Write This Number Down (Dar Williams)

From singer-songwriter Dar Williams:

I am hoping that you can participate in Steps2021.  When I saw that mob of people on the Capitol steps, I remembered the piece I had written about how people can demonstrate by singing on steps.  WELL, because of the pandemic, the idea of singing (a no-no in groups...) on steps to counter the image of insurrecting on steps has devolved and evolved into STEPS 2021, complete with website and hashtags! 

Also, could you share this with your friends and really encourage them into doing something, too?!  We're going to have teenagers helping with social media. I'm just Paul Revere with a horse.  I only know how to ride around like a maniac and shout to people I know and love to spread the word!  If you could tell your congregation, folk buds, and family to "find their steps", we think we're going to hit a wonderful tipping point.  If you could go online and say you're going to participate, that would be wonderful, too.  Oy, I am not the queen of the elevator pitch.  But I hope you can do this!  

We're asking people to take a picture or video clip of themselves on their favorite and/or safest steps, any steps that they love and associate with the steps (or ramps) we take into places where we work collaboratively and constructively for the future.  This is to counter the images of armed people who are expected to show up at state capitol buildings (don't go to capitol building steps). 

To learn more about Steps2021, the website is www.Steps2021.org, BUT we're simply asking people to do one or both of these things:

1. BEFORE INAUGURATION DAY: Take a picture of yourselves, your families, pods, etc. on the steps of your choosing: place of worship, library, town hall, home, apartment stoop, along with whatever prop or nice outfit you choose... with a painting, a smile, or a peace sign, in a uniform or in a ball gown. OR...Take a video of yourselves singing, speaking, playing music. 

---SEND IT TO MYSTEPS@STEPS2021.org along with a little caption of where you are and why these steps are important to you.  

---Share it with your friends as a way to spread the word that we are going to be posting a wonderful stream of images and videos on Inauguration morning before Biden's inaugural march.  

2. ON INAUGURATION MORNING: Take and/or post a picture of yourselves, your families, pods, etc. on the steps of your choosing: place of worship, library, town hall, home, apartment stoop, along with whatever prop or nice outfit you choose... with a painting, a smile, or a peace sign, in a uniform or in a ball gown. OR...Take a video of yourselves singing, speaking, playing music. 

---SEND IT TO MYSTEPS@STEPS2021.org and our socials as well as your socials, along with hashtags and with a little caption of where you are and why these steps are important to you. 

---Share it with your friends and with us at our website and on social media.  

I registered for this event, and will be participating too.  Check out the website;  even if we can't sing (for pandemic reasons, as Dar said), there are plenty of ways to make our presence known.  I'm sharing here because I'm not on social media but, for those of you who are, I am counting on you to pass on this message, as well as post your Steps on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc.  As the old protest song goes:  one and one and fifty make a million!

Here are two photos, the first of which (me with Colin) I've already e-mailed to MySteps@Steps2021.org with the following caption:

On the stairs of my South Florida condo, reading to my 2-1/2-year-old grandson Colin, my heart.  Every STEP of political activism I take (voting Blue, fighting for climate change regulations, enacting standards for Justice and Equality, the right to Choose, etc.) is for him and his future! (Susan Moss, Pembroke Pines FL)

...and the second (just me) I will be e-mailing Inauguration Day morning (between 9:30 and 11:30 a.m.) with the caption below:

On the steps of my my 55+ condo community in South Florida, counting my blessings that I have adequate insurance coverage, can afford to eat nutritiously, have wide-open spaces to walk an hour a day, and enjoy good health such that I'm able to take the stairs 99% of the time.  So excited for Joe Biden and Kamala Harris to return our country to positivity and forward motion! (Susan Moss, Pembroke Pines FL)

Thanks again to Dar for alerting me to this action.  By the way, her elevator pitch was spot-on... :-)

P.S.  Puttering around online, following Steps2021 links, and found this (go to the 1:14 mark).  I had already chosen the title song for today's blog post hours ago and, synchronistically, wouldn't you know that's the tune Dar performs in this video segment!  Thank you, Universe... 😍

#Steps2021

#TheFutureWeBuildTogether

#PeaceWithJustice

SONG:  Write This Number Down by Dar Williams ("welcome to this land and yes, we still have all those marble steps to climb" indeed... 💞)

BOOK:  The Front Steps Project: How Communities Found Connection During the COVID-19 Crisis by Kristen Collins, Cara Soulia

POEM:  Strangers by Laszlo Slomovits

A man is running hard

to catch the bus that just left.

It’s picking up speed but he

pulls even and raps on its side,

and a woman by the window

yells to the driver, who stops

and opens the accordion door.

But the man does not get on—

he points back to an old woman

who has not run a step

in a very long time

shuffling towards the bus.

