American Nightmare

Do the Right–Wrong!

Because what else would have been the perfect gift for Mrs Fringe on Inauguration Day, 2017? Thank you!

I’ve had this thought circling in my head for the past few weeks. I talked about it a bit with Nerd Child before he went back to school last week, and today it seemed appropriate for musing on the blog after 1 full week of Trump & Co in office. Yeah, I know, this isn’t a mom-blog and I already talk an awful lot about my kiddos, but bear with me, please.

Husband and I have always tried to do our best. We knew that wouldn’t always work out as intended, but still, parenting is a commitment we take seriously. A commitment to our children, but also a commitment to society. We do our best, and hopefully offer decent, kind, well-adjusted human beings who care about others, themselves (raising saints and martyrs was never our goal), and the world at large. How’s that for overblown navel gazing? And yeah, we want success for them. Success doesn’t have to mean a job making a bazillion dollars a year on Wall Street, but for us it means that in addition to doing something they feel good about, we wanted them to understand it’s important to be able to pay your bills, and do better than we have, a little more comfort, maybe even own a house.

But have we screwed them in the process? I’m looking around, taking stock of the past week, who’s taken office, been nominated, being confirmed despite (because of) no experience, no compassion, conflicts of interest galore and long documented overt racism; running the country, deciding to rip apart the social contract we’ve been building and trying to improve for over two hundred years…. Sure, greed, corporations, and selfishness have long been valued in our society. It isn’t brand new, the results of this election didn’t come from nowhere, regardless of how many want to pretend it has. There has also long been room for success from those who actually want to contribute, work with others.

Remember? One of the first things we all teach all children is the importance of sharing, waiting our turn. Husband and I taught our kiddos to do the right thing because it’s right, not because they might get in trouble, not even because of an afterlife. But because this life matters, and every life of every person matters. Trite but true, at the end of the day, can you look in the mirror? This week has shown us a whole different world. At first I typed new. A new world. It isn’t though, is it?

Today happens to be International Holocaust Remembrance Day. And today, Nikki Haley, the new US ambassador to the United Nations, addressed the UN and said, “for those who don’t have our backs, we’re taking names.” Trump is signing executive orders to begin building That Ridiculous Wall (the one that still makes zero sense), still discussing a registry for Muslims, will restrict incoming Muslim immigrants (unless they’re from Muslim countries his companies do business with), and is denying entry to Syrian refugees. No, not new at all. No wonder they’re so enamored of that fascist “America First” slogan.

And by the way, in case you’re thinking all of this is being done in a (misguided) attempt to actually protect American citizens, ha! This is the sneak-peak proof that this administration and the GOP couldn’t care less how many citizens are left without adequate healthcare in this country. Why let people know they still have a few days left to sign up for a year’s worth of care? Sure the ads were already in place and paid for, but, well, fuck ’em. I can’t address the beginning of the dismantling of women’s rights and health care in this country. Not yet.

So yes, in with all the other worries and panicking I’m doing about medicine and health care and civil rights and ohmygodhehasthefuckingnuclearcodes, I’m worrying about my kiddos; if they are prepared for this next page in American history, where might makes right and sharing their cookies is a notion as quaint and outdated as teaching them to use a quill.

Much of me is overwhelmed right now, certain we have said goodbye to American freedoms, the true American values of equality, justice, social mobility, education, progress, and democracy. We haven’t always hit those marks, and there’s no question and no excuse– our “equality” hasn’t been equal, but we ~~have~~ had gotten better. Now I have to believe we didn’t do them a disservice when we taught our kids they have to be able to look in the mirror, and I have to hope the mirrors they look into are true and clear.

Another Day, Another Leap Backwards

The image above is quite the statement, no?

I can’t possibly write a post for every new atrocity I see coming from Washington DC or read about these past six days. I, along with most of the people I know, am overwhelmed. Shocked. Disgusted. Infuriated. Flabbergasted. For a few brief hours between Saturday night and Sunday morning, I had some hope. So many women marching together, across the country, across the globe. And then I learned a new phrase, “alternative facts.” Bye, Hope! Give me a call and we’ll do lunch some time. As far as I can tell, alternative facts are what happen when you take a lie, dress it up, add some lipstick and good hairspray, and then shout it over the actual facts.

