skip to main |
skip to sidebar
I think it's interesting that the recent Black Lives Matter protests have led people to also explore the history of the LGBTQ movement, and to surprisingly discover that the latter was sparked by black trans women (Stonewall Uprising, June 28, 1969). I am saddened that we cannot march this month (June) for Pride (one of the most transformative moments of my life a few years ago) so, in solidarity, I watched Disclosure last night, and The Death and Life of Marsha P. Johnson and From Selma to Stonewall: Are We There Yet? tonight, all fascinating and eye-opening, as well as horrifying. We believe we've come so far, and there are still many murders of transgender or gender non-conforming people (27 in 2019, and already 16 in 2020). When will it stop?
SONG: Love Don't Need a Reason by Michael Callen
BOOK(S): We Are Everywhere: Protest, Power, and Pride in the History of Queer Liberation by Matthew Riemer, Leighton Brown
Julián Is a Mermaid by Jessica Love
POEM: A Litany for Survival by Audre Lorde
For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children’s mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours;
For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother’s milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.
And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.
QUOTE: “When all Americans are treated as equal, no matter who they are or whom they love, we are all more free.” ~ Former U.S. President Barack Obama
Another "interesting" week. Trump's approval rating continues to go down although, sadly, Florida's confirmed cases of coronavirus are on the rise, substantially. We've edged up the last few weeks from 3,000 to 4,000 to 5,000 (daily!), and today registered almost 9,000. Yikes. Masks, people. It's not that hard. As Leonard Pitts said in his 6/25/20 column, "...listen to the experts. After all, they don't know who you voted for. And the virus doesn't care."
Two Zoom calls this past Tuesday, in the morning with Nancy and Judi, and the evening with Brian, Robby, Reba, Dave, Nancy, and myself. A patio visit with Reba Wednesday afternoon, followed by our regular Parlour Vegan trip (at this rate, I am working my way, happily, through their menu... :-) Another visit with Nancy to SusanP's place at the beach. thankyoujesus, the water was calmer, but there was lots of seaweed plus a heat advisory (felt like 105!), which motivated me to order some watershoes for the next time (thanks for the idea, Nance!). Heavily immersed in the novel American Dirt, which has had its share of controversy but is stunningly written and deeply engrossing. Leftovers for dinner tonight. Same old, same old. So close to finishing the clearing/organization of the guest room closet. Entertaining or having company would provide the impetus to just get it done, but no guests on the horizon, obviously. Just the two of us since March 13. As long as we can get Instacart groceries, a weekly meal (Chinese or Italian), and the occasional Amazon need-du-jour delivered, I'm okay with the limited face-to-face company.
As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week. Enjoy!
~ Padma Lakshmi Finds a New Voice, Amplifying the Voices of Others: “Taste the Nation” is her new series on Hulu, with 10 episodes that collectively expand and redefine the meaning of American food.
~ Rhinestone masks and $9 hand sanitizer: A COVID-19 store just opened at Aventura Mall: Welcome to the COVID-19 pop-up store. May we take your temperature?
~ Who’s in the Running to Be Joe Biden’s Vice President?: Here are 13 women who have been under consideration by Mr. Biden, and why each might be chosen — and might not be.
~ Although James Corden, Reggie Watts and The Muppets can't be together in a studio, the group comes together on video chat to sing The Beatles classic "With a Little Help from My Friends." Sing along with Kermit, Fozzie, Miss Piggy, Swedish Chef, Animal, Gonzo and so many more.
~ Virtual benefit concert to assist Academy of Music Theatre: Some of the Pioneer Valley’s most notable musicians will virtually gather to perform songs that celebrate summer and raise funds for Northampton’s oldest performing arts venue. “Summer Songs: A Virtual Benefit Concert for Northampton’s Academy of Music Theatre” will take place on July 1 at 8 p.m. and be live-streamed through the theater’s Facebook and YouTube pages. The concert will feature performances from Valley favorites such as Dar Williams, Martin Sexton, Mark Mulcahy, Heather Maloney, Winterpills, and more.
P.S. Confession Time. Yes, I consider myself a folkie, not quite going as far back as The Kingston Trio and The Limeliters, but definitely a fan of Peter, Paul, and Mary... then on to Joni, Joan, Crosby Stills and Nash, etc. (speaking of, I highly recommend Laurel Canyon, the two-part documentary on the Epix channel). Weirdly, I never felt drawn to John Denver, who I considered too pop/syrupy for my taste. Only just discovered today's post-titled song when I watched Banding Together: A Concert for the Colorado Music Relief Fund, when Dave Matthews covered it. Apologies to John Denver for underestimating his songwriting abilities. Mind blown.
