When my grandfather died, I got rip-roaring drunk on scotch and stormed the stage of a local bluegrass act that was playing in a Mexican restaurant (we are multi-cultural, people. Let’s embrace that shit). When he was interred three days later, the family drug itself, hung-over, to his viewing. There was crying. And wailing. There was grief openly expressed. Yet, there was also joking. And giggling, even the inappropriate sort. In the middle of a eulogy, for example, my mother and sister burst out laughing over the fact that the foundation make-up on his face was streaky as hell. They ran out of the funeral home mortified, but still, they couldn’t stop laughing. It didn’t mean that they weren’t heartbroken–they were. Their laughter was merely an aspect of their grief.
I’ve noticed a lot of reaction policing in terms of this whole Trump-elected inauguration business.#notmypresident supported by many, decried by many. The decision of many to refrain from watching the inauguration (that would be me, Beautiful People) has been decried by many as an act of apathy or cowardice. Likewise, those who are “too political” are criticized for the prominence that our current climate is taking in their content. Others are criticized for their lack of politics. And so on.
We’re all different. All of our choices and reactions are valid. As long as you’re not hurting anyone (there’s the witch in me coming out), you’re okay with me. We need the activists. We need the fluffy bunnies. We need the comedians. We need the devil’s advocates. Everyone has their part to play in this crazy production. I want to spread the love to each and every one of you, regardless of how you may be thinking or feeling. Much Love. Much Love. Much Love.