Nor does he leave until he’s

helped her up both steps

then walks back slowly

still breathing hard

toward us who are

waiting for a different bus.

What can a group of strangers

do at a time like this?

A time in its own tiny way like

when Bob Hayes roared by them all

to bring the relay home,

or when Billy Mills devoured

the last 50 of the 10,000 meters

or when Joan Benoit came striding

into the stadium alone—and all of us

strangers stood up and cheered.

QUOTE:  "The vision must be followed by the venture. It is not enough to stare up the steps - we must step up the stairs." ~ Vance Havner

Talkin' Bout a Revolution (Tracy Chapman)

[thanks to Judi for this amazing graphic!]

Today is Tuesday, November 3:  Election Day!  I was awakened this morning at 7 a.m. by a series of enthusiastic dings from a political text thread my daughter created, so I just got out of bed, poured a cup of coffee, and joined in the fun... 😍

I managed not to post at all last week... mostly due to stress and anxiety about today's results.  I've not been able to watch much news during this Trump administration.  Just hearing his voice and/or his lies throw me into an emotional tailspin.  Tuned into MSNBC for ten minutes the other night, Steve Kornacki was walking through a What If of what it would take for Trump to get to 270, and my stomach began roiling, and hasn't stopped since.  I am trying so hard to visualize an election where the people have spoken resoundingly on the side of Justice and Equality.  Optimism is my default mechanism.

Even if we win the election (and I firmly believe we will!), there will be repercussions and the potential for violence.  When even Walmart stops selling guns and ammunition for a few weeks, you know there is a problem.  And the incident with the Biden-Harris tour bus in Texas is horrifying.  These people (and you know how I mean that) will stop at nothing over the next few months to continue their agenda of hate and deception, which will lead to more deaths, coronavirus and otherwise.  I ask myself:  "why aren't they looking out for their own children's and grandchildren's futures?".  I love that Obama is out there stumping for Biden; I truly think it will help, but it does make me melancholy for what we had and what we lost.  

Things You Never Thought You'd See in Your Own Country for $500 please, Alex.  So many improprieties (bots and hacking and gerrymandering) in 2016, and we acceded and regrouped and tried to move forward, and it's only gotten worse.  I believe in Fairness, and I have been consistently proven wrong these last four years.  Hey, I know it can't be Camelot, but I am weary of Hadestown.

Hitting Publish, going out walking, attending my weekly Tuesday 11 a.m. Zoom call with Nancy and Judi, then headed to vote (actually here in my own condo complex).  As the old protest song goes:  "one and one and fifty make a million".  There *will* be cause for celebration tonight.  May it be so.  Ooooommmm... ॐ

Penzeys Spices does it again... 

What if Today's the Day You Admitted to Yourself You're No Longer a Republican

 

It’s been four years now. You know this is not going to get any better. Last election you could still believe the Republican Party was your father’s Republican Party. A party of financial responsibility, small government, defending democracy, supporting our troops, respecting others, family values and even telling the truth. You now know these values are long gone. Up until now there’s been nothing you could do about it. Today that changes.

It’s been said elections have their consequences. A big part of this is who gets elected, but with each vote we also define who we are and what we stand for. Are you a serial liar? Are you a cheat? Do you really want gay friends and family members to fear for their marriages? Are you a racist? I’m pretty sure you want the answer to all of these to be a resounding no, but when your votes inflict all those things on your fellow Americans your actions speak louder than your denials. Why not have your actions match your actual values?

And it’s not just the president, it’s the party. Seriously, who's worse, the out of control leader or those elective legislators who took an oath to the Constitution and then broke it out of fear, corruption, or possibly both? At least Utah has Mitt Romney they can re-elect without shame, the rest not so much.

What to do? If you are in a spot where you feel safe to do it, I hear from customers, making the leap and telling the world the Republican Party is no longer for you can be quite exhilarating. But for those of you living more complex lives, I can see where that might be hard. If need be, maybe borrowing a page from the gay rural teen handbook and living a double life for a while is your best bet. In many ways this election is about your soul. Today who you vote for is far more important than who people think you voted for.

As of today we’ve needlessly lost over two hundred thousand Americans to the failed Republican handling of the Coronavirus. Without a change in leadership in both the White House and the Senate that number will be more than a million by this time next year. Today your vote can actually save lives. Please use it wisely.

Once we get past today’s vote, going forward your spirit is needed every bit as much as your vote. America and the world have serious issues to deal with and for many of these issues time is of the essence. You being among kindred spirits where you no longer have to hide your empathy and compassion just to fit in could lead to real difference. Come join in. Being on the good guys' side is a whole lot more fun.

NR:  The Wonder by Emma Donoghue

SONG:  Talkin' Bout a Revolution by Tracy Chapman

BOOK:  Resistencia: Poems of Protest and Revolution by Mark Eisner and Tina Escaja (Editors), Julia Alvarez (Introduction)

POEM:  Kindness by Nikita Gill

And maybe this is how we learn the value of kindness.

