The all of it . . .

Dear you,

This is your country/This is your world/This is your body/and you must find some way to live within the all of it.

That from Ta-Nehisi Coates.

The all of it. And this is my voice typing/speaking about that all of it.

Local: I dodge and weave through the oddities of Florida panhandle godliness that supports godless action. Sending marines into Los Angeles to quell dissent about the rounding up of immigrants, people, yes, inconvenient truth, the fact that they are people, because Trump and his followers fear "them". I dodge and weave through the dissonance of perfectly kind people who, like the young man at the local bank, ask how I am and when I reply "well, I am here, not in Ukraine or Gaza, and unable to do a damn thing to help those in either of those places", and after hearing this, the good teller's face gives him away, some kind of objection, some kind of shut-down and refutation of what I have voiced. I dodge and weave through silliness called customer service for cars and HVAC systems, where employees (knowing "this call is recorded") work their asses off to get me lured into contracts and agreements that are irrational and impractical. I dodge and weave through the perplexing responses to my claims that we are America, and America is not angelic, never has been, but could be/can be/will be. If and only if there is the WILL to be something not sad, to be lovely and fearless. I dodge and weave through the celebrations of those who won recent battles in Florida: no fluoride in the water, limitations on insightful books on the shelves, license to kill black bears who have the nerve to exist. I dodge and weave.

This nightfall in Panama City Beach, Florida, in my quiet (finally) residential enclave, I have the luxury of saying this. Of thinking this. Of dodging and weaving. Of mouthing off in my little diary-blog and posting it to Blue-Sky. And the luxury of wondering, when, when, when will what seems to be the majority who are running this game come to grips with the fact (the wished for fact) that this is OUR country, this is OUR world, these are OUR bodies, and we are trying with all our might to live within the all of it.

I know "hope" is not a strategy, it is just a feeling. But there is, to quote someone we all admire, audacity in that hope. Hope. And act. And live within the all of it.

Love, 

Joyce

Expectations

Dear you,

Another holiday weekend, another hot summer. What to expect?  Do we hope for the best or expect the worst? Are our expectations based on prior experience or does it all just come down to what we ate for lunch? Isn't there something beyond the best/worst binary anyway, something so unexpected that it isn't hoped for or dreaded? Case in point, my latest visit to Walmart:

My mindset as I traveled to the Pier Park Wally last Tuesday: "Oh, hell no, this is going to be a bloody nightmare. Prepare for encounters with drunk "I am on vacation" shoppers and transactions with disengaged workers." Grumpily, I entered the fray. After trying on twenty-nine bathing suits, I exited the dressing room in a huff. Nothing fit. I'd be better off swimming in my underwear (which I do all the time; don't tell my HOA board of directors). Whatever, I had a list to check off, so I moved on. But I was bothered by something irritating my right shoulder blade. I adjusted my cross-body purse strap, tugged on my sundress bodice, and shoulder-rolled my way across the store. Nothing changed. Something weird was back there. I ignored it and focused on task two, the pursuit of the perfect nightlight. While doing that, I heard a bright voice inquire "would you mind if I pull something off your back?" What? "You've got something stuck back there." What is it? She, a lovely ginger Wally employee, just smiled and went to work. After a quick rip, she showed me the culprit. It was one of those nasty panty-liner-protective-strips you find in the crotches of retail bathing suits. Seriously. I had been queening around Walmart with a panty liner stuck to my back. Ginger gal saved the day and my dignity. Surprise! The only trashy shopper in Walmart that day was me. And the employees, notably Ginger gal, were not disengaged. The occurrence was neither the best nor the worst; it was simply refreshing. Unexpected. Surprising.

Another holiday weekend, another hot summer. Who knows what to expect?  

Surprise me!

Love,

Joyce

Simply Mom

Dear you,

The day honoring mothers, 2025. We all had one, obviously.  Some here, some gone. My mom, so many memories. I recall bits and pieces of experience, often small, not dramatic, but (being memories) still quite memorable:

Croquet games in the back yard.

The way she cared for Prince, my gorgeous collie-shepherd canine, after I escaped to New York.

Her perfect Sunday roasts with boiled potatoes.

Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue", one of her favorites, playing on the stereo in our living room.

The ultimate summer dress she created for me from a Ralph Lauren pattern and Laura Ashley fabric.

Fudge pie with melty vanilla ice cream.

Her bangs, a forties tribute, prepped at night with bobby pins. No mirror required.

The way she kept any dramas with Dad, whatever those might have been, to herself.