SONG: Take Me to Tomorrow by John Denver (cover by Dave Matthews Band)
BOOK: Tomorrow: Adventures in an Uncertain World by Bradley Trevor Greive
POEM: Weather by Claudia Rankine
On a scrap of paper in the archive is written
I have forgotten my umbrella. Turns out
in a pandemic everyone, not just the philosopher,
is without. We scramble in the drought of information
held back by inside traders. Drop by drop. Face
covering? No, yes. Social distancing? Six feet
under for underlying conditions. Black.
Just us and the blues kneeling on a neck
with the full weight of a man in blue.
Eight minutes and forty-six seconds.
In extremis, I can’t breathe gives way
to asphyxiation, to giving up this world,
and then mama, called to, a call
to protest, fire, glass, say their names, say
their names, white silence equals violence,
the violence of again, a militarized police
force teargassing, bullets ricochet, and civil
unrest taking it, burning it down. Whatever
contracts keep us social compel us now
to disorder the disorder. Peace. We’re out
to repair the future. There’s an umbrella
by the door, not for yesterday but for the weather
that’s here. I say weather but I mean
a form of governing that deals out death
and names it living. I say weather but I mean
a November that won’t be held off. This time
nothing, no one forgotten. We are here for the storm
that’s storming because what’s taken matters.
QUOTE: “That is the whole thing with the future. You don’t know. At some point you have to accept that you don’t know. You have to stop flicking ahead and just concentrate on the page you are on.” ~ Matt Haig
The poem below appeared on my radar this morning, and is really the reason/excuse for today's blog post. I laughed, I cried, I raised my fist in solidarity. Brilliantly perfect, perfectly brilliant... ✊
SONG: We March by Prince
BOOK: No!: My First Book of Protest by Julie Merberg, Molly Egan (Illustrator)
POEM: Arrest This Poem by Richard Prins
A real poem will arrest its reader.
But it should also achieve things
its writer could get arrested for.
Personally, I have been arrested
for obstructing government authority,
criminal trespass, disorderly conduct,
and resisting arrest. I also want my poems
to resist, obstruct, trespass, and always
act disorderly (but most of the time
they just achieve public urination,
which won’t get you locked up in New York).
The first time I saw Prince
I was seven years old and afraid
of how much I loved him.
I mocked his falsetto
and asked my mother
if he was a boy or a girl
(the same question
posed to me by a child today
who broke from the sprinklers
to ogle my lime green toenails).
I was sitting beside the sprinklers
because my two-year-old loves water
ever since I brought a kiddie pool to Zambia,
and she splashed and drank so much of it
she wound up vomiting in the hospital
(I forgot the garden hose wasn’t potable).
If the word “Zambia” caught you off guard,
please remember that Zambia is a country,
and sixteen million people do live there
like my daughter did, happily, until
a week before Trump’s inauguration.
That’s when she moved to Brooklyn
because we didn’t think customs officers
would let her in the day they woke up
and realized they worked for a bigot.
When she was a baby, I flew often to Zambia.
Once my white seatmate asked if I was going
on safari. No; I was going to see my daughter.
“Oh,” her lips curled. “So she’s a volunteer?”
I was 28 years old then, hardly old enough
to have spawned a voluntourist. But truth
is just a maze I built myself to dwell in
with hedges trimmed short so strangers
can peer in, or leap out if they don’t like it.
Questions are less threatening
when they come from children.
Grown-ass Brooklynites
see my daughter’s skin
and ask if she’s adopted,
see her mother’s skin
and ask if she’s the nanny.
They rarely see us together
because we are not together,
so our little girl
shuttles between worlds,
her existence interrogated
by the curious, idle people
who never run out of ways
to let you know you don’t belong.
My last name is Prins, so I used to joke
I would name my first-born “The Artist
Formerly Known As” (tAFKa for short;
who wouldn’t want to rhyme with Kafka?).
I used to hold her in my arms and sing
medleys of Prince to lull her asleep
underneath a lemon tree in Lusaka.
I just can’t believe / all the things people say
Am I black or white / am I straight or gay?
Prince expanded my narrow sense
of life’s possibilities, and I hope
that same resplendent groove
will burst all the boxes and binaries
the universe may thrust on my daughter.
