the leaves have not all fallen yet. looking out back, they are still clinging to the oaks, the maples. i gathered a few that had made it onto the deck…just bits of green, yellow, a little orange, red. they went on the dining room table under the gourd that had spent long sunshiny hours on the potting stand, wicking away its outer layer, stripped down to its mustard shell. we celebrated the simplicity and lit candles to showcase these small trinkets of fall.
our stock pot of irish guiness stew simmered for hours. we shared it with our son and his sweet boyfriend, sipping wine and dipping chunks of baguette into our bowls. it was a joy to be there – at that table together – on thanksgiving – and i was grateful in each moment.
i’m more and more aware of the tiniest showcases of miracles. from our quiet hikes on trail to listening to the wind resonate the tenor chimes in the dawn hours to walking about inside post some clearing-out and rearranging in our old house to times spent with others. in silence and in boisterous noise. an abundance.
the light shines. it radiates through. noticing it is not only our task, but it is our gift.
sweet potato casserole is, admittedly, one of my favorite dishes in a thanksgiving feast. that and stuffing. and maybe that string bean casserole – the one with the french-fried onions on top. oh. and mashed potatoes. even though turkey and gravy and any variety of cranberry relish are traditional, i’m not crazy about any of that. i’m perfectly content with sweet potatoes and stuffing and mashed potatoes and maybe those green beans.
this year we will not be making anything traditional. instead, we’ll make an irish guinness stew with plentiful root vegetables. something that seems grounded, reassuring. but probably without the carrots since carrots are on the don’t-buy-don’t-eat list right now. so…substitute in maybe butternut squash and some sweet potatoes – to add the sweetness that carrots would have provided. it seems right to wait and stir and wait as a good stew simmers.
liminal space is defined as a transitional period or place, often evoking a sense of unease, a waiting area.
if you are like me, i would guess that – at this holiday – you may also be feeling in a sort of liminal space, a waiting place. these are troubled times.
but just as dr. seuss described the waiting place, he also described the places you go:
“you’re off to great places! you’re off and away! you have brains in your head. you have feet in your shoes. you can steer yourself any direction you choose.”
it is my hope always that we access great places, that we steer ourselves any direction we choose. it is my hope that – past my life here on this planet – those left behind me will also have the same american freedoms i have taken for granted throughout my life on earth. it is my hope that democracy will have survived the next years – years that will test its resiliency and fortitude. i guess we’ll see.
i have shed many tears during these last months and weeks. i have mourned for solidarity of family, of friends, of community, of state, of country. i am weary of crying, bone-tired of the grief.
my sweet momma wrote to me long ago – at a different time when my rooted energy felt depleted, “live life, my sweet potato.”
and that is what we will do. live life. looking for the great places, the places to which we might be off and away, the directions we might go…in our home, in our artistry, in our world. it is still time to create, to generate goodness, to adhere to our values, to begin.
i give thanks for our old house, full of memories – a long river of time. i give thanks for the abundance i have experienced, for my sweet momma’s legacy of the imperative of kindness. i give thanks for david, our grown-up children and their beloved partners, the people we love, the people who have generously held us close, who have helped sustain us. i give thanks for opportunity, possibility, the gift of time, sweet potatoes.
i hope we – as a nation – find a way of virtue through this liminal time to the other side – the place where our constitution breathes a sigh of relief, where we gratefully grab onto the coattails of every person who has fought for our freedom – holding on for dear life – where we stay vigilant and dedicated to democracy, where we heal and re-commit to unity in these united states of america.
and today, as i write this – the day before thanksgiving – all that is left for preparation is to breathe thanks and pick up a butternut squash and some sweet potatoes.
a closer look. i like to turn my macro-lens eye at things…to look at the detail of them. the close-up is often so very different from the overarching view or the afar – and, out in nature, it reveals tiny worlds we are generally unaware of.
i aimed my camera at the reed grass plumes. gorgeously graceful, arcing, they are plentiful in our yard – and their dance in the wind brings life to our gardens. i was astounded at the closer-up photographs, ropey, twine-like, fibrous. are these jute fibers shot with a macro lens?
