911

Lughnasa                                                              College Moon

911 call. Police. Then fire emergency. Then a fire truck. Finally, the last one to show up. The ambulance. Not often anymore Kate gets to showcase her sang froid during a crisis, but she did it today as the handyman working on the front porch suddenly threw up and became light headed.

Kate brought him something for his stomach and noticed a gray cast to his skin, sweat, too. Running down the diagnostic tree she settled on arrhythmia as most likely. She took his blood pressure with my blood pressure monitor and got very low numbers. That decided her on the 911 call.

He said he wanted to go home. Kate told the emts, hospital. He was taken to the E.R. Later his wife, Pam, called to say he had just gone into surgery for a ruptured appendix. Much better than the other possibilities.

 

 

Music for Labor Day

Lughnasa                                                                         College Moon

Well, now I know if anybody comes and tries to steal our front porch, Gertie will let us know. Dave Scott is here today doing outside maintenance aimed at getting the best price out of our house. He’s replacing the front porch, painting and spiffing it up generally. While he uses saws and drills, Gertie barks. Once in a while she’ll run to the door and growl. This means she’s running toward the danger she senses.

Most of the morning I packed maps, sorted file folders, got three more boxes of books packed. Two green, one red.

Still listening to outlaw country, thinking about it as a kind of working class male protest music. Take this job and shove it, by David Allen Cole is an example. The figure in the song fantasizes about losing his wife and going to his boss with the news. He’d tell the boss, he says, that’d he lost the reason he was working so the boss can take this job and shove it. Another song echoes a t-shirt I saw yesterday at the fair, Protect My Civil Rights, Gun Owners Alliance. In this the song the man flies two flags on his property: the red white and blue and the rattle snake with “Don’t Tread on Me.” Sums up his world, he says.

Those of us welcomed into the world of white male middle and upper middle class privilege at birth, especially those of us medicare card in the wallet types, have trouble appreciating the powerlessness experienced by those who struggle first to get a minimum wage job, then keep it. Success often means long hours in hot or dusty working conditions with little control over bathroom breaks, lunch times. Too, the work is repetitive and mind-killing. It’s no wonder that those trapped in such a work world often listen to outlaw country.

You might wonder, I suppose, why I like it. I gravitate toward those willing to stand up to the situation they find themselves in. It’s why I’ve done a lot of labor union politics over the years and why I still believe in the labor movement. Whenever the corporation has the capital and the power, the person working for wages (not talking here about white collar workers like doctors, lawyers, engineers, computer programmers, managers-though there are situations, doctors being a good one, where working conditions for even these highly educated folks are bad.) is at a distinct power disadvantage as long they remain unrepresented by a union.

Even in a time when unions are in decline, their logic has never been stronger. Just witness the home-care health workers vote this week here in Minnesota. As a potential user of their services in the future, I want these folks well-paid and well-trained. That will only happen with a union.

So, happy labor day weekend.

 

Ropes Slacken More

Lughnasa                                                               College Moon

At the State Fair yesterday. Realized, as with the garden, how much my thoughts of next year and the year after were tied up in what I did today. I no longer went through the Agriculture building with a keen eye for new information, stuff I wouldn’t have found otherwise. Say, a new apple. Maybe a new way to compost or treat troublesome weeds. A different method for keeping bees healthy.

Also, that building where local groups like the Sierra Club present information, help you connect to networks in state. Didn’t even visit it.

That’s why, when Kate and I both realized we’d gone as far our legs were going to carry us, we hit the skyride for a trip over the fairgrounds and back to the express bus lot.

Still, there were memories there, of years volunteering at the DFL booth or the Sierra Club booth or, long ago, as a State Fair chaplain (mostly monitoring lost kids. though, come to think of it, I wonder how folks would feel about that these days?). Cheese curds. Foot long hot dogs. I can even remember drinking beer at the fair. That’s reaching pretty far back into my Minnesota past.

The sense of pulling back, pulling away, of not-quite any longer a full Minnesotan took something from the fair for me. It was not mine in the same sense it had been before. Not as much a shared experience, like the weather, that helps define Minnesota. Not shared fully because part of me has gone ahead to the mountains. To the Great Western National Stockshow.

The circus tent has considerable slack in the ropes. The rings and the bleachers have been packed. The moment when the elephants are called to strike the big tent? Not yet. Not for a while. But we don’t want to let them wander too far away. They will be needed.

Back to the packing. The end of book packing for right now (the bookshelf immediately beside the desk will remain loaded until this room has to be vacated for staging.) is in sight. Perhaps today. Then there are files and art objects, office supplies, novel manuscripts. Still a lot to do, but a lot less than existed three months ago.