I woke up with an attitude this morning, stronger than disappointment but short of rage. I don’t do rage very well. It dissipates so fast I can’t find the handle and defaults into “What the . . . !” On the other hand, low grade angst irritates like a big blue bottle fly buzzing on the window, just out of swat range. That must be my affliction today.
I usually listen to local music radio while coffee is making. Today the DJ was interviewing a local writer/author. The subject was racial profiling. Every year about this time, all police departments in the country report their annual data on traffic stops for the past year. It is the primary source of information used to rank and rate the practice of racial profiling. In the past twenty years, what was intended to reduce the phenomenon has proven to have no effect. In fact, profiling has focused increasingly on people of color and blacks in particular.
Racial profiling is just a peek into a culture of prejudice and privilege that weighs down on people of color. Since the Civil War, policing has been predicated on protecting white people and their property from anyone or anything that can be perceived to threaten white supremacy (White Privilege). It is an ugly reality, one that most of us would rather not address. Looking in the mirror, we don’t want to see a repulsive monster staring back. So in passive denial, we look the other way. It is a diabolical construct that leaves us with a self inflicted blind spot. Trying to explain that to a flag waving, come to Jesus patriot is like pulling teeth. At best, you will be dismissed as a misguided fool or harshly rebuked as a turncoat. ‘Nuff’ is enough, I’ve chewed on that bone enough today.
Halloween came and went without a ripple, just like the day before and the day before that. ‘Pandemic Fatigue’ has taken root without my consent. What does that say about me and my consent? This morning, after the coffee pot stopped making noise I selected a tall, white, tapered mug from the rack. It came from the Crane Trust Nature Center in Nebraska. The logo on the side is a whooping crane set against a rising sun. It holds a lot of coffee. I bought it the same morning I took fantastic photographs of sandhill cranes rising off the Platte River at dawn. I had spent the night in Grand Island, up early, off to the river. You can get good photos anytime but the great ones come just after the sun rises and before it sets. Be in the right place at the right time and good things happen.
They say a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down and I like that metaphor. I thought of that as I dropped a spoon full of honey into the empty mug. With careful aim I tipped the pot to pour. Had the mug been uniformly shaped there would have been plenty of space at the bottom of the well but it wasn’t symmetrical, it was tapered to a small base, not enough space to accommodate the rush of coffee. Down bound coffee hit the bottom and rushed back up the sides. That split second reaction arc, it seems instantaneous but we know better. I pulled back as coffee rose like a halo, above the top of the mug. How long does it take to blink: I don’t know but in that time it was over. I held the pot, the mug was on the counter top about three quarters full and there was no spillage. All of the ejected coffee had come back down inside the mug.
I had to do a mental rewind and view it again but it played out the same every time. I did that by myself, without any help. If I could replicate that little trick it might turn heads but I can’t. I can do the other part, drain the mug in little sips but that is not remarkable. The physics is awesome; fluid dynamics, friction, gravity, cohesion, inertia but most folks don't get excited about physics either. My Crane mug has a great story now and stories are what we do best. Once upon a time in another century, we brought busloads of intercity kids, year after year to see thousands of sandhill cranes fly in at dusk, to study the Platte River system at the university that night, sleep-over in a motel and be on the river before breakfast to watch the cranes wake up and start a new day. The story isn’t finished; I keep going back.
I usually listen to local music radio while coffee is making. Today the DJ was interviewing a local writer/author. The subject was racial profiling. Every year about this time, all police departments in the country report their annual data on traffic stops for the past year. It is the primary source of information used to rank and rate the practice of racial profiling. In the past twenty years, what was intended to reduce the phenomenon has proven to have no effect. In fact, profiling has focused increasingly on people of color and blacks in particular.
Racial profiling is just a peek into a culture of prejudice and privilege that weighs down on people of color. Since the Civil War, policing has been predicated on protecting white people and their property from anyone or anything that can be perceived to threaten white supremacy (White Privilege). It is an ugly reality, one that most of us would rather not address. Looking in the mirror, we don’t want to see a repulsive monster staring back. So in passive denial, we look the other way. It is a diabolical construct that leaves us with a self inflicted blind spot. Trying to explain that to a flag waving, come to Jesus patriot is like pulling teeth. At best, you will be dismissed as a misguided fool or harshly rebuked as a turncoat. ‘Nuff’ is enough, I’ve chewed on that bone enough today.
Halloween came and went without a ripple, just like the day before and the day before that. ‘Pandemic Fatigue’ has taken root without my consent. What does that say about me and my consent? This morning, after the coffee pot stopped making noise I selected a tall, white, tapered mug from the rack. It came from the Crane Trust Nature Center in Nebraska. The logo on the side is a whooping crane set against a rising sun. It holds a lot of coffee. I bought it the same morning I took fantastic photographs of sandhill cranes rising off the Platte River at dawn. I had spent the night in Grand Island, up early, off to the river. You can get good photos anytime but the great ones come just after the sun rises and before it sets. Be in the right place at the right time and good things happen.
They say a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down and I like that metaphor. I thought of that as I dropped a spoon full of honey into the empty mug. With careful aim I tipped the pot to pour. Had the mug been uniformly shaped there would have been plenty of space at the bottom of the well but it wasn’t symmetrical, it was tapered to a small base, not enough space to accommodate the rush of coffee. Down bound coffee hit the bottom and rushed back up the sides. That split second reaction arc, it seems instantaneous but we know better. I pulled back as coffee rose like a halo, above the top of the mug. How long does it take to blink: I don’t know but in that time it was over. I held the pot, the mug was on the counter top about three quarters full and there was no spillage. All of the ejected coffee had come back down inside the mug.
I had to do a mental rewind and view it again but it played out the same every time. I did that by myself, without any help. If I could replicate that little trick it might turn heads but I can’t. I can do the other part, drain the mug in little sips but that is not remarkable. The physics is awesome; fluid dynamics, friction, gravity, cohesion, inertia but most folks don't get excited about physics either. My Crane mug has a great story now and stories are what we do best. Once upon a time in another century, we brought busloads of intercity kids, year after year to see thousands of sandhill cranes fly in at dusk, to study the Platte River system at the university that night, sleep-over in a motel and be on the river before breakfast to watch the cranes wake up and start a new day. The story isn’t finished; I keep going back.
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