Just about any time I’m listening to a radio station, I’m wondering where are all the women who make music. You may wonder, for example, who were the punk rock women and where’s the music. They’re here, in this one unbelievable catalog. And we are fucking lucky to have it.
My nephew comes to the house once a week to turn over the compost and do little jobs around the garden. I’d seen him walking down our street with an older guy and noted where they stopped, because even though this is a very small town an angry mob needs good directions. My nephew said this older guy is sponsoring him for Christian confirmation, but he, my nephew, is struggling with the concept of faith. His entire family goes to church every Sunday with sincerity and sheet music, so I waited patiently for him to say, “April Fool!”
We looked at each other.
We stood there.
We stood. Suddenly, I remembered I was the grownup, which was a little awkward.
I said, “Faith is kind of weird. It comes and goes. What matters is what you do.”
He said something much more mature than I am about collecting principles for testimony, but I am not a Christian and these are not my rituals. I know less about this than he does and more than I want to.
I uttered some platitude about how behavior is most important. By this time, I was ushering him to the door, grinning like a jack o’ lantern in a wind storm. I did not say, “Kid, I’m always in your corner. Call me for tattoos and bail money.” He will never need it.
Are you registered to vote? Because you and your vote are needed in this participatory democracy. Never let yourself believe your vote doesn’t matter.
If your vote didn’t matter, herds of people wouldn’t be throwing buckets of money into convincing you to stay home. Please vote in every election, no matter how local.
During some bingy YouTube-watching, I came across a series of videos for this interesting pattern called the Catherine Wheel stitch. It is a very pretty pattern, in the hands of someone who knows what she is doing, which I do not. As I was watching videos of very pleasant instructors very pleasantly talking about the wheels of the wagon and the balance of the stitches, I wondered over and over again, ‘Are we speaking in code here? Did no one think to look up the meaning of the Catherine Wheel?‘
Today is my granddaughter Buckwheat’s fifth birthday. That is ridiculous! She was only born last week!
So: what year are you stuck in?
Pete and I go out for walks most evenings. Two nights ago, women walking toward us near our house were holding hands and let go when they saw us. That made me very sad. The last time I saw two women let go of each other’s hands because they saw me, those women were the young daughter of a family Pete does work for and her girlfriend. I was sad then, too.
This afternoon, Pete and I watched that young woman and her girlfriend get married in the park at the end of our street. The ceremony was lovely, the weather cool and clear. The minister, an absolutely gorgeous neighbor of the young woman’s parents and a friend of my sisters’, added one exhortation to the vows I did not remember hearing before, asking the community if it supported and accepted this marriage. To a person, everyone said, “We do.” That is a fine reason to be happy.
Tata: Hey! When I got here this morning, there was a ball of yarn on my desk.
My cellmate: I found it when I was cleaning out my guest room. It’s even got one of those hook things. You want it?
Tata: Sure. It’s not your yarn, is it?
My cellmate: No, I don’t knit or whatever.
Tata: And you don’t know where it came from or why?
My cellmate: No idea.
Tata: This confirms my theory, you know.
My cellmate: You have a theory?
Tata: There’s a ball of yarn in every house. No one knows why.
My cellmate: Interesting. I expected more cheese.