Oh, look! I'm rage-mute-so-writing again! Guns, abortion, a broken democracy.

Ah, yes. Last time I wrote, not even a month ago, women were losing rights left and Right. Yesterday, the “very fine” misogynist white religious jackass governor of Oklahoma SUPER took away Oklahoman women’s rights by banning all abortion from fertilization on. Do you know that literally no one knows when fertilization happens? Do you know that most women have no idea they are pregnant for at least six weeks unless they demand and pay for a super-sensitive hormone test?

I found out that I was pregnant with Oliver that way. I had not ovulated regularly or at all in years, desperately wanted a second child, and was trying everything under the sun to regulate myself: pills, hormones, cupping, acupuncture, morning temperature readings, warming foods. I also had an out-of-network doctor because Tom’s company paid for Cadillac care.

When my super-sensitive, private-GYN-administered hormone test came back, I was at the gym. I raced outside to try and hear the results. “You are barely registering as pregnant,” she said. “But, you seem to be pregnant.” That smidgen of hope is Oliver, but it just as easily could have been a false positive, a to-be miscarriage, or any of another outcome.

I was lucky that that cluster of cells was ok and hung on. I was sick as shit for at least 14 weeks because I had to take daily progesterone to try to ensure that the pregnancy made it through the first trimester. I had a 2-year-old at home and a hard-working husband. At 8 months and two weeks, my water broke as I read on the couch early in the morning with that almost-three-year-old.

Jack asked, “Mommy, why did you pee on me?” I went to the hospital, leaking everywhere, stopped progressing, was induced with pitocin, overreacted to said pitocin, was taken off the pitocin and told to walk, laid in pain while a nurse and an anesthesiologist argued OVER my body about “checking my progress” vs “administering more drug,” and finally gave birth to Ol at 4:16 that afternoon.

None of this is terribly germane to anything except A) pregnancy often takes a shit ton of effort, will, discomfort, sacrifice, hope, and luck, and B) women DO NOT go through this voluntarily, much less forcibly, to have their children shot to death in school classrooms and then receive nothing but vapid “thoughts and prayers” from cowardly, craven assholes who could do everything to prevent such slaughter but don’t.

Last month, just after my birthday, a friend and I went to Bethesda Tattoo to get our noses pierced. Simply making the appointments for our piercings took an insane amount of time and effort on the part of my friend who, by the way, has three children under 12. Let me tell you, if you don’t know, that Bethesda is super white and super wealthy. We weren’t trying to slink into a shady Claire’s for an illicit anything.

Upon arrival, we were asked to: wear masks, present AND upload both our driver’s licenses and Covid vaccination cards, sign and upload multiple waivers, choose implant-grade titanium jewelry, wait for said inert jewelry to be sterilized, have our noses sterilized, have the piercer’s hands and work area be sterilized, argue about placement on nose re: where the piercing would land, COMPROMISE about said placement because the piercer “wouldn’t put my name on” just any location, pay $150, AND swear to not remove our jewelry until July. This was in April. I am 46 years old. I was not trying to purchase drugs or a weapon. I simply wanted a sparkly stud in one nostril.

The fucker in Texas turned 18, quickly bought two assault rifles and kazillions of rounds of ammo, shot his grandmother in the face, and murdered 19 children and two teachers while the police did nothing, before, mercifully, being killed before more died. The entire massacre took less time than it took for me to get my right nostril willingly pierced.

I didn’t go through two pregnancies and the incredibly challenging, relentless work of parenthood since then, to work harder to get my goddamn nose pierced than keep my children safe at fucking school. And did I mention 2+ years of keeping everyone safe and alive during Covid?

I live in a blue state whose senators -Cardin and Van Hollen- despise the NRA and would never deign to take a cent from their murderous coffers. My representative -Raskin- speaks publicly and proudly, and has for many years, on behalf of gun control and the right of regular folks to life as gun owners have to firearms. I have it “good.” It doesn’t feel that way.

