merely glancing at this photo of ice-encased grasses makes it clear that it is cold out. very cold.
because some things are obvious. a no-brainer, as it’s said. you can see right through.
silence is like that.
remaining completely silent – not uttering a word of raging disdain or abject horror – in the middle of this country’s hellish descent in this time of destruction – makes your position – of complicity – obvious. a no-brainer.
this is a time demanding connection. this is a time when we need each other. we need to band together and buoy each other. we need mutual support in a liminal frozen space of atrocity as we all witness the stripping of our democracy. we need to talk. we need to ask questions. we need to sort. we need to speak up.
i haven’t been able to decide if i am more sickened by what’s happening in this country or by family, friends and acquaintances who – clear as ice – think it’s perfectly ok. like too many others, i wonder, “who the hell are you, anyway???”
you may think your stance is not transparently clear – while you publicly – and callously – try to give the impression of going about normal life normally – or while you pretend it isn’t happening – even privately – but your silence about these atrocities in very real life speaks volumes.
having been thrown under the bus before by people i have trusted – including perhaps you – i warily wonder how far you would go to support all this.
and so we reach to others, we connect, we stand with them, we protect each other as best we can.
because just as clear as ice your silent complicity are their good intentions. and the choice is obvious. a no-brainer, as it’s said.
i would rather drive than be driven. relatively easily solvable. i would rather fly than be flown. there is one teensy problem with that one though. i do not have the qualifications to fly a jet airplane. and so, if i wish to travel via jet from one place to another, i have to give it up – control, that is.
for me, it is not so much about control as it is about motion sickness. if my brain – sans bonine/dramamine/large quantities of ginger chews – can see what my intention is as i drive/fly, than i am able to go with the flow, so to speak, and my equilibrium seems to adjust. i never did get a pair of those funky anti-motion-sick glasses, so that is one thing i haven’t tried. but wearing a pair of those – in addition to a mask – onboard an airplane is sure to get me some looks.
i was nervous when my children were little and i had to fly places – away from them – for concerts or shows. giving over control to someone i did not know at the helm required more than a bit of trust for me. i had to consciously work at it once i was a mom, with much prayer and self-talk throughout the flights. ultimately, as time went by and i safely arrived at venues and back home, i learned – slowly – to give over, to trust that the person in the pilot’s seat had all of our best interests at heart. i learned – slowly – to utter a prayer for her or his clearheadedness and expertise, sit back and relax a little.
but now times are different. we just recently flew – pretty much right after a couple aircraft disasters had taken place and many FAA personnel had been fired – introducing more risk – and i found myself wishing we had had the option to drive. trust me, i do know that driving is more dangerous than flying, but – remember – i get to be behind the wheel so it all feels a little different. i managed to keep my calm and fly – several legs – out west and back.
but the idea of control has stuck with me.
because here we are – in the seats of america – with madmen at the helm. here we are – sitting in a democracy being taken apart, being dismantled piece by piece. here we are – citizens of a country in which every check and balance is going unchecked, where oversight is being eliminated, where the core of our republic is being shredded.
this is most definitely a time to be absolutely worried about control. the risk is monumental, the potential loss world and life-changing. this is not a time to trust nor to give over. this is a time to be wary, to not sit back, to not relax. they do not have our best interests at heart.
“there are times when fear is good. it must keep its watchful place at the heart’s controls.” (aeschylus)
it feels somewhat risky to write this ahead. who knows what will have taken place between when i am writing and the day this blog publishes. it all seems a downward spiral, a tornado of ruin. i shudder to think about next week as i write this today. and the next week. and the next. and the next year. and the next. and the next. and the next.
i feel fortunate – and now, with the perspective of the day, even more fortunate – to have lived – until now – in a country that has functioned as a democracy. my sweet poppo – a POW in WWII – fought against the very peril we are now facing. even with all its failings, with all the grappling for equality, with the what-seems-continual fight for freedoms and rights, we have not been in a place where we are segregating ourselves from the rest of the world, where leaders are distortedly centric, maniacal and extreme, where we had to fear for our future – day by excruciating day – as we watch the dismantling of our very republic.
and now, here we are.
and – once again – i look to all the people who voted for this disaster and ask, “is this what you wanted?”
and, i would add the question, “why?”
it is most difficult for me to comprehend the glee of the moment for those who support all this. it is most difficult for me to grok how people wish so much harm for other people. it is most difficult for me to understand how this storm makes them happy, makes them feel successful, makes them feel even remotely human.
what tornado – what grey cloud of torturous destruction – ever brought any good into the world?
sometimes – these days – it is simply his smile that keeps us grounded.
sometimes – these days – it is a belly-belly or a dogga kiss that helps us feel our feet, centered in our home.
