Blood at the root

It is a sad fact that the ideals enshrined in the founding of the United States—liberty, equality, justice—were for white men only. And that for more than two centuries those ideals have been largely understood—de jure and de facto—to be for white people only. And that those white men are holding on to that understanding with a death grip.

Mostly the deaths of people of color.

So today—as most of the country prepares to celebrate Independence Day—I’m giving you a quintessentially American song about a quintessentially American pastime.

Sung by Billie Holiday.

White privilege

The other morning on my #homework walk, I noticed a Fairfax County cop car parked at the far end of a church parking lot. The car had its lights on, which is why I twigged to it, but it didn’t move during the time I was there. I reckoned its occupant was eating breakfast, or maybe having a kip.

But I also considered how different I might have reacted if I weren’t a middle-aged white woman viewing it. I also considered what the cop might have done were I not a middle-aged white woman.

So I did some bolshie photo-taking of some of the rose bushes at the edge of the lot, taking my sweet time about it:

I finished off by ostentatiously taking a shot of the car, too.

Because I just felt pissed off about the state of our country.

Hey, daddy!

On my way back from the dentist on Monday, this car pulled in front of me. I spent a good portion of the trip home considering what plays on words it might involve.

Still no joy

A couple of weeks ago I reported that there was no joy in Mudville—playgrounds were off-limits to anyone who couldn’t open a gate.

Well, the DO NOT CROSS tape has been removed from the play lots of the People’s Republic, and the sign saying tot lots are closed has been taken down from the still-open gate.

And people are still pigs.

Gratitude Monday: Twilight on the path

Last week was absolutely manic at work, topped off by a Microsoft-Atlassian failure to communicate, sprinkled with a complete Atlassian screw up. Usually, I can slope off early one weekday morning to get groceries, but couldn’t even do that; I had to go out on Saturday, which is not my favorite thing, what with idiots thinking they’re in some sort of plexiglass bubble that enables them to shove in front of you to grab something off the shelf.

Well, but as I hauled my sorry ass out the door later than I’d intended, I came across some environmental additions created by the kids next door. And it stopped me short.

They also amended their mother’s parking space, which I captured later in the day:

Evidently they’ve been reading (or binge-watching) Twilight. But even though the sources of the quotes are fictional, the words are still worthy of contemplation. Especially the futility of being a rainbow to the color blind.

That’s my gratitude for today—sidewalk art. I take beauty wherever I find it.