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Dino Walked into a Bar

Dino Walked into a Bar

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The Halloween’ness of yesterday was eclipsed by the World Series win of yesterday … until later in the day, when my office held a party complete with fog machine. There were three folks from one team who collectively dressed as “working remotely” — wearing  robes, slippers and headphones and carrying big bags of chips to munch. They won first prize in the costume competition.

There was a dinosaur, a scarecrow, an Elvis impersonator, a Minnie Mouse and someone dressed as regenerative soil. (After all, I work for a nonprofit development organization with a robust agricultural unit.)

And then there was my fave, because we hatched the plot together, a woman who dressed as the Winrock “mouse” with gray ears and tail … stuck in a sticky trap. The only hitch: this poor woman found just such a creature in her cubicle the very same day.

That’s a little too Halloween for me!

Indigenous

Indigenous

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As various news stories are reporting, there is no Columbus Day in the District of Columbia this year. Instead, there is Indigenous People’s Day.  Rather than weighing in on either side of the matter, I thought I would riff on the word indigenous itself.

It comes from the Latin “indigena,” meaning native, and I like thinking of it that way. That which is original, that which is true. Which can mean the plants that grow or the people who plant and tend them. Indigenous speaks of a connection to the land.

If we think of indigenous as native, though, then are we not all indigenous peoples? Every single one of us?  We may hail from the mountains or the prairies, the cities or the small towns. We may have grown up in a house or an apartment or a far-off yurt.

But each of us belongs somewhere. And belonging can unite rather than divide us.

Civility

Civility

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Maybe it’s something you learn as an editor, that if you’re going to take the thoughts and feelings of someone who took the time to write them down on a page, and cover these words with red ink, you’d better do it politely. But I think it’s more fundamental, a lesson we learn as children, to treat others kindly and with compassion, as we would like to be treated. You can argue diametrically opposed opinions, but if you do it with kindness and tact, you’ll get much further.

I’m hardly the first person to note that civility has disappeared from public discourse. But let me add my voice to the chorus of those bemoaning its absence. Yes, we may hail from different sides of the political aisle, may not see eye-to-eye on much of anything. But can we at least address each other respectfully?

“Courtesies of a small and trivial character are the ones which strike deepest in the grateful and appreciating heart,” said Kentucky statesman Henry Clay in another century. I’m hoping we make civility a 21st-century value, too.

(Speaking of Henry Clay, this is the old Henry Clay High School in Lexington, Kentucky, my alma mater.) 

Morning After

Morning After

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On the morning after Congress announced the beginning of impeachment proceedings against the 45th president of the United States, I picked the newspaper up off the driveway as I usually do, knowing, before I opened it, how much there would be inside to read.

I had been glued to the television the night before, uncharacteristically watching news instead of a British soap opera, and yet I had to have more of it this morning. This is the way things are now — that after two and a half years of craziness, there will be even more.

Sometimes I think that we’ve all become addicted to craziness, that we won’t know what to do if we ever again have a bland status quo.

But then again, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that for a while.

(A blurry Washington, D.C., seen from above and afar. Looks a little like an Impressionist painting, doesn’t it?)

An Aquarian Exposition

An Aquarian Exposition

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It was three days of peace and music, revolutionary for some, a peak experience. It was to my generation what the beginning or end of World War II was to my parents. A seminal moment. That by which others are measured.

In the last few days I’ve read about Woodstock, watched a documentary, listened to the voices of those who were there, learned much about it that I didn’t know.

I’m struck by several points, which many people may already have learned and processed, but which feel fresh to me this morning.

It was almost completely noncommercial. Due to a last-minute change of venue, organizers realized they only had time to complete the stage or the fencing — and they chose the stage. They declared Woodstock a free concert early on. There was almost no merchandise for sale at the concert, which means the value it retains comes primarily from the music (and the documentary film released the next year) and the experience itself.

It was by young adults, for young adults, and it happened in an era when young adults had far more autonomy and freedom than they do now. It seemed like fully half of the concert-goers I heard on this morning’s C-SPAN call-in show were 16 or 17 at the time. “Your parents let you go by yourself?” the announcer asked, aghast. Of course!

