polarizing times, so that it’s important that we respect each other, and that even though sometimes controversial topics might be introduced, the board understands and welcomes dissenting voices, just be civil, yada yada. Um, yeah.
So I sat my ass down, angry and embarrassed and having a hot flash. I don’t think I’ve ever been glared at with that kind of bare naked hatred before (or maybe I just haven’t been paying attention), and it does trip you up. But that’s not the end of the story.
Remember the horrifying image above with the rainbow flag pistol as if the entire lgbtq+ community exists solely to extinguish good white Christian men everywhere? Like it’s in the queer guidebook or something? Yeah, this one:
Well…guess what happened when the person who posted THAT little gem came up to speak.
How to describe it…we have video but I’m not sure I can publish it here and not get sued. She expressed her anger that people like us come to meetings to do a “dog and pony show,” then proceeded to deliver a diatribe on the pedophilia in our schools (in case you’re wondering, that wasn’t on the agenda). She then went on (again, not making this up) to read from an award-winning Young Adult novel that attempts to shed light on the sexual molestation of children. She picked excerpts out of context that lent no hint that the book is intended to bring to light a crime against children that remains in the dark and unreported because of how an abused child might not even have the psychological context to understand they’re being abused, and certainly not the language to report it.
At any rate, the speaker is passionate about the book being banned from the school library–a book, incidentally, that has been in the school library since 2017, way before the supe she hated like hell was even hired by the way. She stood there yammering out text from this book, while my friends and I looked at each other with wondering eyes, trying to figure out where THAT was on the agenda. And why SHE wasn’t being told to shut the fuck up like I’d been. She ended with a firm and ambiguous, “this is the trash they want to bring in from Buffalo, NY.” We were confused about this, being unaware of how Buffalo, NY, is responsible for bringing what she thinks are questionable books into our schools. Was it that Larry Leaven is from Buffalo? That wouldn’t make sense, all the books she bitches about were acquired before we were lucky enough to get him into our district. Is it that a few months ago a trans woman who is also a disabled veteran drove all the way from Buffalo to speak truth to hatred? Is she the “trash” that was being referred to? Or is there a secret book factory in Buffalo that churns out nothing but ban-worthy books? We may never know.
At any rate, this speaker was getting quite her chance to ramble, so we Defense of Democracy reps got a little vocal about it, which is bad form at a civilized public meeting, but since we were denied our voices when it was our turn, it was about the only way we’d be heard. It was only after threatening to shut down the meeting and have us ejected (US, not the book banner), that Mr. President finally told Ms. M4L that she’d made her point and needed to stop. She kept it up anyway. If we hadn’t pushed back by running our mouths from the peanut gallery, she’d still be there, reading from the stack of books she wants to see banned, presumably being shipped in from Buffalo.
Oh, little side note: This particular M4L-er, the one reading us her special bedtime story, happens to have been one of the most generous contributors to the campaign funds of Team Florida, our jolly little gang of three. I’m not telling tales out of school, it’s public information. That afforded her a leash quite a bit longer than a garbage-person like me is entitled to, I guess. And maybe they found out I have close ties to Buffalo, My mother was born there, oldest of eight, so my Buffalo family is legion. I suppose I should wear a scarlet “B” on my chest to the next meeting to identify myself to the public so that they can cut me a wide berth and not catch anything.
So here’s the takeaway. Fascism is scary. It’s scariest when it stares you right in the face with eyes glittering with malice. And if you’re shut down in a public forum where you have every right to speak but are denied, write the wordiest blog post you possibly can, get it all off your chest, and ask your friends to share it far and wide.
Yesterday, I posted a video on Facebook. It was one of the most terrifying things I've ever seen. And strap in, because I feel like we have a lot to unpack. Here's the link to the video if you're so inclined:
I've had a day or so to think about what more I want to say about this. I know for a fact that people I respect and love are upset (to some degree or other) by posts like this because they truly believe somehow I'm saying something anti-Christian, or trying to convince people that all Christians are bigots.
No.
I am a Christian. Jesus is just alright with me, I need him in my life, and I call on him every day for help and solace, and to put in a good word for me with his Father. I also call on J's Mother. And his partner, in teaching and in life, Mary the Magdalene. And the Archangel Michael for protection. And the Archangel Raphael for health and wellness. I could go on and on. If it weren't for Saint Anthony, I'd never find my phone or my keys. If it weren't for Saint Jude, I'd believe there's no hope when all seems to be lost, but because of Saint Jude (my granddad was very into him), when the shit hits the fan, I turn to him, because I remember how Papa did.