there is so much more than meets the eye. from a distance, we give nod to the plumes, appreciate them but not necessarily the complexity of their makeup or their role. as a singular object – a reed grass, a plume – it is likely of little consequence to us.
but contextually – in the context of the garden – it is a haven for the winter, a place where creatures will find safety and warmth, protection from predators. this singular grass may make the difference between survival and not for some critter out there.
there is a lot going on now in the arena of this country. incompetent leaders are being selected to destroy the hard work of the past that protects rights and freedoms, that addresses survival for the populace.
we could giggle at the singular choices – laugh – guffaw – at the insane maga administration and cabinet picks that can only point to destruction. were this to be a movie – a farce, satire – about the country, it would be tempting to laugh – it is that unhinged, that thuggish. but it is not a movie and each singular choice has profound consequence – even if it does not directly affect specifically me or you…yet.
and so, contextually – in the context of our country – it is a breeding ground of calamitous policy – deliberately harmful to our democracy, deliberately regressive, deliberately hurtful – expressing the wish even for crushingly austere hardship – led by a catastrophic kakistocracy. there is nothing to giggle about there, nothing funny about that. the close-up is a macro view of a cold overarching exploitation of these united states.
we can sit back – and watch the show – some of us (though not including the personal “us”) feeling somewhat impervious to the destruction-to-come. one can poke fun to get through a moment or two. but from afar or close-up – either one – the consequences of this election – the choice that almost half our fellow voters chose – will eradicate what we know.
there are gleefully menacing people – predators – out there, just chomping at the bit to have power, to reign with supreme control, to remove all the reed grasses from our gardens and leave us there without the safety or warmth of democracy.
sometimes at the end of the day we can hear the bagpiper playing on the lakefront. it’s a bit haunting. and it makes me think of buglers who trumpet taps: “day is done. gone the sun, from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. all is well, safely rest, god is nigh.”
we often hike in the afternoon – after all our tasks are finished. so it is not unusual that we run into the sun setting as we begin to return toward the trailhead. and now, in these late autumn days, that is happening earlier and earlier.
it was particularly beautiful to see the sun on the day i took this photograph. it had been cloudy and we didn’t expect the sun to pop through above the bank of clouds just over the horizon. we were grateful.
i’m guessing that this is the way to move into these uncertain times. to note the clouds and to be grateful for the sun. we are troubled, much like you might be as well. we can’t pretend that everything is coming up roses or that this future will be smooth sailing. but it is doing our hearts and souls harm to linger constantly in the toxicity that was voted in. i certainly have spoken my piece about all that.
i also can’t simply play taps to our country. because all is not well, because i don’t feel like i can safely rest and because I’m thinking god may not be being all peaceful-nigh-like watching hypocritical thuggish people steeped in bigotry, revenge, cruelty being all righteous in his name. so taps is on hold.
i will, however, lean on the day, the sun, the lake, the hills and the sky to remind me of what is really, truly real, what is really, truly beautiful. i will be mindful of the importance of the each-others in our lives. i will draw strength from any and all light around me, around us – including the unexpected elusive sun setting in cloudy dusk.
it’s true. we write a lot. without fail, six days a week now. we haven’t missed a day since the beginning of our melange 355 weeks ago.
it is likely you have not read all of these posts. we completely understand that. life – these days – reading-wise – is lived more like a reader’s digest condensed book than a novel; there is just simply not enough time.
i haven’t ever gone back to read it all – every single post. maybe some day i will do that. it will surely tell a tale – narrating our lives, pondering artistry, speaking to issues about which we feel zealous, documenting times we are celebrating or enduring – ourselves, in our family, our friends, our community, our country.
sometimes these posts are light, hopefully uplifting. sometimes they express confusion. sometimes they ask hard questions. sometimes they are enraged. sometimes we are trying to answer a need we see. sometimes we are a little bit eloquent. sometimes we are awkward. sometimes they are full of the absolute joy of getting to be alive. sometimes full of wonder and gratitude.
