All Bonus, no Onus? (All the good without work?)

A male Baltimore oriole appeared at the feeder this morning. That seems to confirm our suspicion that they’ve been too busy parenting hatchlings to visit the feeder. As we’re writing this, a female has arrived to help herself to the nectar feeder. We've also been enjoying red-winged blackbirds, rose-breasted grosbeaks, goldfinches, chickadees, nuthatches and an occasional unrecognized bird.

Baltimore oriole at nectar feeder

Photo by J. Harrington

There’s a really pretty cluster of pink phlox plants next to one of the  oak trees behind the house. I would have taken pictures today but my hands were full of the poison ivy killer sprayer. Maybe later, or tomorrow, if the thunderstorms cooperate.

Social media, at least mine, has been full of complaints about Democrats, push back about why Democrats are our only hope, wails that “we voted for them, why won’t they deliver for us?” I’ve been reminded of a story about one of our greatest presidents, FDR. The story supposedly goes:

"You know, Mr. Randolph, I've heard everything you've said tonight, and I couldn't agree with you more. I agree with everything that you've said, including my capacity to be able to right many of these wrongs and to use my power and the bully pulpit. ... But I would ask one thing of you, Mr. Randolph, and that is go out and make me do it."

I don’t think politics should be an avocation or even a time-consuming hobby. I’d rather be fly-fishing. I do, however, believe that far too many of US have taken way too much for granted when it comes to participation in a democracy. It should, I believe, take way more than name recognition to prompt receiving someone's vote. Several years ago I tried to get some background information on a local school board candidate. I couldn’t find a web site or any real information about the candidate’s beliefs, values and approach to education. In fact, that’s true of many candidates, isn’t it? As of 3:30 pm today, our Minnesota senate district supposedly has a DFL endorsed candidate for state senate but her candidacy isn’t listed on the local DFL organization’s web site. That certainly doesn’t help me maintain any enthusiasm for the Democratic party. Our political system, regardless of party, could stand some significant improvements.

Meanwhile, I’m spending time these days raking small rocks out of our front yard grass. Last year the township reinforced the road shoulder with a gravel mix and then last winter the township’s plow scattered many of those rocks out of their ditch easement onto our property beyond the easement. It doesn’t help my mower blades to suck up those rocks when cutting the grass. The township did something similar last year as they were brushing the roadway ditch and ejected much of their wood chip mulch onto our property, in places where we neither needed nor wanted mulch. Even under the best of circumstances, government is too often too much of a pain in the arse. We’re not quite as bad as Russia or Afghanistan yet, but give the fundamentalist right Republicans another election or two and we’ll be able to show the world what a real shithole country looks and acts like.

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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