The Canvas

All our lives are drawn on a beach

With a stick.

It’s pointy end dips into the sand

Deep and narrow,

Forming heads with circles,

Torsos from rectangles.

You can hold a book or an arrow.

You can walk, run, or pose.

Look at the art we make, we become.

A little story each.

All our lives are drawn on a beach,

A beautiful blank canvas

Stretched smooth by the sea.

Yesterday wiped clean.

Wet and firm for molding,

I draw waves in great detail

With foam, bubbles, and reflected light.

And laugh to myself.

All our lives are drawn on a beach

Set the rocks just so around you

Build the castle, open-floor concept for entertaining

Look at the beveled roof tile in the setting sun.

It captures us whole, beautifully

Just in time

For the tide.

The Great Race to Hate

I wrote the following in a text this morning to my longtime Conservative friend with whom I used to run a both-sides political podcast. I fear how divided we are becoming and feel helpless to stop it, so this bubbled to the surface.

“Trying to be objective here: the Right went crazy first. But the Left isn’t far behind. The Republican Party is controlled be a concentrated core who hate Democrats. They are currently Trumpists, still unwilling to admit or believe he lost in 2020. They are a cult. Dems aren’t there yet because there is no Trump that most of the hard Left agrees with, but they are increasingly becoming more concentrated. Seeing a lot of hate this morning from Dems for Bill Maher, who I think is hilarious and has been very consistent over the years. He’s a middle of the road, pro-union, anti-PC Dem, but he spoke out against Jada and now he’s as bad as any Trumper in some eyes. It’s so frustrating. We really need to be a broad coalition against Trump right now and the Left is eating its own. God help us when Democrats coalesce around an egomaniac criminal con-man who just parrots the crap he sees on MSNBC. Then we will have fully caught up. 😔”

True Blue Trump

New York — President Donald Trump resumed campaigning yesterday after an 11-week absence in front of a less-than-expected crowd at Madison Square Garden.

Several Democratic lawmakers and celebrities were in attendance, most wearing Trump’s trademark blue masks when the president blamed right-wing media and violent protesters outside the Garden for a largely empty upper section at the world-famous event center.

“The crazed right-wing media and Gun-toting hillbillies tried to ruin this day for us. They’re insane aren’t they folks? But you’re warriors. You’re here and you’re warriors. It’s beautiful,” Trump said.

The rally comes amid prolonged concerns about the coronavirus pandemic and a national outcry over racial injustice following George Floyd’s death. Trump described his party as “the party of equality and justice” and drove home a “law and order” message in response to racial tensions.

“It makes me physically ill to think about what happened to George Floyd. Isn’t it sad? Over $20, folks. These racists cops gotta go. You’re fired!” Trump said to applause. “They’re lucky our people aren’t more violent. I know our people, and these bad cops are lucky.”

He told the diverse crowd of supporters, many wearing blue “Make America Great Again” hats, the main reason COVID-19 numbers were so high was that too many people were being tested.

“Here’s the bad part: When you do testing to that extent, you’re gonna find more people, you’re gonna find more cases. So I said to my people, ‘slow the testing down please!’”

Trump’s rally hit on several familiar themes carried over from his successful 2016 campaign over Republican challenger Jeb Bush. He talked about the need for a border wall and tougher immigration rules; putting an end to the war in Afghanistan and removing troops from the Middle East; creating new manufacturing jobs through tariffs on foreign products; introducing strict gun control legislation; and establishing universal health care.

“They’re laughing at us in Europe. They’ve got it over there and it’s great. Our system here is a joke,” the president said before recreating his recent walk down the ramp at the West Point graduation. “I told the General, ‘it’s slippery. I’m going to fall on my ass, sir.’”

Trump then made a show out of drinking a glass of water he held with one hand.

“Chubby Christie can eat and drink everything with two hands and the media never says a word,” Trump said.

Location

Time and place are married to every action.

The bride fixes her hair at church while the bells ring from the stone tower above at noon, noon, noon.

The groom was baptized at St. Francis Easter Sunday 1982. His mom wore her pink hat and sat in the front pew, beaming.

They’ll never break up, and they can’t break down.

That’s what People do. One day. In their home. In the morning. On the street.