it is likely you will not agree with every post. we don’t expect that nor do we wish that. these are simply our perspectives and, you will see, sometimes even the two of us – viewing the same image prompt – write from completely different perspectives.
i imagine that there are times you have vehemently disagreed with me or david. and that is also good. hopefully, that will mean that someday we might have a conversation about that, talk about it, share thoughts and knowledge, even emotions that disagreements evoke.hopefully, that will mean it might be generative.
the thing i can say is that we are merely doing the best we can to write. every single day that our melange is published. not to elicit attention nor to be overbearing in our words or our stance on things. we don’t expect you to adopt our stance – we are merely expressing our views. we are just vulnerably putting it out there and, frankly, it takes courage to be as transparent as we have been. but an artist’s work demands that, demands voice. and we are two artists reflecting on real life…two blogs…two vehicles for our creative hearts, sorting it all out – this life – as we go, just like you.
though it might be tempting to assume these posts are the full and complete autobiographies – the diaries – the whole kitnkaboodle – of our lives, i would caution by saying that we are writing to prompts – photographs i have taken – and there is more to our lives – and our life together – than these images. just as we cannot – would not – assume what you have been up to every moment of each day, neither can a reader of our blogs. these posts are not the entirety of our days. so, maybe we might spend some time together – by communicating in some fashion or in the same room – to learn a few more details, hear a few more anecdotes, ask a few more questions, express a bit of concern and empathy, understand where we are all coming from.
we heartily welcome your perspectives and your comments. we appreciate your reading. we appreciate your feedback. and we are grateful for anyone who has ever directly impacted us with financial support – of this blog, my music, david’s artwork, our combined artistry.
it all started with a print hanging in our bedroom. it needed to move somewhere else and it needed to be replaced with something different or nothing, blank wall space.
and so I took the print off the wall and brought in the vintage piece i thought might work. we held it up and hung it up. a little bit of change.
i went into my studio and pulled out an old full-of-personality metal tripod work light we had found at an antiques flea market this summer. it was five dollars and it actually worked. i brought it into the living room, wanting to find a spot for it.
i think it was the five-dollar-metal-dome that started the avalanche. still in our buffalo plaids, we set to work.
now, usually when people decorate they go to furniture stores and home good type places looking for pieces, new items to incorporate into their decor. but that’s not budgeted at this time, so we tried using different eyes as we looked at what was in place, what was in the basement stored, how we could change things up, refresh our home.
in the end, we spent the entire day rearranging. many spaces were treated to a littlebittachange – the living room, the dining room, the sunroom, the foyer. we imagined all kinds of things – maybe in the future some of those will happen.
and we laughed to find ourselves at 7pm – still in red buffalo plaid – ready for some leftover homemade soup.
the best part of the day, though, was a realization. at 7, sipping a friday night glass of wine with our tomato soup, we realized that neither of us had thought about or talked about the current political turmoil. it was a relief to be lost in something positive, something productive, something personally gratifying.
i know that as i go into the rooms of our home today it will strike me somewhat differently today than during yesterday’s flurry. i – sometimes – don’t do change well and my threadiness includes my surroundings.
but this time may be different. this time i think i will walk around our home and imagine all the potential of our future here. this time i will again feel the comfort of this old house, no matter what the decor. this time i will be decidedly more open-minded about not changing it all back.
because going forward – in all its shapes and forms – and not going back – holding to hope and possibility needs to override the exorbitant negativity – the absolute control-mongering insanity – so prevalent in our country right now.
we sat in the old wooden glider – moved – surprisingly – from the deck into the living room – and talked about the new perspective it gave us on the room.
