This is how power works
Twice in one week I found my self hearing a woman say that Trump’s winning was my fault for not supporting Hillary Clinton. Even though I said I voted for the female candidate I saw as seriously flawed, both of these women accused me of insufficiently “supporting” the woman candidate because somehow I had been a dupe of the male hegemony.
Elm Street Baptist Church (originally written in 2002; revised 2018; edits March 2019 include spelling, Added pastor to list, corrected interviewee name) Williamsburg, KY, April 27, 2002 It’s a subtle thing. You might not notice them at all. The bullet holes in the window might be noted and then forgotten if it weren’t a church. … Continue reading Elm Street Baptist Church
There are four mulberry trees around my tiny urban lot and 2012 will go on record as the year of the Mulberry for us. The trees just won’t stop. Three weeks ago the berries were amazingly thick and they show few signs now that they are done for the season. Nearly half a bushel have … Continue reading Mulberry Summer
“Did I miss the bus?” How to answer? I was standing at the bus stop clearly waiting on a bus and only one bus comes to this stop. “If you missed it, then I did, too,” I said smiling. It was hard to say how old this guy was as he rode his bike onto … Continue reading Grief on the Street
I woke up thinking of Finishing School. I certainly didn’t attend, but in a dream as I woke, a servant right out of Arabian Nights was massaging my shoulders as I was served some food. I picked up an odd-looking table knife with a handle so tiny that it seemed the rest of handle had … Continue reading Propriety
I ride the bus. Often. Actually, I ride the bus to get wherever I’m going unless I’m walking, riding my bike, or occasionally getting a ride from a car-driver. In a big city this would be absurd to even comment on, but in the Midwest we generally reserve our buses for the extremely poor, those … Continue reading Stranger Danger
Every summer we'd make the eight hour trip to Williamsburg, KY from Dayton, OH to Grandma’s house. It was really Uncle Clyde’s place, her son, but we thought of it as her's since we saw little of him and she was always there. The front porch on the old house was bigger than rooms in … Continue reading Porch Memory
“Yes, getting older is hard.” She was trying to show sympathy with my frustrations, but the comment only made me more irritated.
The tornadoes are teaching me patience as I’m detoured, slowed by drivers distracted by the destruction and some even doubly distracted by photographing destruction. They are helping me reinforce learning that I already had, but sometimes forget, about the inherent goodness of even the people badly behaved in the normal course of things.