Jehovah’s Witnesses believe
144,000 folks are anointed
to rule beside Christ in the afterworld;
Prince earns my vote to join that little flock
(though I’m sure he’ll get disgruntled
by celestial hierarchies and scrawl
the word “sheep” across his cheek).
Tonight, a Prince-themed roller disco
takes place beside the sprinklers,
where the undrained water lurks,
lashed by purple strobing lights.
I’m sipping a flask outside the rink
in my purplest dashiki, afraid to go in
because I came swaddled in self-pity
and the kind of unsexy lonesomeness
Prince tried to expunge from the earth.
I can’t summon the courage
to join the free beautiful people
and rent a damn pair of skates
even though I thought nothing
of obliging three police officers
to drag me out of Trump Tower
with plastic handcuffs pinning
wrists behind my back, a grin
spreading mirth across my face.
When they placed me under arrest,
I didn’t wish to walk beside them,
so I decided to channel my daughter:
if it’s time to leave the sprinklers,
she’ll stage a sit-in, limp as a fish.
Shoulders vanish inside her blades,
forcing me to lift and carry her away
just like the cops carried me away.
I have committed more poetry
putting my body on the line
than regurgitating my mind.
After Charlottesville, I took my toddler
to march against our Nazi-Coddler-
in-Chief. A puppet wore a Trump mask
and wielded a goofy, bloodstained axe.
The mingling protesters adored
my baby, who snuck up and roared
at Trump while we booed and hissed.
The puppet blew us a smarmy kiss.
But soon concern was sprawling
across the face of my daughter,
who will race to pat the shoulder
of any playmate she sees bawling.
Now she wished to console
this papier-mâché ghoul
getting bullied by Rise & Resist
and our rowdy troupe of activists.
“Daddy, I wanna hug the puppet!”
But that wouldn’t be good optics
with all the cameras flashing
and the world around us crashing
thanks to Trump’s unslakable thirst
for blood, attention, whichever comes first.
Maybe he needed more hugs as a youth,
and my baby unveiled an indelible truth
that good and evil are just binaries,
which need to be deconstructed.
But the world’s on fire, so fuck it—
I’m with the shrieking canaries.
I whisked her away like she was under arrest
even though pride inflated my chest
for my empathic little girl
growing up in a nasty world
that has already displaced her
and will continue to mistake her
for something simple, and slight.
May she teach me how to fight.
[Richard Prins: “In January 2017, two events radically changed my life: my daughter arrived in New York, and Donald Trump arrived in the White House. The spare time that I had previously devoted to poetry was now spent at playgrounds and protests. My solution was writing this poem about taking my baby to a protest. I considered it a remarkable feat of multitasking. I’ve been arrested several times since then at other Trump properties and the United States Senate. Civil disobedience is a bold, reckless, floppy, disruptive dance. Ideally, it’s also backed up by meticulous planning, theory, conviction, and community support. In other words, just about everything I could ask for in a poem.”]
QUOTE: In a Q&A session on Goodreads, someone asked author Roxane Gay: "Can you tell us a two-sentence horror story?"
Her reply: "Donald Trump is president of the United States. One time, he suggested people inject themselves with disinfecting household cleaners."
Just today in a CNN.com article:
"I don't think we have the luxury of talking about a second wave right now because we have not gotten out of the first wave," CNN chief medical correspondent Dr. Sanjay Gupta said. "And it's not clear that we will get out of the first wave. Instead of actually having a true ebb and flow, it may just be micro and macro peaks for the foreseeable future."
The pandemic shows no signs of weakening in the US, said Michael Osterholm, head of the Center for Infectious Disease Research and Policy at the University of Minnesota in Minneapolis.
"I think this is more like a forest fire. I don't think that this is going to slow down," Osterholm told NBC's Chuck Todd during an appearance on "Meet the Press" on Sunday.
"I think that wherever there's wood to burn, this fire's going to burn -- and right now we have a lot of susceptible people," Osterholm said. "Right now, I don't see this slowing down through the summer or into the fall. I don't think we're going to see one, two and three waves. I think we're going to just see one very, very difficult forest fire of cases."