“furry pillows will offset the rough-hewn-ness,” i coaxed him. we glanced around the room – at the peeling-paint-chunk-of-concrete in the role of coffee-wine-perch next to the leather recliner, at the portion of desk – with the sawed-off-side next to the radiator – in the role of end-table, at the huge tree branch from the beloved tree out front happy-lit in the middle of the front window and we laughed.
getting lost in our own home – our sanctuary – was just the thing we needed.
and to remember that little bit about control: “let there be an opening into the quiet that lies beneath the chaos, where you find the peace you did not think possible and see what shimmers within the storm.” (john o’donohue)
on the southern part of the trail, most of the leaves have fallen. we shuffle through them, making that crunchy sound of autumn hikes. we can see further now – further down the trail, deeper into the woods. we can see the river, so often hidden by foliage. our views are unobstructed by earlier thick growth of underbrush and leafy trees.
the golden leaves cling to the willow. the sun catches them and they glow. i am grateful for their color and for this day of technicolor as november begins to push the need for more vitamin d. storm clouds rushed past, hinting at the possibility of pummeling us. yet the sun returned and we hiked on, glad to be out there, grateful to reclaim some air on the trail.
the days are darker now. and it makes me think of the many seasons of alone (the history channel) we have viewed, as moderate weather early in season episodes seemed to morph quickly into unthinkable cold, punishing loneliness, long darkness. we binged on alone during our month plus of covid. and as we hike now, we talk about the ability of the contestants to survive, to sustain. clueless about true survivalist skills, we both know we would likely fail miserably out in the wild – alone.
kielyn – season 7 – was out there for an unbelievable 80 days. a personality full of color, in one episode, she said, “women. we are a force to be reckoned with.”
yes. we are.
and even in the fallout of the fallout of this election, the fallout of the fallout of insane politics and a divided country, the fallout of the fallout of an agenda to kick women (among others) to the ground, we are still a force. she is right.
the lush leaves of spring, summer and early fall blocked what you could see in the woods, past the woods. they blocked long vision.
until they didn’t.
it was in the falling of the leaves on-trail that one could again see. it is in that clearing out, the storm threatening, winter on its way, that one can see further – beyond just existing, beyond just surviving, beyond just sustaining – further – to a place where thriving is an imperative. it is heading into fallow that any bit of color stands out, interrupts the grey.
because we women are out here. and no clearing-out, no storm, no winter will stop us.
long vision is one of the plates we women spin.
we aren’t afraid of a time of fallow.
and we sure aren’t afraid of the dark.
we are a force. you will have to reckon with us.
if the willow has lost all its leaves, we will bring the color.
we know these trees. we have walked this trail amid these trees for years now, processing life as we go. they are familiar to us; they feel like chosen family – waiting for us, to hear our voices, our laughter, the crunch of our boots on dirt, pebbles, leaves. they are curious – to hear snippets of challenges, of joys, of sorting – bits and snatches of our conversation as we hike.
these trees – all of them – the sculptural, the leafless, the verdant, the not-yet-shed-their-leaves, the evergreen – hold us, help us feel secure in this place, in this world. the curve of the trail – how we know it well – gives us pause in worry, recognizing the reassurance of the known.
there are three or four trails like that here. memorized, well-loved, never surprising and always full of stunning surprises. there is a specific trail – through stands of aspen trees – on a ridge in aspen. there is a specific trail – with the pungent scent of pine trees – along a mountain stream in breck. if we could teleport there – to either of those trails – we would. for they both speak to our very souls.
“and into the forest i go, to lose my mind and find my soul.”(john muir)
we return home – to this place on earth that can both travel with us and be acutely found in our cozy old house – with less-burdened hearts. though sometimes momentary – in a world leaning into insanity – the trail tucks wisdom-bits into us and we bring home space that reminds us to breathe in the very minute we are in, grounding us.
and so, we try to go here – to the close-by – often. especially now.
we are aware of beauty. we both notice it and look for it.
we walk and talk. we walk in silence.
and the trees tap us on the shoulder as we pass and whisper sweet nothings to us.
i pledge allegiance to the flag of the united states of america. and to the republic for which it stands – one nation, under god, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. (pledge of allegiance)
…and justice for all…
uh-huh. yup. fer sure.
