Red Eye

Irritation

Yesterday the dermatologist burned off the usual barnacles that are gifts from long life.

One of them was right next to my eye. When I got home, my eye looked gruesome.

But then, my eyes look pretty gruesome even without the burn.

As does my nose. And cheek, forehead, and pretty much every part of my outer epidermis.

I’m grateful for having been here this long. Except when I slip, and pay too close attention to the news. Then I begin fantasizing about an imminent exit.

It finally seems clear to me that, in much the same way that my dermatologist, if I give her the green light, will end up disassembling my entire skin, this president to whom we unwisely entrusted an office that has metastasized beyond human bounds, is hell bent on disassembling our nation.

Pretty gruesome to watch.

I had no idea my skin was so fragile. That 85 years of sun and wind and worry, would one day make it look like a plowed field.

Despite warnings, we had no idea our nation’s institutions and values were so fragile, that one person could turn them into train wreck in a mere matter of weeks.

Too late for my face. But my eye can still see, and is gradually returning to a more benign color.

May this horrific episode prove one of our periodic hiccups in trusting our experiment, honoring and including the least among us having dignity, equal rights.

Last night I saw the new musical, Three Summers of Lincoln, which brilliantly portrays President Lincoln, and Stephen Douglas, the celebrated black leader and writer. They met three times when it looked like the Union would lose the Civil War, and slaves would remain slaves.

Heartening to see the two men, portrayed as anxious, uncertain, fallible. Hardly heroic figures until, with fearful, but decisive decisions, took the nation into a new day.

A day that still struggles to claim what the war was about.

I am keeping that jaundiced eye on myself, and you, and the rest of us, to see if we can, again, swallow our fears and renew the splendor. The American Dream.