A to Z Blogging Challenge -- America

Today is Day 1 of the 2020 April A to Z Blogging Challenge. In all the Covid-19 chaos, I did not sign up, but I need to write so I'm going to do it informally. The goal of the challenge is to post every day except Sundays during the month of April. Each day's topic will begin with the corresponding letter for that day. April 1's topic should begin with A. April 2, B. April 3, C. etc.

Today is Day 1, A -- America

In this day of the continuing Stay At Home edict, America is at risk from Corona Virus-19.

Many years ago on my first trip to Washington, D.C., I saw the America I believe in.
I worked for the Federal Crop Insurance Corporation, part of the Department of Agriculture in Oklahoma City. They sent me to D.C. for training. Alone.

I saw America on the subway despite my out-of-towner anxiety. Oklahoma City has very little in the way of public transportation and back then even less.

That first day I entered the Metro at the DuPont Circle Station. I carefully paid attention to my surroundings as I walked from my hotel to the station so I would know which way to go when I came back. The Colombian Embassy was right there, a red brick building across the street from DuPont Circle which was a small park.

Descending into the underworld, I was exposed to the high speed world of a big city. The locals literally ran up and down the impossibly high escalators, not just one floor or even two floors, but three or four floors without a break. Did I mention, I'm afraid of heights? I stood as far to the right as possible clinging to the railing with both hands, silently pleading "Don't touch me. Don't touch me." They ran past me carrying their brief cases and back packs and giant purses and shopping bags. I knew that if they brushed against me, I'd tumble all the way to the bottom.

On the train, I worried about how I would know which stop to get off? The train was filled with people. I was alone. I was scared enough that I didn't really register the sights and sounds of the people around me. Locals in their business professional attire. Most wore government id's on lanyards around their necks. The women wore sneakers, their heels stowed in those bags to change into once they got to the office. I had been advised to do the same, so I was in sneakers, too.

And there were tourists, too. It was June, so they were in their comfy vacation clothes. Some of them didn't know how to navigate the underground either. I listened as they discussed among themselves how to read the maps posted on the wall of the train. One group had been in town for a week. They were from Iowa. They actually knew where the Ag Building was and explained to me where I needed to get off. Luckily there was a station right across from the building I needed to go to.

When I returned at the end of the day, I confidently exited the subway at the DuPont Circle Station. However, when I reached the surface, I recognized nothing. I didn't see the Colombian Embassy. Even DuPont Circle looked different. What confidence I had gained during the day evaporated.

I knew the street my hotel was on. So I started walking in the direction I thought I should go. I realized I should ask someone which way. There was a group of upper elementary aged children speaking French. There were people in twos and threes speaking languages I didn't recognize. Finally I passed two men speaking English. I asked them how to get to where I wanted to go. They looked around thoughtfully then gave me directions and wished me well.

When I got back to the hotel, I found out there are two subway stations at DuPont Circle.

The second day, I was considerably more secure. I did know how to ride the subway. No one was going to knock into me on the escalators and both locals and tourists were perfectly willing to help a lost out-of-towner.

That afternoon on the ride "home" to my hotel, three young women each dressed in white and carrying a rose further represented this America that I love. They had just been to their high school graduation. One was a red-haired Caucasian, one was African American, and the third appeared to be of Middle Eastern heritage. Three enthusiastic young women embarking on their future.

I know people complain about Washington, meaning the American government. And I admit that if something can be mismanaged or someone can be mistreated, our government can certainly discover just such a way to do it. And even with all our languages, Americans can fail to communicate with each other. But, Washington, D.C. is a beautiful city, filled with museums celebrating America's past and people of all kinds building the future.

The city exemplifies the wonderful variety of America. And, along with the rest of the world, America will come through Covid-19.

America's Future

If Wishes Were Horses

If wishes were horses....

A wish-horse carried Donald John Trump into the White House.

Coal country wishing that Climate Change were not real. Wishing that those with Black Lung Disease did not depend on the extensions of eligibility that the Affordable Care Act accorded them.

Oil and Natural Gas Country wishing that Climate Change were not real. Wishing that Miles Per Gallon regulations were not enacted reducing the amount of gasoline needed by American cars.

Steel Country wishing that the ship for American produced steel had not already sailed.

White America wishing that the White Majority ship had not already sailed.