(snarky – though truthful – alert for what follows…and…if you are running low on snark tolerance, I understand. these times are difficult and it is overwhelming to be surrounded by so much hypocrisy, so much that is truly unthinkable. i am merely one more voice out here, expressing outrage, hoping against hope that the voterswhovotedforthis might be capable of hearing and – more importantly, though clearly belated – of listening. and that the voterswhovotedagainstthis might feel less alone in their own outrage.)
in case you hadn’t already read this – in numerous other posts i have written – i was raped. i am a survivor. i have been a survivor for over four decades. i have carried it with me throughout my adult life. though i spent most of that time in silence, it has affected me physically and emotionally, psychologically, professionally, and financially. it has touched every corner of my life. it is both profound and a profound change agent in one’s life.
my rapist was a predator who expertly groomed and preyed on young women, older women, underage women, virgins, innocent targets. my rapist also “successfully” raped other women. my rapist was not charged. my rapist walks in the world – free – even today.
and – clearly – my rapist could be president.
because – fact of the matter is – here we are…poised to have an adjudicated rapist as the president – a man also convicted of 34 felonies among numerous other indictments and allegations, but golly gee, why would we even mention or consider those petty little details?
and so, i have some questions for you, ye who have voted for this, er, person.
where is the justice?
did you know when you voted? did you not care when you voted?
did it feel ok to vote in a rapist, a convicted felon?
is this the person you wish your father, your husband, your son, your grandson, your brother look up to, emulate? is this the person you wish your mother, your wife, your daughter, your granddaughter, your sister look up to?
would you leave your daughter alone with him? your granddaughter? your mom? your sister? your auntie, your niece? would you leave your tiny child alone with him? would you trust him to keep his hands to himself and his pants zipped?
what is the deal?
or – and this possibility sickens me beyond the disgust i am already feeling – did you have some sort of sadistic vicarious fantasy voting him in – a man laden with cruelty, revenge, evil intentions – some arsonist lurking in you wishing to watch the fire?
i saw this meme:
“we could have shown our daughters that they could do anything.
instead, we showed our sons that they can rape, cheat, and lie and still become the most powerful man in the country.”
if you don’t find that inordinately disturbing as a parent (you know, the whole i want the best for my child; i want to protect my child thing), as a woman (you know, the women supporting women’s rights thing), as a human being (you know, the whole moral compass thing) – if that bit of injustice doesn’t get your goat – if the utter lack of and-justice-for-all doesn’t take your liberty-breath away – i don’t know what will.
i told him the other day I wasn’t sure if i had anything left to say. in the lostness following this horrific election, i still feel all the things i have already written about – truly gutted.
i would imagine that there are many of ‘me’ out there. heart-broken, infuriated, exhausted, confused, feeling betrayed.
and in that wanderland of grief sit the questions of “what is real?” and “who is real?”. they nag at me – wherever i am. we escaped to the trail and they followed me – sitting heavy on my heart, ponderous.
real (adjective): 1. actually existing as a thing or occurring in fact: not imagined or supposed.2. (of a substance or thing) not imitation or artificial; genuine.
and
real: behaving or presented in a way that feels true, honest, or familiar and without pretension or affectation.
and so i look at life now and think about what is real and who is real.
the “real” i knew would have stood by me, by my family, by values i assumed we shared, by the lifting up of humanity.
the “real” i knew would have been morally aghast by the cruel, devastating intentions of the new maga-regime.
the “real” i knew would have pushed back against all of it – leading with goodness and kindness.
but i guess the “real” you wanted me – and everyone else – to see wasn’t really real. and i will now admit, you fooled me.
i suppose – like many others will – that i could pretend it doesn’t matter. i could act like it doesn’t matter. i could interact like it doesn’t matter. i could just go on as if it doesn’t matter. but it does. it matters. it’s real.
mary oliver wrote, “you can fool a lot of yourself, but you can’t fool the soul.”
so even as i fight the internal fight – trying – irrationally – to hold onto what or who is really not real – my soul knows.
and, like many of you trying to process this soul-knowing, i am deeply sad.
reverse threading 