Inauguration Day, with all its fortresses and barricades for safety and protection is finally over and God Bless President Joe Biden, he’s safely tucked into the White House. I’m thrilled, but I’m also exhausted. It was only two weeks ago that America was defending itself against…well, itself. Who knew at the time, that zealous crowds might be commanded by the former reality television show host in the Oval Office to reach such fevered pitches? That homemade costumes and flags and symbols at far corners of deplorable Internet societies would suddenly materialize in real time, during a violent insurrection complete with assault weapons, and then be examined by intelligence agencies? That people would actually die? I was near Nashville on Christmas Day when it was bombed. Before that, I read stories about a horrified Georgia election official forced to engage in threatening conversations with a desperate mobster who was trying to overthrow the recent free and clear democratic election in November. Turns out, it was the same former reality television show host making those threats from the Oval Office, and who, during the previous month, had managed to infect himself along with tens of thousands of maskless others at numerous self aggrandized campaign rallies with a deadly virus, after which, he created a super hero film trailer of himself with everything, except a red cape. “You can’t make this shite up,” as some folks say.
Some months before that, certain police officers – no, wait – make that, certain underintelligent, underfunded, undereducated, underpaid, undersupervised, undertrained, undereverything white police officers from departments in racially divided cities across America decided to time travel in their tiny little minds, all the way back to the Jim Crow era, and randomly murder some innocent black folks. People were able to literally stand around and watch some of these public executions, only this time, they weren’t white folks carrying picnic baskets and blankets while posing for photographs with the victims, ( stop right now and Google “lynching postcards,” because those 20th century atrocities were archived as evidence by some wonderful museums professionals ), but were technologically documenting the heinous events to help prosecute those unlawful enforcement officers in court, where too many of them were able to shirk off charges against themselves. Then, God bless them, each and every one; Americans got righteously indignant, organized, and peacefully protested for the sake of social justice in more cities all across the nation. At the end of it all, our beloved Ruth Bader Ginsburg passed away, taking with her whatever goddess super powers of judicial might that could have protected us from the former reality television show host in the Oval Office, who flipped through a binder of radical, white, young, republican women judges, with which to fill her vacant seat before her flesh was boxed and buried.
Americans spent the summer mourning, weeping, agonizing, and waiting for somebody to please, please, please do something and to do something soon about the horrific carnage of American culture and society that featured on daily news programs with talking heads ramping up every report. Fires blazed in miles of forests, as well as in the streets, as armed self-appointed militia among our citizenry stormed peaceful protesters with the absolute intentions of carefully organized agents of destruction. At the time, people longed for a view of some kind of leadership. Instead, they saw images of the former reality television show host playing golf in the sunshine, rather than performing the tasks that were required of him in the Oval Office. I’m ashamed to write that I know this type of human being, really very well, because in another lifetime I was intimately acquainted with one. They do have small hands and even smaller appendages, and they do cheat at their golf game, by the way, as so many wannabes do when they think that no one is looking and some of the time even when they think that anyone is looking. They cheat, because they are cowards, liars, and bullies. They cheat because they are gauche, but worse, they cheat because they are vapid. No one wants to ride in a golf cart with the former reality television show host, unless they have been pressured into doing so. No one wants to be in the company of a wannabe, because they are so obviously and so shockingly made of very little substance, save fast food and fizzy drinks. Just a lot of chemically produced fat and gas there for historians to research and write about, I tell you. Just a lot of chemically produced fat and gas.
Much earlier in the year, the former reality television show host hid in the Oval Office while devising ways to appear important, with boasts and brags and foolish recitations of feeble accomplishments, while Impeachment proceedings took place to have him removed from his job. Soon after, Covid-19 hit American shores, welcomed by the most extraordinarily incompetent assemblage of task force bumblers under the slogan, “Operation Warp Speed.” It did not impress. More people died. First thousands, then tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands. The stock market crashed, crashed again, and crashed still again, even as some members of congress made profits from the misfortunes of others. And still, more people died. No one listened to anyone with credible…well, credentials. Instead, we were instructed to drink bleach and pray. Not even Jesus Christ, himself, would intervene on behalf of such ludicrous petitions. As the former reality television show host in the Oval Office worked tirelessly and desperately to move the American Embassy into Jerusalem, so that Jesus might return and rescue him and his indistinguishable televangelist television show host friends, who predicted such things, while fervently asking for more donations to their ministries; the embassy was soon assembled in its new location with a courtyard dedicated to the former reality television show host’s son-in-law. I think Jesus might have wept and wondered if none of them had ever bothered to read any one of the four Gospel instructions on Christian living. Radical Fundamentalist Pseudo Christian Cult Republican leaders had endorsed an “imperfect man,” a criminal reality television show host, to sit in the Oval Office and smirk as they prayed for him, while God sent them hurricanes, floods, fires, and plagues. Still, they could only hear their own voices: the voices of false prophets. Now, that, was apocalyptic.
In America, we’ve fairly, legally, and justly voted out the former reality television show host and we’ve welcomed a very nice old Irish fellow, President Joe Biden, into the White House. I hope he sat down at the end of Inauguration Day, after all the beautiful music and poetry and fireworks, and I hope he had a nightcap, and later, a long sleep with sweet dreams. He’s brought a fabulous new Jamaican, East Asian, American Woman Vice President, Kamala Harris, with him, and he’s charged us with helping them to clean up the mess that the other guy left behind. It’s an ugly, awful, frightening mess, and I shudder to think on it, really. I’m not certain I know how to heal my own soul, much less the soul of a nation. Most days, I’m numb, but then I manage to rally and think of the coming year, its possibilities, its hopes, maybe even a dream or two. I miss gatherings, I miss camaraderie, I miss concerts, museums, conferences, libraries, and travel. I’d like to get to Paris one day, just after Dublin again, and before Amsterdam for the first time. I’d like to be able to hold my dear ones, so far away just now, so much closer to my heart. I’d like to tell them, in person, how much I’ve missed them, and that I never want to be so far away from them again. Until then, I’m moving forward. I’m moving forward very slowly, thoughtfully, and carefully. I’m moving forward rereading the speeches, rewatching the performances, and regathering what strength I might from the events of Inauguration Day 2021. I’m moving forward with “Rest, Relax, and Restore” as my current mantra. And, I’m moving forward the new five o’clock cocktail hour in my home, which will now be scheduled at four o’clock. After all, in a few weeks we’re moving forward on the clock one hour, and by then, it’ll be five o’clock anyway.
On Moving Forward: The New Five O’Clock Cocktail Hour, Copyright, Wise Welsh Witch, 2021. All references, citations, sources, and bibliographies are available upon request.
“Wise Women, such as Midwives, Astronomers, Mathematicians, Healers, Philosophers, Herbalists, and Storytellers were once persecuted, as Witches,” from Wise Welsh Witch.