American Nationalists wishing that their futures were not intertwined with the futures of the rest of the world.

The Covid-19 Pandemic has stripped away the veil of wishes. Climate change is real. Steel production is not coming back to America. Coal is not coming back. America, indeed the World, cannot continue to depend on fossil fuels for energy.

Artificial boundaries setup by wishful people and their governments will not protect us.

Willful ignorance and bombast from wish-mongering leaders will not protect us.

Wishes are not horses and a World divided will not stand.

Being 72 in the Year of Corona Virus

A Silver Sneakers Class

Silver Sneakers is a program of physical fitness classes for people 65 years old and older. I have benefited greatly from these classes -- everything from increased endurance and improved balance to greater strength and flexibility at least as they relate to my physical self. (There are certain ethical and political issues about which I am not famous for being particularly flexible.)

I am 72 years old and in this time of the Novel Corona Virus pandemic, my age group are the most vulnerable to death as a result of Covid-19. Unfortunately most of my friends and a goodly group of my relatives are in this age and risk group. And, at this age, we are more likely to have "underlying health issues," which all and sundry take pains to point out are complicating risk issues.

I would here be inclined to extol my general good health, but I shouldn't tempt the Fates.

I walk with a group of people pretty much my age (and this is a very fluid group) three mornings a week and go to coffee together afterwards to discuss the world's problems and the successes of our children and pets. Plus I go to Silver Sneakers classes two to four days a week depending on what else is going on in my life. I feel that both activities are very important to my physical and mental wellbeing.

A friend recently said "I think we retirees need to stay home and go out for necessities when we need them at least for awhile to help the slowdown of people being infected. What are your thoughts." 


We walked at Addenbrooke Park and went to The Village Roaster for coffee Tuesday. The young woman at the counter wiped down everything customers touched.


Geese by the acre on Addenbrooke's Soccer Fields. That's Mt. Morrison in the background.

Yesterday morning we walked at Kendrick Lake. Another look at Mt. Morrison, this time across Kendrick Lake.











Then I went to class yesterday afternoon. There weren't very many people in class so there was plenty of space between us. I took disinfectant wipes and used them liberally on the equipment, including the chair I sat in. They have the scanning wand set up on the counter so they don't handle our cards to check us in.

I think walking outside presents minimal risk.

I think these things are all important to maintain my health, so I will continue to do them as long as I feel well. I don't have reason to interact with children, people in nursing care facilities, or hospitals. I think I will avoid entertainment venues that might be crowded, if such things continue to exist in the near future. And I'll probably do my errands when businesses are likely to be less busy. Again using hand washing, hand sanitizer, and disinfectant wipes.

The thing is, this virus is rather like fire -- as long as there is fuel available it will spread and the people of the world have no immunity (at least those of us who have not yet had the virus) so we are the fuel. Unfortunately this corona virus will run its course and we just need to stay as healthy as we can so if we do contract it, we have a reasonable expectation of surviving.

I am worried about my friends. We are in the age category at risk of worst outcomes, and many of us do have underlying health issues.

I am perfectly willing to make adjustments to my behavior as conditions warrant.

And I certainly will take appropriate actions including self-quarantine if I, at any point, test positive for Covid-19 or, indeed, begin to feel ill with anything. I don't want to share a cold or the flu with anyone either.

The Impeachment Trial

The Washington Post Print Facility

Newspapers. The presses are big. They're noisy. And when they roll, you can feel them through the floor. That's why they're usually somewhere off in the hinterlands instead of in the big, busy office buildings where reporters write 'em.

The Post  prides itself on its dependable home delivery time of 6 a.m. or earlier. Hah!

I bet it was in subscribers' driveways alright. And maybe by 6 a.m., but I bet it didn't have the full rundown of D.C.'s Main Event. The paper has to be at the distribution center by 2:15 a.m. to make the 6 o'clock delivery. The Impeachment Trial went until about 2 a.m. D.C. time (Midnight Colorado time.)
Ain't no way the Washington Post, or any other print newspaper, could even report the actual time Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts finally graveled the proceedings into recess. Guess folks are just going to have to join the 21st Century and get their news online.

I watched it live on TV. (Thank you PBS.) It certainly went past my bedtime and I bet past the bedtimes of many of the Senators. Lord, some of them are even older than me.

