Saturday mornin’ comin’ down*

Have you visited your local independent bookstore today? We have, to help celebrate Independent Bookstore Day. The Better Half picked up a book. I’m still hacking away at my tsunduko stack(s). That visit was part of a loop that also included a stop at our local feed store where we purchased more coarse sunflower seeds for the birds and another jug of honey for my morning coffee. Finally, we swung by the farm and picked up this year’s first community supported agriculture [CSA] share. It includes:

• GREEN INCISED LETTUCE,
• RED KITTEN SPINACH,
• SUNFLOWER MICROGREENS,
• WATERCRESS, and
• BRIGHT LIGHTS CHARD

Today is special for at least a couple of other reasons. SiSi, the twelve year old yellow lab cross who rescued us, came to live with us in her forever home eleven years ago this week, when she looked like this. We’ve enjoyed each other’s company since then and are looking forward to more years together. SiSi and the Better Half’s rescue beagle, Harry, are an interesting, although sometimes noisy, combination.

SiSi our yellow lab cross at 1 year old

Photo by J. Harrington

Today is also the first time this year we’ve seen marsh marigolds in bloom. They’re growing and blooming in a ditch along a township road near the CSA pick up barn.

*with apologies to Kris Kristofferson

How It Begins

A puppy is a puppy is a puppy.
He’s probably in a basket with a bunch
of other puppies.
Then he’s a little older and he’s nothing
but a bundle of longing.
He doesn’t even understand it.

Then someone picks him up and says,
“I want this one.”

-Mary Oliver, in “Dog Songs”

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Please be kind to each other while you can.

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