Georgia

Calling for backup

Escape from the oligarchy – paddle faster!

I knew Monday was going to be a historically shitty day. I mean, come on, how often is a convicted felon inaugurated as president of the United States? Note: That will be a future Jeopardy question years from now. Anyway, I knew I had to be proactive in my approach to surviving the coronation of Donald Trump, so I did what any reasonable radical left lunatic would do – I got the hell out of town. Yep, strategery as W would say.

My dear wife and I and two of our besties, Lori and Sue, loaded up the SUV and headed for Augusta, GA. Hold on, I know you’re judging our destination. We wanted somewhere that wasn’t that far of a drive (3:45) and a location that was further south so weather would less likely be an issue. We booked a pretty Airbnb apartment in a renovated house built in 1860 and conveniently located near downtown.

Just some Dixie chicks still not ready to make nice. (Sue, me, Joy, and Lori)

I’m sure Augusta feels different in April when The Masters golf tournament is in town and the azaleas are in bloom and well, there are people everywhere. In the bleak midwinter, Augusta made Winston Salem look like Manhattan. Not a lot was going on over MLK weekend and that was just fine for us. We strolled the Riverwalk along the Savannah River and had two of the best dinners out I’ve had in a long time. And we went to the Morris Museum of Art and heard live music and toured their current collection. And the best part? I didn’t think of Donald Trump once. Mission accomplished.

Sometimes you just need a walk along a river.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. My friend Ed lives in Crozet, VA and grew up in Augusta. His wife Chris saw a Facebook post I had made and knew that I was in Ed’s old stomping ground. She texted me the address of Ed’s childhood home and on Saturday afternoon we did a little drive by. I thought it would be cute to take a funny selfie in front of Ed’s house and send it to him. Augusta suffered a lot of damage during Helene and I was afraid the old home place might look really bad. Turns out, it was worse than I could have imagined.

Sorry, Ed – you really can’t go home again.

Sunday night, we made pizza and watched football. [Insert lesbian jokes.] And I saw that I had an in-box message from my old pal Kerrie in Greensboro. We aren’t close friends, but I’m always delighted when I run into him. He has a wicked smart political mind and we always seem to get each other. He said that he would be thinking about me on Monday and gave me a humorous pep talk about all the work we have in front of us. He told me that it was going to be a rough few years, but “one day I will wake up to the good news that he is dead, and I’m not and on that day, there will be much rejoicing.” That’s Kerrie and I was so touched that he reached out.

I woke up Monday morning with an undeniable feeling of dread, but before I could go down the rabbit hole of despair, I got a text from my good friend Sue in St. Paul. Sue is 82 and moved to a retirement home in MN a few years ago to be near family. She had a stroke a handful of years ago – not that you’d ever know it – and we have had a daily wellness check-in since then. She texts me when she gets up – which is almost the same time as me, even with the hour time difference. There have been plenty of days, especially during this election year, that I’m pretty sure she was checking in on me. Either way, it’s a lovely way to start one’s day.

Sue always has my back and she always has a plan. And that plan has a to do list.

Sue told me that she had invited some of her like-minded friends to join her at 10:30 AM to walk 2,029 steps in their high-rise building. Why that number? That represents the year that Trump will (maybe) no longer be president. Folks on walkers and wheelchairs were included and everyone was invited to “walk” as little or much as they wished. They planned to walk the four floors, climbing the stairs or taking the elevator as they got their steps in.

Sue’s Senior March in her retirement home sounds like a great plot for a Netflix movie and my dread disappeared for a few hours. I hope when I’m Sue’s age, I can be a wise owl, too.

I looked at social media a bit on the drive home – no, I wasn’t driving – and saw Melania’s hat and Hillary laughing about the Gulf of America. I couldn’t look at any photos of Kamala because I knew I would cry – well, cry some more. There have been a lot of tears this month.

Honestly, good on her – I wouldn’t want to have to kiss him either.

Our drive home was filled with laughter, 70s music, and M&Ms – girls gotta do what they gotta do. And I saw that I had an in-box condolence message from Walter, my emotional support Canadian that I met on our trip to Spain and Portugal in 2019. Sometimes I think Walter knows more about US politics than I do and I always appreciate his insights and sense of humor – like when he refers to Canada as “not the 51st state.”

Lori and Sue dropped us off in front of our condo and I noticed that my neighbor had finally taken down her Trump yard sign. For a millisecond, I was happy. And then I saw that she had put up a huge Trump flag on the side of her condo – featuring a picture of Trump with some idiotic saying like “We took back our country.” But wait, that’s not all. She also put up one of those garden flags that says God Guns & Trump. Bloody hell! I could feel my face turning red and I was consumed by anger. I can try to not look at Trump for four years, but I can’t not look out my front door.

Just shoot me

My wife pulled me inside and I’m fairly certain she was wondering how she could live with me for the next four years. I’m sure she’s open to suggestions. Fostering might be on the table.

