Dusk Dame

It is after the sun has set that I feel most like Me.

If I were a cowboy in one of those old-time Western movies 

and they asked me to ride off into the sunset,

that's when the real fun would begin.

Final Waltz

Reaching for his hand she laughed and said,

"Dancing with you is so much fun.

I want to go on but, I'm ever so tired."

He smiled and pressed his lips against her ear

and said, "My love, I've never been able to keep up with you." 

She blew him a kiss and leading as usual,

 let her hand slip from his and gently

waltzed away.

Musterion

Only after the moon came out
and the stars began their evening dance 

did she reveal her true identity.

Oh...what beauty and mystery the moonlight revealed! 

And when the sun rose, so no one would be the wiser,

she once again donned her daytime disguise

of an apron and sensible shoes.

A Sparrow Through My Heart

With one quick swipe of the broom, my heart set itself up to be broken.

Preoccupied with my thoughts, I ran my broom under the grill on the back porch and out bounced a little Sparrow nestling. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the little gray fur ball and quickly ran to scoop it up in my hands. He appeared perfect and healthy. My heart raced but over the thumping, I heard the chatter going on above me. Still cupping the tiny bird, I looked to see where the racket was coming from and saw a sparrow sitting high on the window ledge of the house next door. She was responding to every chirp of the baby I held gently in my hands.  I didn’t know what to do. Did I put the baby down and just let Nature take its course or should I intervene and try to help mother and child reunite? In the blink of an eye, my heart trumped my head and off I went to research how to care for a Sparrow nestling.

 Baby...just minutes after I found him.

Most of the day that first day was spent looking out the window into my back yard. With awe, I watched Momma fly in and out of the yard to tend to Baby. According to the research I’d quickly conducted, baby nestling Sparrows who are just about ready to fly, spend a few days on the ground while their mothers continue to feed them and care for them until they’re strong enough to spread their wings and soar. So, with great curiosity and a mother’s heart full of hope for this tiny creature’s success, I watched.

At night, I put Baby in an old mesh butterfly “house” that The Duchess often used to cage various ladybugs and caterpillars.  A nice cozy nest was made for him and I sprinkled some hardboiled egg bits with water and put them in for a nightly snack should Baby get hungry. Each morning, Mr. Right would unzip the little door to the house and out would come Baby. His favorite spot was in the shade underneath our sprinkler that looks like a miniature farm tractor and he would usually bounce right over to sit and wait for Momma.

My almost daily tanning sessions in the back yard were forsaken so that Baby and Momma could carry out their business, but I didn’t mind. “There will be time for soaking up the rays once Baby learns to fly,” I thought to myself. Watering the lawn became a manual chore instead of an automated one and I kept all backyard activities to the bare minimum. My puppy, Ellie, was kept on close watch and I’d only take her out to do her necessary business and then scoot her right back in.

On the third day of Operation Baby Watch, the sun was so hot that I rigged my tanning chair over the top of the sprinkler where Baby hung out and put a beach towel over the top so that a nice big patch of shade was created.

Day Four saw the clouds move in and I breathed a sigh of relief that the Sparrow family that now occupied my yard on a daily basis wouldn’t be as parched as the day before. Day Four also marked the day a Sparrow went through my heart.

As I prepared to leave for an appointment and went about the normal tasks of readying The Duchess and myself to leave the house, I called Ellie out to the backyard for a final bit of business before we left. The Duchess followed behind and I told her to keep a close watch on Baby who had made his daily flutter over to the shady patch against the far fence.  As Ellie finished up and ran to stand beside me on the porch, I looked at the birdbath and decided to fill it before I left. Retrieving the hose, I stood and let the water run from it for a few seconds so that it wouldn’t be so hot when I filled the bowl. As I turned around, a flash of motion caught my eye. Turning to look, I saw Ellie with her nose to the ground just to the side of the porch. That’s when it happened. In one instant my brain perceived the listless little gray ball on the ground and in the other half of that instant, I found myself in the grass on my knees, sobbing like a lost child. My attention had been diverted for mere seconds, but that was all it had taken for my Ellie to snap up Baby and break his neck.

Bundling Baby up in my hands, I took him inside and, sobbing uncontrollably, found one of my old clean t-shirts and placed his little perfect body inside of it.  Now running almost late for my appointment, a shoebox seemed the safest resting place until I could decide what to do.

Two hours later as I headed home, The Duchess just couldn’t take the events of the day anymore and fell asleep. I, on the other hand, took the opportunity of a 45-minute car ride and a sleeping child…to cry. I had failed miserably to keep that sweet and perfect little creature alive and it made me so incredibly sad. Had I not seen with my own eyes the care that Momma took with Baby, maybe I wouldn’t have wept so hard for her loss. But, there I sat in my car, crying as I hadn’t cried in years, for both of our losses.