Her loyal attendance at almost every fabulous or not so fabulous theatre gig I signed up for.

The poetry she quoted in cards and letters, mailed over many decades, no matter where I might be.

The way she appreciated my essential singular self: "sing your song."

Bits and pieces, good stuff. I smile.

I wonder what Mom would make of the current #natalist movement, urging women to reproduce like machines, for the sake of what, I am not sure. The economy, the future of the human race, a sustainable work force (a.k.a. plenty of laborers to clean up after the 1% who seem to be running everything now), whatever.  She would probably not be a fan of that "policy".  She wanted children and she had them/us/me.  Her choice, not an obedient response to some random man-child's master plan. Her choice. 

Honor that.

I do.

Love,

Joyce

#Stronger

Dear you,

It has been a while since I have spoken, but I am alive and well and somewhat stronger. I have relocated, just a bit, to the east of my previous abode. Leaving behind the chaos of condo-life in a situation where 99% of the bodies in that space were there for a fast, short vacation, I purchased a townhome in a residential community (ah, residential!) in Bay County, to the east of old 30A/Walton County nonsense. Now, here, I regain a center, calm my fight-or-flight response, and enjoy a bit of sane beauty. My lovely feline enjoys the two-floor set-up, dashing up and down the stairs; she has multiple windows to view birds in flight and greenery. I have peace. And sleep. And beauty. And no need for cable, just NPR and a solid internet connection via a tablet/phone hotspot. Ah, alas, NPR, another thing on the new regime's hit list. But, at present, they stand strong and carry on. So, this blog, #stronger.

Stronger:

The POTUS continues his assault on law firms, journalism, foreign films (!), and anything remotely awake, or as they say, woke. During this siege, we witness people and institutions resisting and in some notable cases, winning. They are becoming #stronger.

Locally, here in a still-Panhandle-bright-red-zone of Florida, I see evidence of strength. Yesterday at the Pier Park, Panama City Beach, Walmart parking lot, I saw this car. This car's owner was/is so fucking strong, so brave. Decals scattered over the rear windows and bumpers spoke, denouncing our current POTUS as a Hitler equivalent. Quite unapologetically, the car spoke: this guy and his supporters are deplorable assholes who intend to grind you down. You might see such car-sticker speech anywhere in the USA, but here in the deep-red Panhandle of Florida, not so often. It testifies to a certain level of bravery: go ahead, slash my tires, I will not bow to your autocracy. Impressive, I think. I was too weak to put a Kamala for president sticker on my little vehicle.  This person, these people, are fearless.  God love them.  They are #stronger.

You know, we all have muscles.  We just have to use them. The bodily kind, the mental-political kind, the spiritual kind.

On this night, in this new and lovely and peaceful place, still amid the right-wing (but at least of the quiet variety) I am working out, working on all those versions of muscle.

How are you? Stay strong. Get #stronger. Balance and reach, like the gentleman pictured on the seaside rock in the photo above. 

This is the moment. This is the time. On the verge, we can artfully and wisely push back and save the best, the truly beautiful.

Stay strong for democracy. It ain't dead yet!

Love,

Joyce

Vanishing Acts

Dear you,

March madness is here and not just on the basketball courts. The madness I refer to is the imposition of self-doubt; entities bending reality so what is actually happening is erased, edited, vanished. Poof! This is happening in America, just like in other dictator-leaning nations. Seemingly minor but hugely significant are the following events:

The new administration is gunning to eliminate public broadcasting (PBS, NPR). Who cares, rants Marjorie Taylor big-G, congress-thing from Georgia. I care. We care. Nations with public broadcasting outlets of any form tend to score higher on the democracy scale. Shut those down? We get a dark space, an empty space, less voices who can speak truth to power. I share a link from NPR about the larger implications:

https://www.npr.org/sections/npr-public-editor/2025/02/27/g-s1-51050/we-cant-answer-audience-questions-about-defundnpr-without-talking-about-the-larger-implications-for-public-media

Next, there is this in-our-faces obvious effort to take down Social Security.  Sure, Elon. your DOGE-ness, that is easy if you fire countless employees who keep it running, close local offices, and eliminate phone access. Then, when the very much ALIVE person who has been falsely listed as DEAD and removed from SS payment systems tries to contact someone to correct the error, he/she has to journey through Dante's circles of hell to make things right. The cruelty is the point, yes?  Just make that person vanish.

