Never Gonna Get It



Most people who didn’t just meet me know I have a big heart. They also know I am sometimes cynical and speak the truth as I see it, more often than not. Many friends know when to ask me a question and when to beg off, as I’m gonna lay it all on the line. I aim for kindness, but sometimes my aged vision doesn’t allow me to hit my mark. I don’t know how all those aspects of myself manage to coexist, but they do. And sometimes one part of me dominates the others. Go figure.


Right now, it’s my heart that’s garnering my attention. It’s breaking, and I don’t have a clue how to mend it. Nature has struck in Puerto Rico (as well as all over the globe, really), and our fuck-tard of a president is too stupid to understand that as a U.S. Territory, care for the area falls to us. I guess since they’re the epitome of taxation without representation, and therefore can’t vote for the idiot, he doesn’t see any reason to give a damn.


And then there’s the craziness of Las Vegas. Smarter minds have certainly spoken to this (Eugene Robinson’s latest, and Jimmy Kimmel’s monologue), and even if I wanted to contribute a thought, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I’m never gonna get this. Never.


On Monday I saw Jackie Goldberg speak and she was amazing. She briefly addressed the Las Vegas tragedy and pointed out a few things. First – she defined a mass shooting as having occurred when 4 or more people are shot during a single incident. Second – she pointed out that we’ve had over 270 mass shootings in the United States this year alone. The day of the Las Vegas carnage was the 274th day of the year. She noted that we’re looking at around one mass shooting per day. Ms. Goldberg then pointed out that if hunters used semi-automatic and automatic weapons in the wild, there would be no meat left on the carcasses. She was right, of course, and we all knew it, regardless of politics.


I didn’t lose a loved one in this latest horrific, terror attack. My heart is still broken. And though I’m frightened to say it, at the rate we’re going, it seems like we’ll all know someone who does lose a loved one in a mass shooting, and that’s tragic. Truly. And if you dare to tie the 2nd Amendment or hunting rights to the insanity that is our bullshit, nearly invisible gun regulations, well, this one’s on you. Just like the last one. And the one before that. And the one that’s coming. I would say all those who continue to kiss the ass of the NRA should be ashamed, but that’s not enough. Their shame is killing us. Literally.

A Sad Day



I am devastated. Truly.


My country may recover, some day, but for now, it is more broken than ever. My fellow citizens have aligned their values with lying, sexism, bullying, racism and a host of other less-than-decent behaviors. Our presidential election is not only embarrassing, it is also shameful. And make no mistake – if you voted for Trump, your actions have absolutely aligned your values with his behavior. You’re kidding yourself if you believe otherwise.


I have blogged every day for a few years. Through illness and injury, through depression and struggles. But I’m gonna step away for a while. I’ve lost my footing. And my faith. I don’t know when I’ll be steady again. Or how to get there. I really don’t. Trying to find the art in life seems futile now. And I don’t have it in me to pretend, to act and write as if all is well. Because this particular darkness is unknown territory, I also don’t know when I’ll be ready to come back to these missives. I need time. Maybe a lot of it.


Yes – America may recover, some day, but for now, she is more broken than ever.


I am devastated. Truly.

One More Day



I wish I was more positive about where my country has found itself. I wish I had more faith. But I’m not positive and faith is hard to come by. People I love have decided it’s okay to be openly racist or sexist. Some have decided ignorance is a worthy choice. After a ridiculous amount of time dedicated to tomorrow’s election, I’m heartbroken and tired.


I’m not nearly eloquent or well-spoken enough to verbalize a lot of my frustration and distress. So I’m going to let someone else do it for me. This Huffington Post piece, while completely outside my personal experience, is right on. The end of the piece is brilliant. Friends and loved ones will never ever follow through with the author’s wishes, but it’s brilliant just the same.


One more day.






I’m tired. And I don’t believe I’ll get any rest until the damned election is over and done with. As we’ve got 27 days to go, I’m going to be tired for a while.


It’s stressful, this election season. That isn’t necessarily new. What is new is the ugliness. Oh, I suppose we’ve been headed this way for some time now. But it’s sad how far down in the gutter we’ve gotten. Each time I think we can’t possibly go any lower, well, you know what happens.


I’m not angry. Really, I’m not. Heartbroken, sure. And that may be what’s draining me the most. Although I did feel the repercussions after chugging every time the Human Cheeto sniffled during Sunday night’s debate. I was drunk after the first five minutes. Apparently I was the only one at our viewing get-together involved in a drinking game, so, my bad. But I digress…


If the ugliness was merely at arm’s length, maybe I could handle it a bit better. But I know people who are filled with bile and vitriol and they seem to be stirring their own shit, every chance they get. Frankly, now that they’ve openly declared their lack of humanity, I’m not sure how many of them will remain a part of my life. I’m not getting any younger, you know. I don’t have extra time to spend with someone I know to have less-than-acceptable values. And we are talking values, people, for as my friend Betro said, “A person’s politics are their values put into action.”


For the rest of this week (at least), I plan to step away from election coverage, as best I can. After falling down the political hole over the weekend, I need to step away. It’s too much. Or rather, we’re too little. We’re not living up to our potential. Not even close. It seems more like we’re doubling down on our ugliness. If that isn’t a shame, I don’t know what is.




Prayer. Heartbreak. More prayers. Nothing makes sense during this tragic time. And so I begin again. Prayer. Heartbreak. More prayers…

Naughty or Nice?



I’ve been mostly nice this year, though a fair amount of naughty was sprinkled about. If I’m honest, that’s probably how most years go. I’d like to do better, but I am what I am.


Because I believe and – in my heart – know, I won’t wait up for Santa tonight. I’ll just snuggle under the covers, grateful to have a warm bed and a roof over my head. I’ll probably count my blessings before drifting off. Knowing me, my belly will be full and I’ll wear a smile there in the darkness. I like to think those little parts of my personality put me on the Nice List. And that Santa sees it.


Let me be clear about something here: I believe in Santa Claus. Maybe not in the way a child believes, but I believe just the same. It took me many adult years to get here. As a kid, I was a Santa junkie, like all the other children I knew. Then, when I was only 6 or 7, my uncle Scottie told me the most horrible story imaginable: Santa was fake. He told me how our parents get all the presents, then hide them before putting them beneath the Christmas tree each year. He even took me up into the attic of his house, to show me where all his gifts were stashed. As uncle Scottie was a couple of years older than I, he was an authority. And I believed him. Kid Christmas would never be the same.


I was devastated, but I kept it to myself. I had 2 younger sisters and I didn’t want them to find out about Santa. I didn’t want them to feel the heartbreak I was enduring. By the time they no longer believed in Santa, years had passed.


I never told on Scottie for enlightening me about Santa Claus. And to this day, I don’t blame him. He was a kid himself. Like me, he didn’t know any better. We just wanted to grow up. We thought we had to put aside childish things in order to make that happen. We thought a concrete understanding of life would bring maturity. We had no idea what we’d lose in letting go of our magical beliefs.


I am mostly grown now. I watch the children of friends as they marvel at December’s promise. I hear strangers admonishing their children out in the world, “You’d better be good or Santa won’t come to our house!” And I smile at all of it. For I believe in Santa Claus, too. And I believe in Magic. I believe – period. As an adult, I have regained the beauty and possibility of a child’s faith. And if that’s not Magic, I don’t know what is.