The Hail Handmaid Pass

There is a difference between smart and judicious. They are not mutually exclusive, but by no means do they always walk hand in hand. 

Before RBG was even buried, the tainted wheels of the Senate GOP began a particularly unseemly and jubilant roll toward erasing her legacy and staining her well-earned and well-occupied seat. Worse still, a woman -- a woman -- willingly accepted the high honor that she, smart as she is, had to know was bestowed upon her only for ideological expediency. Her nomination was unprincipled, her confirmation hearing a sham, her swearing in a fait accompli. 

I would venture to say I am not as nearly as smart as our brand new justice, certainly not as ambitious. I also admit I have not always been judicious, but, for that, I have been exceedingly apologetic and overly plagued by regret. Who would turn down a nomination to the Supreme Court? someone asked me the other day. I'd like to think I would, if it were so obviously and publicly ill-gotten. Premised on utter hypocrisy that will forever stain her credibility and reputation, at the very least she should be ashamed. 

But, more importantly, smart and accomplished as she may be, she has shown herself to be decidedly non-judicious. Not "having, showing, or done with good judgment or sense," to put a finer point on it. Maskless at a Rose Garden tea party, proudly accompanying the vile man who nominated her -- a man whose life itself is anathema to her own extreme views -- on a Mussolini-esque balcony to celebrate her (and his) illegitimate rise to power. 

There are plenty of really smart people out there, but judiciousness, that's what really matters, isn't it, when you're about to spend the rest of your life on the once revered highest court in the land? 

I have yet to see anyone willingly turn down a nomination to the Supreme Court, but I have seen, in the past few years, many "lesser" beings risk their careers -- and their safety -- for a greater good. Many of these woefully unsung heroes have faded from public view and have suffered for their righteousness. For their "judiciousness." But history will, and should, treat them kindly, and they, unlike our newly minted justice, have a right to hold their heads high, and to never feel shame. She clearly does not feel any shame, but she should. 

I hold out a faint hope that the weight of her new seat, RBG's seat, will guide her as she holds the fate of so many in her hands. If precedent is any indication, I'm not optimistic. Just read Justice Beer-Brain's Trump-licking opinion on counting ballots in Wisconsin. 

Hope springs eternal, but, direspectfully, I dissent. 

Life Behind the Mask

Over the past seven months, I've stopped torturing myself with the pros and cons of fillers and Botox and other costly promises of feigned youth. Masks do have their perks. I'm afraid, sometimes, of once again living unveiled; sure, I'd like to keep the wrinkles under wraps, but I've also become quite accustomed to relying only upon my eyes to convey what I'm really thinking. The windows to my soul have become ambiguous, and I like it that way. 

I live in one of those "Democrat-run" cities (redundant, I know), where people either mask up or give you an extra wide berth when they pass. I ran back up to my apartment this morning, a fistful of sweatshirt pulled over my mouth and nose, mortified that I had forgotten my mask. It rests under my chin when I dine out, doubling as a crumb catcher until someone approaches and it rises up to do its day job. We queue up for the elevator, cognizant of the two per ride limit yet still asking if someone minds if we join. Oddly, we've become increasingly polite while we treat others as if they have the plague. 

Twice this month I had intended to finally go east and see my mother, pandemic be damned. Twice, my trip has been cancelled, first due to forces beyond my control, and more recently because it just didn't seem right -- for me, for my mother, for all of us, really, who have tried so hard to follow the rules and don't want to make things worse for everyone else. One  inadvertent slip-up; a chance encounter; a missed hand wash; a lurking droplet. I'm angry that so many have been reckless, and I don't want to relinquish my right to self-righteousness. 

Through two or three degrees of separation, I know of people who have been sick, and I know of people who have died. It's difficult to believe it's real, though, when it hasn't hit home, but still, I can't erase the images of body bags stacked up in the streets of New York. Governor Cuomo and renowned scientists have slipped off the radar, and we are bombarded with images of a president who preaches to an adoring audience that can't quite grasp the concept of a common good. 

Come to think of it, as the circus continues in full swing and the virus spikes, the president and his enablers have removed their masks while their endless misdeeds have slipped beneath the radar. The rampant corruption, like the rule-abiders and community-minded among us, has become veiled, masked. What of the overt lies? What of the grifting? What of the damning tax returns we know about, and the lord-knows-how-damning tax returns we have yet to see? What of the voter suppression and the racism and the stories that Jeffrey Epstein neglected to take to his grave? What about, what about, what about? Out of sight. Like my wrinkles. 

There is so much wrong right now, and as much as I mask up and keep my distance and wash my hands, there is no end in sight. But the seemingly forgotten treachery, like my wrinkles, will out again. 

Tzadek, Tzadek, Karma

I am not generally in the habit of wishing ill upon people, but I'm not gonna lie. I find it hard to feel anything resembling compassion for the newly infected POTUS and FLOTUS. They are vile. 

This is not to say the news made me happy. My first thought went to Joe Biden who, as it turns out, not only had to listen to 90 minutes of spewing bile but may also have been on the literal receiving end of the venomous spew. I was appalled when I watched the entire grifter clan remove their masks as they sat down, despite the guidelines set forth by the hospital hosting them. Little did I know they were doing far more damage than merely setting a poor example. 

I'm feeling a tad bit of pity for the rally-goers, the ignorant ones at least, the lemmings who have bought into the cries of hoax and the propaganda spread by Fox News. For the greedy ones and the haters, not so much. 

My new mask arrived yesterday, the one that says -- in Hebrew and English -- Tzadek, Tzedek, Tirdof. Justice, justice, shall you pursue. I ordered it after hearing that RBG had these words hanging on the wall in her chambers. Injustice. It's what keeps me awake at night, especially as November grows closer and the desperate corruption has reached a fever pitch. Masks are, in and of themselves, a statement. My new one adds an exclamation point.

Tzadik. It's another Hebrew term, another form of the word, really, that's been bandied about since RBG died on the eve of the Days of Awe. A title in Judaism given to people considered righteous. A person saved by God until the last minute, because we on earth needed her. NPR legal affairs correspondent and close friend of RBG Nina Totenberg tweeted just after midnight on that day: “And so it was that RBG died as the sun was setting last night marking the beginning of Rosh Hashanah.” But why take her when we needed her to hang on for just a few more weeks? 

RBG was indeed a Tzadik, a righteous woman, a dedicated pursuer of justice for the rest of us. Tzadik may be righteous, but karma is a bitch, and I'm starting to believe in both. 

My hope is that the president does not die this way. I would much rather see him, and his lackeys, prosecuted and imprisoned. I want to see those whose lives he has destroyed merely because they persisted, or spoke truth, made whole. I don't want anyone to die really. But I do want them to suffer the way far more than 200,000 Americans have suffered, not only the ones who succumbed but the ones who struggled and continue to struggle with the still unpredictable affects of this strange virus. And I want them to be exposed, to all those who have gulped down the Kool-Aid to the detriment of the rest of us.

Karma, because I'm feeling bitchy, and tzadek, because I'm honoring the righteousness that most of us can only dream about. My thoughts and prayers are real, but complicated.