david, mark and i stood by the dyed harbor in the wind. mark commented that he did not have a painting of st patrick’s day green, rusty brown, cement beige. we told him that he did now. because we had made it so – as we stood there – “totally looks like a mark rothko,” we opined as we viewed the photograph i had just taken. mark laughed – in that other-dimension way we imagined. i reminded him of green and maroon – and my dedication to this painting at the milwaukee art museum. he was amused and agreed that emerald, rust and cement was – maybe – a worthy addition.
david just finished a piece he painted for me. it is stunning, both visually and emotionally. a really large canvas, it will find a home in my studio, where i can be reminded of the freedom – of space, of life, of voice, of love – it represents.
i have always wanted a horse and so he gave me one. this painting. and you can see – by the repose of my face – how undeniably happy it makes me, the peace it bestows, breathing the very air of all the universe.
it is said that mark rothko sought to make paintings that would bring people to tears. “i’m interested only in expressing basic human emotions – tragedy, ecstasy, doom and so on.” as an artist, i cannot imagine any other reason to create other than to tap in, to elicit, evoke, to acknowledge human emotions.
when i stepped onto the floor of the basement – off the last wooden step – i stared at the painting in progress. it was potent for me. it was a painting of an arrival, of sorts. though David’s title is in dreams she rides wild horses, the reality for me is the wild horse of voice. it is the gallop of speech, the beginning of the release of silence, the horse i never yet had. i wept as i told him.
mark appeared suddenly, standing on the basement floor with me. he stepped under one of the studio spotlights and called over to d, “good work, robinson. way to make her cry.”
d looked surprised and glanced at me calling back, “thanks, rothko!” before i wrapped my grateful arms around him, “yeah, good work, robinson.”
“the ordinary days have a way of lulling us into believing there isn’t any urgency to them…” (john pavlovitz)
we chose to binge-watch a favorite show’s entire season, under the quilt with snacks by our side and dogga at our feet. because there is this – living. and so we chose to stay still together, our socked feet nuzzled. we chose to go nowhere, to link arms sitting against the pillows in bed, to watch the afternoon sun wane through the window and turn to night. minutes and hours ticked by – an ordinary day embracing right now.
for there is – after all – an urgency.
an urgency of loving. to tell others around us they are loved. to unflinchingly gaze at each other – our partners – to speak the words every beloved wishes to hear, to catch your breath, to quietly hold hands.
an urgency of standing in the fire with each other. in the middle of any storm, any wound, any challenge, any anything – and to not close off, to not be aloof, to not ignore the pain, to hold healing together.
an urgency to do. to speak, to stand up, to fight back, to forgive, to create, to tear down. there is an urgency to recognize the driving force, to gather the tools, to seek the empty spaces, the vessels, the air, the canvasses to fill, to touch the imperative.
an urgency to breathe it all in. to go, to see, to voice, to hear, to taste, to touch – every microscopic bit of it. to immerse, to be one in it all, to be inert to the point of boredom, to move frenetically.
it is today. it is right now. we are only assured of this very moment, this very place. in feeling it – really feeling it – i hope that – for this moment – every other place disappears.
for there is an urgency in limited limitless. and so, in each and every heartbeat.
i imagine that there are many people out-there who are also grieving. grieving the loss of any level of a sane government, grieving the loss of democracy and all its fittings, grieving the loss of freedoms or rights or jobs or benefits or support or opportunity or various other basic human needs. grieving the loss of family and friends who decided this vile cruelty was what they wanted. grieving the disappearance of others’ bottom line of protecting those they supposedly love. grieving relationships and honest conversation. grieving compassion and kindness as the lead intentions of a free world. grieving the structure of the rule of laws. grieving a place that is not fraught with corruption, greed and violent aggression. grieving.
i would be lying if i said i think it will all go back to normal some day – these relationships, this country. i don’t believe anything will be normal again.
the betrayal against basic humanity and basic tenets of goodness is not something easily overlooked, tossed aside or forgiven.