Then again, at times it's hard to remember we're in the middle of a pandemic. I have fallen into the complacency of entertainment and information, penduluming between TV (movies and documentaries) and reading, recently falling down the Joan Didion rabbit hole. I was familiar with Didion already (her writing style is uniquely honest yet complicated) and, when my mom's second husband Ralph was killed in a car accident, I sent her The Year of Magical Thinking, about Didion's husband's death and the grieving process afterward. When my mom died and I was cleaning out her house, I brought her copy back for myself, and related to it during my own period of sadness, even quoting one of the passages in my blog on July 19, 2009 (the day my mom died).
"Grief, when it comes, is nothing we expect it to be... After my mother died I received a letter from a friend in Chicago, a former Maryknoll priest, who precisely intuited what I felt. The death of a parent, he wrote, 'despite our preparation, indeed, despite our age, dislodges things deep in us, sets off reactions that surprise us and that may cut free memories and feelings that we had thought gone to ground long ago. We might, in that indeterminate period they call mourning, be in a submarine, silent on the ocean's bed, aware of the depth charges, now near and now far, buffeting us with recollections.' " ~ Joan Didion
I recently watched The Center Will Not Hold, a documentary on Netflix about Didion, which inspired me to read many of her books of essays (on hold now at the library), as well as Blue Nights, about the death of her daughter Quintana, not too long after her husband's passing.
TV can be crap and escapist, but it can also be educational. All my life I have vowed to have at least one new growth opportunity daily. thankyoujesus for the library and cable/internet television... :-)
Song (which Patti herself sang) and poems (two of Quintana's favorites) below are mentioned on p. 163 as being included at her funeral service, six weeks after her death on August 26, 2005.
SONG: The Jackson Song by Patti Smith (lyrics in link)
BOOK: Blue Nights by Joan Didion
POEM(S): Domination of Black by Wallace Stevens
At night, by the fire,
The colors of the bushes
And of the fallen leaves,
Repeating themselves,
Turned in the room,
Like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind.
Yes: but the color of the heavy hemlocks
Came striding.
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.
The colors of their tails
Were like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind,
In the twilight wind.
They swept over the room,
Just as they flew from the boughs of the hemlocks
Down to the ground.
I heard them cry – the peacocks.
Was it a cry against the twilight
Or against the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind,
Turning as the flames
Turned in the fire,
Turning as the tails of the peacocks
Turned in the loud fire,
Loud as the hemlocks
Full of the cry of the peacocks?
Or was it a cry against the hemlocks?
Out of the window,
I saw how the planets gathered
Like the leaves themselves
Turning in the wind.
I saw how the night came,
Came striding like the color of the heavy hemlocks.
I felt afraid.
And I remembered the cry of the peacocks.
New Hampshire by T. S. Eliot
Children’s voices in the orchard
Between the blossom- and the fruit-time:
Golden head, crimson head.
Between the green tip and the root.
Black wing, brown wing, hover over;
Today grieves, tomorrow grieves,
Cover me over, light-in-leaves;
Golden head, black wing,
Cling, swing,
Spring, sing,
Swing up into the apple-tree.
QUOTE: "What greater grief can there be for mortals than to see their children dead." ~ Euripedes
[Oh, Lesley Anne Numbers... if I could wallpaper my entire house with your stunning prints, I would... 💚]
So, it is indeed Feel Good Friday. It is also Juneteenth, a historical milestone which commemorates the end of slavery in the U.S. in 1965, which I knew about, but not as well as I should have. As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week. Enjoy!
~ Stonehenge livestream of summer solstice tomorrow (Saturday, June 20)
~ The Supreme Court is rockin' it this week. 6-3, 5-4... both decisions have come out in favor of human rights. The Notorious RBG (Ruth Bader Ginsberg) will always be my first love ("smells like justice and bubble gum... but mostly bubble gum") but I might have a bit of a crush on Chief Justice John Roberts now as well... ;-)
Supreme Court Delivers Major Victory To LGBTQ Employees: In a historic decision, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled Monday that the 1964 Civil Rights Act protects gay, lesbian, and transgender employees from discrimination based on sex. The ruling was 6-3, with Justice Neil Gorsuch, President Trump's first appointee to the court, writing the majority opinion. The opinion was joined by Chief Justice John Roberts and the court's four liberal justices.
Supreme Court blocks Trump from ending DACA in big win for Dreamers: Chief Justice John Roberts was the swing vote in the 5-4 decision, dealing a big legal defeat to President Trump on the issue of immigration.
~ Celebrating Life's Milestone Moments While Trying To Stay Safe: Drive-by birthday parties. Passover Seder on Zoom. Even weddings livestreamed on YouTube.