Most of all, I’m struck by the seemingly impossible fact that it happened 50 years ago. And that is what ultimately unites the baby boomer generation with all that have come before. Time passes, bodies age — but spirits stay (at least we hope) forever young.

(Poster image courtesy Wikipedia)

Citizen Abo

Citizen Abo

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When the time came, Appolinaire stood with 47 other immigrants, raised his right hand and recited the oath of allegiance. He was wearing a new blue suit that he bought in Benin. He looked like a million dollars.

After he recited the oath, he waited his turn to shake hands with a customs officer and be handed his certificate of naturalization.

Also receiving their certificates yesterday were immigrants from Macedonia, Honduras, India, Nepal, Cameroon, Sierra Leone, Colombia, Turkey, El Salvador, Ethiopia, Denmark, Canada, Sweden, Mexico, Brazil, Bangladesh, Afghanistan, South Korea, Guatemala, the United Kingdom, Russia, Hungary, Nicaragua, Ghana, Bolivia, Pakistan and one other country that I didn’t catch.

They are our newest citizens, the most recent immigrants in a land that is made of them.

E Pluribus Unum

E Pluribus Unum

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I imagine there will be more than one post about this momentous occasion. This is my first:

Today, my son-in-law, Appolinaire Abo, becomes an American citizen. We are gathering soon at a federal office building to witness Appolinaire and other immigrants take the oath of allegiance. For more than 200 years, new citizens have been vowing to support the Constitution; renounce fealty to foreign rulers; bear arms, perform noncombatant service or work of national importance when required by law; and to defend our laws against all enemies, foreign or domestic.

It’s more than what birth-citizens do when we recite the pledge, but this is a good day to ponder the words that have become hackneyed from repetition.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

Those words take on a new meaning today. The simplicity of the language and the depth of its meaning. One nation. Under God. Indivisible. With liberty and justice for all.

We are struggling mightily now with some of these ideas. May the fervor of Appolinaire and other new citizens fill us with hope for this blessed nation and renew our faith in the motto “e pluribus unum” — out of many, one.

13 Hours

13 Hours

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I was confused at church yesterday morning when I heard there were prayers for El Paso and Dayton. Dayton? How did I miss Dayton?

It wasn’t hard to do, given the timing and the (apparently magical) thinking that there just couldn’t be two mass shootings in less than 24 hours. But of course, there were.

Even though we’re getting hardened to random violence, I hope that having two mass shootings in 13 hours will make even the most resigned and cynical among us cry “Enough!”

The resigned and cynical may say they thought Virginia Tech (33) would be enough. Or Newtown (26) and Parkland (17), because of the children. Or Pittsburgh (11) and Sutherland Springs (26), because they occurred in houses of worship. Or Las Vegas (58), because of the sheer number.

Am I alone in worrying that we are forgetting these? There were 12 killed in my state just two months ago, and that massacre barely registers. It has already taken its place in line behind El Paso and Dayton.

And still, we dither. At this point, should we not be trying any sane and fair solution, knowing it will take many solutions … and many years.

This time, can’t we finally, truly begin?

(Photo of Las Vegas, courtesy of Wikipedia) 

Blast Off!

Blast Off!

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Today, as we celebrate the 50th anniversary of Apollo 11 and humankind’s first footsteps on the moon, I take off for Florida, the state which launched that famous spaceship.

Even on television a rocket launch is a grand and awe-inspiring sight. Here in D.C., they’ve turned the Washington Monument into a light show of the Saturn V rocket, an inventive and whimsical creation that seems just the right touch for the day.

However you celebrate it, July 20 is an awesome day to be an American, and, as always, an awesome day to be alive.

Blossoms in the Dark

Blossoms in the Dark

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In honor of the photo I received too late yesterday to include in my Friday post … a salute to Thursday’s fireworks display, one of the longest and most spectacular of recent memory.

Reports from those who went downtown to see the pyrotechnics were that the smoke obscured most of the show.

But from our perch in Arlington’s Cherrydale neighborhood we had a wonderful window on the exploding lights and colors … on the blossoms in the dark.

(Photo: Claire Cassidy)