It’s a cold season, a sleeping season. There’s no carefree abandon that you see in Summer and the capering first blushes of newness that go along with Spring are a long way off. The harvests are all barned and siloed. The festivals celebrating their gathering are likewise put away. The beggared lights and fires of Yule, the desperate swathes of evergreen and tinkling silver bells of Christmas are a fair way off, farther in the future than those festivals are in the past.
Is it any wonder that November is the month people try to blow things up? November needs a good shaking up, really. And what is more of a spark to the tired timber of this dread month than a taste of revolution?
I suppose it’s in poor form to stage a coup out of boredom, and I don’t suspect there are really that many takers for it. For all my libertarian leanings, I’m more of a “let’s eat lots of poultry and spuds” Novemberite than I am a Fawkesian firebug.
The Occupy Wall Street fellows and fair maids have filed paperwork to trademark their name. Honestly, this is what passes for revolution in America. A revolution that purports to seek the overthrow of greed and corporate intrusion is actually branding itself. Like any good corporate product. Yes, I find it a bit ironic, but I also think it says a great thing about this country. Even those of us who are fed up with parts of the whole still pretty much like the way things go around here more or less. Nobody in Occupy Wall St.(TM) is trying to blow anything up. They just want to be heard as they pass around their grown people’s versions of Lists for Santa. “Dear Shifting, Faceless Entities I Believe To Have Some Sort Of Control Over These Things: Please Make it so that I can make $20 an hour for shelving books at the library.” I have to admit that as a lover of human stories, I actually enjoy reading the placards and web posts where the hard-luck stories surface. Not because I enjoy hard-luck, but because there is so much of the people in it. They have revealed their vulnerability to make a point in a touching way. I just wish I could in any way agree with the point they’re trying to make.
Last night something dealt my own little world a crushing blow. It’s much more ephemeral in nature than any of the sorts of things you see on placards and were I to explain it we’d be here for most of the day. Suffice to say that my little sliver of planet got itself blowed up real good and I’m still trying to put the pieces back together. I think this happens everywhere all the time. Somewhere someone is having their own personal tragedy.
I suppose, in truth, that’s why Occupy Wall Street(TM) is having so much trouble gaining widespread sympathy.
Everybody has it hard. And a lot of the Hard is stuff nobody wants to talk about.