Fighting Back

I don't know when I started the tradition of taking a picture of my shoes. Maybe it's because I want to remember all the ground I stood on before. I don't know, but I've got feet shots of me in forest fires, oil spills, raging flood waters, the mountains, the desert, the Gulf, Europe, Canada, and on and on.

These are my feet, and those are my shoes. I lost all but these and another pair in the flood, even my moccs are gone. It's funny how things come and go. Shoot, some days I feel like I spent most of my life so far just trying to hold on to what someone or something was trying to take away.

These cuts this Donner Party (my not-so-fond nickname for POTUS 45 and company) has in store, I know what they mean to me and to most people. They mean suffering.

My grandma was visited by meals on wheels before she died, and school lunches helped sustain me, and WIC helped me feed my babies, and tax returns help me to stay afloat, and we are counting on those Pell grants to help my kids get through college - to give them a chance, so they can benefit us all.

If something happens to me -  my kids' only support - I'm going to need good healthcare, by doctors who have done the research to try and help me, and social security if I am to leave these sweet babies too soon.

Chances are, you need all that too.

And please don't you tell me about work. I've worked every day of my life since I was 13-years-old, paying taxes the whole way too.

Still, they try to tell me that I'm entitled? ENTITLED?!

Ya damn right I'm entitled. By blood, sweat and tears of me and every generation behind me, I am entitled to benefit from my life.

Of course, what does any of that matter if I can't leave the babies and their babies the gifts necessary for life: clean and healthy water, air, and land?

What right do these handful have to eat folks up? What right do they have to take from the babies and the grandmothers? Come the f on.

These are my shoes, and that is Two Rivers Camp, and this is me fighting back.