That evening we drank wine and avoided the television like it was radioactive. I thought I would stay up and watch the College Football National Championship game, but I just didn’t have the heart or energy for it. So, I dragged myself to bed and was scrolling through my phone and saw that I had an Instagram message from the daughter of one of my best friends from 4th grade. She has two young daughters and lives in VA. She sent a photo of one of her girls watching Kamala be sworn in as vice president four years ago. Her message had no words – just the broken heart emoji.

I have to believe that she’ll see a woman sworn in as president one day.

Even though her message gutted me, it also gave me some embers of hope and comfort. This is how we will get through these next four years – by checking in with each other and lifting each other up when we’re down. Yes, there will be a shit ton of hard work, too, but I hear from a reliable source that hard work is good work.

And when we fight, well, we’re bound to win again one of these days.

Keep fighting, friends. I love us.

Stay focused on what’s most important to you these next four years. (Carbs highly recommended.)

Missing the bus

Most mornings I drive to a neighborhood near my own that’s ideal for walking – wide streets, sidewalks and not much traffic. Today, I had to make a stop at the recycle bins at the entrance to my condo development and I saw a little boy, probably eight or so, standing by the passenger door of an SUV. He was talking to his family while he was waiting on the school bus. He was wearing a Duke t-shirt and a backpack and he smiled at me as I walked to the bins.

I had just finished reading a news story about the father of the 14-year-old shooter in Georgia being arrested on multiple charges of murder and manslaughter because he provided his son access to an AR-15 style rifle. He actually gave his son the automatic weapon for Christmas last year.

Disclaimer: This is not a political post. Anyone who has spent five minutes with me knows that I am a proud bleeding-heart liberal, but I can’t for the life of me understand how gun control is not a bipartisan issue. I don’t want to rehash all the tired arguments here. No, this is an appreciation post for parents and children and teachers – all things that I am not. I don’t know how parents wake up in America and send their kids to school. I wonder if I could be that brave.

I talked to my friend Jen about the Georgia shooting. She has an adorable son who just started 4th grade. She told me that she’s terrified and devastated every time a shooting happens and that she always thinks about her son and also her sister who is a teacher. She said, “My sister posted on Facebook this week that with every shooting, she wonders if her school could be next and I feel that same fear.” I’m sure my mother worried about a lot of things, too, but me being shot at school was never one of them.

Okay, maybe a little political

The shooting earlier this week was not that much different than the 44 previous ones this year, but it landed on me differently. I think I had been in such a hopeful state of mind since Kamala Harris became the Democratic candidate for president. Words like freedom and forward can have that effect on you. So, when I saw the familiar Breaking News alert on my NYT app, my joy bubble burst. I stared crying – and I couldn’t stop for a long while. Wasn’t it just a few days ago that I looked at all the sweet First Day of School pictures on Facebook? I love those photos every fall – they convey possibility to me – those earnest expressions of looking forward to what the new school year might bring.

Back-to-School in America

I turned on MSNBC and found a grim Nicolle Wallace talking about how her son ( now 12) went through his first active shooter drill when he was in pre-K at age three. Apparently, the grownups don’t tell children that age all the details – they simply teach them to be very quiet and listen to the people in charge. It’s not until they reach the ripe old age of six or so that the term active shooter is used.

“The Last Lockdown” is a statue created by Manuel Oliver, who lost his son Joaquin in the shooting at Marjory Stoneham Douglas High School in 2018.

Her story blew my mind. I guess I had never really thought too much about it since I don’t have children. When I was a kid, we had fire drills and they were always fun – not the least bit scary because everyone knew there wasn’t a real fire and you got to go outside and talk to your friends in line. I’m guessing that active shooter drills are not nearly as entertaining.

Innocence found on my walk this morning

Since the shooting on Wednesday, I’ve been thinking so much about those Back-to-School photos on my Facebook timeline – children of friends, grandchildren of friends. I know my friends who posted these photos all love these children dearly and this is why for the life of me I cannot understand how we cannot pass sensible gun laws in this country. Yes, yes, the NRA is evil – no news there, but how can we not agree to agree on the simple premise that we should protect children?

A graphic graphic
Source: CNN

To be honest, I don’t have many Republican friends, but I wish they would try and explain to me why they don’t vote for candidates who will work to make schools safer for their children and their children’s children. Do they think it can never happen at their schools?

Innocence lost

I know I’m howling at the moon, but sometimes that’s all an old weary liberal can do.

After I dumped my recycling into the bin, I turned and smiled at the little boy waiting for the bus and he grinned back at me. Then I heard my own voice say, “Have a great day at school.” And as I turned around, I heard him and a sweet refrain of little voices from inside the SUV say, “Thank you.” It sounded like the “Hallelujah” chorus to me.

I wanted to tell them that I was sorry that we had failed them, but I could only crawl back into my car and weep. That little boy didn’t miss the bus, but we surely have.

May all your darlings return home safely.

Postscript: By the time I had finished writing this post yesterday afternoon, another school shooting had occurred in Joppa, Maryland.