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Monthly Archives: June 2020

I have kept quiet up to this point on the Black Lives Matter protests. I fully support the protests and have not been quiet about that at all. My social media shows that clearly. But I have hesitated to add my voice to the cacophony of voices available on the topic. I am an educated white male and didn’t feel that it was my place to say or do anything other than provide silent support. This movement does not need a white savior but should be lead by those who have needed the voice for so long. They should get the attention and the platform and the focus. My experience is so removed from the pain and crushing scrutiny our neighbors endure every day of their lives, that I was not sure I had anything at all to add to the conversation.

However, as a writer, I have a talent and an audience that many of the voiceless of this movement have no access to. A friend of mine pointed that out. She said that writers have an obligation to be the voices of the voiceless and to speak to our audiences in a language that the movement may not be able to speak to.

So, from the view of a white man on the privileged side of the tracks: Protest!!! Grind it all to halt. The system we have is not working and must be rebuilt. But you can’t do that while you’re still clinging to the old. I know this will alienate or freak out many of my relatives and readers, but I’m okay with that. I would rather be alone on the right side of history than hang out with the losers on the wrong side.

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe that All Lives Matter. But you can’t really say that the system works that way and until it does, the system is broken. When a white criminal and a black criminal receive vastly different police interactions and prison sentences. You cannot say that All Lives Matter. When the police routinely choke and beat black youths. You cannot say that All Lives Matter. A police officer pulling their gun should be the very last resort in any situation, not the first.

If you actually believe that All Lives Matter, then you should be in the streets protesting too. Because our justice system does not believe that All Lives Matter has demonstrated that time and time again and again and again.

It will only stop when we as a nation demand that All Lives really do Matter, every one of them. That is not what we have today. And that is why I support all of the protests.

My wife, Sheri, and I went hiking this weekend. We hit two different trails around St Louis. One we had used before and explored a new one. We enjoy hiking because it’s a mix of exercise and nature. I’m not a fan of staring at a wall or an idiot box while exercising. In fact, I would usually prefer the blank wall if given a choice. However, since it was a beautiful summer day we chose to go hiking. We even saw a very young fawn still with its spots and was able to get rather close. The mom was nowhere to be seen and at one point the little one was calling her, so we scrammed.

Anyway, we shared the trails with a number of people, both on foot and mountain-bike. But everyone was so completely lovely and polite, stepping off the path to let others by and greeting each other. It was a nice change from the usual city-people grump we experience.

Sheri commented on how polite people were and I said that assholes don’t hike. Upon reflection, I think that is generally true. Her is my proof: Hikers are usually nature lovers. Nature lovers are usually very empathetic people. And empathetic people are generally very polite due to their empathy. Therefore, nature lovers are generally very polite and caring people, i.e., assholes don’t hike.

See… No Assholes!!!

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I’m sorry about the crappy picture, but I took this years ago on a trip on the Chicago subway system with my wife. Chicago has the best public transportation system in the US in my opinion. It is easy to navigate and doesn’t smell like piss at all.

But we ended up sitting across the aisle from this little button and speaker on one ride and my wife was fascinated by it.

“Could we really talk to the driver?” she asked multiple times.

“Uh, sure…” I said. “Don’t touch it.”

Which, of course, was the wrong thing to say, because now all she could do was stare at. I watched her lick her lips and reach out toward it.

“Don’t touch it.”

“But…”

“You still can’t touch it,” I repeated.

“But I just imagine a little train conductor sitting behind that grill waiting for someone to touch the button,” she said.

You have to understand that my wife and I both have very creative imaginations and tend to let them roam on occasion. Our travels are almost like improv theatre at times.  We let ourselves get crazy. So, I proceeded to play along.

“And do you know what he’s going to tell you?” I said. “Don’t touch the button!”

Yeah, people were looking at us weird, which I think is an accomplishment in Chicago.

She still wants to touch the button.

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My wife, Sheri, thinks a nice yard is relaxing and gives her a place to find contentment. I agree with her, it is relaxing. But having a yard project completed is even more relaxing. In my case I stripped out yard down to dirt and rock and started over. Now we have grass growing, paths completed, flowers planted and replanted, and even a birdbath.

I feel complete and peaceful now. My landlord will also be thrilled. Yes…that is what I said. I spent months of weekend labor and >$1000 on a yard that is not mine. All for the sake of my wife’s sanity and contentment. She has been forced to work from home for two months, while I’ve continued going to my essential industry job every day. I haven’t had any ‘lockdown’ days. So when I get home she is ready to get out or climb the walls. She needed something to spend her pent up energy on and she chose the yard.

I want to make clear that she does NOT have a green thumb, by any means. She likes flowers, and pretty plants, and even vegetable gardens, but she has little skill or luck with them. When we go to our local garden center the ferns and hibiscuses shake and shiver as she approaches. She is the ‘widow-maker’ of ferns. She loves them and waters them and moves them into the sun and out of the sun and talks to them and then they still die. So every spring out trip to the garden center for a new troop of plants is much like a prisoner selection for the gulag. It is a short one way trip. Always.

I’ve joked with her about just planting silk or plastic flowers. Which just makes her laugh. Apparently her grandmother actually did that and even water them. For years, my wife thought they were real. So, I believe that her lack of plant skills is hereditary.

I dislike yard work in any form, so am willing to support her yearly death march to keep her happy. I absolutely do enjoy a good yard and beautiful flowers, so if I have to continue to be the undertaker and bury the corpses of each years batch of volunteers, I will do that. In fact, I will bury whatever I need to to keep the Goddess happy. Mostly because I’m afraid of what other projects or interests she would find to spend her energy on. I have no desire to start square-dancing, or bowling league or stockcar racing or competitive tatooing. I am a simple man that wants a complete yard with as little of my own labor as possible. 

This year has turned into kind of a bust in the no-labor plan, but I do have a nice yard now and a very happy wife. So, overall, mission accomplished.