Don’t Let The Bastards Get You Down

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.” – Victor Hugo

Today is September 11^th.  It’s a day of remembrance.  I'm mad. Sad. Stomping around Cashmere. I've decided not to wear blue or red or pink or purple or my Braver Angels hat. It all seems pointless. I've got to find some place within me or out there to give me hope.

Today it is not just about remembering September 11th, but today we also are dealing with the death of Charles Kirk. Today is a hard day.  But let me skip ahead, then come back, I have decided to call 9/11, Don’t Let the Bastards Get You Down Day.

As I walked around Cashmere today, as I sometimes do to gather myself and also check on the town vibe, I saw all the flags out on the main street, Cottage Avenue.  Many larger flags were flying at half-staff.

I'm thinking about Kirk, a conservative activist and founder of Turning Point USA, known for his fierce speeches, campus debates, and a surprisingly young, devoted following. He was just 31.

During an event at Utah Valley University, Charlie Kirk was being questioned—reportedly about mass shootings—when a person with a gun, possibly from a roof, shot him in the neck. Law enforcement had a person of interest in custody (later released), and they are investigating how far away the shooter was and how this tragedy unfolded.

I feel sorrow, confusion, anger. For some, Charlie was a thorn in the side of what they saw as the establishment; for many others, he was a force for free speech, a provocateur who stirred up the political waters at every turn. Beneath the flags, there are tears for a life lost, for children left behind, for what seems like the fraying edges of civility.

We pause. We mourn. We ask how we can better protect one another in these heated times, when words and beliefs are sharp, and when violence seems to be the answer for far too many.

All this is on top of our thoughts about September 11, 2001 - the horror. My memories are etched so deeply they will never wash away. For me, it was the sudden announcement on the news as I was driving to play tennis.  I was panicked, our son, Sam, was a student at Columbia.

The whole country seemed to stop breathing. Strangers clutched one another in shock. Families waited for phone calls. Firefighters, police officers, and ordinary office workers became heroes, running not away but into the flames.

And then, when the dust settled and the days turned into weeks, something remarkable happened. In the midst of devastation, even in the midst of anger and deep sadness, a great wave of kindness and unity swept across our towns and neighborhoods.

I remember the lines to give blood (my son in New York said it was overwhelming; it was here in Cashmere too), the candlelight vigils, the small flags fluttering on porches. People smiled at each other in the grocery store, nodded at stoplights, and said the words we too often swallow: “I’m grateful for you.”

That is the part I don’t ever want to forget.

It has now been twenty-four years. For many young adults, September 11th is a page in a history book, not a lived memory. For those of us who watched it unfold, the images are still sharp: the towers falling, the ash-covered faces, the heartbreaking photographs taped to walls—Have you seen my husband? My daughter? My friend?

If you have read previous blogs, you know that one of my neighbors, an orchardist named Randy, decided after September 11th that he would plant peace in the most literal way. He began reaching across the globe, sharing apple knowledge with growers in Kyrgyzstan, a place where suspicion of America ran high. He did it not as a diplomat, not as a wealthy philanthropist, but as a farmer who believed that cultivating friendship was as important as cultivating fruit.

In the conversations I have had with him I think he felt, “What else can you do but grow something good out of something so terrible?”

Isn’t that the question for us all?

I was thinking about all this as I walked around town this morning.  I did go by the 9/11 memorial service at Riverfront Park. It's a beautiful memorial, lots of folks. I’ll give you a link to more about the service.  I walked by but only listened a bit because one year when I went the speaker was so very partisan it only made me mad and sad and hopeless.

This year, I asked my friend how it went – the speaker was past Governor of Washington, Gary Locke.  My friend said, “Well, he was good.  If I had to put all he said into a nutshell, I’d say, he was telling us in different words to not let the bastards get us down.”

I loved that.  Because earlier as I had been walking around town, I was internally whispering about what can be done for ourselves and our wounded country.  Telling myself that we have to go way beyond where we have been before.  As I mentioned earlier I had decided not to wear either blue or red or even purple today today, not even my Braver Angels hat.  We needed more.  Something that touched our very souls.

As I was musing, praying, I looked over at the Episcopalian Church, established over a 100 years ago, thinking about what in the world can we do in this wounded fractured world… 

Our religions have not helped, they have added to the problem - stoked hate.  We need the mystics.  It is said by those who study the mystics that they don’t believe in God - they experience God. They touch the face of God; they commune ineffably with God. They go beyond religions and cultures.  They experience the same things – interconnected global humanity, being engulfed by oceanic peace and love which they can’t really put into words. They just tell us that despite the look of the world going to hell, all will be well.