~ Social Distance: A Randy Rainbow Song Parody
~ 28 Books That Talk About Race: With heart and unflinching honesty, these titles celebrate the power of diversity, freedom, and truth.
SONG: Don't Let The Sunshine Fool Ya by Guy Clark
BOOK: I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness by Austin Channing Brown
POEM: Emancipation by Priscilla Jane Thompson
‘Tis a time for much rejoicing;
Let each heart be lured away;
Let each tongue, its thanks be voicing
For Emancipation Day.
Day of victory, day of glory,
For thee, many a field was gory!
Many a time in days now ended,
Hath our fathers’ courage failed,
Patiently their tears they blended;
Ne’er they to their, Maker, railed,
Well we know their groans, He numbered,
When dominions fell, asundered.
As of old the Red Sea parted,
And oppressed passed safely through,
Back from the North, the bold South, started,
And a fissure wide she drew;
Drew a cleft of Liberty,
Through it, marched our people free.
And, in memory, ever grateful,
Of the day they reached the shore,
Meet we now, with hearts e’er faithful,
Joyous that the storm is o’er.
Storm of Torture! May grim Past,
Hurl thee down his torrents fast.
Bring your harpers, bring your sages,
Bid each one the story tell;
Waft it on to future ages,
Bid descendants learn it well.
Kept it bright in minds now tender,
Teach the young their thanks to render.
Come with hearts all firm united,
In the union of a race;
With your loyalty well plighted,
Look your brother in the face,
Stand by him, forsake him never,
God is with us now, forever.
QUOTE: “This world is white no longer, and it will never be white again.” ~ James Baldwin
[thanks to MegHS for always keeping me apprised of Mrs. Mallard and family's (Jack, Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouack, Pack and Quack) connection to the political climate... 💗 ]
I have no doubt you all were devastated... devastated, I tell you... that I did not offer up my usual Wednesday post yesterday... ;-) "Where is she? Is she okay? What else is going on to cause this blip in her like-clockwork M-W-F blog schedule?!?" Ha ha ha ha ha! I actually already had something planned, and ready on Tuesday afternoon to hit Publish on Wednesday morning, when Tuesday night found me logged into Grant Peeples' (a gravel-voiced, singer-songwriter/poet/provocateur in the best possible way, who I was lucky to present four times at our UU church Labyrinth Cafe concert series) Clay Tablets, a monthly online streaming show: "art, music, poetry, guests, prose, viewer mail, video, photography, philosophy"... :-)
The guest interview was with Carrie Elkin (via Grant's cell phone); May was Steve Poltz. It was a wonderful hour of cheer as well as thoughtfulness... and I loved the chat aspect, with many music-loving friends in attendance: BrianW, RobbyG, BeckyA, Sparky, LouiseB, AmiliaS, even Carrie's mom Donna. I was so inspired by Grant's song and shared poem (below) that I completely recalibrated my offering, which took a bit more time and effort. Also invited Nancy on a short road trip for a patio visit with Reba, bringing her romaine and raisin bread (hmmm, title for a song or memoir?). Then stopped at Parlour Vegan on my way home to pick up a previously-placed order of tamales, empanadas... and guava pastellitos for my husband. Home by 3 p.m. Out of steam, tired, done. Leftover Sicilian Supper for dinner, finished my book (Shrill by Lindy West), then capped off the evening with two episodes of The Durrells in Corfu. I've gotten very attached to this family and their various escapades of life on a Greek Island, and will be sad when I get to the end of Season 4... 😢
And that's why I was a day late in posting!
SONG: Nigger Lover by Grant Peeples (lyrics below)
“You're a nigger lover and I don't like your looks
Just you wait till the school bell rings
I'm gonna whip your little nigger loving ass
Can't wait to smash your stupid face in
I hate your guts, nigger lover”
Yea, that's what they called me
on the playground at school. But that was a lotta
years ago, and those kids have all grown up and
they don't use those words any more
– hardly
No, these days they use other words
They say other things, thing like
“You're a liberal socialist, a Communist activist
And you're gonna see in the next election
We're gonna snatch our country back for real Americans
We'll be proud again, stand tall again
Gonna put an end to all you bleeding heart liberals”
Yea, that's what they say NOW days
That's what you hear
But they haven't changed, and I know they still mean:
“You're a nigger lover and I don't like your look
Just you wait till the school bell rings
I'm gonna whip your little nigger loving ass
Can't wait to smash your stupid face in
I hate your guts, nigger lover”
I hate your guts...”
