We saved daylight but could not turn the clocks ahead three years to save America.
It was a long weekend, a couple extra days off school, birthday parties and basketball tryouts, tailgating and food pantry work and well child visits, tech rehearsals and packing for a field trip to Washington DC.
Touring the nation's capital during a government shutdown though? There is a decaying lady on the counter here, held together with hot glue and adorned with hosta leaves and zinnia blooms, an acorn for a head, who could do a better job running things for the country.
Andy did a bit of yard work one evening, raking leaves and removing Halloween decorations, and left a bouquet of lilacs at the back door. How can lilacs in early November make me feel less alone? I wake up and I hardly know where to let my eyes land, dizzy with all the new ways to be angry at the world. But flowers that seem as confused as the rest of us? Give me all of those please. All of those plus the pine scented candle and the gang of 8th grade boys on bikes heading to the pharmacy to fill the cart with community snacks for the long bus ride, all of the cozy crocheted critters lined up along the back of the couch, blankets as infrastructure.
I read it described as a cruel exchange, this flimsy math of hours, one night of extra sleep for months of darkness. This is not a deal I might negotiate on my own, because I believe sunlight is a cure. But so can be finding the perfect pellet ice your sister left in the freezer, watching a child well-versed in choosing music that might move his body to dance, changing into "night pajamas" after wearing "day pajamas."
Today's group project veiled as an election is due, another opportunity to practice taking care of our brains, and our neighbors.