sometimes – these days – it is his sensitivity to the tenor of the room that keeps us from getting too loud, too angry, too upset.
a few days ago i had a very hard day. i’m guessing i am not out of the ordinary; i’m guessing this is not unusual – these days.
i felt – particularly after my revelations from my call with my dear old friend from new york – that we were on a tiny island, out of balance.
we – like you, i’m sure – have been through so much in the last few years. and, i guess, because we have been coast-ers (d the west, me the east) – more easily candid, despite whatever others’ reactions are to our tales – woe, included – we have shared about them – with family, with friends, with whomever chooses to read our blogs.
but we have found that sharing our intense feelings can be disconcerting. there is most definitely this thing in this part of the land that dictates what you share. if you don’t wish to tell how you feel, you just simply ignore the question about how you feel. it’s a weird phenomenon. and frustrating. it is hard to be an open book when others don’t crack open their binding.
and so – the other day – outside of the pure constant stream of consciousness d and i share with each other – i was pining for shared deep conversation, for shared grief, for the shared pondering of unanswerable questions, unfathomable challenges. i did not want pity. i wanted two-way sharing, raw human interaction. i wanted to cry and scream – both. i did cry. watching dogga watch me prevented me from screaming.
it feels absolute that we need to be in this chaos together. we need to join together in like-mindedness and push back against the continued takeover of our country. we need to share the gut-wrenching sorrow of losing family and friends to this pervasive illness of extremism. we need to share our worries about our future and the future of our children and our children’s children.
bottom line? we need to talk. because actually talking about it all doesn’t make it worse. it quite possibly helps. you know, the meeting-together, the walking-in-another’s-shoes thing, the heartfelt compassion, the reality check, the let’s-sort-this-together, the we-are-here-for-you. the two-way street.
it makes me absolutely crazy when people act like nothing is happening. i want to beg, “open your eyes! we need to talk about this!”
but – instead – there are a few we share with, a few we trust with our deepest musings, our biggest fears, the trauma we are all enduring, what is really happening in our very own personal lives. the rest – like many – we filter.
and in that very short list of whole-heart-sharers, dogga is one of them. he holds things in confidence and we can always count on him to react emotionally and with – seeming – empathy. like he gets it.
and then he smiles his getting-older smile at us – holding our hearts and reminding us that his unconditional love is unconditional.
time after time he saves the day. even in these days. every single day.
there is a point that dumbing-it-down is to the point of ridiculous.
this sign – “this is a healing environment. aggressive behavior has no place here.” – was in a hospital elevator.
has humankind reached the outer-limit of insanity?
it made me feel physically ill to see this sign posted at the hospital. and yet, i’m guessing some people actually need the reminder. for aggression seems to be totally acceptable these days – even revered.
the second part of the sign spelled out what aggressive behavior is. as if those tending toward violence need a checklist of those things they should think twice about.
when tommy repeatedly twisted my wrist in elementary school – on the playground in third or fourth grade – i knew it was violent. though they tried to convince me that it was a form of affection – just teasing – i (and my reddened, sore wrist) knew better. i’ve actually seen him on social media in days of late – he is way down the rabbit hole, passing on vapid misinformation, his language usage aggressive, his bully tone the same as it was on the playground when he refused to stop twisting my wrist, when he refused to apologize. tommy has not changed.
apparently we do need to gear down – to spell out what violence is, what violence does, how violence destroys. and yet…though we are seeing – firsthand – the fallout of this administration’s brutal slashing of our democracy, the people who voted for this – and also being harmed by the vicious slash-and-burn – are still supporting this aggression.
for that is what it is. aggression.
and again, i am astonished by the level of bamboozle in which they have gleefully participated. i am astonished by the level of worship they have bestowed upon bullying leaders who could care less about them. i am way beyond disappointed to watch the same people i have known – or loved – for decades actively take part in disenfranchising others, in shredding the rights of so many living in this democracy, in violent rhetoric and action.
these last years – particularly since 2016 – have shown that so many of this country’s people have fallen prey, drowning in ignorance. they have given up any iota of critical thinking skills, have turned over their sanity to live inside the sicknesses of these destructive leaders. they have screamed and insurrected and forwarded lies and they have blasphemed – in word and deed – all that we believed them to have been, all that they pretended to be. they – apparently – need the sign in the hospital elevator in order to know how to behave, to be decent human beings.
it is all around us, this full-out aggression. in every arena. so much so that a place of healing has to put up signs.
i’m quite sure we will hear these words – and any variation thereof – until our ears fall off.
if you have ever noticed, it is the very people who utter these words – again and again and again – who are the absolute least transparent, who bear the absolute least accountability.
it matters not where you hear it – institutions, organizations, the government – it matters not what position the person holds spewing these buzzwords – it matters not that they will never be transparent about their lack of transparency nor will they be held accountable for their lack of accountability – it is worthy of every eye roll ever invented.
