many, many years ago – when my children were little – they used to play a computer game called bugdom. it was based on perspective from – well – a bug’s life. the actual plot – as i recall – is way too contemporaneous now for comfort but the graphics – at the time – were fascinating and the mac version of this game was amazingly realistic. winding your way between bits of vegetation and rocks, you could feel immersed in bugdom as you – playing the part of a rollie pollie – try to save other bugs – like ladybugs – after an evil and tyrannical ambush of the bug kingdom. like i said, too close for comfort.
i often think about what things look like from a different perspective. it is essential as artists. the trying-to-stand-in-someone-else’s-shoes thing is important to me. things that are affecting bugdom are not just the things that are affecting me. since all of bugdom is interconnected, anything that is affecting one is, therefore, also affecting me. we try not to be so isolated – or cavalier – as to think that the plight of the ladybugs will not affect us rollie pollies.
so i get down on my knees to shoot photographs from a vantage point swinging on a snowdrop or a wild daffodil leaf. i sit on the ground to shoot pictures through the may apples. i take videos of caterpillars on their plane of existence, practically laying on the ground.
because everything changes when your perspective changes – when you allow for a shift in how you are looking at something, when you entertain empathy and compassion – when you stand in another’s shoes.
somewhere in the old romper room do-bee song i’m guessing there’s a line that says “do be a good rollie pollie.”
were my momma still alive, i would purchase this for her. she would have loved the bright colors, the sweetness of it. mostly she would have loved the message – be kind. she was not a complex person, not really. she had a basic approach to living. be kind pretty much encapsulates it.
were my momma still alive, i would bring it to her and we would plant it in a garden she could easily see or, more likely, plant it in an indoor pot, maybe with a snake plant or aloe.
were my momma still alive, we would chat about things. we would talk about how the illustrator of this garden-art post depicted happiness. we would talk about color and folk art and hearts and simplicity.
and then we would talk about right now.
were my momma still alive, she would be appalled at the state of this country. she would be gobsmacked by the outright cruelty and lack of attention – shall we say – to the law, to decency, to morality. she would be devastated by the rifts in her own family. she would be sickened by the rapid dismantling of our democracy and the descent into hellish authoritarianism. she would remind me – though i need no reminding – that my poppo fought against fascism, risking his life being taken prisoner of war – all to keep this country safe from the exact sort of thing that is now rampant.
were my momma still alive, she would weep. and i would try to console her, wrapping my arms around her in a hug, holding her just as she used to hold me in times that i was inconsolable. she would be tired then. she would lay down in exhaustion, wringing her hands in intense worry, fear across her brow, tears on her cheeks.
my sweet momma died ten years ago now – on the 29th of april. i still feel the loss of her in every fibre of my being.
i might go get this garden-art post. because – though it would cost money we are big-time reticent to spend – it would be like my momma is physically here. at least just a tiny bit.
it had been two years. two years plus since we last hiked there. after the woods added a high ropes/adventure course we were less inclined to go there, less eager to go hike its trails. the tranquil quiet was interrupted with the sounds of groups on the contrived course, the echoes of planned adventure bouncing off ancient trees and the forest floor.
but the other day – on a blue-sky-slightly-warmer-less-windy day – we decided to go back. because it is still merely early-spring, the course wasn’t yet open, though the staff was there training. one of the guys – suspended in a harness on lines high above us – called down to us, telling us how happy he was to spend the day in the woods.
we set out on our trail, a bit eager to see how things might have changed, how the familiar might be a bit less familiar after so many seasons had passed.
seeing this much-trod-in-the-past place was sheer joy. there is something about knowing the bend in the path, something about knowing where the tiny ponds are tucked in the woods, something about knowing certain trees and where the green glow might be starting.
we took our news-weary eyes and placed them – instead – on the roots crossing the trail, on the rise and fall of our breathing. we focused on spring arriving in the woods in this place where we have spent so much time.
we were – gloriously – nowhere else for a couple hours.
