It is late, and I am packing a lunch box for tomorrow. I worry that perhaps we should switch to stainless steel boxed lunches. You know—microplastics in the brain can’t be that great . . . and all.
Some of us American mom’s have the luxury of worrying about “potential dangers” like this. Invisible threats.
I don’t think microplastics are a silly concern.
I hold this concern, all while knowing that Mothers with children in Gaza can only dream of packing a lunch instead of a coffin. Of opening a fridge, folding heaps of peanut butter and jelly onto sourdough and discarding the crust like a bottle cap. Crumbs are not gold in my house.
How can we hold this impossible tension?
How are you holding it?
I do know that antisemitism is a horrible response, as Antisemitism has always been lethal.
I should go to bed. I have a sermon to work on, and laundry to fold, and my own mess to wipe up (don’t we all) but this damn lunch box I packed for tomorrow. Full of plastic, and necessary triggers.
Microplastics feel Just. So. Micro.
Goodnight.