Then out of the blue a little voice yelled at me.  “Wait!”  A little girl came running off her porch down the steps of her house.  “I’m going to be singing tomorrow here on my porch. You can listen from the sidewalk if you come.”  My heart was already starting to sing in response. 

“What will you be singing,” I asked. “Oh some random song.  I also make up my own songs," she replied.  I told her (with her mother’s permission, I’d take a video and let others know about the concert.”  She told her name, asked mine.  Then her brother, perhaps a couple of years older, rushed down the steps and told his name.  They both decided that we should shake hands.

And that’s when I realized I need to say a prayer of gratitude for that little girl who rushed down the steps to tell me that she has a song to share. Afterwards I started to notice all sorts of good stuff.

The community meal sign, the be kind signs, the hold America together signs, the Good Sam signs.  I met a woman who asked me what’s on the menu for tonight’s community meal.  As it turns out it is pork adobo, the Filipino national dish, the chef is Pastor Lilia Felicitas-Malana. 

Pastor Lilia cooking Filipino National dish - pork adobo for 9/11 community meal, 2025

When I walked into the church to help set things up, there she is, Pastor Lilia, cooking, smiling.  Showing me extra cantaloupe which had been donated when they realized where it was going.   Beautiful fresh garden tomatoes donated from a neighbor sat out as well. 

That’s when my friend told me how uplifting the 9/11 service had been.  She shared her thoughts about Gary Locke’s talk and that when I decided to entertain a new day - “Don’t Let the Bastards Get You Down Day.”

It’s so very easy to get down. Hopeless.  But look around.  Find, as Mr. Rogers’ mother encouraged him to do, the helpers.  Look for those things that take you closer to the spheres where the mystics hung out.

I know it’s only right to understand and be with our grief, our anger. And, still, we can hold on to the light.

We can honor the fallen not only with flags at half-mast but also with daily acts of kindness. Call the friend you’ve been meaning to call. Smile at the checker in the grocery store. Bake bread for a neighbor. Teach your children that good manners are more than rules—they are love in action.

Each of us carries our own griefs, betrayals, and losses. Each of us must decide whether to live stuck in anger or to move, however haltingly, toward peace.

September 11th can be a marker of fear, of hatred, or it can be a reminder of what we are capable of when we choose courage, unity, and compassion.

We cannot change what happened on that day twenty-four years ago, nor what happened yesterday. But we can change what happens because of it. We can be people who plant peace, who practice kindness, who refuse to let hatred have the last word.

Maybe the best way to remember September 11th is not only with bowed heads and silent prayers once a year, but with open hearts and generous hands every day. And especially let’s unleash our determined spirits to not let the bastards win.

And to be clear, the bastards are not just out there, but also within ourselves - that’s the place to go first.

As a wise one said in the Sermon on the Mount over two thousand years ago, Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye, but give no thought to the plank in you own eye You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from you brother’s eye.

May we remember not only the towers and people that fell, but also the hands that lifted.

May we remember not only the grief, but also the courage.

And may we, in our own small ways, rise to be peacemakers—so that the next generation will remember us not by the tragedies we endured, but by the love we chose.

Turn off the news. Go grab some pictures of all the good going on right around you today…don’t let our inner nor outer bastards get us down. I’d love to see what you find in the world. In the meantime, I'm going to give you some help with links to a couple of songs and share a few pics of goodness in Cashmere today. Love, June

fresh garden tomatoes donated from neighbor for community meal, 9/11, 2025

signs of hope on my newly created Don't Let the Bastards Get You Down Day

Link to Woody Guthrie song that was sung today, This Land is Your Land, good one to play today

And of course, one that always makes my spirits soar - Louis Armstrong, What A Wonderful World, the ultimate, don't let the bastards get you down song.

And from a teen friend of mine who sings how to get out of his poopy moods by noticing beautiful scenes and movies - great for not letting the bastards get you down day.

And here's a pic I just got from John as this almost 81 year old enjoys climbing with friends in the Dolomites (he is coming back tonight)! Don't Let the Bastards Get You Down, there are mountains to climb, places to go, things to do

This is part of the 9/11 memorial in Cashmere, Wa. A place is left for one to join arms with those lost. I cannot do it without choking up. It's very moving to really remember not as a spectator thinking about history, but as if you are one of those involved.

And remember the senselessness of violent escalation. And what researchers and wisdom teachers tell us for living the good life, it is survival of the kindest

Images of survival of the kindest drawn by my friend, "Dan, the Art Man" who believes it's true

The Cashmere Community Church and friends, ready to serve pork adobo, the Filipino national dish, to the town.