“and into the forest i go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” (john muir)
barney has been stalwart, steadfast, unwaveringly standing in the garden through every infamous weather challenge – the rain, the sleet, the snow, the ice and the wind, the extreme heat, the drought.
it is one of the most gorgeous things in our backyard. we have watched it age, its wrinkles, its furrows, its jowls. we have watched it struggle to stay young, fresh, shellacked. we have watched it give in – to time and the elements. and, in that giving-in-ness, we have watched grace in real life.
in this insane world, i have thanked our old house and its painted-wood countertops, its old floors, its cracked plaster, its doorknob-less six panel doors. i have admired the tile floor in the bathroom and the way light streams in through the double-hungs. i have relished the paintings on our walls and the fabulous chunks of concrete that serve our living room. i have whispered to our house and i have thanked its familiarity and its comfort. i have taken refuge in its security. i have reveled in our comforter, our dogga at our feet, coffee by our side, happy lights. i have simplified need and put want to the side.
in this insane world, i have patted littlebabyscion as i get in and out, stroked big red as i have walked past it in the driveway. i have noted with great appreciation the wild geranium and the day lilies pushing up through cold dirt, the buds on breck. i have sat on adirondack chairs on the deck – still a bit bundled up – watching birds and squirrels, sipping wine and eating maybe too many chips. i have been grateful.
and i have gazed at barney-the-piano, over there, in the garden. i have felt it steadying me.
in this insane world, i have thanked barney.
“pardon my sanity in a world insane.” (emily dickinson – and barney)
the sky set softly on the end of the day. it was chilly on the patio, though still. any wind off the lake had eased up. it had been a day.
we attended the hands-off protest here in our town. i had some trepidation before we left to go. still too close in memory are the riots from 2020. still too close are the screaming-loud trucks-with-flags driving around our neighborhood before the election. still too close is the distorted reality that we witness from people who voted for all this destruction, chasms of morality difference. still too obvious is the hyped-up aggression we are witnessing every day. too much to bear is the annihilation of civil rights, impartial justice, checks and balances based on the rule of law. trepidation seems appropriate.
but the protest was inspiring. heartening. people – regular folks – rising up for the rights and freedoms of our constitution, speaking up for our democracy.
the footage around the country – big cities and small towns all – of people – neighbors and friends and strangers – all standing together to clutch onto every filament of this republic.
and i wondered, “what now?”
for fighting fascism from this side of the election seems much more onerous than from the other side – before the election – when people needed to completely grok the far-reaching impact of their very important vote.
we have an arduous journey in front of us. and i know so many of us are already exhausted.
if you don’t feel overwhelmed right now – and you are in the united states – than you are – clearly – an anomaly.
we pulled up behind this car at a stoplight. the “#notnormal” bumpersticker got my attention.
nothing seems normal. nothing IS normal.
we – in this country – are facing down the collapse of everything we have known, understood, loved.
it is utter madness. crazy-deranged. grotesquely-mean. sociopathic.
i am resisting. i am trying to resist. and i am failing.
i am resisting fear. i am resisting depression. i am resisting confusion. i am resisting horror. i am resisting rage. i am resisting the madness.
i am trying to resist fear. i am trying to resist depression. i am trying to resist confusion. i am trying to resist horror. i am trying to resist rage. i am trying to resist the madness.
i am failing at resisting fear. i am failing to resist depression. i am failing to resist confusion. i am failing to resist horror. i am failing to resist rage. i am failing to resist the madness.
all of it. a melting pot of fear, depression, confusion, horror, rage, madness and – yes – resistance.
because this is all so exponentially not normal.
we – all the rest of us mortals – are all trying to breathe one breath at a time. in and out. inhale. exhale.
and we – each in our own way – resist the madness.
“if i’m laden at all/i’m laden with sadness that everyone’s heart isn’t filled with the gladness of love for one another.” (he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother – bob russell/bobby scott)
when i look in the mirror these days i am struck by the lines around my eyes, the lines etched above my lips, the furrow etched into my brow. i wonder how they all arrived without my noticing, as if – at night, while i was sleeping – a clay sculpting tool had gently drawn lines in skin no longer as resilient as it had been.
i glance at photographs from merely five years ago – and then ten years ago – and am startled to see the difference. but i know what the last years have been and – so – i should not be surprised. these wrinkles have been earned.
for it has been a time.
we all have them – these timelines of challenge or disappointment or frustration or grief.
in the humanness we all share, it would seem prudent to share these heavy burdens, the stuff of life that is made easier with someone else to help lift them.
