Archive | Country Matters
Venus in Scorpio, Jupiter in Scorpio, Sun in Scorpio, new moon in Scorpio. With all these planets in the sign of reckoning and power, you can feel the ground shifting beneath your feet even if you don’t believe in astrology. In our individual lives, in our country, in the heavens themselves, what lurks below has been exploding in our faces for months now. But with Scorpio now looming in planets of love and manifestation, identity and emotionality, we’re finally seeing the power balance shift—-to glimpse the fetid core of patriarchy itself. First and Forest
When I first came to Truro, it was only to be for a month. I had put the word out among my extended circle that I was looking to live in rural New England in September, and had rolled my eyes as I’d done so. Who’d be willing to lend me their empty house wily-nily for four weeks?
I had gall.
But as is often the case when change is necessary, that gall paid off. A friend from high school—someone I liked but had never known well—got in touch through Facebook, and next thing I knew Grace and I were hurtling to Truro in a car full of cat food, thin cotton dresses, and platform shoes.
That’s who I was on September 7. Tired eyes, disappointed smiles, trailing glamour like yesterday’s big idea. Grief-stricken about the hateful ignorance validated by the Trussian Oligarchy. Grief-stricken about who I no longer was. Continue Reading →
Saving Light
I was already sad due to o, o lord, another set of shootings and the departure of my g-dfamily after a lovely few days with them in Truro. But the daylight savings blues made this a truly melancholy twilight. I walked for hours in the woods and on the beaches of Wellfleet’s Great Islands Trail, and the sorrow walked right along with me. For once, my Mrs. Who shtetl chic didn’t shake me out of my despair, nor did the rusts, ambers, olives, and turquoises of the high grasses, dune trees, and sea crests as I trudged and trudged. Even the kindly couple whom I befriended on the trail–white-haired, bright-eyed–didn’t change this grey to gold; rather, we shared the rueful sweetness I remember from waiting for seemingly forever at very cold bus stations in the Boston winters of my adolescence. I’ve never been more struck by the wisdom of December’s festivals of lights. Surely we Americans need something to look forward to in the long dark nights to come.