But ladies and gentlemen, that's ME. That's just little old nobody me. That's MY faith. And not for one single second do I think it needs to be yours.
For you, it could be....it could be anything else, or nothing at all. It could be Kwan Yin (I do love her). It could be the Buddha. It could be Krishna. It could be what you'd rather refer to as Allah, with Mohammed as his prophet. It could be the Great Spirit that the Indigenous People revered and loved and in whom they lived and moved and had their being. It could be the Great Goddess and all her legions of helpers. It could be the nature spirits of the forests. It could be any number of ascended masters, avatars, angels, saints. It could be your great-aunt, your grandmother, the person who used to cut your hair and hear all your joys and woes and highs and lows. It could be your fifth grade teacher, smiling down on you from above the way she smiled on you in her classroom and made you feel seen and loved and so so smart. It could be what you feel like is your higher self. Or it could be any moment that there's love and joy and kindness in your heart that makes you feel like there's something so good in existence that you just can't quite describe it in words. It could be sunlight rippling on water. It could be that you believe in none of the above, and choose to live your life according to what you know to be right and kind and good and loving. (PLEASE feel free to describe what it is for you in the comments, and feel free to tell me if it's absolutely nothing, because it all counts, it's all valid...and it's not just me who says so...a quick glance at the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution backs me up on this.)
But the biggest thing I want to say is, if you look at that paragraph above, and add in your Jesus, your Marys, your Yahweh, your Jehovah, your Father/Son/Holy Spirit....here it comes, my heresy, my blasphemy:
They are all the same thing. THEY ARE ALL THE EXACT SAME THING.
The blindness, the hell on earth that we've come to know, comes from any insane, tiny-minded notion that there's a damn bit of difference between my God the Father and your Great Spirit or your Great Aunt. And the most frustrating part of it all is, THAT is what's at the core of all systems of faith, Oneness. Oneness. Oneness.
Oneness, for fuck's sake! ONENESS!
The video I posted says things that oppose oneness. They insist on a single version of truth and beauty and love and righteousness, and to hell with anyone who does not subscribe. I submit the following exhibits pulled from the video referenced above.
I have questions. What's the Great Commission? And what makes you a Watchman? What are your rights and powers as a Watchman? I don't believe I've ever had opportunity to vote for a Watchman, or a Great Commission. (Makes worried, skeptical face.) Next:
You are? Says who? And as churches are not required to even pay taxes (kind of like super rich people), I'm not sure this is valid. And it's all the earth now, is it? Quite bold. Moving on:
Well, these feel a little hard to verify. I'd like it in writing. Preferably notarized. And then they wrote:
Anyone have Margaret Atwood on speed dial? Our judicial system should be biblical? I learned on an especially poignant episode of The West Wing that, according to the Bible, if you plant different crops side by side, the penalty is death by stoning. If I were a farmer, I'd get a good helmet. Next:
Ah this is a fine one. When the alt-right refer to the sin of "wokeness," it usually means their general disdain for anything with a whiff of "hey, let's make sure People of Color and LGBTQ+ people in our nation get to have all the same civil rights and humane treatment under the law as the rest of us." Was "wokeness" specifically banned by the framers of the Constitution? I'm not sure how I could have missed it. As for the occult, if you can't find me, I'm in a safehouse with my collection of crystals, tarot decks, pendulums, and Beatles albums. Onward:
WTF are the "Seven Mountains," you ask? They apparently stand for family, religion, education, the media, entertainment, business, and government. So by their decree, this group intends to permanently control these proverbial mountains by divine right. It's so funny how I've read the Constitution and I just can't remember a reference to these dadgum mountains. Don't google this stuff right before bed. Let's see what more good news they have for us:
Whoa Nelly. Well, this is a tough one. The blood of Jesus was spilled by his political and religious fanatic opponents (why does that sound so familiar) all the way up and on top of Golgotha. It certainly covered a good portion of that piece of land. But I've read a little about the teacher from Nazareth, and the very idea of his torture and murder by conquering tyrants and religious leaders who felt threatened by his influence making us Americans special and "separate" as a nation seems just a leeeeeetle antithetical to what the fellow was all about. Very off-brand. His teaching was straight up on the subject: "Are you a sinner? A leper? A tax collector? A foreigner? A prostitute? An unclean woman in the middle of her period who the elders say should be socked away in a dark room? Come sit by me." So please. Just please, with this garbage.