“so on we go/his welfare is my concern/no burden is he to bear, we’ll get there.”
but this last decade.
as is woven throughout the history of this country, the extraordinary of abject cruelty and its ugly head raise up and shock our belief in equality and kindness. this last decade.
the hypocrisy of institutions supposedly dedicated to the love of one another – to goodness – to compassion – shifts the ground under our feet and we have been gobsmacked by the betrayal. this last decade.
our very own communities have quaked, stormy, seismic shifts forming a crevasse between us – not merely a difference in opinion, but a difference in basic morality. we reel from the impact, from the air that is sucked from our lungs as we grok this. this last decade.
last week. my birthday. d’s homemade card next to my early morning coffee. the pink tulips from 20. dogga’s momma-kisses. the call from my girl and her husband. and that moment my son handed me a tiny carrot cake – remembering. i felt the light, the easing of the load, the gladness, the love. each time.
i do not understand the dedication to cruelty, to evil intention, to undermining others, to destruction, to the bandwagon of every-man-for-himself-every-woman-for-herself.
“it’s a long, long road from which there is no return/while we’re on the way to there why not share?”
i wonder how it might all be different.
i suspect there’d be far fewer furrows and creases and wrinkles.
“and the load doesn’t weigh me down at all. he ain’t heavy. he’s my brother.”
the owner of these beautiful amber eyes is an empath like no other. dogga tunes in to every single thing around him – particularly us.
he reads our feelings, even anticipating them. his nature is to stay close, to monitor us, to be a furry support system. it is clear that he cares deeply about how we feel, despite the fact that he is not experiencing that feeling.
empathy.
i’m writing this on tuesday – the day of the big wisconsin supreme court vote. by the time you read this we will all know the outcome. but right now, we have no idea how this will turn out.
the media is covering this and social media is blowing up over this. the oligarch came to town, donned a cheese hat and gave away bribe money in support of his/their candidate.
so let’s for a second talk about that.
scrolling through facebook just a bit ago i came across a post about this red-supported-candidate and about the candidate opposing him. when i read posts, i also read people’s comments on the posts – for that is where one might glean why-on-earth this devastation is all happening.
and there it was.
and it was all about empathy.
in a post that listed factual articles about the candidate-on-the-red-wagon – with links – resources where you could learn about his actual stance on things, actions he has taken – a woman stated, “my vote is for [ him ]!” whattheHECK?!
i read through the posts with links, the other comments on the thread until i reached the last one.
that person responded that the woman – even faced with facts of how this judicial candidate irresponsibly handled sexual abuse cases as an attorney general – not to mention his staunch dedication to the outdated laws of 1849 – did not care. and here is the crux of it all:
“she is a privileged old white woman who hasn’t been affected by those crimes. no empathy for others; only herself.”
and that, my friends, is the whole point.
as a victim of sexual predation and rape, i want to say that comment resonated all too well. for what woman – who actually HAS empathy – would actually wish to have a rapist in the office of the prez? what woman – who actually HAS empathy – would want to even entertain the idea of any man – or woman – who is a predator, a molester, a sexual offender, a rapist in any position of power? what woman – who actually HAS empathy – would want a supreme court judge – for the federal government or – like now – for the state of wisconsin – who has sloughed off accountability, who has limited justice for sexual abuse survivors?
now read that again and substitute “what man”.
generalizing that out just a bit further – what human – who actually HAS empathy – would want any of the abomination of this new administration? the brutalization of immigrants, the annihilation of LGBTQ rights and safety, the minimalization of women’s rights, the marginalization of non-white races, the intentional dumbing-down and impoverishing of the populace, the tossing off of environmental and health safeguards, the dismantling of checks and balances and lawful governing, the isolationism and bullying of the rest of the world, the intense and toxic growth of corruption…the list goes on.
the answer is that these are the privileged people who haven’t been affected by any of these “things”. these are the apathetic, the cold-hearted, the bigoted, the sadistic, the callous, the merciless.
these are people who care only about their own tiny lives.
these are people with no empathy.
because – somehow in their closed worlds – if it doesn’t affect you it doesn’t affect you.
they should take a lesson from our dog with beautiful amber eyes.
i’m not sure why no one early in my life mentioned to me that thru-hiking the appalachian trail or the pacific crest trail – or any long trail for that matter – was a possibility. sans internet or social informant i feel like i totally missed this information and – more so – this opportunity. neither of my parents were hikers and long island wasn’t really a granola outdoorsy hiking kind of place. my spare time was spent at the water, on the water, in the water – the sound and the ocean were the guiding lights there. but what you don’t know you don’t know.