We have grown used to instant access to unlimited information. Much of the last year has focused on the negatives of this, because much of the information available is untested and untrue; perhaps a kernel of truth popped through a skewed burst of rancid oil and hot air to morph into a flake that looks deceptively soft, but remains hard and undigestible as it travels through the system. Still, having access to information, facts about what’s happening now and what has happened in the past is, to say the least, a good thing. Access to information like: what are our rights? What is climate change? Why did World War I begin? How did Hitler gain so much power, and how were average citizens convinced to engage in atrocities against other human beings? Why have sales of George Orwell’s 1984 shot up? And of course, how did they get the toothpaste in the tube?

I don’t know about you, but I’m really going to miss facts and information when they’re banned. Oh wait, that’s already begun. Who needs the EPA (Environmental Protection Agency) and the information and health protections it offers to citizens? After all, it was created by that radical progressive, Richard Nixon. It will only slow down the slaughter of human beings sure to begin shortly with the repeal of the ACA and cuts to Medicaid and Medicare. Who needs Public Broadcasting? Our children don’t need access to programming that isn’t beholden to corporate sponsors, shows that teach them about their world. Pfft, that nonsense indoctrinates them with crazy ideas, like truth and facts, justice, equality, and humanity. Science (oh, that dirty word). I mean, if children have access to that shit, when they grow up they might want to keep learning, know more, discuss more, research, compare facts, and (shudder) then offer that information to the public. We’ve been promised fast and furious by our new US administration, and they aren’t hesitating to deliver.

Oh! And just in case you think this is merely early bluster, that no one is really going to limit the information available to us, we’ve been offered this gem. Yes, journalists facing felony charges for doing their jobs. Of all the nauseating and horrific things I’ve seen and heard over the past six days, this has to be the most terrifying. Journalism. Journalists. Those whose job it is to observe and report on the political process, make sure the people in office do not exploit us or democracy. Those whose job it is to make facts available to the public. The fourth estate. It’s true that along with serious and investigative journalism, there’s a long history of yellow journalism. True, newspapers, news shows, etc need to attract readers and viewers and show profits or those journalists will lose their jobs. In this day and age of short attention spans and desires for gilded squirrels, that has to make it incredibly difficult for individual journalists to avoid yellow journalism, and/or opining when what we need are straight facts. Also true, 90% of our media outlets are currently owned by only six corporations, which is inherently dangerous.

And with so much information being thrown at us with updates every ten minutes, it can be easy to blow off what’s important. Not make the connections we as citizens should be making, because we’re waiting for the next guy to tell us what those connections are, what we should snicker at and where we should be paying attention. Scotch tape holding the POTUS tie together? Snicker. C’mon, seems like a no-brainer, that our President, his press secretary and his counselor are talking about inaugural crowd sizes, offering “alternative facts” about them as if this is an issue of major import, is one to snicker at. Except it isn’t. That the POTUS and his staff feel the need to lie about something so small (in every sense of the word) and so easily, clearly proven false is in fact extremely important. It tells us what’s important to this new administration (hint, it isn’t us, the citizens of the US), and tells us how little respect they have for the public. It also tells us what type of relationship they intend to have with the press. Whether we love or hate the press, we need them. We always have, we always will. Without a true, free press, there is no democracy.

With a POTUS and administration that wants to isolate us, keep us from engaging with our traditional international allies and reality, wants to tell us any news they don’t like is fake, wants to feed us bullshit on a bun and tell us it’s good ol’ ‘Merican beef; with the GOP in control of the Senate and the House having a collective, waking wet dream of enabling and encouraging them to step on any dissent and take away our freedoms, our health care, our American dream of safe havens, paths to education and upward mobility, equality; with corporations giddy over the opportunity to make themselves more moneymoremoney without having to worry about pesky regulations, safety, or oversight, the only thing we the people have left are facts. Knowledge. Integrity.

So I’m begging all journalists, please, please keep going. Keep digging, keep investigating, keep informing us. The day after the election, I bought subscriptions to the NY Times and the Washington Post. I’m thinking this may have been the wisest investment I’ve ever made. Toto, we may not be in Kansas anymore, but we won’t be easing down this road. We have all been given a load to carry. None more than journalists.