~ words and music, copyright Grant Peeples - LeftNeck Music - SESAC
BOOK: How to Be an Antiracist by Ibram X. Kendi
POEM: by Haroon Rashid
We fell asleep in one world, and woke up in another.
Suddenly Disney is out of magic,
Paris is no longer romantic,
New York doesn’t stand up anymore,
the Chinese wall is no longer a fortress, and Mecca is empty.
Hugs & kisses suddenly become weapons, and not visiting parents friends
becomes an act of love.
Suddenly you realise that power, beauty & money are worthless, and can’t
get you the oxygen you’re fighting for.
The world continues its life and it is beautiful. It only puts humans in
cages. I think it’s sending us a message:
“You are not necessary. The air, earth, water and sky without you are fine.
When you come back, remember that you are my guests. Not my masters."
QUOTE: “Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced.” ~ James Baldwin
I have been a fan/follower of Penzeys for quite a while now. I not only love the freshness and tastiness of their spices, but also their e-mails, full of promotional details as well as political commentary. I have long been a proponent of the boycott, and the *buycott*. I avoid spending money with companies I am not ideologically aligned with, preferring instead to support businesses who promote good values and fair practices. Who can resist dishtowels that sport the messages of Love People. Cook Them Tasty Food. and Heal the World. Cook Dinner Tonight? When we moved from the house to the condo two years ago, two different friends sent/gave me Gift Boxes as housewarming presents! If you don't already, I urge you sign up for their e-mail list, order some spices, watch the video from their last missive (reprinted below) and, oh yes, change the world... 💖
I just placed an order (to get that cool Embrace Hope pin), and included this comment: "I love the smell of justice in the morning, and appreciate everything your company does to make this a better, brighter world!"
From Penzeys' 6/13/20 e-newsletter (yellow highlighting is mine... 😊):
I hope you watched the news video we linked to in Wednesday’s email. Based on the heartfelt thanks I received from so many of you it holds a great deal of hope for our times. Our Minneapolis store, like others in the Uptown area, suffered broken windows in the wake of the murder of George Floyd. This led to stores being boarded up with a whole lot of plywood which was bleak. Then something kind of wonderful happened. As some pretty outstanding graffiti started showing up the Uptown Association quickly encouraged a bunch more by handing out $100 for supplies to local artists. The results have been stunning. Stop now and watch the video, you will be glad you did.
The artist who did our window boards, in addition to an emotional When Doves Cry-inspired piece, incorporated our Embrace Hope image in his work as well. I found seeing the art that Jeri and our kids created at our kitchen table (where I’m writing this) taking on a new life as part of a community coming together to heal from the pain of police racial violence overwhelming. From your comments after our last email the tears from seeing this in the video are not only in my eyes. For Cooks, this really is what it is all about.
Our thanks to Anton and the rest of the artists, The Uptown community association and the local Fox affiliate that did brilliant work on their news video. Local Foxes aren’t national Fox; they really aren’t.
The efforts of everyone here to reimagine the way we pick and ship orders in the time of the Coronavirus and the huge surge in online ordering it has set in motion are now paying off. Orders have been just flowing out our doors these past few weeks to the point where we are actually almost all caught up. With us still a week behind our plan was to hold off on promotions until next weekend. But with the impact Embrace Hope is having it seems to make sense to get more of these out in the world as soon as possible. So, through Tuesday, free $9.95 value Embrace Hope pins with any $10 purchase!
To get your free pin just visit penzeys.com and enter your order for touchless store pickup or for direct shipping to you. After you’ve reached $10 in spending enter the code America at checkout. It’s easy. And no need to place the pin in your basket, the code will do that for you and for free.
And sorry about the “with $10 purchase.” Back in the before-times of early January we would have just given out the pins for free to anyone who showed up because this is one of those things that shouldn’t be about money. But with us only doing touchless pickup orders in the stores and all the stores closed on Sundays, I fear a flat-out free offer would have instantly gridlocked the stores' pickup slots and would have almost certainly guaranteed a lack of social distancing. Sorry.
But then there is that $10 and the thought of what we could do with that. I am so gladdened by so many business leaders speaking out against racial injustice even if some seem a little late getting on the field. If NASCAR wants to be shocked, SHOCKED! to find they’ve been promoting a wee spot of Confederacy I will gladly be shocked right with them. And if the NFL wants to do a victory dance for being the one sport brave enough to give Colin Kaepernick the platform to start all this I won’t throw a flag for excessive celebration. America is all about redemption. It’s not who you were, it’s who you are. Let’s help and encourage every business to become a force for good.
