It was about how thousands of Nazis, with the full knowledge of US government agencies including the CIA and the FBI were given safe haven in the US because it was thought that they would be allies against Soviet Russia during the cold war. Some of these people were known war criminals who had done horrible, horrible things during the war. J. Edgar Hoover was of course involved.
And as I was listening to all of this, it occurred to me that government is and always has been inherently fucked up and expecting justice and wisdom from all of those who are in it is a special sort of idiocy and we need to all just live our lives in the best ways we can and to quote Bob Dylan who sneered these words, "To live outside the law you must be honest."
I actually and truly did do a needlework of that once. I never did get it framed.
Okay. Please. I know that we do need to fight for what we believe in and for those whom the law disenfranchises but when it comes right down to it, we gotta help each other. And ourselves.
I don't know. I really don't but that thought comforted me and I knelt in the dirt for hours, weeding and thinning my collards, mustards, kale, arugula, turnips. As I worked I thought about Brother Rodd and all of my thoughts concerning him were so light and lovely that I am sure they flew right up to heaven like down on a breeze. And for once, I did not feel as if my hours there in the garden were time that I could have better spent elsewhere. It felt like exactly where I needed to be.
And tonight I am going to have a salad of the little green thinnings
dressed right in the bowl with olive oil and garlic and mustard and vinegar and lemon juice and salt.
Maybe with a poached egg beside it.
Mr. Moon left for Georgia and I sent him off with sandwiches and soup, knowing to his soul that he is well-loved by me.
I washed the sheets and hung them on the line and have made up the bed with them, soft and yet crisp. I let the chickens into the garden and regretted that as they pecked at the collards. Only the collards. Not the kale- take note all you kalies.
I expect that by Thanksgiving there will be enough for a pot mixed with the mustards and turnips. I talked to Hank today and we came up with the idea of having a more southern, a more down-home meal for Thanksgiving. Turkey and stuffing, of course, but more lovely vegetables NOT involved in casseroles with salads and also fresh oysters and simpler and more honest foods. I would like that.
Maurice and I are hunting widows again and we are fine. My back and knees are sore but not so much. As I was walking across the yard today I thought once again about how sometimes when I am walking I think of my brother White and how our gaits are similar in the forward motion of our chests, the way our hips are strung to create our stride and I liked that. In my dreams I find myself down on my knees over and over, unable to rise up but in real life, I can still do it. It is not always graceful, it is not always pretty, but I can do it. I can rise up and I can kneel down and I am catholic in my kneeling and rising in the garden with this body that is mine, with this mind that is mine as well, that no politician or government official or religious ritual is going to command.
We all walk as we can. We all do what we can. Which is mostly the best we can and I am ready to eat some greens.