All the Best People Are

Me, as drawn by Art Child about 4 years ago, age 11

Why yes, that is my avatar

It’s funny, isn’t it? The small things that catch hold in your mind when something big and bad is going on. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, to avoid the brain shutting down completely. Kind of like the grotesque show that begins today, Inauguration Day, January 20, 2017. For the past few weeks I’ve been alternating between reading every newspaper article I can and shutting down the laptop and zoning out with Netflix. I’m sure I don’t have to detail how I was losing my shit, reading and watching clips from the Betsy DeVos hearing. I think the democratic senators did a great job, demonstrating through their questions, how wholly unfit and inappropriate she is for Education Secretary. I also think it doesn’t matter. She, and the rest of the Billionaire Club, will be approved, because all prior rules of engagement, like knowledge, qualifications, and at least a pretense of ethics have been suspended for the foreseeable future.

A couple of days ago a friend posted a picture on Facebook, a piece of art from a popular artist promoting women’s rights and being offered for download. What caught me wasn’t the art, it was the comment (not from my friend) that artists should keep their political views to themselves. Oh my. So terribly, woefully ignorant, a perfect case-in-point to what has gone wrong in America. Art is political. It makes you feel, it makes you see, it makes you connect, it makes you understand. Doesn’t matter if we’re talking about visual art, poetry, prose, music, or performance. All art is political. And art is what endures.

My home is not what some would think of when they imagine a family of artists. The apartment is perfectly ordinary. Look at the sketch above, Art Child drew it about four years ago, one of her very first pieces after she began, magically, miraculously, to draw. That’s me in the sketch, perfectly ordinary. We struggle with bills, we struggle with chronic and debilitating health issues, we struggle with the bits and bobs of life. And we each love music and art and poetry and food and theater and literature, each with our own draws and, if I may be so bold, talents. Husband hears distinctions and nuances in music that are an entirely different dimension than I hear. He can turn anything into a drum and create an irresistible beat. Man Child creates art through food, and when he’s on a stage, it’s truly captivating. The math he loves, “pure math,” incomprehensible to me, is another language, music in its own right, a language that has no borders of origin. Nerd Child is a musician, a director, an orator. Listening to him on his guitar makes me want to dance and weep at the same time. He creates new worlds we all want to live in as he directs, and when he speaks, people listen. Art Child has developed her skills and talent, creating charcoal sketches and paintings that leave not just me, but others, strangers, talking about her work long after they’ve seen it.

Me? I write. I did write. I tried to write. Characters that are so everyday they’re more than a bit off, think you’re going to yawn and end with an oh! Settings that begin next door and then twist into the what the fuck. My favorite “genre” is magical realism. Not for escape, but for exploring the difficult and often ugly realities through the fantastical. Perfectly ordinary.

I am afraid of what’s to come tomorrow, next month, next year. I’m a woman, on the downside of middle age, a self-proclaimed sort-of feminist, unsuccessful, a big and nasty mouth with a latino family. By definition, not who our new administration wants to see or hear from. We are ordinary people, caught in what looks to be an extraordinary time. I don’t expect to become the next Salman Rushdie. I’m neither brilliant nor brave enough. Let’s be honest, at 40,000 years old, dreams of acclaim and awards are long gone, but in those moments where I let myself dream, I still dream of being able to earn a dollar from my fiction. Not because of the dollar, but because of the validation, because it would tell me I did, in fact, have an impact and speak someone’s truth other than my own. It is my belief that it is our obligation to continue to use our chosen mediums to explore and document what is happening, how it happened, why we are here. Now is the time to be political. Create.

Hush

Conflicted Slippers

I don’t think I ever owned a pair of slippers before, but this Christmas, I requested and received these. Nice, right? Damn, these are comfy, cozy, and all kinds of aaah.

With the country seemingly on the verge of implosion by capitalism-run-amok, and rising uncertainties about, well, everything, the little things are feeling very important. Small kindnesses, small comforts. And then, three days ago, even these ridiculous looking fluffs took on another meaning. Trump, PEOTUS, tweeted a thanks to Linda Bean for what appears to be a questionable donation, and of course, telling everyone to support LL Bean. ’cause that’s totally what the President should be doing, right? Good grief, is there no respite from this bullshit–even in the privacy of my home, in my goddamned pajamas? No, no there isn’t.