That evening, we dug a hole by the back porch just a couple of feet from where Baby had sat under the tractor sprinkler for those four days. The Duchess and I placed roses inside the box where Baby rested and The Duchess added a folded picture she’d drawn, on which she had written, “I love you, Baby.” We placed the box in the hole and sprinkled a little dirt on top of it before lowering the rosebush with little pink baby rosebuds on it that I’d purchased for this occasion on my way home earlier.

What exactly made such an impact on me about this experience I’m still not quite sure. I’ve boo hooed less at funerals for humans, for crying out loud. But, what I do know is that the eighty dollars I spent at the bird store the next day, buying feeders and seed made me happy. Happy, because now as I watch out my back window every day I see the Sparrows. I see them and I get to convince myself that they know that I tried and that the birdbaths and feeders are my lame attempt at an apology. 

Testing...testing...1...2...3...

Hello? Does this thing still work? I'm hoping the dust that's piled up around here over the past few months hasn't ruined my keyboard.

Middle Sister called me last week to ask why I wasn't blogging anymore. After giving her every excuse I could think of, I hung up, went to my closet and found my big girl panties. They still fit. So...here I am.

Big girl panties are prone to be uncomfortable at times, but I suppose that comes with the territory.

It's time to pick up my blogophone and get back to business. I hope you have been well, Dear Friends.

And In Case You Were Wondering, The Shrubs Look Fabulous

Today, I couldn’t find Happy.

I peered inside the cookie box and for a fleeting moment thought I saw her there, but it wasn’t her at all. It was merely Hurt and Sadness wearing a disguise of chocolate chips.

So, I looked somewhere else.  “Happy? Where are you?!”

I went into my office and sat down at the computer hoping to find her there, but all I found were the names and pictures of a few dozen fellow travelers in search of Happy, too.

So, off to the store I went hoping that Happy had made her way there and that I could bring her home with me. But, no matter how many aisles I walked down or how many thingamabobs I put into my shopping cart, Happy never appeared.

Back at home, Happy not only seemed to be completely avoiding me, but now Sadness and Hurt were nagging at me to join them in their game.

Grabbing the garden shears, I headed to the front yard. Maybe if I did something productive and useful, Happy would just naturally want to come and join me. (I’ve heard rumors that Happy just can’t stay away from Usefulness and Productivity!)

As sweat beads poured down my face, tears joined them as Sadness and Hurt laughed at my silliness in thinking that Happy would reveal herself today. Sitting in the rocks in between the freshly manicured foliage, I tried to just will Happy into appearing. Minutes passed…no Happy.

Tonight, having told Sadness and Hurt to go on their miserable way, I will go to sleep hoping that with the return of the morning sun, Happy will find her way home.

What If...

Yes...I've been absent. Three vacations in two months, kids out of school for the summer, out of town guests and of course, the periodic occurrence of my brain cells taking an announced and unwelcome sabbatical.

The following article is one I'm going to post word for word as it was written, simply because the author said what he said better than I could ever possibly articulate it. I'm putting it in front of you if you care to read it (and I hope you do), for the purpose of jarring your own brain box into possibly looking at things from a different angle than you might currently.

If after reading it, you decide that I'm merely a bleeding heart liberal and an apologist, well...there's no hope for you and me. Sorry, Mate.

The actual title of the article is, Imagine: Protest, Insurgency and the Workings of White Privilege. However, it has earned a "street" name and I quite like it: What if the Tea Party Was Black?

Here you go. Read on....

Imagine: Protest, Insurgency and the Workings of White Privilege.

By Tim Wise

April 20, 2010

Let’s play a game, shall we? The name of the game is called “Imagine.” The way it’s played is simple: we’ll envision recent happenings in the news, but then change them up a bit. Instead of envisioning white people as the main actors in the scenes we’ll conjure—the ones who are driving the action—we’ll envision black folks or other people of color instead. The object of the game is to imagine the public reaction to the events or incidents, if the main actors were of color, rather than white. Whoever gains the most insight into the workings of race in America, at the end of the game, wins.

So let’s begin.

Imagine that hundreds of black protesters were to descend upon Washington DC and Northern Virginia, just a few miles from the Capitol and White House, armed with AK-47s, assorted handguns, and ammunition. And imagine that some of these protesters—the black protesters--spoke of the need for political revolution, and possibly even armed conflict in the event that laws they didn’t like were enforced by the government? Would these protesters--these black protesters with guns--be seen as brave defenders of the Second Amendment, or would they be viewed by most whites as a danger to the republic? What if they were Arab-Americans? Because, after all, that's what happened recently when white gun enthusiasts descended upon the nation's capital, arms in hand, and verbally announced their readiness to make war on the country's political leaders if the need arose.

Imagine that white members of Congress, while walking to work, were surrounded by thousands of angry black people, one of whom proceeded to spit on one of those congressmen for not voting the way the black demonstrators desired. Would the protesters be seen as merely patriotic Americans voicing their opinions, or as an angry, potentially violent, and even insurrectionary mob? After all, this is what white Tea Party protesters did recently in Washington.