so now, here we are – in our sixties – both pretty enamored of the idea of thru-hiking. consequently, we watch the videos of many, many hikers – as you know – studying their gear and their processes, their fortitude and their bliss, their bag-meals and their tiny stoves and – for me, especially – their water filtering systems and photography methods.
one of my favorite field trips is to REI. though we are clear – and, probably, ridiculously obvious – in our lack of knowledge about likely ninety percent of the items there, we love wandering and dreaming, pondering aloud the merits of each piece of gear we see. we linger near the coffee systems and the sleeping pads, knowing that both coffee and sleeping would be paramount.
and over by the EAT sign at the store are the most amazing bag-meals – of every sort. so many options, though pricey, they eliminate our fantasy of some chef bamboo-picnic-basket-droning in our evening dinner with a tiny box of wine and wine glasses. in reality, it is more likely to find us with the tortillas and peanut butter, tuna bags and ramen – practical, inexpensive, lightweight – that are commonplace in backpacks all along the trails. we dream anyway.
nevertheless, every time we go to REI, it, once again, occurs to me that i was uninformed which in turn makes me wonder, wonder, wonder about what else i was uninformed. we immerse in learning. because it is a good thing to learn.
as time marches on in the corrupt takeover of our country, i have found there is much i did not learn before. reading historical recounting – now – that gives context to today’s grab at authoritarianism stuns me at times. “i-didn’t-learn-that-did-you-learn-that???” has come out of my mouth more than once.
i’m astounded at the connecting-of-dots and what the perspective that this country’s true history have revealed about what is happening now.
i’m disgusted by the gross efforts to thwart access to this information, to bury our history, to distort the truth of this country’s difficult and ugly path.
it is insanity to whitewash the timeline of these united states . we have much to learn from our past – so much possibility to learn from our mistakes, the opportunity to grow as a democracy, to come ever closer to the intended dream of e pluribus unum.
sweeping it all under the rug instead reveals the underlying evil intention – pure evil – for the “great again” is not really great at all. it is the elimination of fought-for civil rights, the oligarchic hoarding of money, the plundering of lawful checks and balances, the annihilation of justice, the imbalance of power, the dumbing-down of the populace, the retribution tour of a small soulless man and his rabidly-panting project-overtake puppet-cronies all hungry for bright white control.
tomorrow we will go to the voting booth again. we take this seriously each and every time.
for weeks now we have been inundated with postcards, signs, doorstep visits, calls, texts, emails – because – tomorrow – our state has a state supreme court justice vote.
because people – so, so many people – are one-issue voters and seemingly easily swayed – there is much fervor over this election. it’s important in many ways – gerrymandering the state and abortion rights at the forefront.
one candidate would like to keep wisconsin both gerrymandered and rolled back to 1849 – when there were few rights for women – including the right to determine their own healthcare, when, even in the case of rape or incest, abortion was outlawed. now, it goes to figure that this candidate is a man – because, well, of course. sexist misogyny in the usa.
the other candidate – a woman – wishes to keep wisconsin out of the 19th century because, well, we’re a quarter of the way into the 21st century now. she would like women’s rights to be equitable to men’s, because, well, that equality thing and all. she would like people to have equal voting rights. again, that equality thing. enlightened in the usa.
because reading, researching, asking questions, seeking truth seem to have gone by the wayside, the candidate-supported-by-the-oligarch-buying-votes who believes in suppressing workers’ voices, stripping healthcare and fair pay, supporting giant corporations and the extraordinarily wealthy can just as easily win as the woman-earning-the-votes can – this woman who has fought to protect workers’ fair pay and benefits, secure affordable healthcare.
because, well, people zero in on one – and only one – issue and vote on that with no consideration of the overview, the other issues, the fact that they are being hoodwinked into thinking that this candidate – who has opined on the one issue – has any policy whatsoever that aligns with the values of democracy.
to vote on one issue is to lose perspective of the whole. and the candidates – the ones on the red wagon screaming about trans people and dei and fraud and waste and conception and various other distractions that are entertaining wagonriders – are throwing the tenets of democracy into the gutter and are counting on wagonriding mob-mentality stupidity.
tomorrow we will go to the voting booth again. we desperately hope that we will be able to say this again in two years, in four years, from now on. we take it seriously each and every time.
we hope every single person with the privilege of voting – in any state of this country – takes it seriously as well. these are the moments that will make or break democracy. take – at least – a minute and inform yourself. don’t get lost in the weeds of propaganda or gross misinformation.
reverse threading 