The Apostrophe Blog
these bleak, dispiriting days since the wretched outcome of November 5, 2024. Here is the penultimate bouquet from my front yard dahlia farm. One week from today, this year’s deconstruction begins: cutting down the stalks, laying out the plastic to cover the tubers in the ground, then bark mulch on top of that to (hopefully) keep them from freezing over the wet, winter months until mid-March when we will uncover them to grow again.
Right now it is good to have these humble tasks to attend to. Right now it is good to live in this lucky, blue state and feel (for the moment) a bit shielded from the madness that is clearly upon this godforsaken land. Right now I do not need any talking-head blowhards, any pundits in a bubble in Washington, D.C. to attempt to explain to me what the hell has gone so totally wrong. This is a nation filled with aggrieved, angry, and armed (mostly) white people who clearly choose white supremacy over decency, empathy, and lovingkindness time and time again. It is our history, our fundamental (perhaps one could even say constitutional?) DNA. Our disregard for the vulnerable in our midst is a pox upon the character of this country. Shame on us. Shame, shame, shame on us.
Interests: Reading, writing, not arithmetic. The art and craft of poetry. Photography. Vegetable and flower gardening especially heirloom bulbs and dahlias. Movies in real theatres. Theatre on real stages. Art in real galleries. Crossword puzzles and, of course, Wordle. Singer-songwriters like Aimee Mann and Patti Griffin. All kinds of music especially 1930s jazz. Venice, Italy! The Dude abides.
- Life Going By in a Blur… - December 17, 2024
- Silent Morning, Unbuttoned Thoughts Rattling Around - December 6, 2024
- Publication News: “These Miles to My River” - December 1, 2024
