Okay, for today’s COVID Friday music, I have to go back to the
master, Bob Dylan. It’s time we revisit “Blowin’ in the Wind”, and it seems
appropriate to have the version sung by Stevie Wonder at Dylan’s 50th
Anniversary concert.
A couple of Sundays ago, a friend left a surprise gift at my front
door. There was a beautiful silver bracelet, as well as a bunch of flowers. I
put them out on my dining table straight away:
And more than a week later they’re still brightening my dinners
and my life in general:
Which, I assure you, I need, given what’s going on in the world.
What a grace they are.
The past few days of fuckery from the White House have managed to
drive the covid19 pandemic from the headlines. Or at least they’ve pushed the
pandemic headlines further down the scroll.
However, I was reminded on one of my walks yesterday what the new “normal”
is: instead of rosaries, fuzzy dice or silk-flower leis, people are hanging their face
masks on their rearview mirrors:
When I graduated from high school, the ceremony was held in the
Rose Bowl.
Yes, that Rose Bowl.
We shared the field with two other Pasadena high schools and the
community college, but still, it was kind of a big deal. Not that anyone’s
family could pick anyone out of the see of caps and gowns, but there was a
ceremony, "Pomp and Circumstance" and receiving of diplomas and the whole megillah.
I thought about that when I came across this sign planted in front
of one of the neighborhood houses:
I also thought of the millions of high school and college seniors
who can’t even have the grands over for dinner or let off steam with their
peers now that this stage of their lives has passed. They’ve got to settle for
a sign in the front yard. Such strange times.
I confess that I’m at a bit of a loss for Gratitude Monday today.
The world spent the weekend watching American cities roil with rage against
systemic racism, seeing cops arresting and shooting (rubber bullets) at credentialed
journalists and firing tear grenades at peaceful protesters, witnessing white right-wing extremist agents provocateurs breaking commercial windows and urging protesters to loot,
and listening to Cadet Bonespurs bluster at NASA about what he will or will not
tolerate.
More than Motor City’s burning, folks; shit’s real for sure.
It’s like I’m reliving 1968, only via the internet instead of
B&W TV. We’re 52 years on from Martin and Bobby, and 28 from Rodney King
and we haven’t moved discernibly forward. We've got police riots all over the country.
Well, there was a moment, in Minneapolis, where Mennonites showed
up in solidarity with the protestors, and I was reminded of the Catholic
priests at the forefront of civil rights marches, and of the Quakers who held
silent vigil outside the main Post Office in Pasadena every Wednesday for years
to protest the Vietnam War.
I was also reminded of a quote by the late-Nineteenth Century
Irish professor G.F. Fitzgerald—it was about Britain’s Irish “problem”, but swap
out White America for England, and Black America for the Irish, and it seems
pretty damned appropriate for these days.
“England, as we all know, never understands Ireland; the English
are a dull people compared to the Irish, and require a tremendous row before
than can be moved to do anything. Then, after we have blown up Clerkenwell
Prison, or something of that sort, England rubs her hands and says, ‘the Irish
want something,’ and flings us a new pair of shoes. The shoes, as a rule, don’t
happen to fit us, and when we still grumble she gets angry and sais, ‘They are
a good pair of shoes, and it is your own fault if they don’t fit; you are a
most ungrateful, provoking creature, never satisfied,’ and turns back to her
own business till we make another row.”
Well, chew on that, if you like. Today I’m grateful for the
Mennonites showing up in peace and support. We need tens off thousands more of White America to show up and march with our brothers and sisters of color, or this is never going to change.