What I saw and heard:
    The Senate Chamber was full of Senators. (Pretty much Senators, only. It's not usually full unless they're taking a vote. You normally see one Senator or another at the lectern reading their speech to a virtually empty room.
     And it was quiet. The Senators weren't allowed to talk except during recesses. They are known to visit with each other, normally. You know, discuss, persuade, tell jokes, gossip -- even, or maybe especially, during a vote when at least a quorum is presumed to be there. (That's 51 of the 100 Senators.)
      It was all very formal and decorous. Representative Jerry Nadler was the only one who came right out and called Trump's lawyers liars. I don't know that that was what drew the reprimand from Chief Justice Roberts. He directed the reprimand at both parties. The Trump lawyers didn't call anybody out with the term lie. They just lied, but I'm not sure that's an infraction of courtesy in the Senate.
      Really different than what I've seen of the British Parliament. I don't know that I've ever heard any of them call each other liars, but they are certainly noisy and disruptive. But, now that I think about it, I think I've only seen video of the House of Commons. And mostly during Brexit at that. Maybe the House of Lords is different.
   
The Democrats entered umpteen amendments to the rules the Republicans have established for the proceedings. Each amendment was duly read out. Each side was allotted two hours to argue for or against the amendment. Then Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, a Republican, would move that the amendment be "tabled." (Meaning that whatever the requested change could be considered at some future time. Or not, as Representative Adam Schiff pointed out.) They would have a roll call vote, meaning that each Senator's name was called out and they responded verbally.
Most of the amendments were requests that subpoenas be issued for various and sundry documents and witnesses.
There were no surprises. With one exception, the votes to table were 53 yeas and 47 nays. Hmmm. How many Republicans are in the Senate? Oh, yeah. 53. There are 45 Democrats and 2 Independents who caucus with the Dems.
Formalized deniability! Keeping in mind, one-third of these folks are up for reelection this year. Their jobs are on the line. They didn't vote against having witnesses or documents. They just voted to table the requirement to have witnesses or documents.
The one exception? Senator Susan Collins of Maine. She voted with the Democrats to increase the amount of time for responses to written motions from two hours to twenty-four hours. Written motions are due Wednesday morning. Gosh, I think the deadline for motions was 8 a.m. D.C. time, two and a half hours before my time right now.
Two hours to respond! Senate staffers have their work cut out for them. And on little or no sleep, at that.

Besides not being allowed to talk while the trial is in session, the Senators can't have any kind of electronic device -- no cell phones, iPads. Nada. They're only allowed to drink water or milk. (I don't know that the kind of milk is specified. Cow's milk? Goat's milk? Almond milk? Oat milk?)

They started at 1 p.m. Tuesday afternoon and went until almost 2 a.m. Wednesday morning. They were allowed a 30-minute dinner break and periodic 15-minute breaks. If they need a potty-break, they must use the cloak room. (I assume there are facilities in the cloak room.) The point is, they're not to be leaving the chamber and wandering in the halls or falling asleep in some out-of-the-way corner.

And those English Royals think they've got it bad!

Am I going to watch the rest in real time? Don't think so. Think I'll just read about it in the newspapers. Online.

Denver Women's March 2020

The Colorado skies gave us a glorious start.

            

Ten thousand of us, all dressed warmly for Colorado's January morning,
began and ended the march in front of the Denver City and County Building.

Four years ago, after Trump's inauguration when the Women's March outnumbered his crowd -- not to mention that it was nationwide. They said we women wouldn't keep it up. They were wrong!

Not only are we still marching, we are voting. As was the case during the 2018 March, there were plenty of people out registering voters and updating voter registrations.We flipped the House in 2018. And if the current Senate fails to do their duty, we'll clean out the White House for them and flip the Senate to boot.





Women's Right truly are Human Rights and Women's issues are everybody's issues. All kinds of people marched -- us seniors, middle-aged people with their teen children, young adults, young families with babies in strollers. All races and genders. People supporting all kinds of causes -- health care, the environment, education. The March took us under the Denver Museum of Art's sky bridge and alongside this sculpture. How appropriate is this?! Trump has been impeached and it's time to sweep him and his administration out!

                       Some of us wore
                                           our shared
                                                         sentiments.











There were signs, lots of signs.