we do sometimes feel like an island. but we aren’t, really. we have a connectedness with a chosen family of generously big-hearted people for which we are grateful.
it’s light later now. that means we can go hike later in the day, after we’ve done all else that needs to be done. it means we can finish the day – whatever it’s been – with some time outside, some time on a trail, maybe some time watching the sun come down.
i feel worried these days. not just a little anxious. downright worried. every day something else in this country is blatantly being torn apart, shredded, trashed. the rule of law is disappearing. people are disappearing, democracy is disappearing.
but if you look at facebook, you will still see posts about dandelions and dogfood, early spring flowers and people on trips, concerts and recipes, memories and people eating. if you didn’t know, you wouldn’t know.
that is the part that gets me.
it’s not because i don’t like dandelions or food or flowers or concerts or travel, and it’s not because I don’t see the value in celebrating the simplest “normal” pieces of life. it’s because it feels like there are people who do not care about the horror of what the dismantling of this country is wreaking. it feels like there are people who are just pretending it is not happening. it feels like people are sloughing off the absolute danger, the loss, the devastation. and i look around and wonder why.
the most obvious answer to the question – why aren’t we talking about this – is that a person voted for it. they want this destruction – which will always make my head spin. they feel righteous and elitist and entitled – deserving of being held above “all those other people” – you know, the women, the black and brown people, the lgbtq people, the people who worship differently, the people who came from a different place, the people who have less. it literally makes me sick to my stomach thinking about how many people feel this way – particularly people i have loved or thought i knew really well. the we-don’t-talk-about-this crowd is somewhat close-in and i am growing weary of tolerating their cavalier silence.
there are people – out there – who subscribe to this administration’s cold-hearted, soulless agenda, who are are pretending that there are “just a few kinks” that need to be worked out, who think that “great” is coming, who believe the narcissistic evil promises made to them actually are “great” things. i am astonished at their acquiescence to the annihilation of the ideals of this country, to the bowing idolatry they express to these vile efforts.
i guess another answer to the question – why aren’t we talking about this – is that there are people who are not paying attention to factual news. they are listening to and watching what could be called “state tv” and they have no real idea what is happening to the country. they are shielded by the thick grimy viscose membrane of misinformation. this also makes me feel ill – that people are not bothering to glean what is really happening here, just tooling along scarfing up hateful lies.
any way i sort it, i am feeling incredibly disheartened by the lack of communication about the destruction of this country. having conversation with these people is to speak about the most superficial of things, the stuff of small talk, the things you would talk about with the clerk at the cash register. and so – these forms of surface-only communication fall under the if-you-didn’t-know-you-wouldn’t-know category. and it makes me want to just scream – are you going to talk about this takeover of our country or what?????!!!
i wonder how many people are struggling – like me – only four months after the election, merely two months after the inauguration – to try and navigate the divisiveness and shockingly-earned mistrust of people in our very own communities that have come with this new administration of “public servants” who have no public-servant-bones in their heartless bodies.
i really do need to be out on the trail – watching my feet move and the sun sink into the horizon. i need the quiet and truth of nature, a reminder of how i fit into the order of things. i need to be around natural goodness and not intentional complicity. it is restorative and feeds the place that needs peace and the feeling of being one with the universe.
it’s still there. at the bottom of the deck steps – stepping onto the patio – it is still there.
i don’t know where it came from, but suddenly this white heart appeared. it was at the end of a week when i really-really needed a heart to appear.
it is snowing right now as we work to write blogposts ahead. snowing! i honestly cannot think of anything i would like more at this moment.
tucked under a quilt, gazing out the window, the snow’s quiet is extraordinary. like after yesterday’s intense wind we just needed the blissful silence of a soft snowfall. it is calming my heart. the little vibration in my chest i can feel sometimes is absent. i know that any accumulation of this snowfall will be gone in a day or so – as the temperatures are expected to warm up – but for right now, it’s perfect.
