Thank you, boosters, 1/6

This evening after dinner, I caught Tom picking roasted potatoes off the sheet pan with his fingers and shoving them in his mouth. Long story short, yesterday’s post did not describe rare occurrences.

But, you knew that! You’ve experienced it, and I can’t thank you enough for filling my inbox today with such delightful notes of laughter and total understanding. They were the best sorts of hugs and friendship.

I also want to thank scientists, science, Dr. Fauci, Pfizer, quick decisions by the FDA and CDC this week, the Biden admin for urging quick delivery, and the Silver Spring Civic Center for the glorious fact that both J and O received their boosters today. We were in and out in 20 minutes, start to finish (including the wait), and both boys feel totally fine. Hallelujah!

I will add that while in the waiting room, both Beavis and Butthead alerted me to the fact that max capacity is 69. For the love of god, y’all.

Your notes and these shots were such bright spots in an otherwise pretty heavy day. ONE year since that horrible, violent insurrection. I remember it all so clearly. We’d woken up so happy that morning, after Ossoff and Warnock won in Georgia. And mere hours later, Agent Orange called his minions and gave them their marching orders. As the day played out, I became increasingly speechless and horrified. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt like I did on that day. Watching fellow citizens do what they did.

The violence. The entitled-yet-ignorant rage. The flags and the Big Lie and thousands of little lies and the military-grade cosplay.
The screaming and destruction and feces and Confederate paraphernalia.
The gallows and the broken windows and members of Congress pulling gas masks from under their seats and their staffs turning anything into barricades.
The guns and grenades and fire extinguishers and flag poles.
The flash bangs and the havoc. The joy they were all taking in all of it. The utter insanity of being not 10 miles from all of this and yet a world away.

I have family on both sides, mine and Tom’s, who remain trumpers. To this day. Today. Who still believe in the Big Lie and pretend not to know how to pronounce Kamala’s name and who will not, under any circumstance, listen to, much less ingest, anything that does not slip neatly into the glove of trumpism they’ve fashioned and sewn to their own beings. They have and will lose family and friends over their house of cards. They do NOT care what the truth is.

And that right there is the essential kernel of why I feel truly hopeless about the survival of American democracy. I have no idea how to un-brainwash so many Americans who continue to joyfully follow a greedy, stingy, grab-em-by-the-pussy imbecile who does not care for them.

One year later and no organizers, higher-ups, instigators, law-enforcement enablers have met consequence. Yes, yes, many participants in the insurrection are in jail and such, but they are the tail of the snake, a replaceable element that serves the writhing, causal, intentional, toxic head. Am I glad they’re crying in prison? Absolutely. Rot there forever you machismo toy soldiers who peaked in high school.

But what is essential for America’s survival is real accountability and real punishment. The 1/6 Select Committee is working hard, and I am thankful. I hope Merrick Garland and DOJ are doing something, anything. Hard to tell, even after that “speech” yesterday.

Hope. A desire for something certain to happen. The human spirit is remarkable and resilient, but so many are so tired and beaten down after the past 5 years and the pandemic and so little accountability and that 99% of one whole ass American political party continues to peddle the Big Lie and that people to whom I’m related do, too.

It’s a lot, y’all.

This article is worth a read!

If you missed VP Harris’ and POTUS’ speeches today, go find and listen to them. Righteous anger is healing.

If you’d like to read the verbatim responses to 1/6 by many a Congressional Republican last January, this thread is a hell of a damning compilation.

sad but true

If you need inspiration or a lift, go listen to anything Jamie Raskin has said in the past year. He is an incredible human and a remarkable, rare politician. I am beyond blessed to be one of his constituents. He has stood up for America and our democracy with all his heart every damn day, even in the aftermath of losing his son at the end of 2020. He is the epitome of a public servant, and we should all be grateful for him. His new book is out today, by the way. Unthinkable. Read it.

Image by Leah Millis, a senior photog with Reuters.

Goats and boosters and December

I got my Covid booster today, y’all, and I am grateful AF. I stuck with Moderna, and my body is again letting me know that it does not like anything about this virus. Hooboy, I do not feel good. I have a blinding headache, some nausea, fatigue, and my arm is sore. Better than my response to Dose 2, same’ish as Dose 1. The pharmacist said that he thinks everyone will need a 4th shot roughly six months after their 3rd. You have to wonder when/if we’ll manage to get this pandemic under control. Thank you anti-vaxxers and conspiracy loons who aren’t doing your part. All the rest of us are thrilled to still be decidedly not back to normal.

And today there was another school shooting! And SCOTUS will probably uphold Mississippi’s abortion ban, thereby overturning Roe! And Lauren Boebert attacked Ilhan Omar with hideous Islamophobia and now Rep Omar received an incredibly gruesome death threat! It goes on and on, but I’ll stop there and switch to some exciting news.

We bought four of the lawnmower goats and absolutely love them. This is Lefty, a sweetie who had listeria and only turned in left circles for a while.

Lefty

And this is Apple, so named because she is extremely aggressive when we give the goats apples as treats. The woman we bought the goats from thinks Apple is pregnant. The father? Stinky Billy!

Apple

This is Jemima, so named because I have always wanted a pet named Jemima. Word on the street is that Jemima is also pregnant (also Billy), and I will tell you that she is really starting to look it.

Jemima

And lastly is Rambo, a dear castrated male.

Rambo

We get to see them again on Friday, and I can’t wait. During our last visit, we started introducing grain and hay to supplement their diet over the winter. They were EXTREMELY excited, and at one point, three of them had their heads crammed into one bucket of grain. Because of this ridiculousness, I went to Tractor Supply and bought four buckets that can be hung over gate rails and also one salt block. At one point, three of them were licking the salt block like it was the most sublime meal in the world, and later, despite each having his/her own grain pail, they continued to butt and play musical chairs with the buckets. They are very amusing.

The thought of baby goats at Christmas (purportedly they are due around Christmas) is almost more than I can bear. What is more darling than a baby goat?

Tomorrow is December 1, and I swear it was just December 1, 2020, but here we are. I am the most joyous, enthused fan of Christmas and started decorating the day after Thanksgiving. It is my hope that I feel totally fine tomorrow so that the boys and I can go get a tree and get busy with our lights and ornaments.

I treasure my boxes of ornaments. Some were Nanny’s, and I am always struck how fragile yet strong they are, what to have lasted all these decades despite being the thinnest sheet of glass. Mom and Dad and Tom’s mom have given us many, too. First home, baby’s first Christmas, one from the Obama presidency, felt enemas (the Fleet’s Enenamen) given to my Dad by a pharma rep one year (Dad was a GI), at least a dozen tributes to New York, souvenirs from trips abroad, treasures crafted by Jack and Oliver’s tiny fingers over their early years, others from Tom’s and my childhoods.

As we hang each ornament, we share its story, its history, its provenance. Some are cheap, one was a gift from Tiffany, some are ugly, many are stunning. They track interests and dates and they allow us to connect in memory and nostalgia. Trimming our tree each year is one of my favorite activities. Here’s to feeling good tomorrow and heading to the tree stand!

And in the meantime, Happy Hanukkah to all celebrating. Chag Sameach!