Yule and the Quarter Century Moon
Tuesday gratefuls: Oligarchs at play. That hat. Barron. He who would be king. -10 last night, 18 this morning. Ruth back in Boulder. Gentleman Mark teaching future engineers. Mary in Melbourne. Diane, healing. Me, on Shadow Mountain. Great Sol. Sunlight. Snow. Grass under the Snow. Voles. Rabbits. Chipmunks. Salamanders.
Sparks of Joy and Awe: Melania’s Hat
Kavannah 2025: Creativity
Kavannah this week: Appreciation of Opposition Haarecha shel machloket
One brief shining: Barron with his oiled and brushed back hair, much taller now, stood next to his mother and her visible disguise, she Rosemary to his Damien, behind them those powerful men come to lick the boots of the orange haired, fake tanned one: Tim Cook, Sundar Pichai, Mark Zuckerberg, Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk.
The trillion dollar trio. Like Tinkers to Evers to Chance. Bezos to Musk to Zuckerberg. They shuffled around nodding to those who have sworn fealty to them, dukes in a contemporary medieval amorality play. The royal family included Jared and Ivanka who were not named on their way in. Also, the two sons who kill large animals with big guns. None though, not even cousin Donald, who could match Melania’s hat. A model who understands the power moves which fashion can reveal and conceal. All hail the queen of mean.
I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to watch the coronation. But I did. I even listened to the speech. America’s golden age starts right now. I. I. I. I. I. I. Bad people. Bad policies. I. I. I. I. Drill, baby, drill. Look at me. See me. Acclaim me. And, we won’t forget God. Yes, he actually said that.
After his speech. America’s tenor? Sang of America the Great. Following him. The most chilling part of the event for me. A military chorus moved down the aisle starting their musical offering with the first verse of the Battle Hymn of the Republic:
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword,
His truth is marching on.
CHORUS:
Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah! His truth is marching on.
As I heard these words, I knew who cousin Donald believed this song referred to. And I feared for us. Even for myself.
Amy Klobuchar, the relentlessly vanilla senator from my former home state of Minnesota, though. She who spoke truth to power on that accursed day. Reference after reference to the peaceful transfer of power, the value of the Constitution, the norms of our democracy, the people’s will. I was proud to have lived in her state, to have voted for her.
I think of FDR. A paraphrase:
YESTERDAY, January 20th, 2025, a date which will live in infamy. The United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the crudest and vilest of our own citizens.
Make no mistake. This man means to bring retribution to his enemies, succor to insurrectionists, and more money to the oligarchs who sat near him.