Well...these two are tricky. First of all, that confounded first amendment separating church and state...is it possible that these people are so horny over the second amendment that they overlook the first? I'm just looking for answers here, I'm a problem solver. Moreover, is it Judeo-Christian values we're talking about here? Because I'm no Muslim, but I know a few, and they'd claim that particular "one true god" as their own just as hard as we Christians and Jews do. Read their book, it starts with a Q, easy to remember. Furthermore, it brings us back to that pesky judicial problem again. Jews celebrate the Sabbath starting sundown on Friday through sundown on Saturday, Christians don't get theirs until Sunday. So what days can we work without getting the death penalty? These are important questions, people!
There's more unpacking of this fucking mess that I could attempt, but I'm exhausted, and I expect you are too.
All I can think of to add is that there's a pretty big difference between being (1) "anti-Christian" and (2) "anti-Christian theocracy." Number (1) is bigotry. Number (2) is patriotism and human decency. And if freedom in that "shining city upon a hill" is what we all yearn for, for ALL people (because we are NOT there yet), we need to know the difference.
So, what the hell, how about just love one another. Even the terrifying zealot bigots who want to rule the world. (I didn't say "excuse" them...just try and send love to them...it can't hurt...) And thereby maybe we'll make it another few centuries and take the poor, the marginalized, the disenfranchised along with the rest of us this time around.
When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I had a boyfriend. Actually, no, according to him, he was not my boyfriend, I was not his girlfriend, and he would never love me with a capital L, but he'd be willing to keep me around if I helped him with home improvement projects.
Why did I sign up for this and let him reel me in, hook, line, and sinker? I was eighteen and in love. Eighteen-year-old females in love are, in a few words, and I'm trying to be kind here...stupid as fuck.
He was nine years older than me, and I had a crush on him. He had no business entertaining that crush, but he was emotionally stunted, and so to my elation (at the time), he did entertain said crush. And there was a LOT of entertainment going on, if you know what I mean. Completely consensual entertainment, make no mistake. It was a good relationship that way. I mean, REALLY good.
Unfortunately, the good didn't really go much beyond the bedroom (or wherever...back deck, front yard, kitchen counter, outdoor gazebo, suspended from ceiling beams in the den in a fairly impressive feat of engineering but I digress).
I had some kinds of maturity when I was eighteen. I was smart, well-read, starting at a fancy schmancy college, high achieving...but when it came to my emotional stuff, and mental health, and self-esteem, that was all in the crapper. I didn't see a lot of value in myself, and didn't expect anyone else to see any either. In fact, when "not-your-boyfriend" (we'll just call him NYB from here on in) liked to remind me of my worth, NYB would quote frommy very favorite Shakespeare play, and tell me,
"Sell while you can, you are not for all markets." (As You Like It, Act III, Scene v)
NYB thought that was very funny.
Speaking of funny, here's another one of his "jokes." NYB used to tell me, often, about how it would go if I were to accidentally become pregnant. "You'll pay for an abortion for yourself, because I can just wipe it off my thighs and get on with my life, or I'll throw you down a flight of stairs and get it done that way." Isn't that hilarious? I think I would actually giggle...I'd be going for coy but achieving, at best, nervous. Because guess what. I believed him.
So I was very careful. And very lucky. I was always the one of the two of us who had to hit the pause button to make sure we were safe. I always made sure. Of course, no matter how sure you are, there can be an oopsie-daisy, but like I said, I lucked out. I would have had a hard time coming up with the funds for the procedure as a student, would not have been able to tell my parents EVER, and didn't have a lot of good faith in the throw-me-down-the-stairs method.
What's the point of this, quite frankly, bummer of a story? I'm not sure how to say it right, but I'll try.
I was in this tenuous position when the overturning of Roe v. Wade wasn't yet a gleam in the eye of SCOTUS. Oh, many would have liked it to happen, but it wasn't an immediate threat then. The court had yet to be stocked with just the right number of fundamentalist psychopaths who care about babies' lives just about the same way most of us care about the lives of flesh eating bacteria. The "throw me down the stairs and see what happens" method would have been the one most likely used on me in the event of an accidental pregnancy, had there been no other options.
