<"So You Just Bought That?"
The Reckoner>
<i.>
These firecrackers sure are poppin', going off at about one per minute, at least. Makes sense, I guess, though our humble little town proceeded with its usual all-out display (having canceled it last year). Seems like there'd be lots of pent-up energy to unleash, now that every jurisdiction is trying to put the pandemic in its rearview mirror.
The Squawker and I felt pent up all weekend, not having ventured out since last Friday, when we shopped for some random household items, plus a few grocery items (turkey and ham lunch meat, a few Diet Pepsi two liters, a pound and a half of chicken, fresh rolls, stuff like that).
Early Sunday evening, we looked at each other, and said, "What the heck? The mercury says 81, but there's nothing else going on. Might as well go out."
We stepped outside. The Squawker put a hand out to fan the air. "It's pretty dry. I can breathe out in this, I think."
Off we go, down the street to Dollar General. It's a welcome replacement for the one in midtown that we used to visit. Rumor blamed its closure on rampant employee theft, but we missed it (and the staff, sticky-fingered or not). Who doesn't like a bargain, right?
Squawker and I head to different aisles. "You want pop, get it here." I smile and nod. Normally, I'd think of heading across the street to Matthew's, where I could score some Diet Cherry Pepsi, my liquid mud of choice. But I'm too tired, honestly.
Normally, these details don't make much impression, but since we're still technically in the tail end of a pandemic, they loom larger than a four-story building in your mind. OK, what else? Do we need toilet paper? Squawker grabs a 24-pack on the way inside.
Do we need laundry detergent? I grab a 150-ounce monster blue container for $4.50. There, that should keep us for awhile, I tell myself. We always run out of it, anyway.
What else? Let's see here. I grab a roll of black duct tape. I'm using a fair amount of it for my art projects. The current roll's more than halfway down. Better grab another. I toss it into the cart.
I scoop up a package of fudge Graham crackers for a buck-fifty. Squawker grabs a couple packages of pens, for some different art projects. Both of us are doing a fair number of them lately, so it makes sense. When you're cooped up inside so much, time passes faster if you're working some creative impulse or other.
We shell out $42.20 for it all, and load our purchases into the car. "Do you want to go for a drive?" Squawker asks.
"Oh, you mean, drive around a little bit more?" The Squawker nods. "Sure, why not? I'm not ready to go home right now, anyway."
Squawker stops to look up at the sky. "You know something? I really miss the birds. I'm seeing a lot less of them lately. Look at the telephone wires...they're practically empty."
"Yeah, it sucks, doesn't it?" I nod, but I don't look up.
The Squawker loves to paint birds, but lately, we've been borrowing those from books, not actual photos. Moments like these make you feel part of a time that has no beginning and no end.
<"Me & My KN95":
The Reckoner>
<ii.>
Soon, we find ourselves cruising through downtown, which looks a bit fuller and livelier than it's been in a long time. Michigan's mask mandate expired a couple weeks ago, so not as many people are wearing them. That won't apply to us, though. We're keeping ours on, for now.
I've never been one for premature victory laps. Remember President George W. Bush, preening and strutting on that oversized aircraft carrier, as he thumped his chest, and declared, "Mission accomplished?" Exactly.
Just as we begin our three-block cruise, I find myself pulling up behind the statutory gleaming black BMW that we're seeing so often here. "Wow, it's got a temporary tag," I point out. "That means they just bought it."
"Well, you better not hit it, then," Squawker responds, with a chuckle or two.
"Wouldn't even dream of it," I smile. "As much as I'd like to..." Even more predictably, we pass a couple of black and white BMWs, tucked away in their parking spots. Where's all that money coming from? I wonder. Who's still snapping up these things, like they're going out of style?
Our three-block cruise over, we agree to call it a day, and come home. I still can't get one thought off my mind, though. This morning, during our weekly service, we heard a social justice driven sermon that asked, "Is America unredeemable?"
It's a fair question, especially after the fallout of a week that's seen good fortune showered on the worst of the worst, America's Predator (sorry, "America's Dad"), Bill Cosby (sprung from prison on a technicality), and Derek Chauvin, who slowly suffocated George Floyd like some deranged African rock python (he got 22.5 years, instead of the 30-year stretch his prosecutors sought, meaning -- so he'll likely out in 15 years).
That's before I get to the 6-3 Supreme Court ruling that allowed Arizona's latest heinous voting restrictions to stand, in yet another sign of our democracy getting run through the shredder. It's all been enough to make me say...
The long arc
bends toward justice...
My ass!
<iii.>
The only good news last week came from federal judges in Indiana and Maryland, who blocked those states from racing to join their two dozen-odd, mostly Republican-controlled brethren in cutting off the $300 additional federal unemployment benefit, the only lifeline that's kept so many millions sane through the haze of COVID-19.
At any rate, it's good to see people pushing back, instead of dutifully consulting the manual, as the aging Democratic Party leadership so often does. Indiana claims it can't pay the extra $300, having already opted out, while Maryland remains on the hook, at least until Governor Larry Hogan appeals for a suitable escape route.
Hogan's response typifies the befuddlement of the political classes that have had it their own way for too long: "Thousands of businesses have no ability to get people back to work. We've got more jobs available than ever before in the history of our state. People that really need the help are still going to get unemployment benefits. It's the extended bonus $300 that's keeping people home."
Those that "really need the help?" "More jobs available than ever before?" "No ability to get people back to work?" Sounds so Reagan-esque, isn't it? If only the "truly needy" would buckle down, they'd see the error of their ways, at last. Such statements reflect the mindset of someone who's never worked 50-plus hours, and still couldn't pay their bills, never pulled a double shift, nor wound up trapped in a permanent cycle of on-call availability without on-call pay.
For the likes of Mr. Hogan, Independence Day apparently means avoiding any kind of introspective analysis (Hey, why are they staying home, exactly? Maybe they're tired of being treated like crap). For the millions wanting to avoid dying on the hamster wheel, it means something far different, and far darker. Independence days, real or imagined, are funny like that. --The Reckoner
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