Grey beard and sunglasses, my favorite!

  Some signs were literary                              

  

                                                                              Some witty,

 

                                        Pretty funny, I thought.                           Most Colorado sign        

Some heartfelt, 

some rude.

And the chants, oh those chants. My favorite? "We want a leader not a creepy tweeter."

Somewhere before the 16th Street Mall Free bus back to Union Station, I lost my scarf.  And my water bottle somewhere before The Mercantile Restaurant for lunch. (When I told my husband about the losses, he said I was like a little kid, he should attach everything to me with string.)

But I found something I'd begun to lose these past four years. Something very precious indeed.
Faith in America's People.

Frances -- A Poem

The room is full.
She's waving at me.
Daddy sees someone else
He'd like to speak to.
Two chairs lean against a table. One for me.
Not one I'd choose.
I can't speak to anyone until I've spoken to her
Thanked her for saving our seats.
"Where's Gene?" Daddy asks.
She says,
"He told me to find my own way home."
She doesn't need a way home.
She needs a husband who cares.
Who thinks she's got something to say
She needs him to listen to her speak
Just speak.
Listen to her speak.
I drive her home.
I say,"The sky is gray."
She sees yellow flowers in the median
She doesn't know what they are.
I don't know what they are.
So practiced in silence,
She says nothing more.
I drive her home.
"Thank you," she says.
"Have a good weekend," I say.

I watch until she passes from sight,
She passes from sight.

What You Have Heard Is True -- a book review

2019 National Book Award Finalist

This is a pretty, damned hard book to read. Not because of big words and difficult ideas. Not because it is too academic or artistically obtuse. But because the truth it tells is hard to take. 

I cannot freely recommend it. But I do believe it is important for you to read. It's not just for Americans to read, but maybe especially Americans should read it.

Americans like me who live a quiet, safe life, have no idea. Even Americans who do not enjoy so-called white privilege or Christian privilege or wealth privilege -- they do have American privilege. And Americans, despite our current administration's poor-little-rich-kid view that the world is picking on us, do "have it" better than some of our neighbors. 

Those among us who are truly oppressed -- and there are Americans among us who are truly oppressed -- have an advantage over too many in the world. That advantage is that they are Americans. 

We Americans don't understand why the people of Venezuela or North Korea or the Rohingya of Southeast Asia and the Uighurs of China and so many others around the world allow themselves to be oppressed by their own governments. We ask, "If they don't like it, why don't they change it?" 

In What You Have Heard Is True by Carolyn Forché, we learn why. On the title page the book calls itself what it most truly is, "A Memoir of Witness and Resistance." 

The author writes, "Over the years, I have been asked why, as a twenty-seven-year-old American poet who spoke Spanish brokenly and knew nothing about the isthmus of the Americas, I would accept the invitation of a man I barely knew to spend time in a country on the verge of war. And why would this stranger, said to be a lone wolf, a Communist, a CIA operative, a world-class marksman, and a small-time coffee farmer, take any interest in a naive North American poet? as one man put it, what does poetry have to do with anything?"

That man she barely knew was Leonel Gómez Vides. He explained to her why he chose her: "Someday you will be talking to your own people. Writing for your own people. I promise you that it is going to be difficult to get Americans to believe what is happening here. For one thing, this is outside the realm of their imaginations. For another, it isn't in their interests to believe you. For a third, it is possible that we are not human beings to them."

Forché, because she is not a journalist or an historian, she does not deliver to us a detached report of what happened. She is not a storyteller sitting in front of a cozy fireplace recounting an exciting war story. She is a poet and as such, she involves us in her experiences. Experiences so close to the reader that the tension is palpable. You feel the fear in your gut. You remind yourself that she survives this memoir because you need to be reassured. But, because of her, you know there are those who don't and you feel their loss. 

Our questions: Why do people allow themselves to be oppressed by their government? And why don't they change their government?

"It isn't the risk of death and fear of danger that prevent people from rising up, it is numbness, acquiescence, and the defeat of the mind." --  Leonel Gómez Vides

and

"Resistance to oppression begins when people realize deeply within themselves that something better is possible." --  Leonel Gómez Vides

Like me, you may find yourself with your own crisis of conscience. Complete with the need to know if it is still the same in El Salvador today? And what I can do.