The Furious Spinner

Mario still home sick. I drive to work in the big city. Cloudy for the first time in weeks. I didn't sleep well, so I listen to the radio, hoping it'll keep me awake. What I hear: "Bush bad, Bush, Bush bad. Bush getting away with everything." I remember that Bush has given the finger to the world again when he nominated Paul Wolfowitz to run the World Bank. He has also nominated Karen Hughes to change our image overseas. This is the same woman who equated those of us who are pro-choice to terrorists. Oh yeah, she's a diplomat.

I work. It's a relatively simple task I’m doing which will, when completed, relieve some staff stress. We're just too crowded. Too many books. Too many people. Today the internet is down, and the library is like it used to be, before internet. Every person I know who has worked in libraries before and after the internet longs for the good ol' days of before. Today the feel of the library is different, the energy calmer—less frantic, strained, and demanding. More humane. Even though one man types furiously on the keyboard that goes with the library computer catalog, then pauses and has a loud conversation with someone none of us can see. And he doesn't even have a cell phone.

For lunch, I go downstairs and walk toward the door leading outside. I see white floating by the window. Snow. Gigantic snow flakes. Only it's being blown so that it is falling on a slant, and I realize it can't be snow. I step outside and the wind is making tornadoes out of the dust in the parking lot, tornadoes out of the pink/white blossoms falling from the tree next to the library. The sky is dark. It's cold, and I run to the car, falling petals leading the way. I call Mario, then eat my lunch (tofu sandwich). On NPR they announce that the Senate has passed a measure that will allow drilling in the Alaska Wildlife Refuge. The voting is along party lines, except for a couple on either side who cross the aisle. Those voting for the drilling are so short sighted. Why can't these people see Bush only does stuff for himself and his oil buddies? What beauty will they ruin for a few years of oil—oil that probably won't even be used here. My senator Maria Cantwell fought hard. She did us proud. I need to remember to call her office and thank her. She says the fight isn't over. Still, I put my head on the steering wheel and cry. It's fitting I'm sitting in a car going nowhere.

I can't help thinking about Senator Byrd's speech, when he reminded us that the Nazis used the law to legitimize their fascism. He also said, "As long as there is a forum in which questions can be asked by men and women who do not stand in awe of a chief executive and one can speak as long as one's feet will allow one to stand, the liberties of the American people will be secure." I bet they're trying to figure out a way to put this old bird into jail—or shut him up somehow. I hope he keeps standing and speaking. I wipe my eyes and go back to work.

Later I hear a tapping on the windows and look up and see raindrops. After weeks of dry warm weather, it is raining. By the time I leave to go home, it is pouring down rain. Not Pacific Northwest pissing down rain but rain nevertheless. I stand and watch for a time before I go out into it. I remember a line from a Buddhist practice text: “subdue the demons with splendor.” My grief is momentarily gone as I breathe in the cool moist air. I hope we can figure out a way to subdue the demons with splendor—something has to give.

In the meantime, I run outside into the rain. 0 comments

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