Which brings me to my point. This week, as promised, the GOP took their first steps towards repealing the Affordable Care Act. Oh yeah, they also began clearing the path for future cuts to Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid. Needless to say, I and many of my friends have been freaking out. No, this wasn’t a surprise to any of us. This is *exactly* what the GOP and Trump said they were going to do. That doesn’t make it any less horrific, terrifying, and downright immoral. And it isn’t just us, this “small” percentage (14%, last I saw) of families who have a child with medical needs. It’s everyone who has a preexisting condition, might ever develop cancer or other catastrophic illness, might have a serious accident, use birth control, or, yanno, would like to be able (legally and financially) to make decisions for our health–even if we’re women.

It’s true, I’ve seen a few posts and comments here and there from people who voted for Trump who are surprised and unhappy. Why yes, the ACA is the actual name for Obamacare, so you just voted to cut your own healthcare. You’d have known this if you read full articles and didn’t rely on memes and rally soundbites as the sole source of your information. Why yes, the Medicaid you were able to get because of Medicaid Expansion, part of the ACA. Why yes, your young adult child is able to stay on your health insurance until the age of 26 because of the ACA. Why yes, you were suddenly able to get health insurance you could afford despite preexisting conditions because of the ACA. Why yes, you/your child will continue to be insured and receive life-saving treatments that can carry a sticker price of hundreds of thousands of dollars per year because of the ACA–because yes, with the old “lifetime caps,” there were many who exhausted their lifetime benefits within 5-10 years of treatment. I would like a law that says people who voted for Trump and GOP lawmakers cannot identify as pro-life, they must identify as pro-birth, because they’re happy to watch all those babies die after they’re born.

Oh, I’m sorry, did you believe Trump and the GOP when they said they’d keep the parts you liked? I can only quote our PEOTUS, “Lies.” That shit was magical thinking, not a binding pledge. But many comments I’ve seen and heard from those on the opposite side of the political spectrum aren’t expressing surprise or outrage. Quite the opposite, they’re still celebrating, “the swamp is being drained.” Yes, and as it’s drained it’s being refilled with the raw sewage of unprecedented conflicts of interest, overt greed, racism, misogyny, homophobia, xenophobia, possible treason, and plain old hatred of the less fortunate.

Most of the comments I’ve seen and heard are the ones that prompted this post. They’re the ones that say, “relax. Being upset doesn’t help. Wait and see, nothing has happened yet.” Oddly enough these are the comments I’ve heard the most because I’m hearing them from both sides. It’s true, being upset doesn’t actually solve anything. Very logical, thank you, Spock. Guess what? Neither does burying your head in the sand. I’m no political pundit, but I’m pretty sure that philosophy/methodology is what got us here. You know what else? As the parent of a child with medical needs, the wife of someone with preexisting conditions, I don’t get to step away from this or wait and see, because those medical needs are every. fucking. day. and things are indeed happening.

The ACA is certainly not perfect, and there are people who have been faced with premiums that are unsustainable long term. Seems to me logic would say fix it, don’t set that shit on fire. Our social contract is rapidly becoming a social disease.

Goodbye, 2016

Fuzzy flush for a fuzzy year

There’ve been years where I couldn’t wait to rip off the last page of the calendar. Despite the many days of suckage in 2016, this wasn’t one of those years. I know, I know, the past couple of weeks the news and social media feeds have been filled with headlines and posts of people desperate to say goodbye and start fresh. Not me. I’m afraid of 2017. There, I said it.

I swear I can’t remember the first half of 2016, pretty sure my memories are on the tracks along with a smashed Cheetos bag and someone’s lost hair extension under the 6 train. The second half? I swung from funk to anger to disbelief and back again.

Too dramatic? Maybe. I have several good friends who are optimists, they live their lives on hope and faith that love conquers all. Beautiful, isn’t it? You could say Mrs Fringe is a pessimist, but I believe I’m a realist. And realistically speaking, if you are a woman, a person of color, Muslim, LGBTQ, an immigrant, a Dreamer, an educator, differently abled, parent to someone who is differently abled, a journalist, a senior citizen/will be a senior citizen who needs both Social Security and Medicare, or a free thinker, there is much to be–well ok, if you’re insistent on being less dramatic than I–if not fearful, at least wary of.