It makes me wonder how many eighteen-year-old girls who don't yet know their infinite worth as human beings will get fucked by their abusers, then thrown down the stairs.
Sorry to be so ineloquent.
Actually, I am not fucking sorry. I'm grateful to be alive, and to now have children of my own, planned and wanted and nourished and cherished from the depths of my soul, because I wasn't ever thrown down the stairs by a cheap megalomaniac who didn't like complications in his high-and-mighty life.
I ended up dumping NYB after seven full years of being in his thrall. What happened? I grew up. It was that simple. I started seeing a therapist, got a first-time look at what I'd allowed to happen to me, the blinders fell off, and that was that. That growing up I did--that was a problem for him. I realized after tons and tons of healing and self-examination that I'd been sleeping with a man who didn't know how to have a relationship with an adult. When I became one, in my head as well as my chronological age, I said "buh-bye, don't ever darken my doorstep again." He could NOT believe it. The unmitigated gall! Oh the songs and dances, the sturm und drang that followed...suffice it to say, I'd taken away one of his favorite playthings, and he did not go gently...and all of THAT can be a story (tome) for another day.
For today, I'll just say this: Because I was lucky, I didn't have to choose between an abortion and being thrown down the stairs. But if I'd been unlucky, at least I'd have had the choice. I'd have scraped up the money, lied and said I needed it for textbooks, taken a page from Baby's scam in Dirty Dancing, somehow I'd have gotten the cash. But more to the point, lots of girls still fall in with their own NYBs, become playthings to narcissistic man-children before they've grown into their understanding of how precious they are. And now, a lot of them won't make it to the other side of that creaky, rocking, splintering bridge.
So in closing, congratulations SCOTUS. If it had been up to you in the late 80s, I might have been dead by now. I made it, barely. Now, many won't.
The quest to get my autistic, nonverbal, pathologically sensory defensive child’s diseased teeth taken care of so he can be out of mind-reeling pain and safe from dangerous infection? Have we discussed this? It's been one clusterfuck after another and I can't remember where I left off. I’ll skip over the whole debacle back in the fall when we drove him an hour to Valhalla, NY, to their special needs dental clinic associated with Westchester Children’s Hospital.. Yes, we got our 6 foot 5, 310 lb gentle giant to fight past his monstrous fear of all places unfamiliar, especially medical, and sit in front of their dentist without trying to leave through the nearest window. Then we got said dentist to sign off on the fact that, yep, this child needs dentistry under general anesthesia and he seems to have a painful infection, so let’s get to it. Got him all set up for scheduling, paperwork and paperwork and paperwork, did a load of pre-op, then got told the surgeon in charge has decided to no longer take insurance for his services. Apparently, this particular practitioner is only available for special needs families who own yachts. But that’s in the past, we’ll let that go. Better for my blood pressure. In the meantime, grab a cup of coffee and put your feet up. And if you don’t like cussing, maybe skip the rest of this.
The special needs clinic at Rose F. Kennedy Children’s Hospital in the Bronx (associated with Montefiore and Albert Einstein Hospitals) was our next stop, because a few weeks ago, a very nasty, golf-ball size abscess erupted near Calvin’s lower left canine tooth, and there was plenty of fever to boot. The staff there were great, they were even able to peek into his mouth a little. And he sat voluntarily in the chair under all those lights!!!!! Holy smokes!!! But turns out they can't treat him at their facility because of his size. I don't entirely understand, but it's something about the safety of his breathing being ok while they do the procedure in their setting. They do IV sedation, and for a guy who's maybe 180-200 lbs and average height, what they do there is safe and fine. But Calvin is way bigger than that, and his neck is big, and he won't be easy and cooperative, so that place is a no go because they worry about his breathing. At some point I want to understand better what the anesthesia difference is, but it’s been too overwhelming to grasp so far. I guess it's not a traditional OR setting and that’s why it won’t be safe enough. And of course that’s all we needed to hear. We need it to be safe enough, full stop. So what’s next?