while sorting through and cleaning out file cabinets and the attic upstairs i stumbled upon the binder of music i used for two of my recordings – let me take you back volume 1 and 2. they are both solo piano recordings of songs from the 60s and 70s. i put it aside, surprised to find it – particularly in that drawer – but continuing to work on the reorganization/purge.
but later – when it was time to go back downstairs i brought it right into my studio. i called d, flipped the binder open and started to play snippets of well-loved songs from our teens and twenties. i have this feeling that we could spend hours going through those songs, singing, reminiscing. and we might just do that. it was a balm to actually play – play!! – it’s been sooo long!! – and thinking of us singing along together makes me happy. maybe it’s a good snow day thing to do.
i will eventually bring the white heart inside. it will go with other heart rocks we have – or – maybe – it might go into my studio.
it is like a trifecta of goodness – the white heart, the snow, the binder.
i won’t question any of it. maybe divine intervention is just that way.
it was a stunner of a day. brilliant sun, azure blue sky, wisps of clouds, hardly anyone else on the trail. we were in heaven. we needed to be outside, to go move, to see the beautiful river trail coming to life. they were easy miles to hike – we had to stop ourselves and turn around or we would have gone way too far.
the wind just arrived. just now. like a switch, it went from stillness outside to the swirling of wind, the noise of wind, the worry of wind. writing this ahead, it is saturday and extreme weather has and is taking its toll on the country. we have had a wind advisory and wind warnings now for days. we have been alerted.
i laid awake last night for hours. the rain and wind woke me up, but the state of things kept me up. the trees falling are only one of many things on the current angst-list.
i know that it is important to keep things in somewhat of a balance – to shimmy over to the side of seeing beauty, feeling peace, being present, particularly during these obscenely chaotic times here. but the things that are happening to this country are real – they are actually happening, and, as a citizen of this country, i wonder where it is that there may be an outer limit. my fear – one of the nightmonsters – is that there is no outer limit. cruelty knows no bounds and as noam chomsky is quoted, “…evil doesn’t even begin to approach it.”
if it gets too windy as we write we will move into another room, for right behind our pillows is a very tall pine and my imagination is working overtime. i can feel the vibration in my chest vibrating, so i know that i am on alert. this is an all-too-familiar feeling these days. we are all often in fight or flight mode now, it seems. acute stress.
the day after this day of brilliantness we had another hike, though shorter. we sat on the deck and soaked up the warmth, sipped wine, talked about inane topics that kept us strayed away from current events. we had a couple other days of early spring weather before the in-like-a-lion kicked in. i’ve always been heartened by the out-like-a-lamb and, each year, pretty much depend on it…full-fledged counting on this idiom.
i wish the same were true for the state of our nation. that even though march – less than two months into this corruption – came in like a lion – it would go out like a lamb.
but you can’t count on folklore for the weather or politics. both are chaotic and neither is haphazard. one is natural, and is a result of the interactions of scientific systems; the other is deliberately machinated, a result of amoral strategy and self-serving intention.
one has the potential to be a lamb. the other is just aggressive, with high kill rates.
in researching it is curious to me to read – now that we are talking about aggressive creatures – that the deadliest creature on earth is the mosquito. i’m guessing that many people are not aware of this and, to them, sans any research or factoids, the mosquito is merely a noisy nuisance. in reality, the mosquito – as a creature – poses the most mortal threat to humans.
sounds like this new administration. and i’d venture the same guess – that many people – particularly those who – with fox-jacked-up anger – threw their votes onto the dysfunctional red bandwagon – sans any research or factoids – are not aware and, to them, the noise is just that – noise.
we clearly need this. not just one horseshoe. two horseshoes. not in relief, but in iron. hanging over the entire country spilling good luck, positive energy and protection from evil over the whole nation. nothing else seems to be working.
honestly. it is freakish what is happening here. every single day i am stunned by the corruption and evil doings of this administration. every single day i am shocked by the cheering squad. every single day i am forced to reckon with the fact that people don’t care about the facts, that people don’t care about the evil or the corruption. every single day i am rocked to my core, grieving relationships that were dear to me but that place me or my very own children in peril.
