Helpless and hopeless? Not for long.

pexels-photo-457563.jpegHelpless and hopeless is how I feel after every mass shooting. It takes several days to get a grip, especially when the killing takes place in a school.

School shootings are personal. I am a retired teacher.

As the faces of victims cross my screen, I see eager, bright teenagers on the cusp of adult life. Most are ready to conquer the world, to do good, and they sparkle with life. I know them even though I don’t.

Then I see the faces of teachers and administrators who have sacrificed themselves. I know them too. Most educators I have known would instinctively protect their students from harm. I can visualize the coach down the hall opening his locked door to offer safety to running children. I can easily imagine the young English teacher attending to an injured child or colleague.

It is all so sad and unnecessary, so I lick my wounds briefly and then I start to see fiery-red waves of anger. Anger is good for a time. It can be a good motivator. It almost always pushes me to act.

I see anger red when Paul Ryan appears on the news telling us not to have a knee-jerk reaction. Let me tell you something, Mr. Paul Ryan. If it were your dead child lying in a pool of blood you would change your tune. Please don’t ever say that again.

I see red when Thom Tillis of North Carolina (my state) says he is praying for the families. Take your prayers and shove’em, Mr. Tillis, until you’re ready to give up NRA money and take a stand against the AR-15.

I see red when President #45 addresses the Parkland community, vaguely mentioning mental health, but offering no solutions, thus putting an onus on the students for not monitoring the gunman’s social media activity. It’s nice of you to make an appearance among them, though I imagine you’ll stop by on your way to play golf at Mar-a-Lago. And by the way, how much money has the NRA contributed to your follies?

Here’s the thing, the NRA would like to keep us licking our wounds and wringing our hands. Well, listen up National Rifle Association, that’s not what real Americans do. We see red, we get angry, and we fight for change. We fight to elect citizens who will work to enact responsible gun laws and campaign finance reform. This fight is not about taking away anyone’s guns. It’s about money. Do you think we don’t know that?

The pendulum is swinging, the clock is ticking, and the NRA assault on America’s children is coming to an end. That’s how democracy works.

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Writing down the sound bites…

There is too much garbage wandering in and out of my consciousness to make sense of it. The sad thing is the junk in my brain is coming straight from #45’s White House. Each day, before I have assimilated the previous day’s craziness, something new and more frightening comes down the pike.

I read somewhere on social media that we protesters/dissenters should write a list of concerns about our so-called leaders at the end of each day. Seriously? If I did that I would be more depressed than I am already. It’s impossible to keep up. The wee-hour tweets alone are enough to drive me over the edge.

Can my sense of humor get me through this? I can usually find humor in almost any situation, no matter how dire. And I have lived through some tough times. The best I can do is catch a smidgen of humor however brief and try to keep hopeful that we will soon begin the impeachment process.

img_1524Will the real President 45 please stand up? Hold on. He’s trying. Whoops. Try again.

I’m trying to make a joke here but it’s falling flat even for me. There is just nothing funny about Bannon being Trump’s mouthpiece. He’s the puppet master and 45 is the ideal puppet. I can’t laugh about that. Bannon scares the hell out of me.

Then there’s Kellyanne. img_1522-2I must admit I did get a good laugh when I saw her Inauguration Day outfit. It’s been well documented and she’s never going to live it down. I kept singing “Send in the Clowns.” (Sorry Judy Collins)

Though I still giggle every time I see a photo of her in her patriotic duds, I cannot help feeling anger and pity for her. She’s sold her soul to the devil. Her evasive style of speaking and her alternative facts are recorded for posterity. Her progeny will read it and weep.

How can a woman as intelligent as she is prostitute herself in this way? I have no answers. I’ll continue to mute the sound on my television whenever I see her face on the screen.

There’s nothing funny about our self-imposed immigration crisis. I won’t even try.

I think I will have to rely on my favorite satirist Andy Borowitz to give me a laugh or two as I struggle to make sense of our floundering nation. This quote from is him is not funny but it gives me a scintilla of hope. And I can count on him to make me laugh soon. Probably before the day is over. Thanks, Andy.img_1526