New Year’s isn’t like birthdays, we aren’t supposed to make wishes, we’re supposed to make resolutions. Resolve to be kinder, more thoughtful, more efficient, disciplined, stronger, faster, better. Shall I resolve to be the Bionic Woman, then? (If you’re too young to be familiar with the Bionic Woman, take my word for it, she was cool, a 1970s sci-fi tv character.) So when I hear people talking about wait-and-see, it won’t be so bad, I hear it with my bionic ear as magical thinking, wishes on a trick birthday candle. I’m not worried about The End of the World, nuclear style. Come on, I live in New York, everyone’s favorite target (and as a special bonus, the city our President-Elect and family won’t leave); if there’s an all out nuclear war, I’ll be the first to go, vaporized before the page telling me to watch out for mushroom clouds can load. No time for angst.

I’ve been rereading all my old favorite dystopian novels–along with some new ones–and they have certain themes in common, whether the trigger was an economic collapse, totalitarianism,or plague. Despair, violence, governmental overreach, hunger, talk about the necessity of good shoes. For the long walk to find others. And don’t give me any parables about crying because you had no shoes until you met a man who had no feet. We don’t live in the garden of Eden, and I’m too old for barefoot and pregnant. I need shoes. We need shoes. Good ones, without cracks in the soles, that don’t make you cry when you have ’em on for more than twenty minutes.

I’ve also spent some time rereading old posts. Sure, Mrs Fringe was always meant to be honest, somewhat bitter and definitely salty, but also funny. I think I stopped laughing about a year ago. For a lot of reasons, both personal and greater, many but not all of them detailed here over the past year, there’s been less funny, more general horror. And nausea. The other night I made a DD (Disastrous Dinner, trademark pending). Completely unsalvageable, suffice it say the overpriced short ribs couldn’t even be added to the doggie gumbo, and the polenta had more than a mild resemblance to the poo found in a newborn’s diaper. I happened to turn towards Nerd Child as he took his first and only bite. The expression on his face? I laughed for twenty minutes straight. For some people, when things suck, they need to cry. Others need to surround themselves with beauty, chant affirmations, or pretend the only things that matter are the things they can control. With that DD, I remembered, I need to laugh (and overuse commas). It’s my way through.

So while I want to believe all will find their measure of peace, love, and laughter this year, I’m not wishing or resolving. I’m going to laugh when I can, I’m going to speak out when I need to, and yes, I’m checking my shoes.

Empty Words

Leave the page blank long enough and it starts looking clean rather than empty.

Have you ever wished Mrs Fringe would stop whining and shut the fuck up? Today is your day. I am taking a break. At the moment, I’m not sure how long, maybe I’ll change my mind tomorrow, next week, next year (so go ahead and stay subscribed for a while), I don’t know.

Words and writing have always been such an integral part of who I am, I’m honestly not sure who I am without them. But as I’ve always said, I write to be read, I write to be half of a dialogue–spoken or not. About a year ago I came to the conclusion that my fiction isn’t going anywhere. That was a very difficult, painful conclusion. I made self deprecating jokes and gave myself lectures. Ok, you suck– big deal, so do most people. Welcome to the ranks. Sure I have occasional bouts of the dreaded hope, and send out some queries or write a story, but that faith that it will happen? Not so much. I don’t have writer’s block, if you’re wondering–I’ve got plenty of ideas and notes and internal discipline; if someone offered me a contract tomorrow I’d be back to work within an hour. I have always written the stories and characters that I love, that I would want to find in the bookstore. But I don’t write for myself, I write hoping to offer others what I love to read, that sense of Yes. This author gets it, and has given voice to my thoughts, breathed life into characters I want to spend hours with. Many (most?) fiction writers disagree, and believe you should write for yourself. Perhaps they’re right, but it hasn’t worked for me.