Six weeks ago, Oliver’s school went on lockdown because a nearby school was the target of a rogue shooter. Oliver attends one of the most prestigious, expensive, aware, and coddled schools in the whole goddamn world. I could not give two craps about its name or reputation. I share these details only because NO ONE is safe. Not any school, not any place, not for any amount of money or blue’ness or woke’ness or whatever. I happened to arrive at pick up just as the school was locking down; some of Oliver’s friends were locked inside for four hours, their parents told to stay away. The school did a great job, but they shouldn’t have had to be so brave and so strong on a Friday in the nation’s capital or anywhere. The kids shouldn’t have had to play games and hide in thickly-walled gyms and under desks while a mad guy with access to assault weapons and infinite ammo shot up the school just a few blocks away.

One of the teachers murdered at Robb Elementary (in Uvalde, TX) yesterday had a loving marriage of 24 years and four children. Her husband died last night of a heart attack. We can hope it was not prompted by grief and outrage and horror, but I think we all know that it was. Now, four children have no parents, so many parents have no children, a school and a community are forever traumatized, and we as a nation have to sit and watch while every single one of the GOP politicians again do nothing, whine about feeling attacked, and offer the emptiest, most offensive thoughts and prayers.

Houston, not 300 miles from Uvalde, is hosting the NRA’s annual convention starting tomorrow/today, depending on when you read this. It begins Friday, May 27, 2022, and TX governor Abbott, Flaccid Cancun, and Toxic Cheeto are all slated to speak. All still plan to speak and are likely going to be paid to do so. Houston is still hosting. None of them care. The NRA doesn’t care. The good guys with guns never do anything, either because good guys don’t have guns or because no one does or can stand up to a gleefully armed person hell bent on killing. The kids and teachers shouldn’t have to be the ones safeguarding themselves. And NO American leader should be continually okaying the fact that gun violence is the leading cause of death for American children.

Guns ARE the problem. Misogyny IS the problem. This country is broken. I want and am trying to leave.

Rage-mute so writing: SCOTUS and abortion

After many years of sitting daily in a beautiful chair that is really meant to be a rarely-used accent, I finally purchased a proper desk chair for my office. Though proper, it’s very chic. All green boucle and bowtie lines and midcentury lovely. Because I’m middle-aged, I also put a stylish lumbar pillow on it. I’m very pleased. (I am not pleased that I just had to zoom my screen to 110%, but whatever.)

I share this because I’ve been sitting in said chair for hours now, propped against said pillow, sputtering with fury that is so frothy and incandescent that when I placed fingertips to keyboard, I went blank for a moment and had to ground myself by taking a deep breath and focusing on something simple, physical, and present.

Alito’s draft opinion arguing for Roe v Wade to be overturned is a gut punch that we all knew was coming. Its arrival (via leak!) makes a hideous theoretical an even more hideous reality. Every friend I’ve spoken to today is a roiling cauldron of revulsion, rage, and “I told you so, Susan Fucking Collins.”

As you may have seen, old Susan today has expressed concern that “If this leaked draft opinion is the final decision…it would be completely inconsistent with what Justice Gorsuch and Justice Kavanaugh said in their hearings and in our meetings in my office.” Lisa M also expressed shock at being misled: “My confidence in the court has been rocked.”

I’m no politician or seer, but I and everyone I know knew that Gorsuch, Calendars, and Handmaid wouldn’t give two holy crucifixes about stare decisis when it came to Roe. Nor will they when it comes to overturning gay marriage (made law in Obergefell) and all other standing rights that don’t map with their extremist white, Catholic/Christian, heteronormative worldview. In short, they lied, under oath, during their confirmations. (Also, did Susan or Lisa or anyone in their party say anything when Droopy Dog McConnell stole the SCOTUS seat from Garland during Obama’s tenure? They did not.)

Alito’s opinion says that states can criminalize abortion with NO exemption for rape or incest. And because so many lawmakers and politicians appear wholly or willfully ignorant about basic science, some want there to not even be exemptions for the health or life of the mother. Observe what this terrifying fool from Oklahoma: said just last week:

"A child who is, in fact, living out part of his or her early life as an ectopic pregnancy is still a unique human being with its own DNA. I don't understand why we allow those children to be murdered."
—Okla Sen. Warren Hamilton (R-Ignorance)

Ectopic pregnancies are NEVER viable and without intervention, they will rupture and KILL the woman.