The fine professionals at Rose F. Kennedy referred us to another Montefiore dental clinic in the Bronx, promised we’d hear from this other office within a day, and indeed we did. They set us up to come in within just a few days after our first trip to the Bronx.. The surgeon I spoke to told us to make sure he was fasting, because the plan was to get the problem tooth/teeth dealt with, then put him on the 6 month wait list for a whole dental workup where they do a full cleaning and scaling and anything else that needed to be done—which is what we would have been able to get done in Valhalla if that whole deal hadn’t gone South like Sherman.
So this past Friday, we got to the clinic on Kossuth Ave in the Bronx. This neighborhood is like Montifiore Central. Moses Hospital, Albert Einstein, the children’s hospitals, tons of medical offices, all Montefiore. So we get ourselves into a parking structure that's fairly close, traffic and getting around was predictably nightmarish, but fine, whatever, and we gave our boy a nice little walk around the Bronx (he did great, although it was fucking freezing), then finally got him up to the office for his appointment. He waited on a line outside the office with us like a champ, not a peep out of him, no trying to escape. The staff makes sure to confirm he's been fasting (they should have been able to tell by the way he was looking at everybody like he was hallucinating them as a hamburger or hot dog like in the Bugs Bunny desert island cartoon), They got us into an examining room, he sat in the chair, nice as you please. A couple of oral surgeons do a great job tag teaming, each gently poking around in there and peering with flashlights and they can get the general idea that the molar right behind the left canine on the bottom is a problem (but may be saveable) and probably caused the abscess. One doc was able to feel the top right side and could tell that tooth is a goner (that was the one that was flaring up back in the fall when we started this whole nightmare scavenger hunt).
So there’s our boy, heroically letting these people work with him, calmer than Mike or I felt, and I'm so proud of him, can’t even tell you. Then Nurse Judy came in, and she started raising concerns about whether they can get this done, though, because the general dentistry and the oral surgeons have to coordinate, and then the head honcho surgeon came in to evaluate, and before we knew it they were telling us there's no way they're rolling him into the OR and doing this today. After we were told we were coming in for a procedure. After we'd been making him fast all fucking day. It's like noon now. And we're now on our third 120-mile round trip excursion in our quest to get our child medical care he desperately needs and we’re still nowhere..
Mike got upset. REASONABLY upset. We both did. He started giving the head honcho doc a bit of an earful about the runaround we were getting, and he was absolutely right. I could see both points of view…head honcho didn’t want to wheel him into surgery without any pre-op work done if it wasn’t a life or death emergency, BUT, we should have been told that before we starved our kid and packed goddamn luggage because we’d also been told that maybe he’d need to be admitted depending on how things went. Was it that young docs made promises that old doc would not approve? Something was truly and rightly fucked. I tried to keep everybody calm because I hate confrontation and I need to get over it. They keep reassuring us that they'll get him set up, pre-opped, in for his procedure asap, and they'll take great care of him. Which I'm sure they will. But wait, there's more.
I mentioned the area we were in is like a Montefiore Disney World, yes? So they told us, ok, you're scheduled for next Friday, 3/11, and here's what you do now (this is after they're all texting and emailing other segments of this machine to set this up). Go to 2400 Bainbridge Ave for an anesthesia consult, an ekg, and bloodwork. I informed them there's no way he'll allow an ekg, and they're like, ok, we get it, but we'll get the other stuff done. Great. Also great is that, like I mentioned, we were advised before we began this happy Friday adventure that Cal could possibly have to be admitted, so we had luggage, with tablets, and chargers, and toys to distract and soothe him. So there we are, trudging up and down blocks, freezing our asses off as I try to coax my phone to tell me where the fuck I’m supposed to go in a neighborhood I’d ne’er before even set foot in, while Mike and I flank and hold on to our giant son in case he decides to suddenly fake right, then bolt left to hijack a falafel truck, which I wouldn’t have blamed him for one little bit..
So we got to the address the nice doctor gave us, I guess it was the Moses main campus entrance, I don’t know, and it was like Grand Central station in there, we were screaming in masks to be heard, filling out covid forms, explaining why we're there, the people at the desk argued back and forth about where we were supposed to go for the lab and pre-op and anesthesia consult. We got sent to the wrong floor. We got sent to another floor where they told us, um, he's 16, he can't have this done here, it has to be at the children's hospital across the street at 3415 Bainbridge. So we're like, are you sure, because we literally just got handed a piece of paper from the referring doctor after he's emailed and texted and phoned the world about where to send us. Nope. Across the street with you.