I kept blogging because it’s different than writing fiction, offers something else without pesky hopes, dreams, or expectations. I have tried to use humor (often gallows humor, but still) to address real and sometimes frightening issues. Mostly I kept blogging for the same reason I started, a space to be a whole person, more than any one label or role I fill in the “real” world, to connect and have conversations with others, listening and being listened to. Now I am depleted. At this moment I see no point in blogging about writing if I’m not writing, no point in blogging about being a woman standing up for other women and women’s rights when my country has made it clear it isn’t interested in women’s rights and safety, no point in blogging about democracy when my country has voted for a demagogue, no point in blogging about the struggles facing people of color when the country has aligned itself with the KKK, no point in laying out the struggles of dealing with chronic illnesses in loved ones when the majority, including some who have cried with me, has just made it clear that ultimately, they don’t care and don’t want to hear it.

I know that many who are better, smarter, more evolved and generous souls than I am are sending out messages of hope, reassurances of caring, safety, and continued efforts. Very lovely, and necessary. Right now, I can’t do it, and frankly, I think it was the assumption that in the end people will put shared humanity above differences that has led us to where we are right now.

Many of my regular readers and commenters are not American, which has been an amazing, beautiful thing; WordPress is a fabulous platform, allowing me to feel that I have connected with others outside of my immediate, narrow margins. That said, I am American, and the American people have spoken–I am to pick a label and that is the sum of who I am. How boring. Hell, it makes me yawn just to think about it, who wants to log on and read a label?

It’s Personal, and It’s Us

I should be doing my yoga right now, but I’m too busy crying. I figure that demonstrates more than a modicum of restraint, because what I’d like to be doing is vomiting while I stamp my feet. Donald Trump won. Hate won. Fear won. Selfishness won. Greed won. Racism won. Misogyny won. Homophobia won. Xenophobia won. Zealousness won. The motherfucking KKK won. The DNC won, in its refusal to acknowledge that no matter how qualified, no matter how many good reasons there were to support her, Hillary Clinton was not the candidate to run in a climate of fear and hatred.

You know who lost? Me and my loved ones. No matter what platitudes are mouthed, this was and is personal. November is Epilepsy Awareness month. I usually post one blog post about it, and post several facts and awareness tidbits throughout the month on my personal Facebook feed. I’ll stop now. It doesn’t matter anymore. Awareness doesn’t mean shit when the country just voted for my daughter to lose her healthcare in two and a half years, when she turns 18. We can’t afford her meds out of pocket, let alone hospitalizations, testing, doctor visits. I have friends who voted for this. Were they unable to separate the facts of insurance premiums rising because of the greed of the insurance companies from the ACA? Prayers are lovely, and many believe they are powerful, but they don’t replace rescue meds when your kid is turning blue in front of you. I don’t know, but don’t anyone dare tell me, my daughter, my Latino family, this wasn’t personal.

Maybe you’re lucky enough not to have to think about the ACA because no one in your family has preexisting conditions. That’s wonderful for you, I’m not so lucky. Maybe you/your loved ones weren’t worried about the ACA because you/your loved ones have Medicaid. How nice for you, I can only hope Medicaid and Medicare aren’t targeted right after the ACA, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.

Don’t tell me you have respect for women, believe in equal rights, when we’ve just supported a man who values women only for their secondary sex characteristics; when we just green lighted sexual assault.

Don’t tell me you care about education, when we supported a man who loves the poorly educated.

Don’t cry about your child being bullied, when we just voted into office the poster boy for bullies.

Don’t tell me you care about the differently abled, when we just elected a man who sees nothing wrong with mocking those who are different, and of course, the aforementioned gleeful plans to repeal the ACA.

Don’t tell me how this was a pushback against the elite, when Donald Trump personifies the elite.

Don’t tell me about hope for tomorrow, when we just chose the ignorance of the past.

Most of all, don’t talk about them. It was the death grip of us vs them mentality that brought us here. And no, I don’t mean only those who are afraid of people of color, or women, or the LGBTQ community. I include those who refused to see this as a real possibility and consequence, those who dug into “us” with unrelenting toothless trailer trash jokes. America is a big country; when we talk about different lifestyles and acceptance that cannot just be code for left leaning ideals, it is real.

I saw a comment earlier, bemoaning this result, listing all the reasons it makes no sense and is frightening that Trump has been elected. Included in that list? Melania Trump’s nudity. Yeah, this is why we have all lost, and lost before the votes were tallied. Nudity? Not important.

This is us. Greedy, fearful, easily distracted by a thin patina of gold and flashing lights.

I am in mourning.