Is a president qualified for immunity?

The media coverage I’ve seen so far has focused on the questions raised by SCOTUS members and claims made by opposing sides in the question of presidential immunity. I am not a lawyer (a fact for which these days I am quite thankful) and much of my reading about governmental immunity has centered around assertions of police immunity. This morning I discovered there’s a briefing paper by the Minnesota Attorney General’s Office: AN OVERVIEW OF GOVERNMENTAL IMMUNITIES, A Tutorial and Update. I offer the link here in hope that someone actually briefed SCOTUS on the size of the can of worms they’re opening and, if not, that the linked report will somehow end up in the in baskets or boxes of the SCOTUS members. It looks to be a much larger mess than it appears at first. This is probably one of the few times I would suggest that the classic Republican, conservative (MAGAt) solution to “Just Say NO!” may be the best response.

votes include more than just the candidate

Photo by J. Harrington

Democracy

By Dorianne Laux

When you’re cold—November, the streets icy and everyone you pass

homeless, Goodwill coats and Hefty bags torn up to make ponchos—

someone is always at the pay phone, hunched over the receiver

spewing winter’s germs, swollen lipped, face chapped, making the last

tired connection of the day. You keep walking to keep the cold

at bay, too cold to wait for the bus, too depressing the thought

of entering that blue light, the chilled eyes watching you decide

which seat to take: the man with one leg, his crutches bumping

the smudged window glass, the woman with her purse clutched

to her breasts like a dead child, the boy, pimpled, morose, his head

shorn, a swastika carved into the stubble, staring you down.

So you walk into the cold you know: the wind, indifferent blade,

familiar, the gold leaves heaped along the gutters. You have

a home, a house with gas heat, a toilet that flushes. You have

a credit card, cash. You could take a taxi if one would show up.

You can feel it now: why people become Republicans: Get that dog

off the street. Remove that spit and graffiti. Arrest those people huddled

on the steps of the church. If it weren’t for them you could believe in god,

in freedom, the bus would appear and open its doors, the driver dressed

in his tan uniform, pants legs creased, dapper hat: Hello Miss, watch

your step now. But you’re not a Republican. You’re only tired, hungry,

you want out of the cold. So you give up, walk back, step into line behind

the grubby vet who hides a bag of wine under his pea coat, holds out

his grimy 85 cents, takes each step slow as he pleases, releases his coins

into the box and waits as they chink down the chute, stakes out a seat

in the back and eases his body into the stained vinyl to dream

as the chips of shrapnel in his knee warm up and his good leg

flops into the aisle. And you’ll doze off, too, in a while, next to the girl

who can’t sit still, who listens to her Walkman and taps her boots

to a rhythm you can’t hear, but you can see it—when she bops

her head and her hands do a jive in the air—you can feel it

as the bus rolls on, stopping at each red light in a long wheeze,

jerking and idling, rumbling up and lurching off again.

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Spring’s stutter steps

A pair of hanging baskets with pansies, or something like, have been added to the front stoop. Their hanging height, and the ease with which they can be brought into the house, should protect them from any frosty nights. The planting pots won’t get plants until sometime next month. Plus, this afternoon we actually started the lawn mower. We didn’t mow anything (yet) but it’s reassuring that it works. Maybe we’ll use it to capture the leaves in the dog run. The dogs are reaching a point where they need some time outside, off lead, to blow off some steam. One or both of the owners could use something similar I suspect.

bergamot seed trays in sunshine

Photo by J. Harrington

The bergamot seed trays got to spend a couple of hours in the sunshine today, before the wind got strong enough that I brought them in before they got blown over. Some cells have germinated well. Others show no signs of life. I may have made a mess of planting (too deep) or the planting medium just hasn’t been warm enough for long enough. Time will tell and the experience is helping me learn to forego expectations and live in the present. Better late than never, right?

We’re approaching peak woodland wildflower season over the next eight to ten weeks. I hope the weather gets more cooperative. But seasons change in stutter steps and temperatures rise and fall; precipitation comes and goes. As Lao Tzu is report to have observed: 'Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.’ That’s a lesson we all could stand to relearn each year at this time.

The peace of wild things

by Wendell Berry

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the Night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the Peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.