Category: Change

When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Share a Meal

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Justice O’Connor, who died two years ago on this day, was an advocate for informal lunches at the Supreme Court. Even Clarence Thomas, who’d stayed away from the events, succumbed to her invitations. 

O’Connor and her fellow female justice, RBG, advanced equal rights for all. There are four women on the bench now. It was probably easier for them to get there thanks to the two women who went before them. Here’s hoping they will ease the way to full equality for others. Here’s hoping they will make those SCOTUS lunches welcoming for all as O’Connor did in her day.

Sandra Day O’Connor died on December 1, 2023. Ruth Bader Ginsberg died on September 18, 2020.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sisters_in_Law_(book)

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In the Year 2076

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The year the US turned three hundred, Marcy traded lace for leather boots with the cobbler, whose daughter was getting married. Handy with a thread and needle, Marcy shared her flea market stall with her friend, Anne, who wove linen and wool.

During thirty years of a government shut down, the country had split into separate economic and political entities. The original thirteen colonies loosely allied under a charter to pursue a more perfect union. The Midwest showed folks how to be “Minnesota Nice.” Washington pursued politics as usual while the rest got on with the politics of the practical.

In Retreat

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Lily had a cup of coffee and a bowl of granola after an hour of yoga. The beach was a ten minute walk away. She didn’t gag at the disagreeable smell of rotting algae. She reveled in it. The  sight of plovers hopping along, their beaks poking the wet sand to find breakfast, delighted her. The sunrise shone behind them.

She was beginning to enjoy the solitary days, the solo walks, the freedom to set her own schedule. A month after her partner passed, she had found  a natural habitat where death and life mingled and new mixed with old.

Contemplating the Future with a Roof over My Head.

Photo by Peter Kessler 2025

Men with pitchforks remove the roof. Outside, tarpaper shreds cover the ground around the house.  A few shingles made it down, too. In one short week, our roof will be guaranteed to last for another 30 years.  

I will be 104 when this new roof is old enough to be replaced. I’ll be barely hanging on, more likely gone.

My children plan to keep the house. Such faith. In thirty years this house could stand on a desert or a flood plain. There might be no house. It’s silly to speculate. The future is not guaranteed; but the roof is.

In a Post-Truth World, Nothing Matters ‘Til It Does.

Scream (1895) Edvard Munch by The Metropolitan Museum of Art is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0
Apprentice reruns, Quanon posts, bread and circuses.
The Freedom Caucus thrives in a MAGA echo chamber.
Imagine them in heated debate over dancing angels on pinheads.
Rapture them up, please, before it’s too late.
Deliver us, oh Lord, from this theocracy.

They’re loyal to a simple truth: Truth Social.
Grifts, disruption, distortions, self-serving tripe, confounding
Crap written by cowardly charlatans.
What they say is different
From what they do.

His Darkness says, “I am your retribution. The future belongs to us.”
He lies.
Lured by a MagaVerse siren song,
They believe him. 
They break things with no thought for rebuilding.

It’s Been Nearly 250 Years

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It’s time to come together. It’s been nearly 250 years since those guys in Philly signed that treasonous document, declared those self-evident truths. Yesiree, we’ve had a good run. Gone from hick colonies to hip leader of the free world. Freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of association. Exercised any rights lately?

Rights are a muscle. You need a dig-your-heels-in protest mentality when rights are taken away. Don’t take your rights for granted. Check to see, empty your pockets, are your rights still there? What about your neighbor’s and their neighbors? We need each other in these times.

Creating a Movement on Flag Day

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Signs from the 7×7 stand-in along El Camino from Palo Alto to Sunnyvale: “IKEA has better cabinets,” “No Kings, More Queens,” “…and to the republic for which it stands…,” “We can all hang together, or we shall surely hang separately- Ben Franklin.”

A beat up World War II jeep sporting a sign: “Fighting facism since 1943.” Honks and thumbs up galore from cars decked out with flags and signs declaring love and approval for the exuberant display of democracy filling the streets. This is what democracy looks like. To would be dictators and syncophants: the people have found a voice.

Another Big, Beautiful Wall

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DOGE riffed Congress. “They’re a waste of space.” The ACLU protested to the Supremes and lost 5-4, in an unsigned opinion. Executive orders are now the law of the land.

His majesty, Donald I, plans to build a “Big, Golden Wall” in the oval office as a backdrop for signing executive orders. He led a column of minions wheeling suitcases filled with gold bars from Fort Knox. He declared, “Forget gold; Bit Coin is the new normal.”

Next up: inefficiency in the court system. DOGE sent layoff notices to all federal court judges, including the Supremes. There are no appeals.

Ode to Kohnan

Photo by Monica McHenney
His eyes were open and stayed that way
Aware and dignified, right up to the end.
A mensch, reserved, not prone to delay, 
Loyal to a fault, on that you can depend.

Saucy he was in the final hours,
Demanded kibble, a last meal at midnight.
Poured out love, licks, and reassurance.

Despite his weak body, his power
Did prolong the end, enough so that we might
Say woof, shed our tears, take one last dance.

He knew it was the end. We, quite sure, thought that he would rally.
He lay quiet, dignified, a friend and most trusted ally.



A Quiet Morning

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Exiled to the backyard,
While inside the termite inspector inspects,
Kohnan limps to the door,
Pleads with liquid brown eyes.
He doesn’t bark; has no energy for that these days.

“He’s friendly.” 
The inspector nods. Kohnan sidles in quietly.
He’s drawn blood.
He can be protective, even with friends.
Not now. Mornings he wakes up slowly in a fog of old age.

He’s at my feet, 
Moving his head to the sound of steps in the attic.
The sun falls in patterns, 
Warms my legs, his arthritic hips.
Warmth is welcome to us both, we’re grateful spring is coming fast.