Federal holiday? No mail delivery, I think. Stock market closed. Different states celebrating different versions of the day. Snow storm on the way unless the forecast itself is a snow job. We’ll know on Wednesday or Thursday. February ends one week from today! Spring, the meteorological version, begins eight days from today! Will someone please let Mother Nature know?
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| rustic, artisan, sourdough bread
Photo by J. Harrington
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We’re please to report that the artisan, sourdough, Irish flour bread we messed up and then salvaged the other day turned out Okay. Not as good as our first loaf, but that’s understandable, since our first loaf was an experiment rather than a salvage effort. This morning we bought some more all purpose flour: King Arthur, organic. It was, as we say in Minnesota, pricey. Driving home I thought about the fact that I bake bread not to save money but to satisfy some sort of inner urge. The industrial product, exemplified by “wonderbread,” leaves me cold and hungry. It has about as much soul as it does nutrition. Artisan, rustic, usually sourdough, bread holds up to a great stew or soup in the winter. Industrial bread basically collapses when such a meal depends on it.
The Universal Declaration of Human Rights, of which the US is a signatory, proclaims in Article 25 that
Everyone has the right to a standard of living adequate for the health and well-being of himself and of his family, including food, clothing, housing and medical care and necessary social services, and the right to security in the event of unemployment, sickness, disability, widowhood, old age or other lack of livelihood in circumstances beyond his control.
I find it very unfortunate that nowhere in the entire declaration is there mention of the right to clean air, clean water, and an unpolluted, healthy environment. Should we try for an amendment, or do we need the likes of another Elinor and Franklin Delano Roosevelt before we attempt to rectify that oversight?
If it appears I’m less than enthused about President’s’ Day, you’re perceptive. There have been, in my opinion, too many scoundrels and incompetents elected to that high office, including a disproportionate number during my lifetime (that’s correlation, not causation).
This morning I engaged in an interesting exchange with someone about the need for a government agency such as the Center for Disease Control to be obligated to share all information with a public that’s largely lacking the ability to, or interest in, applying critical thinking to such data. We, and the institutions we’ve created or permitted, are failing ourselves. Presidents who exercised real leadership wouldn’t let US do that to ourselves. We were reminded of our strenths as well as our failings at the inauguration of the 46th President, Joe Biden, when Amanda Gorman, the inaugural poet, read her poem The Hill We Climb.
When day comes we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry,
a sea we must wade
We've braved the belly of the beast
We've learned that quiet isn't always peace
And the norms and notions
of what just is
Isn’t always just-ice
And yet the dawn is ours
before we knew it
Somehow we do it
Somehow we've weathered and witnessed
a nation that isn’t broken
but simply unfinished
We the successors of a country and a time
Where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised by a single mother
can dream of becoming president
only to find herself reciting for one
And yes we are far from polished
far from pristine
but that doesn’t mean we are
striving to form a union that is perfect
We are striving to forge a union with purpose
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and
conditions of man
And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us
but what stands before us
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside
We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms
to one another
We seek harm to none and harmony for all
Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew
That even as we hurt, we hoped
That even as we tired, we tried
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious
Not because we will never again know defeat
but because we will never again sow division
Scripture tells us to envision
that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree
And no one shall make them afraid
If we’re to live up to our own time
Then victory won’t lie in the blade
But in all the bridges we’ve made
That is the promised glade
The hill we climb
If only we dare
It's because being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into
and how we repair it
We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation
rather than share it
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy
And this effort very nearly succeeded
But while democracy can be periodically delayed
it can never be permanently defeated
In this truth
in this faith we trust
For while we have our eyes on the future
history has its eyes on us
This is the era of just redemption
We feared at its inception
We did not feel prepared to be the heirs
of such a terrifying hour
but within it we found the power
to author a new chapter
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves
So while once we asked,
how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?
Now we assert
How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?
We will not march back to what was
but move to what shall be
A country that is bruised but whole,
benevolent but bold,
fierce and free
We will not be turned around
or interrupted by intimidation
because we know our inaction and inertia
will be the inheritance of the next generation
Our blunders become their burdens
But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy
and change our children’s birthright
So let us leave behind a country
better than the one we were left with
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one
We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the west,
we will rise from the windswept northeast
where our forefathers first realized revolution
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the midwestern states,
we will rise from the sunbaked south
We will rebuild, reconcile and recover
and every known nook of our nation and
every corner called our country,
our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,
battered and beautiful
When day comes we step out of the shade,
aflame and unafraid
The new dawn blooms as we free it
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it
If only we’re brave enough to be it
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.
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