Day: November 8, 2017

The sun came out strong this morning, and it looked to me like the beautiful old tree was dancing across our lawn. It almost seemed like an abstract to me.

When I first called Matthew Ross and asked him to come and trim our donkeys’ hooves, he politely said he didn’t really do donkeys and couldn’t take Lulu and Fanny on. I thanked him and hung up. On an impulse, I called him back and said we had a number of mutual friends and they would testify that Lulu and Fanny were sweet and agreeable creatures and would be no trouble.

I’ve been through this before, people are eager to rescue donkeys but know little about them. Sometimes lambs get stomped and killed, people get bitten and knocked over. Donkeys have been through a lot in their history, many are wary of humans. Ours are not.

I urged him to come and take a look at them.

Matthew agreed to give it a shot and came over, and he did find that our donkeys were sweet and loveable, he said they were the nicest donkeys he had ever trimmed.  Matthew had been through a lot, he has been kicked by donkeys, bitten, even had one sit on him while he was trimming their hooves.

Our donkeys behaved like the affectionate creatures they are and stood patiently still while he worked on their hooves.  Red sat nearby quietly and Gus came and checked out the new scene. Maria had a pocketful of cookies to keep them happy.

Matthew loves his work  and there is a polite but no-nonsense air about him, he was in and out in 20 minutes. I’m glad he gave us a second chance.

I love my country very much, as most of us do, and as the descendant of immigrants do in a particular way. The last year has been hard on me. Living where I do, I understand why Mr. Trump was elected, and I hear and see the very valid grievances of the rural poor. White people suffer too, and have, like so many other struggling people, been ignored and left behind.

Several things have been especially difficult for me to bear since last November, one year ago, and this is the anniversary of that pain. One is the scapegoating and persecution of immigrants and refugees.

Another is the rise and growing acceptance of Nazi’s and white supremacists in our tolerance, and their growing acceptance in our society. Another is the angry and divisive tone that has permeated our politics and the news. Yet another is our normalizing of the slaughter of children and innocents, and our government’s blind response: to pray.

I feel for Mother Earth and shocked to now live in the only country on earth that refuses to see that she is bleeding and broken. I am so sorry to see that the only value my country pursues is wealth and more wealth. One day, I hope the poor and vulnerable come to see one another as allies, no matter their identity or color, and not as enemies. And then, perhaps our world will change.

To pray is the task of religion, not government. I hope I never come to see the butchering of people at worship  or in their homes and offices as normal, I hope the answer for me will never be to arm myself and kill back.

For one year, I have come to wince at the news, to feel my heart drop, to worry about how harsh and angry and racist and sexist and selfish my country is becoming, day by day. I decided to  respond not by arguing but by doing good, by seeking a life of compassion and mercy and small acts of great kindness.

I have been humbled, pushed to the outside, discarded in a way.  No one seems to care what I think or believe. I will not forget the feeling. And I am so grateful to see that I am not as nearly alone as I thought I was.

This trouble has altered my life and given it focus. This morning, for the first time in a year, I woke up to news that was, for me, good news, that brightened my day and gave me hope. My America, the country of tolerance and opportunity and acceptance, seemed to emerge from the shadows and make itself felt – for women, for immigrants and minorities, for transgender and gay people, and for people like me, who learned the hard less of being ignored and left behind. I hope it will teach me to be sensitive, not angry.

The strangest thing for me was to suddenly feel an outlier in my own country, that no one represented me or cared about my beliefs. So many Americans know this feeling – woman, African-Americans,  Native-Americans, refugees, poor whites in rural places.

But I never felt it before in so cruel and unrelenting a way. It was as if our leader  was telling me every day in any possible way that he was not my leader, he was only the leader of the people who supported him and idolized him, not as a political leader, but as a figure of worship, almost as a cult leader.

i have no interest in anger or vengeance, but this morning was important to me, and to Maria as well. For the first time in a long and difficult year, I felt my country had emerged, a place of compassion, opportunity, freedom and tolerance.

And I have no illusions. The fight for a just and compassionate country, for the next step to power for the women’s revolution, for the light of freedom to shine throughout the world, for justice for the slaughtered, for the poor and the sick, never really ends. It has to be fought again and again. But today, some important battles have been won, and it has lifted my heart.

That was important, the news today. It felt good to see it. The country I love is coming back to life and showing itself to me and to the world. Something heavy and dark has been lifted a bit off of my shoulders.

I felt the idea of doing good has grounded me, and grounded others. I did not spend the year arguing in anger, I spent the year trying to do good, and doing good. Millions of people, left and right, old and young, came out to vote for my America, and remind me that it is very much alive, and is beginning to once again emerge.

For me, a renewed commitment to doing good, and you can help me and others and join me and others. We have lots more good to do, my spirit is renewed.

Donate to the Army of Good, P.O. Box 205 (Jon Katz), Cambridge, N.Y., 12816, or Paypal, jon@bedamfarm. Please mark the donation for The Mansion or for Refugee Fund.

The Better Angels have come to rally us and give us hope and remind us that people are good,  given the chance. Here’s a chance.