This is actually not so funny. Federal agents from ICE and Border Patrol with no experience at crowd control or the proper use of pepper spray and pepper bullets are creating more problems than they are solving. And it’s their indiscriminate use of force that is escalating violence. Not saying that protestors are not wrong in their responses of resorting to more violence, but surely one can see the tumbleweed effects happening here.
It all starts at the top, with 47 using terminology like, “insurrectionist” “terrorist” “the enemy within” and all the loyal puppies following him say “Yes, we must go after those horrible people.”
Problem is, those “horrible” people are fellow Americans with families, wives, husbands, children, mothers fathers, aunts uncles, nieces and nephews and cousins and…..
We are not enemies!!!
We are not enemies!!!
We are not enemies!!!
And we need to come to that realization and stop pushing each other further and further apart. And we need to do that sooner than later, because, well, later may be too late for democracy and for freedom.
Surely one can see the parallels between behavior on the streets and behavior in government. Just watch a few videos of the clashes between federal agents and protestors and the clashes between members of Congress and members of the Trump administration during testimony. In all the years I’ve followed such congressional hearing, never have I seen such utter disrespect at such an incredibly high level. Not that much shouting & talking over each other with constant interruptions.
There is no respect. No nod to any kind of parliamentary rules. Those hearings are supposed to operate under rules that are either strict parliamentary procedure itself or a system derived from it to ensure orderly and transparent information gathering and deliberation. Under those rules everyone is supposed to wait for the other person to finish speaking before speaking up. The committee chair, who heads up these hearings, has the responsibility to keep order, but that is hard to do when the hearings too often start on an adversarial foot from the first word uttered.
Now on to something fun and easier on the blood pressure.
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When I sold my first short story to a national magazine years ago, there was great excitement in the family and we all happily played Howard Hughes for a while. My husband started planning his retirement, the kids picked out houses in the country, and I had visions of never having to look at another price tag again before I bought a new pair of shoes.
I suppose we’re all entitled to our glory dreams, and it sure was fun while it lasted. But once the excitement died down to a dull roar and the rejection slips started to litter my desk again, we had to resign ourselves to the fact that perhaps we’d have to wait some more before we start recklessly throwing money around buying mink coats and hamburgers.
Anjanette had to give up her dream of a whole new bedroom set with maybe a new bedroom to put it in. David went back to mowing lawns to save the money for his new mag wheels and Michael started collecting cans for recycling to keep himself in spending money. I resigned myself to another year in the bargain basement, and, unfortunately, Carl still had to get up every morning and go to work.
Initially, it took some time for me to cash the check. I was afraid to cash it because I knew it would be gone all too soon. Besides that, it was such a big thrill to go into my office and look at it every now and then. At the time, I knew that excitement would pass because it only took me two weeks to stop opening the magazine every five minutes to see my name in the credits.
I remember thinking that no other acceptance would ever mean as much or create quite the stir that this one did.
Someday, discussing the terms of a sale with an editor in New York would be old hat. I wouldn’t have to try to act cool and professional on the outside while on the inside I’m this little kid at Christmas.
Someday, I wouldn’t call my best friend to announce, “You are now speaking to a famous writer person!”
“Who is this? Is this some sort of crank call?”
Someday, selling stories would all be part of the routine around here, and no one would stop by with champagne to celebrate. The kids wouldn’t be announcing it to every creature that moves up and down the block, and my husband would no longer run around the local grocery stores making sure the magazine was prominently displayed.
I told him I didn’t get any royalties for copies sold, but he did it anyway.
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Check out all my short stories HERE You might find something just perfect for a quick read this weekend.
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That’s all from me for today folks. Hope you have a wonderful weekend, and whatever your plans are, I hope they involve good times with family and friends. Be happy. Be safe.