i imagine many get what i feel.
if a horseshoe is supposed to bring good things, then – certainly – two will do the job.
we have one in the sunroom. it leans against the big ponytail palm on our plant stand. it used to be my sweet momma’s and it is upside down, supposedly catching all universe goodness for us here in our home. i’m hoping it’s still working; there are no low battery alerts, no alarm, no indicators of its potency or lack thereof. but there is belief. and maybe – just maybe – this rusty old horseshoe is keeping belief fresh and alive.
we surely need some talisman of better times, a way out of chaos, depravity and malfeasance, a generously compassionate way forward.
the catalogs in the old mailbox in our bathroom are well-worn. i don’t keep every catalog that comes into the house, but there are a few that make their way into the old mailbox that used to grace the front of our house for years. stio is one of them.
i page through – dreaming of the places in this catalog. the phrases they use resonate with me.
“don’t just go somewhere, be somewhere.”
that – ^ – those very words are the reason i don’t take travel tours. you might question my position – it might be that you very much value group tours – buses or boats or what-have-you. and that is most definitely a way to see places.
but we have found that – for us – it is more important to immerse in a place than to pass through and check it off on some bucket list. if we merely pass through, we feel we have missed the real essence of the place. if we merely pass through, we have missed the scent of dawn, the color of dusk, the tempo of the streets and sounds of the overnight. we have missed the accents, the colloquialisms, the marketplace, the joy of sitting for long hours watching people interact – in a new place. we have missed the opportunity of absorbing something – some tiny little thing even – from the new, strange land that we might take back with us. we have missed connecting with its people. we have missed the beating heart.
and so, i agree with stio: don’t just go somewhere, be somewhere.
we try to take the time to be engaged, somewhat engrossed in places we go. true, it isn’t always possible, but we do make every attempt. it is what drives decisions about travel. our checklist is not just that – a checklist. it is the chance to viscerally see, taste, smell, hear, touch another place on this good earth, a chance to really feel it.
it is the reason why – for the four days we were in paris – that we walked everywhere, miles and miles all over the city. it is the reason we found our way to the market, skipping the fancy restaurants we passed on the way. it is the reason we bought baguettes and cheese, tiny salads, bottles of wine, fruit tarts from a patisserie. it is the reason we sat on cathedral steps or on benches by fountains in parks to dine. it is the reason my feet hurt and my heart was full.
it’s why we return time and again to breckenridge – to hike its trails, wander its streets, hang out and talk to the shopkeepers and the bartenders, shop its grocery store.
it’s why – once we have found a place and accommodations that truly speak to us, we will return again – to be a part of the community, to walk its sidewalks, shop its merchants, talk with its people, live – even for the tiniest bit of time – in its midst.
when we think of all the places we have traveled together, we recollect images that are multi-dimensional. we remember how it felt. we may not get everywhere we would like to go – and our checklist may be left with boxes to check – but we will have spent time in places we got to know and that got to know us, at least a little bit.
it is the reason why – in addition to seeking new – we choose to return – time and again – to the same trails we know. they have become part of us and we a part of them, a connection that makes us feel a certain awed responsibility toward their continued existence.
it is in the way that the mountains take my breath away – and make me weep – upon first sight, in the way that the ocean’s tide beckons me and pulls at my toes, in the way red rock makes me reach to run my hand along its sandstone shell.
it is this way i wish to see new places – with enough breath to be enthralled, enough freedom to sit quietly or run free, enough time there to walk and walk, to linger, and enough joie de vivre to forgo getting as many checkmarks in the “done” column as possible and instead embrace the getting-to-know-you – the savoring – of places in our world.
this is not really a post about sourdough bread though i seriously would support a post about sourdough. particularly THIS sourdough.