these words are everywhere. really. everywhere.
and so is the hypocrisy. really. everywhere.
these words are red herrings. the canaries in the coal mine. and every red flag to which you might want to pay vigilant attention.
even back in the day the most prolific of composers knew the impact, they knew that one slice of melody could yield a plethora of music pieces, variation after variation.
ahhh, but these composers had no ill intent. they just knew that if you kept repeating the theme, people would pay attention, the melody would be stuck in their heads; it would be the thing listeners remembered.
funny that’s exactly what’s happening here too.
repeat it enough and people pay attention, it gets stuck in their heads. people remember it. people believe it. ding-ding-ding! they – those who issue these words with enmity and malice – win.
transparency and accountability.
the pressing question is whether YOU actually believe it.
many other adjectives came to mind to eloquently describe lake tahoe, but dreamy seems to fit the best right now.
in the way that sometimes happens with monumental beauty, i instantly felt a sense of peace descend over me…exactly what i needed.
for this has been a time. and i – like you – am filled to the brim, yearning for something different, something that builds up and does not tear down, something that is positive, filled with grace and not negative and filled with hatred. already, this is all exhausting. already, i am exhausted. we – all of us – have lost so much. and, though hopefully this will change – something will stop this destruction of our sea to shining sea – things will never be the same. betrayal has left its mark on us.
and so, the sight of this lake in the distance, as we approached, up close and personal, was balm for my spirit and i felt it wash over me.
some places are like that. you instantly feel a kinship with the vista, grounded by its simple, natural beauty. after all, this is merely mountains, forest and lake. nothing manufactured, nothing contrived, quietude with the potential for a tranquility that is so very powerful.
we do not live near this stunning landscape, but we do live in a landscape of our own. and i know that we must look to it for salve, for soothing us, for a balance of goodness against all the evil being perpetrated upon our country. clearly, we need to deal with the reality of what is happening here. clearly, we need to rejuvenate from the reality of what is happening here.
i think we need do that any which way we can.
there is a lot ahead of us. everything we have known is grotesquely distorted and people we have known have actively participated in that. it is the stuff of bad dreams. and we each are waking up to the horror of it all. as we brush the real-life nightmare from our eyes and wake to another day of fighting to keep our democracy, it is incumbent upon us to bring strength and resolve and a bit of peace from which we might draw these.
we will be looking everywhere we can for that peace, to join with it. it is an imperative.
“now he walks in quiet solitude the forests and the streams / seeking grace in every step he takes / his sight has turned inside himself to try and understand / the serenity of a clear blue mountain lake…” (john denver – rocky mountain high)
his name is guttah. he stands right off our deck, just yards away from the back door and the gutter overhead that started to ice-dam in perfect ice-damming conditions which necessitated use of the snow rake that pulled all the snow off the sunroom roof onto the deck and subsequently down onto the patio where it piled up and invited guttah to come to life. and so, there he is.
he looks a little stunned and i’m guessing he is. suddenly, he came out of d’s imagination and into the snow. suddenly, he got eyes of coal and sticks for a nose and mouth and arms and ornamental grass hair. suddenly, he is. pretty existential stuff.
we don’t know where guttah was before this. zooming around the universe in some jet stream, looking for a place to self-actualize, perhaps. we do know that his arrival prompted dogga to sniff and wonder. so that, in turn, has me wondering.
what does guttah see – here in this world of packed snow? what does guttah ponder as he stands there, looking a bit astounded? is he searching for meaning, for balance or healing in what he could see as he zoomed from non-existence into existence? or is he desperately looking for a way back to wherever he came from?
if i were a snowbeing that just arrived from the galaxy of ice crystals and snowflakes, i most certainly would be questioning the intention of bringing me to life. particularly right now.
but after perusing the contemporaneous news of my newfound home, after looking around, grokking all that is happening, i would be certain of the reason.
for i would recognize that my very existence had brought about a bit of giddiness, a little bit of laughter, many smiles, conversation, a fun photo shoot. my existence had made the day of ice-damming, another day of negative-news, the coming polar freeze just a bit easier.
and for that, i would stand in anyone’s yard, off their deck, on their patio or in their grass.
guttah will likely be around for a bit of time. windchills are going to be below zero for a few days, at least.
i have to say, he is a pretty adorable addition to the fam.
if the milwaukee, denver and reno airports are any indication, there is a heck of a lot of diversity in our country.
diversity: the state of being diverse; variety. / involving people from a range of different social and ethnic backgrounds and of different genders, sexual orientations, etc.