What this all means is forced pregnancy and forced birth. Can you imagine if your father raped your sister and she HAD to carry and give birth to that baby?

Just one day after Warren Hamilton opined about murdering ectopic fetuses, Ohio state rep, Jean Schmidt (R-Gilead), in response to a Democratic colleague’s hypothetical about a 13-year-old rape victim, said:

“It is a shame that it happens, but there’s an opportunity for that woman, no matter how young or old she is, to make a determination about what she’s going to do to help that life be a productive human being.”

That is sick and perverse beyond compare.

If Roe is overturned, the 13 states with trigger laws banning abortion will immediately put those into effect. Literally overnight, what was a legal right becomes an illegal crime. Five other states will revert to the bans they had in place pre-Roe. Those 18 states do not include Georgia, South Carolina, Florida, or Ohio, all of which will almost certainly institute similarly draconian laws stripping women of reproductive rights. The Guttmacher Institute believes that Montana, Nebraska, and Indiana will join the right-wing flank, and at that point, a full HALF of the United States will, essentially, be Gilead.

The governors of California and New York have already asserted that they will remain safe havens for abortion providers and those who need their services. But what happens if the Republicans manage to pass a national abortion ban? Without a constitutional guarantee that states can write and enforce their own laws—like the one we thought we had via Roe and the right to privacy—nowhere will be safe.

What the Republicans are resigning women to, in particular poor women and women of color, is evil and cruel. It is unconscionable. It’s not like America does a great job of feeding, educating, or caring for most kids anyway. We have the highest maternal mortality rate of any developed country, we do not offer much or any paid maternity and paternity leave. We don’t have universally affordable quality childcare. We use prisons as mental health holding pens for entirely too many suffering people. The healthcare system is, by and large, a mess. Does any of that sound pro-life to you? It’s not. It is disgraceful.

The Republicans and a really gross number of Christians have spent decades putting an overturn of Roe into place. Why do you think they’ve been gutting voting rights so deeply?

I really don’t feel much hope for American democracy. I hope I’m wrong, but I just don’t see much evidence to the contrary. Off to the Supreme Court to protest. Use your voices, y’all.

Almost 46

When you read this tomorrow, I’ll be celebrating #46. My wish was to spend my birthday in West Virginia gardening for no less than 72 hours. Having started yesterday afternoon, I am well on pace. My feet are sore, my cuticles mustn’t be seen by anyone, I have various blisters and bruises and chapped lips, but I couldn’t be happier. Life feels simple. The work feels meaningful, an investment in future seasons and faith in nature and soil and the always march towards life.

I can hear the goat babies calling from some pasture. They got their two-month vaccines today and were absolute weenies about those, but I held each one close and kissed their barny-smelling necks and tried not to get a horn to the cheek. The vet and I scheduled Clyde’s castration for late May. No need for him to hump his sisters or cousin, y’all. I suspect that Rambo, our other castrated male, will be glad for a compatriot.

Oliver and his friends have taken great interest in this castration, perhaps for obvious reasons. Ol, Zaid, and Harold began discussing said surgery in February, and just a week ago, I again overhead them arguing the merits of banding versus surgical testicular removal. The surgery is quicker but risks infection during recovery; the banding is an uncomfortable 4+ weeks after which Clyde’s then-leathery-prunes just fall off in the field. Zaid is particularly horrified by the balls-in-the-field option. Oliver vacillates. I’m not sure about Harold. I have scheduled surgery.

Beverly is the friendliest of the kids. She would be held and petted all day if you wanted to offer her such. Clyde wants to be brave, but so far he can only comfortably let me scratch his head, which he kindly bows towards me when he’s feeling courageous. Skipper and Millie must be tackled stealthily from behind if you want any 1-1 with them. They are all precious, soft bits of magic jumping sideways down hills, atop any available stump or bench, and even, today, into the boys’ saucer swing.

