GOOD TROUBLE

Rep. John Lewis, D-Ga., speaks as the House of Representatives debates the articles of impeachment against President Donald Trump at the Capitol in Washington, Wednesday, Dec. 18, 2019. (House Television via AP) An adherent of the philosophy of nonviolence, Lewis was beaten by mobs and arrested 24 times.

from Letters from an American by Heather Cox Richardson:

A year ago tonight, Georgia Representative John Lewis passed away from pancreatic cancer at 80 years old. As a young adult, Lewis was a “troublemaker,” breaking the laws of his state: the laws upholding racial segregation. He organized voting registration drives and in 1960 was one of the thirteen original Freedom Riders, white and Black students traveling together from Washington, D.C., to New Orleans to challenge segregation. “It was very violent. I thought I was going to die. I was left lying at the Greyhound bus station in Montgomery unconscious,” Lewis later recalled.

. . .

Last June, Representative Lewis told Washington Post columnist Jonathan Capehart that he was “inspired” by last summer’s peaceful protests in America and around the world against police violence. “It was so moving and so gratifying to see people from all over America and all over the world saying through their action, ‘I can do something. I can say something,’” Lewis told Capehart. “And they said something by marching and by speaking up and speaking out.”

Capehart asked Lewis “what he would say to people who feel as though they have already been giving it their all but nothing seems to change.” Lewis answered: “You must be able and prepared to give until you cannot give any more. We must use our time and our space on this little planet that we call Earth to make a lasting contribution, to leave it a little better than we found it, and now that need is greater than ever before.”

“Do not get lost in a sea of despair,” Lewis tweeted almost exactly a year before his death. “Do not become bitter or hostile. Be hopeful, be optimistic. Never, ever be afraid to make some noise and get in good trouble, necessary trouble. We will find a way to make a way out of no way.”

my COVID report is LOST

This is peculiar. I only noticed today because I wanted to add to it that my page about Covid-19 is entirely gone. Since early last year I kept a diary of deaths and impressions, news stories, recommendations, and quotations concerning Covid-19. During the chaos that ensued when I tried to update my “theme” this entire page went missing. It was a huge page, and it was important to me. I also discovered that both my “home” pages led to a menu, a literal restaurant menu. (Gone now.) There was a third “home” page which I deleted during the initial chaos. I suspect that was my “Covid Diary.”

WHOOPS

Sunlight over the Pacific Ocean.

I played around with other WordPress themes yesterday and managed to completely misplace the one I started with. Gone. The sidebar with personal and site information now appears way down at the bottom of this page. That is not convenient. I could pay the “Happiness Engineers” to help me, but I am so offended by that title (not to mention the cost) that I will put up with this ugliness. [Why did I ever think it was a good idea to leave Blogspot?] I do not like this layout, but it’s the best I can do.

Discuss.

[NOTE: Managed to find a “theme” with the sidebar, but now the header photos do not show on the home page and are overlaid on their own page. Better, though. imo. Yours?]

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DON’T SAY “Piece of Cake”!

It’s a line from the RomCom Forget Paris about a couple who fall in love and then suffer a series of (eventually fatal) hardships—each time after they start something that looks like a “piece of cake” aka “easy.” That’s called tempting fate.

Gary believes in fate; I do not. Both of us are probably average in terms of superstition. We step on cracks. We laugh about Friday the 13th. But when we are beach-combing we have our superstitions. If Gary announces he’s going off to check out something a hundred feet or a hundred yards away, I will find glass. [Yeah, right, Gary walking away brings me luck finding glass.] It’s happened just often enough that we smile when it does.

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JULY 5th

Or perhaps the best part was this morning’s coyote tracks on the sand, the black oystercatcher pair, and Gary spotting the first hummingbird in our garden since April or May.

Gary says the best part of the 4th of July was when it was over. I’d argue that the best part was at 5:30 yesterday morning during our walk. When we got home, we opened up the house—every window and skylight. Then, in early afternoon, when people started beach fires, we shut everything back up to avoid the smoke. If we’d had company, we likely would have gone out and built a small fire on the beach. Instead we watched two episodes of a British procedural, and ignored the booms as much as possible.

Good news: The booming didn’t start until dusk instead of trailing out across the entire weekend. The bad news: The explosions were too close and didn’t end until well after ten last night. Even the echo was horrific.

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“I Wave to Whirligigs”

It’s been a wild, hot, and anxious month. On this last day of June, we walked north to the headland and then south to the creek. As we approached our southern goal, Gary pointed ahead. “There’s Tammy,” he said. “She’s waving.” He waved back.

“Where?” I said.

It turned out to be a whirligig he was waving at, and we both laughed. “Don’t tell Tammy,” Gary said. But you know I can’t keep a secret.

Many pelicans fishing beyond the breakers.
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NOT A BAD DOG

My intention has been to post on days of the month that are multiples of five: fifth, tenth, fifteenth, etc. Today is not on my schedule. But this morning I had a distressing experience.

So first a beautiful photo, and then the rant, in case you are interested. No dogs were harmed . . .

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FOGGY FOGGY DO

When our firstborn boys were tiny, a friend in a community just fifteen miles or so north of us used to call me every morning to ask if we had fog. I would look west to the roll of clouds lying on the horizon over the water and admit we didn’t. have fog Then, between puffs on her cigarette, she would complain about the fog. She lives in the high desert now where it gets hot in summers and icy and snowy in winter but is sunny nearly every day. If I lived there I would surely complain about the heat and cold, but that’s why I chose a climate I enjoy.

This morning at the waterfall on Hug Point beach.
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MORNING WALK

Every morning there is something to see.

What is this? They were all over the beach.
This one I know. We see one or more eagles every morning.
There is often a gull on the north edge of the old Hug Point road.
The ashes of my family are on that rock, in theory at least.

FINDING QUIET

Here we are.

I finally upgraded my account and paid for service, but everything is weird, changed, and I might just call this done. I have no idea why blackish blocks appear on my editing screen below. Asking questions has not helped. And a “Happiness Engineer” reaches out to help—got to be kidding. I do not want my “free domain name” that I would then have to pay for next year. Everything suddenly works differently. Again.

I just wanted to post a couple of photos and write about how today is a day Gary acknowledges every year: June 5, 1969 he flunked his draft physical.

We took some stunning photos, but you will have to be content with a view of the Cape, a sand castle, and the back of a new sweater. This is nothing more here.

Most days we walk at least this far from home. (Yes, that is the moon in the upper left.)

Beach paths through the rocks and sand castles.

I remember building sand castles like this, using bits of driftwood and razor clam shells just like this. Sand dollars too.

The back of a new sweater I am knitting for myself, pinned out for blacking. The single-ply hand-dyed wool is from South Africa. The silk/mohair I am carrying along with it is from a Portland company. I already have the front cast on.

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