you wouldn’t expect this beautiful country to look the same from sea to shining sea or you would not travel. you wouldn’t wish to see the beaches, the inland lakes, the mountains and canyonlands, the deserts and deep forests, the farmland and rich meadows. you would merely stay at home, knowing that it looked exactly the same in every other place. you would, of course, be delusional, but you would live in your little bubble, safe from the diversity of the land.
if that is how you felt, then you also wouldn’t expect to travel the country and see anyone who did not look like you, act like you, dress like you, speak like you. and, because you do not wish to accept anyone different than you, you would merely stay at home, believing that because you want it this way – the way of sameness – that it should be that way, that it is that way. you would, of course, be delusional, but you would sit tidily – and smugly – in your bubble of delusion and prejudice and you would ignore the vast lessons you might learn from people who are different than you, safe and sound from the diversity of the people.
there was a person at the denver airport who was most definitely different than me. i had put on a mask to head into a shuttle train that would take us to a different terminal. the man headed directly toward me and, as he passed by right next to me, turned his head and coughed multiple times loudly into my face. i was stunned. yes, this person was most definitely different than me. this person – as opposed to all the other thousands of people i encountered in two days of traveling – the only person who i would consider different. every other person – regardless of race or ethnicity or size or shape or gender or freaking anything – was kind.
because – really – it isn’t that hard to be kind. it isn’t that hard to make kind decisions about kind behavior toward other equally kind people in what could be a kind world.
but instead, the new administration of hideousness has ostensibly raised the bar on meanness – no, not just meanness…let’s make that downright malicious cruelty – and has made it perfectly ok to be an asshole whenever you wish, wherever you wish, and to whomever you wish. wowza. what a legacy that will be.
if you are one of the people who actually think that is ok, i would – in my sweetest voice – suggest staying home in your righteous, pretentious bubble steeped in denialism. because this world needs more kindness and if you agree with this destructive and venomous agenda, i don’t think kindness is something of which you are truly capable.
keep your homogeneously-bigoted, unkind self out of the mainstream of society. there are a lot of children out there. and children need better examples than you.
it’s not just because i am prone to motion sickness; it is magical to look out the window at the earth passing below us. and now, the window next to me looked cracked, as tiny droplets skirted across. so much to look at in lieu of staring at a tablet or screen.
i am the geek taking pictures out the window of the plane – as if it was my first time flying.
but i don’t care. i take pictures anyway.
a few days ago i spent over two hours on the phone with an old friend i hadn’t spoken with for – if i’m remembering correctly – over four decades. in that strange way that you can pick up where you left off – despite the fact that there are blanks spanning decades – it felt like we had just danced the night away together, laughing and talking, at one of the discos on long island… just like we did back in the day.
she and i met at college and were instantly friends. i was pretty naive back then, but she had a savvy i could draw from and we had many adventures together.
it was a joy to be on the phone together again – i remember hours tethered to the wall, making plans or discussing crushes. this time i wandered around the house, chatting and trying to picture her now – after so much life had gone by.
and i heard my voice change. suddenly, there it was. the new york accent, back. it doesn’t take much – i am impressionable with others’ voices. the kiddos used to know when i had just talked to my nashville producer – i’d be drawling afterwards. so, long island came roaring back and we interrupted each other with abandon, punctuating our conversation with much laughter.
and there was this. this candor i remember, a not-beating-around-the-bush-ness – a bluntness – an assertiveness – that is visceral for me. i could feel it bubbling up, cracking through my learned midwest reservedness, my keeping-the-peace-ness.
“this used to be me,” i thought.
i – admittedly – have a whole bunch of leftover newyorkness in me. but much of it has been tempered by life in places outside of the northeast. it is pretty much necessary for survival – and for friendships outside of a place left behind, where conversation is more open, more sharing, more – well – raw.
it didn’t take much time to crack through to that place, shifting to this-doesn’t-need-to-be-polite, to this-doesn’t-need-to-be-filtered. i jumped back into a conversation where we – without words – assumed the other was a mature adult, sharing intimate details and what-could-feel-like risky stories with each other, instead of accommodating the other’s comfort level.
it was incredibly refreshing.
when i got off the phone i realized that i missed this. the cracked veneer – the truth of life – minus the filtering, minus the concern about judgment, minus storytelling sans the sordid details, the guts, the ugly as well as the pretty.
i missed the real-real. i missed the interrupting. i missed the accent. i missed the new yorker in me.
i shared snippets of our call with d, laughing at my slowly-shifting-back voice. i felt different.
“i’m no mary poppins,” my girlfriend said on the phone.
aware that i was thinking about how the midwest might feel about admitting one was not at-every-moment ‘too good to be true’, i proudly answered, “nope. neither am i.”
those cracks. the kintsugi. damaged and filled with tears and laughter, hopes and dreams and disappointments. truths and failings and forgiveness and grace.
and always at least one little spot that is not perfect, that is left open – where spirit can enter.
reverse threading 