This morning I woke, ready to begin cooking for Thanksgiving. My mind, unfortunately, decided to clasp onto the myriad of issues we are facing as a nation. I didn’t celebrate the 4th of July this year. I’m having similar feelings—more intense emotions—towards this holiday.
Until recently, I kept my political views off social media. They’re none of anyone’s business, right? The fear of my readers disagreeing and impacting my book sales, or worse, lashing out at me verbally, kept my tongue uncomfortably planted, teeth gnawing until a coppery tang filled my mouth. But remaining quiet didn’t serve me or the country well.
The reality is, my singular voice is loud and necessary.
As I prepare to chop, sauté, and stir, I’m not in my kitchen. I’m with my neighbors to the north, living in tents, waiting for the FEMA aid to put a roof over their heads, doubting it will ever be enough. I worry for the children and elderly, fighting the cold nights. Watching my two fur babies as they relax in the comfort of warm my room, I mourn the loss of human life, beloved pets, and wild life that met their ends engulfed in unforgiving flames. And I mentally rage against the one person who has the power to make it better for the living victims but instead spews ridiculous and unfair accusations at them.
Yes, I am speaking of the POTUS.
My thoughts move down to the boarders where our troops gather to sit and wait for asylum seekers to arrive. I cringe at the cost of keeping them there when that money could bring relief to the displaced in California. I’m with our military members who are missing Thanksgiving with their families due to a political maneuver (now largely forgotten, as it’s no longer needed) to frighten voters during the primaries. My heart shatters at the irony of remembering how our forefathers and foremothers came to this land and were welcomed by the indigenous people (who were later killed in mass genocide). And now the President demonizes those who come here for the same freedoms that are dwindling by the day under his administration.
And that is when my anger flares over voter suppression. I wonder how we will dig ourselves out of the US sized hole our unscrupulous political representatives have dug in order to remain in corrupt power and tainted wealth. How can they be “of the people and by the people” when they have been entrenched in their government seats for decades? How can they have true empathy for those who are suffering? How can’t they have true empathy for those who are suffering?
My stomach churns thinking of the attempt to silence the press while feigning interest in stopping children from being hunted in their schools by automatic weaponry. Tomorrow the Parkland parents who lost their children will sit down to Thanksgiving for the first time without them.
The sadness turns to rage as I listen to the President lash out against what I hold to be good and honest. There’s no need to go into detail here. They are too numerous to list. It happens on a daily basis. Pay attention!
Maybe it’s more important than ever to celebrate the things that once made America GOOD. They might be lost, but I have to believe they aren’t irretrievable. If I allow myself to dive into the grief, the anger, the sickening feeling I get when I watch the news, I won’t be able to pick up the can opener and begin to move forward.
And it’s as simple as that first step—opening that can and remembering how lucky I am to hold it in my hands. Thanksgiving dinner will sit in front of me—a plate of turkey and all the fixings. And I’ll eat with gratitude.
*If you disagree with my personal opinions and want to lash out, that’s fine. This is my blog, shared on my social media. Take your rant to your own pages.
Until recently, I kept my political views off social media. They’re none of anyone’s business, right? The fear of my readers disagreeing and impacting my book sales, or worse, lashing out at me verbally, kept my tongue uncomfortably planted, teeth gnawing until a coppery tang filled my mouth. But remaining quiet didn’t serve me or the country well.
The reality is, my singular voice is loud and necessary.
As I prepare to chop, sauté, and stir, I’m not in my kitchen. I’m with my neighbors to the north, living in tents, waiting for the FEMA aid to put a roof over their heads, doubting it will ever be enough. I worry for the children and elderly, fighting the cold nights. Watching my two fur babies as they relax in the comfort of warm my room, I mourn the loss of human life, beloved pets, and wild life that met their ends engulfed in unforgiving flames. And I mentally rage against the one person who has the power to make it better for the living victims but instead spews ridiculous and unfair accusations at them.
Yes, I am speaking of the POTUS.
My thoughts move down to the boarders where our troops gather to sit and wait for asylum seekers to arrive. I cringe at the cost of keeping them there when that money could bring relief to the displaced in California. I’m with our military members who are missing Thanksgiving with their families due to a political maneuver (now largely forgotten, as it’s no longer needed) to frighten voters during the primaries. My heart shatters at the irony of remembering how our forefathers and foremothers came to this land and were welcomed by the indigenous people (who were later killed in mass genocide). And now the President demonizes those who come here for the same freedoms that are dwindling by the day under his administration.
And that is when my anger flares over voter suppression. I wonder how we will dig ourselves out of the US sized hole our unscrupulous political representatives have dug in order to remain in corrupt power and tainted wealth. How can they be “of the people and by the people” when they have been entrenched in their government seats for decades? How can they have true empathy for those who are suffering? How can’t they have true empathy for those who are suffering?
My stomach churns thinking of the attempt to silence the press while feigning interest in stopping children from being hunted in their schools by automatic weaponry. Tomorrow the Parkland parents who lost their children will sit down to Thanksgiving for the first time without them.
The sadness turns to rage as I listen to the President lash out against what I hold to be good and honest. There’s no need to go into detail here. They are too numerous to list. It happens on a daily basis. Pay attention!
Maybe it’s more important than ever to celebrate the things that once made America GOOD. They might be lost, but I have to believe they aren’t irretrievable. If I allow myself to dive into the grief, the anger, the sickening feeling I get when I watch the news, I won’t be able to pick up the can opener and begin to move forward.
And it’s as simple as that first step—opening that can and remembering how lucky I am to hold it in my hands. Thanksgiving dinner will sit in front of me—a plate of turkey and all the fixings. And I’ll eat with gratitude.
*If you disagree with my personal opinions and want to lash out, that’s fine. This is my blog, shared on my social media. Take your rant to your own pages.
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