ideal bakery in chicagoland has won over my gluten-free heart. for years i have been gluten-sensitive, paying close attention to the ingredients of any wheat-based products. i have been purchasing gluten-free breads and – from time to time – having a piece or two of an amazing (wheat) baguette or a cracker or two or maybe a piece of rye toast because it makes me think of my sweet momma and my grandmother mama dear.
my allergist/immunologist suggested i try sourdough bread. it ages differently through the fermentation process and is less gluten forward. not an option for those with crippling celiac, but definitely an option for me.
this bakery – with its dedication to purity – there is nothing you can’t pronounce on their list of ingredients – flour, water, salt, yeast – has maybe given me this different option. artisan european breads – basic.
we make most all of our meals. we rarely go out for dinner, more rarely lunch and never breakfast. we shop the periphery of the grocery store – buying pure and fresh ingredients, trying to eat healthy, with as little junk food as possible. basic. we love to cook together. david is a great sous chef, dogga is at our feet waiting for tiny bites, music is playing. we don’t cut corners, taking our time. even on dark days, preparing and making a meal together helps ground us. and good thing, for here we are, in the middle of the takedown of this country. more than a bit dark.
you would think that anyone fortunate enough to rise to the top, to lead the most powerful country in the free world, to have hundreds of millions of people to care for, would lead with the most basic ingredients, the most basic tenets – like empathy, compassion, equality, clearheaded intelligent critical thinking, kindness, generosity of spirit.
and yet, here we are. with the poisons of corruption – the high-fructose corn syrup, potassium bromate, azodicarbonamide, refined grains, trans fats and added sugars of this carcinogenic administration.
the tree lit up as the sun began to sink. oranges, reds, it was golden, the moon next to it, hanging out in the late just-sprang-forward afternoon sky.
we were sitting on the deck in our adirondack chairs – on an unexpected beautiful, warm day. it was the first time we sat outside in the sun since november.
on the same day, we took a hike in the woods, our spirits lifting with each step taken without cold wind in our faces. though we hike on very cold days with very cold winds, this was a glorious day. golden, for sure.
and nature is the only essence with which to credit this golden day. nothing else. no one else.
though the White House et al credit themselves with “the golden age of america [is here]” it is beyond delusional and a disgusting display of fealty from the capitulating folks this prez placed into powerful positions. stripping rights, freedoms, safety from the populace, putting the economy into chaos, hunting down immigrants to whisk away into oblivion, cutting helping programs that aid people so that 1% might get richer, turning our nation into a pariah no longer trusted by the world…newsflash…this is not the golden age.
we are not the elite. we are those people who wish to collect social security, who wish to have healthcare through medicare or the affordable care act, who wish to afford groceries and housing, utilities and upkeep, who wish to have income-based repayment plans for the criminally predatory decades-long student loans that have been reigning our finances, who wish to have economic stability, who wish to travel without fear of stigma, who wish to live in a country with principles based on equality and compassion, who wish our gay adult son and our childbearingyears daughter to have rights and freedoms for their own decision-making about their relationships, their health, their bodies, any children they may or may not choose to have. i’ve said it before – we are the masses. we feel this.
but, just as the moment when an olympic athlete climbs atop a podium to collect a gold medal for this country and you can feel it down to your toes, we can also feel all the vile program cuts that hurt others, the deliberate and aggressive bigotry directed at others, the loss of trust, security, and safety, the absolute betrayal of members of the populace by this cruel administration. it is the darkest of times – for each of us, for this country. light is sinking lower, deep into the horizon. we are heading into the sunless rule of authoritarianism.
it is not just what affects us that affects us.
so how do we collectively influence the actual color of these days? how do we actually golden up these times – this “age” – for real? what magic wand do we wield as a people, together? what steps – pushing back – do we take – for those we love and – in the biggest and most inclusive picture of this nation and this world – for people who will never know who we are?
maybe our collective empathy and our raised voices will help. every step we take forward – speaking up, speaking out – even against the coldest of winds – is a step – a goldening step – taken for democracy.
reverse threading 