Then and there.

Last week, I saw the moon through my window and thought long of you from 5,000 BC, away from the campfire, standing on pine needles in the clearing on the hill, drunk in its glow. And then I thought of you from 5,000 AD, living on a manmade island, wondering if your girl misses you up there.

Nothing happens never and nowhere. If you think about it, it’s not scary. We move. Then we rest.

I’m sorry for the weight you carry. I feel it too.

Under the bells. In the moonlight.

How to contain a fire

Why do we have fire departments? Take a minute to consider the question. 

If there’s a fire at your house, why should I help cover the costs? And why should you chip in for a fire at my home? Wouldn’t the free market work better? Couldn’t we just pay for our own fires? Independent business owners could surely spring up to meet the demand.

According to the National Fire Protection Association’s most recent U.S. Fire Department Profile, there were 29,705 fire departments nationwide in 2018.

For perhaps obvious reasons, fire departments have developed in, and grown out of, urban centers. In 24 B.C., Roman emperor Augustus is credited with starting a corps of fire-fighting “vigiles,” or watchmen. And community fire service in the U.S. was in place long before the American Revolution. Early fire regulations in the colonies can be traced back to a major fire in Boston in 1631. The first fire wardens were appointed in New Amsterdam (New York) in 1648.

In 1790, the United States had a population of roughly 4 million people, and the vast majority of those people lived outside urban centers. America was largely agrarian. In 2010, 81 percent of the population was considered “urban.” Over decades and centuries, there are a lot more of us, and we live closer together.

And the world is smaller. Modern transportation — cars and roads, trains and railways, airplanes and airlines — make domestic and international travel a breeze compared to the treks of our forefathers. 

Our modern mobility and close proximity to one another has its downsides, of course. Less than four months ago, on New Year’s Eve, China alerted the World Health Organization that it had several cases of unusual pneumonia involving workers at a popular seafood wholesale market in Wuhan, a port city of 11 million people. On New Year’s Day, authorities in China shut down the market as they trained to contain this unknown and now-loose viral threat to public safety. Dubbed COVID-19 in February, the novel coronavirus has spread like wildfire, now impacting 177 countries, killing over 11,000 people and infecting nearly 275,000.

State and federal agencies in the U.S. are scrambling to limit the reach of COVID-19. As of March 21, the governors of California and Illinois have issued stay-at-home orders while hospital system administrators and health care experts warn of a critical lack of supplies and tests to diagnose and treat new patients. “Social distancing,” has become a household term as millions of people work from home and self isolate to reduce the spread. Stock market free-falls have become the norm as professional and collegiate sports, concerts, theaters and large public gathering places of every kind have overnight become threats to our collective health and security.

So, why do we have fire departments? Why have they become staples of our communities regardless of the politically liberal or conservative area demographics? 

I’d say we have them because the fire at your home can spread easily and quickly to mine, and vice versa. And what if your neighbor (or my neighbor) can’t afford or refuses to put out his or her fire? Once a fire gets big, it’s hard to put out. Our best chance to contain it is to work together in a collective effort, as a community.

Right now, COVID-19 is teaching us all that we have fires possible today that weren’t possible for the vast majority of human history. We have viruses that jump like hot embers from community to community and nation to nation.

In the 21st Century, we need new vigiles. We need to treat health care like the national security issue it is. And we need nations to work together. So that all of our houses don’t burn.

The Man Beyond the Path

I had seen him before, glimpses of form between trees, the man beyond the path.

Why had they told me to avoid him? Why was this the only rule? “Stay away from him. He is a dangerous man. He will make you cry.”

I was determined to see him clearly, apart from the shadows, and in full this time.

I had to know because it’s not enough to be told. But even at just this wondering, I felt a sting of separation. And so with courage built, I left on the path as the City rested.

I’d find him in morning light. First, a flutter in the shadows, then taking shape more and more, luring me deeper into the forest. I was thrilled and scared. I’d been this far before and returned home to be scolded. I must continue, I thought.

Rounding a corner, he stood still, soft as a deer, in the middle of the path. He was older, shorter, feeble looking, yet spry somehow. He had a kangaroo’s tail. I stopped, heart racing. Playfully, he darted off, down the hill between the blue spruce and grandfather oak.

