MountainMornings

Today is my birthday, and this particular one I find hard to believe.

It creeps up on you, it stalks you in the shadows; first you notice some wrinkles on your arms of all places, then a furrow in your brow. After West Nile, you need glasses to see. You stop dying your hair that fake red color, because who are you trying to impress? Your hip continues to ache and your knees complain. Your husband retires.

Small pieces begin to add up to a whole lotta years – 70 to be exact. But instead of feeling discouraged this morning, I’m hopeful about the future. Last night, after coming un-glued being semi-glued to the TV, Bob and I attended a small Nashville-style fundraiser at Third Man Records for the Democratic candidate for the Senate: https://www.bredesen.com/meet-phil/  It was a feminist antidote to our times.

I came of age when women died from septic, illegal abortions. The luckier ones had their fertility compromised, or they were secretly ushered off into “Unwed Mothers’ Homes” where their babies went to the highest bidder, or Catholic Charities. Everyone knew a girl in high school who disappeared. This is the kind of “Great America” we might be forced to endure again, if Brett Kavanaugh is voted on today, out of committee, and ever closer to a life-time seat on the SCOTUS.

Did you believe Dr Christine Blasey Ford?

The indelible hippocampus where memories are stored in our brains is a reservoir of trauma and pain. I remember being hit by Nellie when I called her “Mommy,” because she’d promised the Flapper that I would never call her that name.

I remember playing alone across the street in Victory Gardens, up a small hill, when a car drove very slowly by with a man exposing himself to me. I didn’t even have the words to tell Nell what happened.

Like seeing Mark Judge arranging shopping carts at the Safeway, I distinctly remember waking up and leaving that house, with a boy I didn’t know trying to undress me, and the look on my friend’s face, a boy I had gone to Catholic school with, in the living room. A look of surprise and shame followed by denial because I was furious, yelling and throwing things at him.

I didn’t report it because his buddy didn’t “rape” me and I felt guilty for being there. I don’t know where that house is, I don’t know how I got home.

Do you believe me?

We were up close and personal last night while Emmylou Harris’ haunting voice sent waves of healing grace down my spine. She sings of heartbreak and loss like no other, the years only smoothing her tone. She has her very own animal rescue farm here in Nashville. She was born one year ahead of me, her mane of silver white hair hanging over her acoustic guitar. I’d always loved her, she and Joni were our sheros. Like Anita Hill. Like Christine Blasey Ford. Like Kamala Harris.

And another reason to feel hopeful – Pennsylvania voted yesterday to deny spousal abusers the ability to buy guns! “CeaseFirePA is pleased that the PA House of Representatives today passed HB 2060 by a vote of by 131-62.  This bill takes important steps to disarm domestic abusers and make Pennsylvania families safer. CeaseFirePA has been proud to stand with the Pennsylvania Coalition Against Domestic Violence and Moms Demand Action for Gun Sense in America and working with constituents across the Commonwealth to pass this critical legislation.” http://www.ceasefirepa.org/updates/

Thanks to Moms Demand and all the women who will no longer stay silent, who will change our culture in this first year of the #MeToo movement. Who can use more than a smile to turn the world on? I #BelieveWomen