Ok. Cal was getting hungry now (if you could have seen how he looked at that falafel truck), and while still totally cooperating with this fucking stupid death march around the Bronx, we could tell we might not be too far from a meltdown. But we got across the street, we got sent to the right floor, we did the bloodwork. Ah, the bloodwork. Two tiny phlebotomists, Mike, and me. Ever try to do bloodwork on the Incredible Hulk when the Incredible Hulk is in no mood for such shenanigans? The tiny women were thankfully great at their part of the job, and Mike and I just sort of heaved our bodies over his in the blood chair and held him as best we could and somehow they got it done. And THIS time, I did not have to go to the ER because I kept my sternum away from his elbow. Fool me once…
Now for the anesthesia consult. Same building, the children’s hospital. MIght have even been the same floor, I forget. Beautiful anesthesiologist PA gives us a great consult, explains things, Cal let her listen to his heart. She showed us where he'll go for surgery and recovery, yippee skippy, we're done. Except, and this is fun news, we have to get him Covid swabbed on Tuesday (tomorrow) when we take him to the pediatrician for a pre-op consult (again...this may be the third one at this point, I don't even fucking know).
One more special detail, this is important because of a paragraph coming up fairly soon. One of the oral surgeons prescribed another course of antibiotics (Cal had finished the one he took when the golf-ball-sized abscess blew up in his mouth a couple weeks before) to make sure things don't go all sideways again. He made it a larger dose, cuz he’s a big kid and we want to be sure nothing festers.
So that was it for Friday, home again home again, jiggedy jig, what a great day. Got the boy started on the new higher dose of amoxicillin, and called it a day. I might have drank all the vodka that evening, I don’t remember.
Then we arrived at Saturday morning to find that Calvin was running a low-grade temp and seemed a little listless and not himself and then suddenly vomited an ocean of vomit all over the living room. We may need to throw out the couch. I’m pretty sure we should. He (blessedly) never pukes, and he doesn't know WTF is happening, so all we could do was get him safely finished up where he was, clean him up, etc. I quickly spiralled into a full-blown anxiety attack in my head over whether he was in some severe infection mode, or having an allergic reaction to the antibiotic, or what. I was scared off my ass that something really bad was happening. But once he was all puked out and cleaned up, he didn't seem to be in any danger. Spoke to his pediatrician on call and she recommended reducing the dosage of the antibiotic to what it had been before, especially since it's prophylactic and he doesn't seem to have a bad active infection. Maybe the antibiotic was just too much and it had to come up, along with the rest of the gallons upon gallons of Mt. Vesuvius-like-lava substance that had been in his stomach.
[OR, maybe in one of the 85 petri-dish examining rooms we’d toured the day before, a wee bit of norovirus came home with us. Keep that in mind for later.]
Yeah, so panic had abated and Cal seems bleh but not dangerously so and no more puking. Which was great. Then, later that day, I got an email with his Montefiore MyChart and was happy to see that he's scheduled for surgery for the right day. Friday, March 11. HOWEVER THE ADDRESS IS A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT ADDRESS FROM ALL THE PLACES WE'VE ALREADY BEEN. It says 111 East 210th St., which, yes, is part of that compound of medical facilities, Moses Hospital to be exact, I suppose, but what the fuck? The beautiful lady at 3415 Bainbridge, the Children's Hospital part, said we'd be THERE. How the fuck are we supposed to know where to take him? I'm going to get a call (they say) on Thursday confirming anything, but at this point I have no faith that we will be sent to the right place, and he'll be fasting again, and it'll be a longer fast because we're scheduled for later, and I just can't, folks, I just can NOT. There won’t be a food truck in the God-Blessed borough of the Bronx, NY, that will be safe. Yeah, so stay tuned. We’ll be somewhere.
Ok, where am I, so then we had Sunday and I tried to screw my head back on straight for all the things we have to work out this week for "Operation Get Calvin Out of Pain and Constant Danger of Infection." BUT, guess what happened next. Sunday night into Monday morning, Mike Simon, unflagging and intrepid husband steadfastly marching us through every second of this motherfucking debacle, puked his guts up. And now it’s Monday, and there’s been more puking, and shaking, and chills, and during one of his vomiting sessions this morning something popped on his right side around his ribs, sending him into the kind of pain that makes your eyes roll back.
