May 18, 2004

First plane out

It's becoming cliche to say you're going to leave the U.S. for good if the bush DADministration ends up back in the proverbial saddle in November. Unless you're me. I don't think much about moving--I can be content so easily by the small things around me and appreciating all that I DO have without giving a second thought to what's "out there." Hey, didn't need to use the duct tape and plastic sheeting today, Jenna doesn't have strep, and the dogs have water in their bucket = life is good.

But even I'm wondering, how can we stand it much longer? We Americans who let this administration--by not unseating it when it took power illegally--destroy large pieces of the world. What do we do this fall if they remain? Do we sit here? Wait for the nerve gas--scream out, hey it's not us! it's not us the people! we think they're insane too! too late--they said those things and they're dead. Hey bub, put a fork in him, he's done.

It's not that I love or don't love this country. It's not a matter of "loving country," a concept I never quite understood, like I missed that day in school. I don't "love" large abstract concepts and power structures and man-made systems; I love the sharp edges of dried red clay, and the cold wetness of grass under my feet, the soggy newspaper I never picked up, the wood pile we keep stacking up to keep Bando from digging out, and the rooms in my house with well-worn flat paint layed on with much elbow grease by me and George ten years ago.

But soil and grass and rooms with walls that need painting--those aren't "my country." The world is "my country." This is the place I live. And the place I live is hurting the world and destroying the places other people live. And I can't get my head around it, and I can't stand it anymore.