When the whole world is like a small child with a fever,

trying her very best to make herself feel better.

Maybe we find our unity in the near-losing of everything.

Where we have no choice but to depend upon each other.

This is what it takes to realize we are in this together.

A man helps someone he dislikes because they are in danger.

A neighbor delivers groceries to everyone ill on her street.

Old friends forgive each other, stop acting like they are strangers.

Maybe this time, the revolution arrives dressed as kindness.

People helping each other despite their differences.

Understanding truly, that without the aid of others,

we would be all alone in this.

QUOTE:  “The best way to describe how I’m feeling right now — it’s somewhere between Christmas Eve and the night before a liver transplant.” ~ Jimmy Kimmel

Black & Blue (Danny Schmidt)

"If you are not outraged, you are not paying attention." (can't seem to find the original attribution.)


Pompano Beach Protests 'Keep This Energy Going':  More than a month since protests began following the death of George Floyd while a Minneapolis police officer kneeled on his neck, demonstrations continued all over South Florida.

Three Words. 70 Cases. The Tragic History of ‘I Can’t Breathe.’:  The deaths of Eric Garner in New York and George Floyd in Minnesota created national outrage over the use of deadly police restraints. There were many others you didn’t hear about.

Danny Schmidt does it again.  No surprise there... ❤

This time spent in quarantine has lent itself to recording and releasing songs in near realtime, as I'm writing them. I don't know if that has inspired me to write songs that are of a more timely and topical nature, or if these extraordinary times have inspired me to write about the here and now. But whichever, it is topical tunes that seem to be bubbling out. And I've got a new one for you entitled, Black & Blue.

It's a song that deals with the state of race in this country, the role of force in policing, and the spiritual cost of brutality. These issues have obviously been top of mind for a lot of us lately. The tensions underlying the relationship between law enforcement and the black community are deep and complex, and have a long dark history Unraveling ourselves from that history will take a long time. This song focuses on the will to do the work.

SONG:  Black & Blue by Danny Schmidt [from Danny:  Usually, when I make a lyric video, it's a bit of an after-thought. This time is different. I set the song to a backdrop of images from the protests and the public outcry, and I actually think the juxtaposition makes the experience of the song itself a stronger one. The photos themselves are so provocative and powerful, they actually made me quite emotional as I was cutting them together.]

BOOK:  We Can't Breathe: On Black Lives, White Lies, and the Art of Survival by Jabari Asim

POEM:  I Can’t Breathe by Pamela Sneed

I suppose I should place them under separate files
Both died from different circumstances kind of, one from HIV AIDS and possibly not having
taken his medicines
the other from COVID-19 coupled with
complications from an underlying HIV status
In each case their deaths may have been preventable if one had taken his meds and the
hospital thought to treat the other
instead of sending him home saying, He wasn’t sick enough
he died a few days later
They were both mountains of men
dark black beautiful gay men
both more than six feet tall fierce and way ahead of their time
One’s drag persona was Wonder Woman and the other started a black fashion magazine
He also liked poetry
They both knew each other from the same club scene we all grew up in
When I was working the door at a club one frequented
He would always say to me haven’t they figured out you’re a star yet
And years ago bartending with the other when I complained about certain people and
treatment he said sounds like it’s time for you to clean house
Both I know were proud of me the poet star stayed true to my roots
I guess what stands out to me is that they both were
gay black mountains of men
Cut down
Felled too early
And it makes me think the biggest and blackest are almost always more vulnerable
My white friend speculates why the doctors sent one home
If he had enough antibodies
Did they not know his HIV status
She approaches it rationally
removed from race as if there were any rationale for sending him home
Still she credits the doctors for thinking it through
But I speculate they saw a big black man before them
Maybe they couldn’t imagine him weak
Maybe because of his size color class they imagined him strong
said he’s okay
Which happened to me so many times
Once when I’d been hospitalized at the same time as a white girl
she had pig-tails
we had the same thing but I saw how tenderly they treated her
Or knowing so many times in the medical system I would never have been treated so terribly if I
had had a man with me
Or if I were white and entitled enough to sue
Both deaths could have been prevented both were almost first to fall in this season of death
But it reminds me of what I said after Eric Garner a large black man was strangled to death over
some cigarettes
Six cops took him down
His famous lines were I can’t breathe
so if we are always the threat
To whom or where do we turn for protection?

QUOTE:  "The horrific cases in Ferguson, in Staten Island with the death of Eric Garner, and all across the country serve as stark reminders that we must have a say in who polices us, and how that policing is done. We must, we must, let our voices be heard on Election Day." ~ Al Sharpton

We March (Prince)

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."