Imagine that a black rap artist were to say, in reference to a white politician and presidential candidate: "He's a piece of shit and I told him to suck on my machine gun." And what would happen to any prominent liberal commentator who then, when asked about that statement, replied that the rapper was a friend and that he (the commentator) would not disavow or even criticize him for his remarks. Because that’s what rocker Ted Nugent said in 2007 about Barack Obama, and that's how Sean Hannity responded to Nugent's remarks when he was asked about them.

Imagine that a prominent mainstream black political commentator had long employed an overt bigot as Executive Director of his organization, and that this bigot regularly participated in black separatist conferences, and once assaulted a white person while calling them by a racial slur. When that prominent black commentator and his sister--who also works for the organization--defended the bigot as a good guy who was misunderstood and “going through a tough time in his life” would anyone accept their excuse-making? Would that commentator still have a place on a mainstream network? Because that’s what happened in the real world, when Pat Buchanan employed as Executive Director of his group, America's Cause, a blatant racist who did all these things, or at least their white equivalents: attending white separatist conferences and attacking a black woman while calling her the n-word.

Imagine that a black radio host were to suggest that the only way to get promoted in the administration of a white president is by “hating black people,” or that a prominent white person had only endorsed a white presidential candidate as an act of racial bonding, or blamed a white president for a fight on a school bus in which a black kid was jumped by two white kids, or said that he wouldn’t want to kill all conservatives, but rather, would like to leave just enough--“living fossils” as he called them--“so we will never forget what these people stood for.” After all, these are things that Rush Limbaugh has said, about Barack Obama’s administration, Colin Powell’s endorsement of Barack Obama, a fight on a school bus in Belleville, Illinois in which two black kids beat up a white kid, and about liberals, generally.*

Imagine that a black pastor, formerly a member of the U.S. military, were to declare, as part of his opposition to a white president’s policies, that he was ready to “suit up, get my gun, go to Washington, and do what they trained me to do.” This is, after all, what Pastor Stan Craig said recently at a Tea Party rally in Greenville, South Carolina.

Imagine a black radio talk show host gleefully predicting a revolution by people of color if the government continues to be dominated by the rich white men who have been “destroying” the country, or if said radio personality were to call Christians or Jews non-humans, or say that when it came to conservatives, the best solution would be to “hang ‘em high.” And what would happen to any congressional representative who praised that commentator for “speaking common sense” and likened his hate talk to “American values?” After all, those are among the things said by radio host and best-selling author Michael Savage, predicting white revolution in the face of multiculturalism, or said by Savage about Muslims and liberals, respectively. And it was Congressman Culbertson, from Texas, who praised Savage in that way, despite his hateful rhetoric.

Imagine a black political commentator suggesting that the only thing the guy who flew his plane into the Austin, Texas IRS building did wrong was not blowing up Fox News instead. This is, after all, what Anne Coulter said about Tim McVeigh, when she noted that his only mistake was not blowing up the New York Times.

Imagine that a popular black liberal website posted comments about the daughter of a white president, calling her “typical redneck trash,” or a “whore” whose mother entertains her by “making monkey sounds.” After all that’s comparable to what conservatives posted about Malia Obama on freerepublic.com last year, when they referred to her as “ghetto trash.”

Imagine that black protesters at a large political rally were walking around with signs calling for the lynching of their congressional enemies. Because that’s what white conservatives did last year, in reference to Democratic party leaders in Congress.

In other words, imagine that even one-third of the anger and vitriol currently being hurled at President Obama, by folks who are almost exclusively white, were being aimed, instead, at a white president, by people of color. How many whites viewing the anger, the hatred, the contempt for that white president would then wax eloquent about free speech, and the glories of democracy? And how many would be calling for further crackdowns on thuggish behavior, and investigations into the radical agendas of those same people of color?

To ask any of these questions is to answer them. Protest is only seen as fundamentally American when those who have long had the luxury of seeing themselves as prototypically American engage in it. When the dangerous and dark “other” does so, however, it isn’t viewed as normal or natural, let alone patriotic. Which is why Rush Limbaugh could say, this past week, that the Tea Parties are the first time since the Civil War that ordinary, common Americans stood up for their rights: a statement that erases the normalcy and “American-ness” of blacks in the civil rights struggle, not to mention women in the fight for suffrage and equality, working people in the fight for better working conditions, and LGBT folks as they struggle to be treated as full and equal human beings.

And this, my friends, is what white privilege is all about. The ability to threaten others, to engage in violent and incendiary rhetoric without consequence, to be viewed as patriotic and normal no matter what you do, and never to be feared and despised as people of color would be, if they tried to get away with half the shit we do, on a daily basis.
Game Over.


*(Denver Post December 29, 1995)