I am not fucking kidding you.
Urgent care thinks it's a pulled muscle, and he's not running a fever, but if he doesn't improve with a muscle relaxant (which he can't take until the anti-nausea meds kick in), I need to get him cat-scanned to make sure he doesn't have something flared up in there. And the odds of him being able to safely help me get Cal's nose swabbed tomorrow? Care to lay any bets? The usual procedure is the nurses come to the car window, I sneak into the trunk of the SUV, Mike sits in the back seat next to him, I hear a bell go off in my head, and it’s Wrestlemania for as long as it takes.
I'm a lapsed Catholic, but we need all the help we can get, so if you need me, I’m in a corner somewhere, rocking back and forth, rosary beads flying through my fingers on a continuous loop, praying that my man and I are both are fit as fiddles on Friday. I'm superhydrating so that when I get this goddamn stomach bug (that I know we got from one of those goddamn germ casserole buildings we were hitting, door to door, like some kind of twisted, bizarro Halloween nightmare), I don’t end up attached to an IV pole while we’re taking care of business.
So that’s all the news that’s fit to print around here. Stay tuned to this channel for updates. Let me entertain you. Let me make you smile.
“Well, I found the secret to life I found the secret to life I'm okay when everything is not okay.” - Tori Amos
I once used the word "veggies" in front of my grandfather. He cast aspersions on me for that transgression for about five full minutes. That's a long time to endure aspersions.
"Jesus Christ, Trace, why did you say that, that's not even a goddamn word! People have to shorten things and make them cute, it's bullshit, it pisses me off." (Then there was grumble, pontificate, grumble a little more, vituperate, scoff, and then I slinked off sheepishly never to use a cute abbreviated form of anything in front of him again, so help me God.)
Perhaps that is why I am about to tell you something you all need to hear. Vaxx isn't a word. It's not a fucking word. (My grandfather was anti-f-word, I had to watch my filthy mouth around him, so he'd say it a different way, but bet your ass he agrees with me up there in heaven where, still, he knows everything and is always right.)
What is it then? What is vaxx? I will tell you. It's a clever buzzwordy way to denigrate, vulgarize, and dismiss a segment of the population as a bunch of hopeless, despicable creatures not fit to live. Oh, hold on, you have to throw the prefix "anti" in front of it to make it work...ahhh, see, now you get it.
And don't start with me. And don't mean-comment me, I'll just delete it, so fuck off with your hate. Because the truth is, I am not anti-immunization. I am very glad we don't have to die of diphtheria or tetanus anymore. It's good that we're not getting sterilized by mumps. I'm VERY happy that a bite from an angry, foamy mammal doesn't have to be a death sentence. If I, or anyone I love, ever needs a rabies shot, bring it on, please.
But.
I have found myself to be vaccine-cautious. I've developed an annoying tendency not to believe everything I'm told by a certain industry that is worth more money than a yacht-load of Bill Gateses. And because of that, just attaching my name to these words will likely make many of you point and laugh at me (at best), call me horrible names and wish to ruin me (at worst).
Yet that's where we are. We aren't allowed to be vaccine-cautious. If combining too many too often on a tiny baby makes me nervous, tough shit. If I want to know why a newborn needs to get Hep B, I can go fuck myself. If I screw all my courage to the sticking point and ask why I can't get just a measles vaccine, or just a mumps vaccine, or just a rubella vaccine, or a tetanus shot without anything else riding along...well, I could probably be jailed for that question at this point. Because science. (Um...what if I find some science that backs up my worries, may I ask about that? No, I may not? Mmm-k.)
So no worries. I'm not asking any questions anymore. I pretty much feel all my questions have been beaten out of me....and it started long before Covid. I have children who got certain shots in the early to mid aughts, and "things" happened. Just some "things." I've since learned that such "things" are all in my active imagination, I need to have something to blame, and wondering aloud about these "things" at all makes me bad, stupid, and dangerous, so I don't anymore. I truly don't. Call off the dogs, I've given up.
Oh, speaking of having given up, I'm fully Pfizer vaccinated (of course you can see my card) so that I can participate in society without wearing a scarlet A on my chest and being perceived a scourge upon humanity. And I feel great about it.
But let's get one thing straight, ok? Call me an anti-vaxxer, to my face, go ahead, see what happens.