Still, in seeing the new arrivals standing in support of those facing racism, and some even brave enough to risk losing sales to the less than one percent of Americans who openly identify as white supremacists, I have to say this alone will not be enough to bring the change we need. Donations to those facing racism are great and welcome, but as long as only those on the receiving end of racism pay its costs it will be with us forever. It’s only when those actively creating racism feel the pressure of being called out for their cruelty that there can be any honest hope for change. It is here where I think Penzeys can make a difference.
At the heart of cooking is the truth that when we care about others the future becomes a better place. There is little more uncaring and more damaging to all our futures than racism. Many who once voted for our president no longer support him and hooray for that. But the fact we have to live with is that the majority of the sixty-three million Americans who voted for an openly “textbook” racist candidate for president want to pretend that there is nothing racist in their actions. As long as we let them pretend, racism isn’t going anywhere.
So long story short. For every Embrace Hope pin we give away with a $10 purchase we are pledging to spend $10 on social media calling out the racism of those supporting this president. We won’t be saying who to vote for or against because that would be campaigning and we don’t do that. All we will be saying is that your vote for this president is an act of racism and that you are doing a very-very un-American thing by doing so. America is dedicated more than any other nation to the notion that all are created equal. It’s time for us to call out all who would undermine this most American of all American values. Please help us in this.
At some point some version of this will be a Facebook post, but for now can you just forward this email to those who might like to see it and possibly put a few more Hamiltons in the pot (he’s on the $10 bill)? Someone in the last week emailed me that as long as Penzeys is still on Facebook we are part of the problem. I get that, I do. Penzeys could be so much better a social media site if we could just find the time. You people sharing your values back and forth? That would change the world. But for now there is Facebook and if you are going to take on racism sometimes you have to go to where it hides in plain sight. Please wish us luck.
And if you have an Embrace Hope pin and have a story of its impact or maybe of a conversation it set in motion please share it to editor@penzeys.com. You've sent a few of these since Wednesday and I would love to share them with our larger audience. Thanks.
And once again please go to penzeys.com, place your order for store pickup or home delivery and with $10 in spending get your free pin of Hope. Just use the code America because that is what this is all about. And if you haven’t yet, watch the Minneapolis news video. It is the hope we all need.
Thanks!
Bill
bill@penzeys.com
SONG: Wherever Is Your Heart by Brandi Carlile
BOOK: On Spice: Advice, Wisdom, and History with a Grain of Saltiness by Caitlin PenzeyMoog
POEM: Praise by Angelo Geter
Today I will praise.
I will praise the sun
For showering its light
On this darkened vessel.
I will praise its shine.
Praise the way it wraps
My skin in ultraviolet ultimatums
Demanding to be seen.
I will lift my hands in adoration
Of how something so bright
Could be so heavy.
I will praise the ground
That did not make feast of these bones.
Praise the casket
That did not become a shelter for flesh.
Praise the bullets
That called in sick to work.
Praise the trigger
That went on vacation.
Praise the chalk
That did not outline a body today.
Praise the body
For still being a body
And not a headstone.
Praise the body,
For being a body and not a police report
Praise the body
For being a body and not a memory
No one wants to forget.
Praise the memories.
Praise the laughs and smiles
You thought had been evicted from your jawline
Praise the eyes
For seeing and still believing.
For being blinded from faith
But never losing their vision
Praise the visions.
Praise the prophets
Who don’t profit off of those visions.
Praise the heart
For housing this living room of emotions
Praise the trophy that is my name
Praise the gift that is my name.
Praise the name that is my name
Which no one can plagiarize or gentrify
Praise the praise.
How the throat sounds like a choir.
The harmony in your tongue lifts
Into a song of adoration.
Praise yourself
For being able to praise.
For waking up,
When you had every reason not to.
QUOTE: "Variety is the spice of love." ~ Helen Rowland
[Lesley Anne Numbers for the win... again!]
Life is good, especially with that mid-week recalibration. Still challenges, as there will always be, even B.C. (Before Coronavirus), but I am working at backing off, as opposed to confronting something head-on. I am in the most Zen-like ever stage of my life, very difficult for a control freak Leo, but am finding it more than a bit liberating.
