Welcome to probably the final installment of The Gods Are Bored.
I thought I could return to my sassy humor over this past summer, but nothing is funny anymore. In America we have entered a dystopia so deep that satire is in bad taste ... and possibly even job- and life-threatening.
Ten years ago I had faith in the people of this country. That faith was misplaced.
We now have multiple public health crises here: gun violence, vaccine hesitancy and distrust of scientific research, electronic device addiction, and still the scourge of opiate painkillers. Critical thinking is actively discouraged. The environment is so damaged that only a major extinction event could repair it. Income inequality has made slaves of us all.
You might think that the political climate is the reason for my despair. Well, it certainly plays a major role. Fact is, for me, it comes down to insects. The real kind. I do not see them anymore. There are no ants in my kitchen. There are no crickets in my basement. When I turn on the porch light, no moths flutter around it. The only bugs I saw this summer were the greenhead flies at the Jersey Shore. And they did not attack in numbers like they used to. I understand that I am the only home owner on my block who doesn't employ professional pest control services. But that does not explain the scarcity of insect and bird life on my untouched property in the mountains. There are fewer bugs, and hence fewer birds and bats, and none of that bodes well.
My daughters do not want to have children. This is their choice. I say nothing to them, but I think of all the Mothers going back into the mists of time who have led to me and mine, and I grieve. If this blog springs back to life, it will be because one of these two fine, principled, intelligent, sensitive, and learned young women changed her mind. I am living in the question.
I want to say goodbye to you, and to thank you again, from my heart's bottom, for your kind comments and the many gifts you bestowed upon me over the years -- everything from supplies and books for my classroom to vet bills for poor Decibel the parrot. But mostly thank you for making me feel heard and seen. I enjoyed this all so much.
I don't want to leave you with a portrait of aging Annie, crumbling in her dark living room. So here is how I want you to visualize me:
Visualize me doing live action role play in the Pine Barrens, decked out in flowing faerie gear, with young people and their dear children.
Visualize me quietly helping my old friend the Monkey Man. Ten months ago he was hit by a car that broke multiple limbs but not his spirit. Never his spirit. See me doing his laundry and bringing him paper towels and taking him to baseball games. See us laughing over his most recent haiku.
See me at faerie festivals, with my sister who has renounced evangelicalism, dancing in the grass.
See me at baseball games with my peanuts and Cracker Jack, rooting for the Orioles and the Phillies and anyone playing the Yankees.
See me teaching school. I am still teaching school at age 66.
And see me quietly tending my shrines, honoring my Mothers, and Queen Brighid the Bright, and Venus Cloacina, and dear ol' Anansi. I still feel like the Old Gods are a little less bored these days. They deserve all the best.
Take care of yourself, reader. Let your garden grow wild. And may the Bored Gods protect you and keep you, now, tomorrow, and forever.
Anne
The Merlin of Berkeley Springs