Then there's my locale. Tune in to 105.1 in this zip code. That station, formerly "Bob FM", was known for its funny and innocuous airing of everything top-10 prior to 2020. This was a happy, head bopping channel. Notice I use the past tense. Why? A few weeks ago 105.1 became something else. When I hit the radio preset button for that channel, I did not hear the usual playlist or the corny jokes. I heard some angry preacher-man ranting about redemption and his savior. He passionately denounced everything that I would categorize as joy. Just like that, a joyful radio station disappeared and became something else, something deplorable, fearful, and soul-killing.

All that, and then too, the vanishing of people from our towns, cities, campuses. It is happening. It is happening here.

Wake up.

Save everything you can.

Love, 

Joyce

 

Dear you,

Writing quickly on a latish Sunday night here in Seagrove Beach, FL. So much to say about my current entanglements (yes, I am under contract to sell my condo and buy a townhome and dealing with all the bullshit related to that), but all that "me" stuff is overshadowed by the bigger and more critical issue of all that "we" stuff.

The "we" stuff? An administration that is rapidly and somewhat successfully demolishing a federal government. An administration that just a few days ago spoke openly about prosecuting/abolishing entities (universities, law firms, media outlets, and oh yes, PEOPLE,) who speak honestly in opposition to him and his DOGE-ness.

Yes, that. And several days ago (or perhaps weeks ago, time is flying) we all got to enjoy the advice from one of Trump's minions  on Fox News claiming this economic stress is a good thing, because, yes, we should all be raising chickens in our own back yards!  Shall we reply, retort, by explaining not everyone has the skill or time to care for chickens or (more relevantly) not everyone has a fucking back yard?

It is patently clear to anyone with a functioning brain that Trump is channeling the game plan of all authoritarians. Shut down media that speaks truth to power, instill fear in the population that resistance is futile, and when the people are in pain, tell them it is their fault, because they didn't plan ahead and buy chickens. Or a backyard.

As I said, I am writing quickly because I just need to get something down, something said, during these days of deplorable deluge and attempts to enforce despair. Having said something, I sign off with this:

Resist despair and do NOT obey in advance.

Carry on, my lovelies.

Always here,

Joyce

Elon, here is your list!

Dear you, or should I say, dear child Elon Musk:

You demand a list of our accomplishments this week. I may not be a civil servant, but I am a citizen, a citizen from the blue side of the aisle.  Therefore, I must justify to your DOGE-ness how I have earned my right to exist under your regime.  Fine. Here we go:

Accomplishments as a blue citizen in your newly twisted world:

1. I stood strong during the entrapment and debasement of Ukraine in my oval office last Friday. The hillbilly VP and our spray-tan president berated a leader fighting for his nation's lives, freedom. I will not abandon them. I stood/stand with Ukraine.

2. I resisted the urge to slap the faces of the Trump voters in my zip code who are (still) complaining about the high cost of groceries while advocating tariffs and worker firings.

3. I quickly deleted emails sent by my senator Rick Scott praising the glorious carnage caused by his beloved Lord Donald.

4. I consumed multiple cocktails mixed with NOT Russian vodka.

5. I renewed by membership with the ACLU.

6. I continued to attempt to sell my condo on THE GULF OF MEXICO, tragically entertaining and rejecting offers from your like-minded "fuck these old people" friends.

7. I rose above all your noise and remained healthy as hell.

8. I took my aging car for repairs to a "non-dealership" entity who fixed him up for a reasonable, non-Musky price. I resisted the pressure to buy a Tesla.

9. I enjoyed the informative and entertaining programming on NPR, every day, every hour, as if it was the last airing.

10. I kept my head while all around me were losing theirs.

11. I loved and pampered my feline pet, who is (undebatable fact) superior to most humans checking into my condo complex during this early spring break.

12. I walked past the condo building to the north of me that is openly hosting a crowd of underage teenage boys and smiled, saying to the MAGA-capped child screaming on the balcony of unit 12D "I have the county sheriff on speed dial". (He ran.)

13.I resisted everything irrational and anti-democratic.

14. I watched the Oscars and loved the show, notably its reminders that culture unifies and trash, in the end, will be washed away.

15. I read several fabulous books you would find subversive. And they were from the public library. (Something else you intend to kill.)

There is your list, darling Elon.

Yes, I know history. I know democracies fall. And I also know it is your intention to take ours down.  However, I also want you to understand that millions and millions and millions of Americans (the brightest, the sexiest, the smartest, the sweetest) resist your efforts.  Take your best shot. We will #resist.

That is my list! Hope it meets your expectations.

Love,

Joyce