I hadn’t expected this. I was spinning. Quickly, I ran to where he went down and I followed.

He was zig-zagging through the trees, and I had to fight to keep pace. I yelled out to him, “Wait! Stop! Who are you?”

No sooner than I did, he did, at the edge of a clearing. He faced me, smiling politely. He was familiar. I’d seen him in dreams. He didn’t seem to pose a threat. Beyond him, in this clearing, I could now see a fabulous house, seven stories tall, bright and inviting. He said, with eyes twinkling, “Would you like to come in for some tea?”

I hesitated.

“There is much I can share with you. Or you can leave. The path is just there,” he said pointing up the hill. He didn’t wait for my answer, but turned towards the house. Heading for the door, he said, “I won’t make you cry.”

I followed.

Inside was an endless museum. On the walls were pictures of the curious man in the house with everyone I knew: mom, dad, Beatrice, uncle Scott, Clovis, Sherry, Dot — everyone I could think of. And there I was now, having entered after him.

“Oh my,” the words escaped me. He nodded, knowingly. “Little girl, you didn’t think you were the first to track me down, did you?” He looked at the wall, pleased. “It’s okay. Be proud. You’ve earned it. Don’t be scared.”

“What is this place?”

“Sit and have some tea, I’ll explain.”

“I work with the Him, the light, the fountain of life and love. I am not Him, but I am His, as we all are. He permits me a space off the path, so that little girls like you always have a choice.”

“A choice between what?”

“That will calm you,” he points at a cup already filled. “A choice between this world and all others.”

“Why? Why have they gone? Why did they come back? Why have they told me to stay away from you?” I was filled with questions.

“The other world, the first world apart, is reminiscent of home, but it is a blank canvas. What I mean is you make it what it is,” he said. “It is a place that has been molded by others, and you help mold it, too. One must choose to go there.”

“And what about the other worlds,” I ask, emboldened by the tea.

“You go to those only after the first — only if you are not ready to come back.”

“As for me? I’m the gateway. I’m the bridge. They — the ones in the city — they don’t want to lose you. Or, perhaps, they want to be the ones with the true knowledge. Maybe they don’t want to share.” He paused a moment to let me consider. I’d never heard such a thing. It was unthinkable before now. “And why come back? This is Home. All return in the end.”

“What more can you tell me of this first world?” I asked, now uneasy.

“Where else but in the dark can you truly see the light?” he said, somehow louder now. His words echoed in the endless halls. “No one appreciates the City until they’ve left the path in the forest.”

We were then silent for a moment, and I felt a great weight within me.

At this, I stood to leave. I thanked the man for his time and ran home where I cried for days.

In my chest

I see you there waiting to die

In your chair, a mess of hair,

A single tear.

Don’t bother with energy,

I’ll talk, sitting here,

Eye to eye, near.

You’re in my chest, you see.

I can’t follow you. And my stomach

Too. It turns. I shake

And you’re so still.

Waiting, patiently.

Transforming, a butterfly,

To memory.

Put me in your pocket,

A keepsake, small.

And if it’s dark,

It’ll shine for you.

And if the seas are rough,

It will anchor.

I’ll take this tear, my love,

Before you go.

So it too

Can have company.

The Empty Chair

The empty chair stands on guard

Ready to seat

The one who chose it always.

It belongs to me now and I say

Don’t sit there, friend.

It’s a monument. It’s retired.

Standing still stubbornly

In a world that won’t stop moving.

I leave, go to work, and plan

And build and lose and laugh

And lie and fight and try to finish.

The chair waits. It’s a flashing marquee.

It says it held her here

Where she sang silly songs

And tried to understand

Where her life went so fast.

She’s not coming back

And so it stays a tangible memory

Of what was.

A statue now.

The whole world can die away,

And I’ll go with it,

But as long as it’s mine

I need it to do nothing.

To be perfect and sacred and still and sad.

A Man’s Best Friends

If you were to read line by line President Trump’s comments on drug-sniffing German Shepherds from his Feb. 11 rally in Texas, you might be confused.

The sentences, plucked out for closer examination, mean little apart from the man chatting up his loyal crowd in red hats.

