It’s quiet here today. The big kids are with their dad for the weekend and John is working. When he left at 7:30 this morning Willow was still asleep, so I curled up on the couch with coffee and the saturday and sunday newspapers. Willow came toddling in awhile later, with her crazy bed-hair and sleepy eyes, and said, "Mama cry. Okay?? Mama? Okay?" I told her that I was sad, and she put her little fat hands on my cheeks and said, "You feel better now?" We ate some eggs together, watched a little Kipper, cuddled under a blanket by the open window. I was thinking about what my grandmother said to me on the phone a couple of days ago. She said that she felt guilty for having a nice house with food and clean clothes and everything she needs. This coming from a woman who just had major surgery for the second time this year and spent the last few days waiting for a blood clot in her leg to dissolve. I know what she means, though.
As pathetic as the us government’s response was, it was really uplifting to see the sites set up to connect people with things they needed and with housing. With each other. There have been photos on flickr that are both nearly impossible and necessary to look at. We don’t have cable, but I have read that many of the tv journalists have openly criticized the rescue and the Bush administration. Michael Moore pointed out in a letter posted on his site that wealthy people in Kinnebunkport wouldn’t have been waiting for food and water on their roofs for five days. That part of the story to me is the most tragic of all. That in large part what happened to the people there happened because enough people in charge of things didn’t think those people mattered based on how they look on the outside and what’s missing from their bank accounts. The cities and houses can be rebuilt someday, but how can we fix the bigger problem? How do you teach compassion to people who are so sick?