Happy July 4th

Thank you to a great country with wonderful Americans who took me in.

A country in which people I think highly of share these common traits, as Thomas L. Friedman explained in his recent opinion essay:

“Respect science, respect nature, respect each other.”


Notes:

  • Inspired by Beth (again) in Alive on all Channels: “If they come for the innocent without stepping over your dead body, cursed be your religion and your life.” — Ciaron O’Reilly, Catholic Worker
  • Photo via Great Falls Tribune

Guess.What.Day.It.Is?


Notes:

Some Country. Some Day. Happy Birthday!

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Excerpts from Bob Greene’s: If You Think the U.S. Is Divided and Ugly, Hit the RoadThe beauty of our country as seen from a car window on the 12½-hour drive from New York to Chicago.

…The night before…a former long-haul truck driver who’d told me he hankered to see the Great Lakes again—and asked what were the chances he’d be willing to drive straight from Manhattan to Illinois. He said sure; we worked out a price.

By 8 a.m. we were on the road. You know how divided this country is reputed to be? How ugly things allegedly are? Here’s a suggestion: Cross the United States by road this summer. Take a good look out your window. The country itself is pretty swell—beautiful and vibrant and full of small surprises. We, who live here, may do everything we can to screw things up, but our mutual home brims with moments of random loveliness.

On a busy street corner in Newark, N.J., a mother protectively clutched her daughter’s hand as they waited to cross. In eastern Pennsylvania, the soaring, craggy rock formations by the highway sent a silent message: We were here before you were born and we’ll be here after you are gone. Driving over the Delaware River, with the splendor of the famed Delaware Water Gap below, we caught the first magnificent sight of the Pocono Mountains—and those trees, all those breathtaking miles of ancient trees. Who could ever count them? An impossible task.

In large cities life can seem crowded and claustrophobic. In rural Pennsylvania the overwhelming sensation was of how much open space America still has to offer: the room, if we choose, to spread out, to free ourselves from barking over each other’s shoulders. What must life here have been like before the telephone, before television, before the internet, when people didn’t have thousands of angry and disembodied voices—the voices of strangers—barraging them every day, stirring them up? When the voices they heard belonged, in the main, to their neighbors?… Continue reading “Some Country. Some Day. Happy Birthday!”

July 4th: Free of the past. Safe in the future.

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Aatish Taseer, is “a London-born writer who never felt he truly belonged in the places he and his family were from: India, Pakistan, Britain. In America, finally, he feels free—and at home.”

As I recall my Green Card application experience, I get a similar rush of warmth for this country and its people who welcome me.  What a privilege it is to live and work here – my Home – and I’m grateful for it all.

Here’s an excerpt from Taseer’s wonderful essay: The Day I Got My Green Card. Continue reading “July 4th: Free of the past. Safe in the future.”

Running. With America.

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Words cut.
And she held the knife.
I HATE AMERICA.”
Yes, in CAPS.

5:30 am. July 4th, 2015.
The Wolf Pack was settled in the car and heading down I-95 S.
Six lanes, devoid of traffic.
Eerie. A post-apocalyptic moment on I-95. Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road.” Gray skies, light rain spitting on windshield. No Ash.

I HATE AMERICA.
“She” is Anonymous on the inter-tunnel. She repeats IT over and over, in Caps, a vitriolic cadence wrapped around each of America’s stated ills.

We’re two miles in at Mianus River Park.The terrain is hilly.  I’m a roller coaster, with slow climbs up, and gravity pushing faster and faster downward.  No. You are a Burro.  A Burro carrying an oversized load with its belly dragging. You strain with each step. Your breathlessness, is a suffering inhale-exhale far less refined than the hee-haw of the Burro.  Sad eyes drooping, staring down at hooves tiptoeing around rocks, roots and ruts.

I HATE AMERICA.
I read the post on Friday. The words still fresh, blood spilled.  Words coming from an American, mid-20s.  A Woman. Continue reading “Running. With America.”