Comments here were shared on Twitter by Daniel Dale, Washington correspondent for the Toronto Star.

I’m not going to beat up Trump for his wandering, aimless way of speaking. But it’s remarkable, right? A billionaire from NYC has found a cult-like following from the deepest Red-State rural Americans by casting aside all formal pretense and traditional notions of politics.

Many on the left are quick to point out his rambling communication style and poke fun, but I’d argue it’s a huge part of his brand appeal. By any objective measure, the lightning rod that is Trump has earned a tremendously loyal base of supporters speaking plainly and in the moment to his crowds — making sure to all along appeal to simple, traditional solutions. In Trump-land, instincts and action always beat well-reasoned plans.

And because of his general style/approach to politics, we’ve all seen he can lie bold lies; He can get the facts all wrong; switch topics mid-sentence; call a senator racial slurs; pay off a porn-star weeks before an election; believe Putin over our intelligence community; and he doesn’t even have to like dogs.

He just has to has to acknowledge he should like dogs.

This is a man who has the eclipse glasses on hand and then dares to look straight at the sun. He can do anything he wants precisely because he says whatever he wants — experts and lefties be damned.

The Dems are in trouble in 2020, and I don’t think they know it yet.

Bart Simpson, the White House, and monsters made of clay

Life is full of endless complications in this cartoon world.

Perhaps it’s no surprise then that the real life Lisa Simpson should fall for a younger, politically ambitious Bill Clinton at Yale Law School. Why, with his talent for gab and kissing babies they could surely rule the world together.

And, wouldn’t you know it, they did.

His agenda, naturally, would come first, but that was as much a practical matter as anything, and no one was as practical as Lisa.

She’d keep her last name as long as she could, but she’d intuit the politics of taking a husband’s name. She would be the first woman president, surely, if God is just. Look at the sacrifices, the quiet indignities she bore: the law-school boys’ clubs, Arkansas first-lady’s social hours, the scrutiny of sure-fire real estate partnerships, her husband’s thirst for risky extramarital affairs, the right-wing conspiracies — so far beyond fair even when founded in bitter truths. It was all so beneath her.

Didn’t they know? Couldn’t they see? “I was a fucking rock, excuse my language.”

No one could be asked to absorb as much for this bright school-girl’s dream? And it was a good dream: first woman president.

Her whole life she was told to wait, that being tough and ambitious wasn’t ladylike. So her skin became leather. But did she not speak soft truths? Did she not fight for the underprivileged? Did she not raise enough for the party? She was a senator; she was Secretary of State; she waited her turn. Yes, she hid gossipy emails. Yes, she tried to pass the blame, but who didn’t? “They’ve made me a monster,” she thought. And she was right.

Brother Bart Simpson was a different cat altogether.

School was for suckers, he thought. The real key to power was celebrity. Celebrities could be stupid and still be rich.

And so he’d sell himself and whatever he could. Real estate was at hand, so he’d promise the biggest, the best buildings. But he’d take whatever chances he’d get. An interview? He’d do it. Say something that’ll bring the papers back, he thought. Power was about leverage, he’d learn. He didn’t have to be good at business; let the school suckers cover the work. He was a professional celebrity.

Friends are friends and enemies are trash, to Bart. It’s not personal. It’s a matter of status. “If they talk against you, bury them, dude.” Keep lawyers close. They’ll fix all the mistakes. “Just tell people what they want to hear.” And it worked. It always works.

“That’s Crooked Lisa’s problem. She’s lame. She cares too much what people think.”

And, still, he never got the respect he was sure he deserved.

Didn’t they know? Couldn’t they see? He’d built everything out of nothing. No one had hustled harder. He told the same lies as anyone else, but his were bolder. He had penthouses. He slept with the hottest women. “Billy Fucking Bush had been lucky to be in the same room. I am the mother fucking president.”

What could be more respectable than that? All the rich people he’d kissed up to — none of them had been presidents. He was better than all of them. Even smarter than Lisa.

Sure, Bart courted help from Russian mobsters to bury her. And he’d won. She’d never have that nerve. That’s the difference. “It’s called winning. No one cares how you won.”

But as great as he was, “They made me a monster,” he thought. And he was right.