Dear friends and family,
I wrote this Blah, Blah Blog yesterday. This morning I read about the new approach the prosecution is preparing for the impeachment of our former President. I now think the trial is going to be a constructive and instructive history lesson for all Americans and frankly, for everyone in the world who is interested in “FREEDOM AND JUSTICE FOR ALL”. So here’s what I’m going to do. I am going to share what I wrote yesterday as a look into my own thought processes which normally are hidden and unfathomable even to me. I’d like to think it shows with continued exploration and investigation, I can be reached and even to the point of , dare I say it, changing my point of view. I don’t know about you, but in the climate of today’s polarizations on almost everything, that is a really big deal.
YESTERDAY’S THINKING AND WRITING:
A dear friend recently asked me if I was going to watch the televised impeachment trial.
I said I would not.
Not because I am not curious and concerned which I most certainly am.
My personal belief, after listening many times to his speech to the gathered mob in front of the White House on January 6th, is that our former President is guilty of inciting a mob to attack the Capitol. Also, my personal belief is that in counting the votes, it is most unlikely he will be found guilty. I ask myself, “Myself, why do I want to put myself through the disappointment of once again watching as the course of justice moves along “party lines”. And listening again to the rehashing of the lies, the same ‘ole-same ‘ole of no one listening to no one, which is utterly negative and depressing.” And so I shall await the expected verdict as I finish reading the extraordinary autobiography of Frederick Douglass.
Like I said, it’s an old childhood coping mechanism I developed against disappointment.
Allow me to elucidate.
As a child in a very large family where I always felt like an alien, my first defense was, of course, I was adopted. These were not my real parents. And these were not my real siblings. But my most favorite coping mechanism was my fantasy of being rescued.
Many were the nights where I would go to the living room where the radio/phonograph was (no television at that time) and put on a record of classical music (it mattered not which… although I did tend towards Chopin and Johannes Strauss waltzes) and danced until I dropped or until someone in the family complained (a frequent occurrence). The dancing was definitely a release but the dream that attended the dance was more important. As I danced, my fantasy was that Cecil B. De Mille was walking by my house (in Boro Park, Brooklyn), heard the music, looked in through the windows to see me giving it my all, immediately he went to my front door, My mother would answer. Mr. De Mille would give her his card and tell my mother that he needed me desperately for his next movie. Reluctantly and sometimes not so reluctantly she agreed, packed my ballet bag with my leotard, dancing shoes, and a package of Twinkies and I was off to Hollywood where I had always known I had belonged.
Eventually, I had to come down from fantasy to reality, my parents still owned me and being number 7 of 8 meant my siblings claimed me for errands and punishments befitting my station which meant I had to affect my own escape when I was able… it took a while, but I did. The best part of these childhood fantasies? They have moved with me.
At 87 years of age that child is still alive and well in me and I’ve got some doozie headline fantasies to prove it:
That was yesterday’s mashed potatoes and tomorrow I hope the promise of a more vital prosecution is fulfilled. And just remember, if not… there are always reruns of All In the Family.
Love, Sally-Jane ❤️
P.S. Randy Rainbow did this fabulous political parody from the musical, Fiddler on the Roof. For me, this says it all! ENJOY!
P.P.S. Don’t let your blood pressure rise during the trial. Here’s my remedy: