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Where is Your Energy?

I wanted Kamala Harris for President, and I’m happy to have her as my Vice-President. Really happy. But there are too many things that have happened and are happening in the world that are getting short-shrift because all of our energy is going into loving/hating presidential/national politics.


Alex Trebek died. My mother loved Jeopardy! She structured her evenings around Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune. But I loved Jeopardy! too. I remember the show from when I was a little girl (is that possible?—yes, it premiered in 1964; Trebek took over as host in 1984). I was thrilled when White Men Can’t Jump featured an aspiring contestant on the show. I loved Alex’s even-keel temperament. It takes talent to tell someone they are wrong and do it with sympathy but not condescension. We could all learn from Alex Trebek.


I rose from the kneeler, and it popped down on the floor with a loud thump! “Damn!” I exclaimed. So went my return to Sunday morning church this morning for the first time since March. Plus masks and social distancing and no hymns and, for me, no communion. The readings were the justice words of Amos and the gospel parable about the waiting bridesmaids. Cursing and the asshole bridesmaids (look it up.) That’s about right, it seems to me.


We had lemon juice from lemons on a small tree in our yard squeezed over our apples this morning for breakfast. Or maybe it was lime juice. I thought one then the other. It doesn’t matter. It made the apples good.


The wave pools that appear between the beach and the walkway after a hard rain have remained even though we haven’t had a hard rain in days. The coastline might be changing. Here. Now. Where I live, while I live. I will never forget standing on the grounds of my daughter-in-law’s workplace on the West Bank of New Orleans and hearing the scientist leading our tour say, in thirty years, where we stand will be underwater. That was four years ago. We have twenty-six years left to go.


The Saints play Brady and the Bucs again this evening. I hate Tom Brady. Even divorced from Belichick he’s still a cheater. Some things never change.

Where are you putting your energy today?

Chucks, to protect your feet from the shattered glass ceiling

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