Had a lovely day at the beach yesterday with friends SusanP (who lives on A1A) and Nancy. Spent almost four hours enjoying the sand, the surf (it was rough, so I only went in up to my knees!), the sun, and the serenity. We of course did the obligatory social distancing, and it felt great to be in the open air, with conversation and cocktails (I brought wine and flavored seltzers, to make spritzers), and also bought us these cool tumblers: Infoxicated; Oh, for fox sake; zero fox given; don't fox with me... :-)
I also made what I called "adult lunchables": plastic rectangular Chinese take-out containers, each one containing an individual hummus, grapes, mini-cucumber, sliced carrots, semi-soft sun-dried-tomato-and-garlic vegan cheese, crackers, and a clementine. SusanP provided chairs and a beach umbrella, and Nancy brought her famous homemade vegan banana-mango bread. I am tan, I am grateful, I am soooo relaxed.
Had a family get-together shortly thereafter. Caught up on jobs, unemployment payments, grocery shopping... all while watching Colin run around with a jumbo stick of chalk in each hand. Lovely!
Then home to watch the beautifully-done John Prine tribute (you can view the whole thing here), with amazing artists like Jason Isbell and Amanda Shires, Todd Snider, Brandi Carlile, Bonnie Raitt, etc., interspersed with heartfelt words from Brene Brown, Bill Murray (who called JP "a unicorn among nags"... :-), Billy Bob Thornton, and of course John's wife Fiona. "Start with a blank piece of paper, and don't write what shouldn't be there", said Prine about songwriting. When I wasn't crying, I was laughing uproariously. And we were treated to a new song, previously-unreleased (today's subject title). I donated to Alive, and I bought a T-shirt... 💖
So, it is indeed Feel Good Friday. As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week. Enjoy!
~ Despite efforts to quash them, Black Lives Matter protests lead to change in Miami-Dade: The baseline ill, racism in policing, remains with us. But despite efforts to quash Black Lives Matter protests in South Florida, the demonstrations of outrage over George Floyd’s murder — and the community activism that has risen around them — have already led to some positive change.
~ Sellers of Sex Toys Capitalized on All That Alone Time: As the pandemic approached its peak, online retailers saw sales spike.
~ Former Green Beret, who advised Colin Kaepernick to kneel, talks about others taking a knee in solidarity: NFL commissioner Roger Goodell has issued an apology saying the league was wrong in the way it handled its response to player protests in the past against police brutality and racial injustice.
~ With a Turn of the Can Opener, Make Sorbet: An almost 25-year-old hack lets you use a food processor and canned fruit to create frozen treats.
~ We are witnessing the birth of a movement — and the downfall of a president: We've reached a turning point in the Trump era. The 2020 campaign is in the streets and he's losing
SONG: I Remember Everything by John Prine
BOOK: Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair by Anne Lamott
POEM: Study Electricity, Etc. by David Kirby
Third item on Jay Gatsby’s self-improvement schedule after “Rise from bed” and “Dumbbell exercise and wall scaling.”
You did that already—not electricity,
but the et cetera part. Et cetera means
“and the rest,” and you’ve mastered that.
You work from home, as we do these days,
but you put on a nice top and a dab of makeup
and combed your hair. When the children
need help with their homework, you make
time, and when your husband says he wants
to give them two more math problems
and some vocabulary, you say fine. The four
of you have lunch together, and when he takes
the kids out to play with the dog, you manage
a quick nap. Then tea, then you wrap up
your work and make notes for tomorrow.
Scrambled eggs, toast, and fruit cup
for the children. Let them watch Frozen
for the hundredth time—how could it hurt?
Now you and your husband can have dinner
on the deck: goat cheese, shrimp with
mushrooms, a bottle of Sancerre so cold
you think your teeth might crack. You walk
around the block, making room as others
approach. Bath time. PJs. Their books, yours.
When you were walking, you waved to other
families on their porches. They waved back.
[David Kirby: “Low-effort thinkers make headlines every day by reacting angrily and even dangerously to the guidelines we have to follow if we’re going to heal our world. To prepare for his future, young Jay Gatsby resolves to ‘study electricity, etc.’ For years I’ve wondered what that ‘etc.’ is, but COVID-19 has given me my answer: it’s the hundred unrecorded daily ways in which we care for ourselves and others with patience and love.”]
QUOTE: “Wherever you are, at any moment, try and find something beautiful. A face, a line out of a poem, the clouds out of a window, some graffiti, a wind farm. Beauty cleans the mind.” ~ Matt Haig