Apple and her daughter, Beverly

Clyde is so handsome

Right now, I have a chicken pot pie from the farmers market in the oven, and two stunning woodpeckers are pecking at a suet slab. It is windy, windy, and the wind chimes are caroling. I am feeling my hours in the garden, and I am thinking of my mom and sister, aunt Renee, Nanny, and her mother and sister, all of whom love the land like I do, all of whom were and are strong women and gifted gardeners, all of whom inspire me as I turn and till and plow and plant.

You simply cannot beat the colors of spring, particularly the greens. One may think the largest Crayola box overwrought, but when you pay attention to spring, you appreciate the effort of providing as many accurate crayons as possible to try and do the spectrum justice. Ages ago, in anticipation of this birthday-in-the-garden plan, I’d placed orders from Rare Roots, Prairie Nursery, and Eden Brothers (my favorite online nurseries). All arrived on schedule this week and I came to WV awash in native perennials: lupine, penstemon, false indigo, liatris, various monardas (aka bee balm), anemones, and on and on. I did also order some annuals; despite my preference for things that simply return reliably, I could not find a summer complete without zinnias, cosmos, dahlias, and cornflowers. They are all such happy flowers, and even though dahlias are annoyingly high maintenance, they’re worth it in spades.

Today, I also thought of my dad, also an avid gardener. He and I are alike in many ways, and our willingness to pay attention and time to the minuscule in a yard is, perhaps, one of our greatest commonalities. He will hand-weed a one square foot spot for hours. HOURS. So will I. I was hellbent on making a pea-gravel walking circle today, and while I could have bought bags of gravel, West Virginia is completely made of rock. So, if I’m patient enough to sift through the “dirt” for bits of stone, I have all the pea gravel I need. This is, perhaps, one reason I am so damn tired today. Picking through “dirt” for tiny crumbs sounds downright North Korean, for pete’s sakes. I confess to enjoying it for at least five hours today, and no, I don’t know what that says about me. I don’t really care.

The thing about life is that if you pay attention, you come to deeply know yourself and what you want and absolutely don’t want or care about. I may absolutely get my nose pierced in the next two weeks because I have always wanted a little nostril stud, and although I know my parents will be horrified (and probably my kids, too), I feel like I’m probably halfway through my life, so really, who cares? I can always take it out. Also, I’m studying Ukrainian. Who cares if relatively few speak it and the alphabet looks utterly unknowable? The Ukrainian people are incredible fighters, they love their animals, and they are just so boss. I mean, did you read about this woman? I could not in any way find success with Swedish or Irish, but Ukrainian is beautiful and largely pronounceable, and the letters are like delightful brain-teaser doodles, and I’m not going to let Д or Ж or ф or even Ю do anything but make me happy. Slava Ukraini!

Another thing about life is that if you pay attention, you realize it’s really short for too many people. People who could be you on any given day. So, live it. Live your life. America is well on its way to becoming a psychotic, anti-woman Christian theocracy, so I’m gonna pierce my nose now, exhaust myself via perennials, keep sending money to Ukraine, and also give a ride to safe healthcare to any woman who wants it. #reprorightsundergroundrailroad

I am now full from chicken pot pie, and my god am I sore. Tom and the boys regularly note that I overdo it in the yard, but there is infinity more space out here than at home, and not one thing served as obstacle today, so really, I did overdo it. But that’s ok. The mark of a great day outside is when you blow your nose and dirt comes out, or when you take off your boots and socks and your feet are brown with earth. Both happened tonight.

I’m soon to be 46 and my double daffodils are spectacular, the baby goats are precious beyond compare and I hid a box of Samoas in a cabinet several months ago and they are calling to me. Life can be so hard. It can really break your heart sometimes. So, live it. Channel the elders and fly your flag and be kind.

PS at a much later time: Based on a review of my calls, I seem, this morning, to have confidently ordered a shit ton of mulch for delivery tomorrow. Hahahahahahaha!