this time is fraught. there is not a lot of love going around. visit social media and you’ll see some pretty horrifically mean stuff. it never fails to surprise me what some folks are saying. like, wow….really?
in some ways it feels as if THINKING has stopped and REACTING has stepped in full force. under the guise of political prowess, it appears anything goes, yet, i wonder how many people are really stopping to think about the if-this-then-that of their staunch stances. dire ramifications are being ignored in deference to bandwagon chaotic rhetoric, mean-spirited pokes, two-sided mouth-talkers, atrocious meannesses. unimaginable backsliding cruelty fait-accompli project 2025/agenda 47 lays in wait, smugly enjoying the poverty of scutiny, the lack of reasoning. it’s sort of like everyone needs to go to time-out and THINK. critical thought is consequential. it is imperative. this IS an inflection point.
because – truly – this democracy is on the line. it is no longer ambiguous. it is no longer questionable. it is non-negotiable. it’s time to decide – where do we go from here? what do we really want for those who come behind us? what kind of country will this be? what kind of people will we be? who are we? who are you?
so, not too long ago, we took our penzey’s flag and hung it up on a spare old door we have sitting in the garden against the garage out in the backyard.
because “choose love” deserves to be flying (or, in this case, at least hanging.)
a reminder in a time – it appears – we all need reminders: are you choosing love? really?
if you need another reminder, watch lady gaga singing at baku 2015 european games opening ceremony. and imagine. imagine that here.
choose love. always.
*****
*thank you to bill penzey who steadfastly and bravely supports choosing love at all times.
we are making it by littlebabyscion. again. finally!
it’s been a long while since we have taken a roadtrip of any length – and, truth be told, this one isn’t really all thaaaat long either. but it’s longer than just a few hours and so we needed to prep.
we washed and cleaned out LBS for the journey. it had also been a while – and for the last few days we have felt mighty proud driving around in a pristine vehicle (ok, as pristine as 275000 miles can get – shy of sandblasting and repainting the rims – as our son has suggested). we’ve made lists of what to bring and we are carefully planning snacks for in the car because we cannot drive any distance without them.
to say we are excited is an understatement. we also have made sure we have all kinds of other roadtrip paraphernalia – like duct tape, rubber bands, an extra bottle of engine oil, twist-ties, a flashlight – because with 275k one never knows what one might encounter. hopefully, we won’t need any of that. at all. none of it. (hoping that LBS is paying attention…)
it will all be over in a flash. like any vacation or mini-vacation. but the anticipation is delicious and we – like the hosts waiting for us on the other side of the road part of our roadtrip – are squeaking with excitement.
in the rare moments d texts me, my phone ringtone is john denver’s annie’s song.
“you fill up my senses like a night in the forest, like a mountain in springtime, like a walk in the rain, like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean, you fill up my senses, come fill me again.
come let me love you, let me give my life to you. let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms. let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you. come let me love you, come love me again…”
and in those moments – daisy moments – i am reminded, once again, of the improbability of two tiny starflecks in the universe noticing each other, of the utter impossibility of our meeting, the sheer unlikeliness of our marrying, the astounding unimaginable gift of our time together.
even in the moments when my senses are overburdened, impatient, saturated, senseless.
daisies in any form, every stage – this wildflower fleabane – are just like hearing annie’s song. because i am me, they bring tears to my eyes.
“remember,” they whisper from the meadow on the side of the trail, “just remember.”
a long, long time ago my big brother penned a calligraphy print. it says, “may there be such a oneness between you that when one weeps the other will taste salt.”
“live life as if everything is rigged in your favour.” (rumi)
it’s when you go back – look at things in retrospect – that you are able to grok it. tiny details that had to align, mistakes and successes you experienced, things you regret and things you celebrate, things that brought you huge satisfaction and things that brought you great disappointment, things you found and things you lost – all were present in the story – to bring you here.
and you look back and realize that in all the positive, the universe held you – skimming the waves, floating with elation, so sure of the moment and yourself.
and you look back and realize that in all the negative, the universe held you – treading water, shaken, downtrodden, so unsure of the moment and yourself.
and, if you are fair, you notice that you are mostly steady. any wobble you carry from back then – whenever back then was – has eased up a bit. you are more resilient than you knew. you notice your grace, your balance, your deliberate, unceasing step-by-step.
and even on days when you are under great pressure – under the weight of everything you can still see in the rearview mirror, everything that worries you ahead – there are reminders of your strength.
this wisp felt like the touch of an angel’s wing. i don’t know which angel – there are many beloveds who are now angels – they have presence in some other plane; they are just over there, just on the other side, watching.
i suppose that from that place they can see that with which we struggle, that with which i struggle. but, having experienced both life and death, they are filled with perspective. and so i imagine them tossing the dice or rock-paper-scissors-ing to see whose turn it is, whose turn to summon up a cloud.
and then, whosever-turn-it-is waves their arm through the blueness of sky gathering up tiny sparkling glittered molecules – like mica – and the wisp forms, floating off to find me – knowing that i notice such things.
and i look up in the moment it happens by. and feel reassured.
right now i am here. right now i am alive. right now i am.
everything must surely be rigged in my favour after all.
buymeacoffee is a tip-jar website where you may support the continuing creating of artissts whose work resonates with you. ♡
***PLEASE NOTE: Both David and I are having WORDPRESS issues so today’s blogposts may look a little funky. Hoping we can resolve these tech issues soon. Thanks for your patience and – mostly – thanks for reading. xoxo
i just scrolled past a winnie the pooh meme. “what day is it?” asked pooh. “it’s today,” squeaked piglet. “my favorite day,” said pooh.
we went back.
we bushwhacked through the overgrown woodsy area to make our way under the big fallen branch and onto the beach. “our special beach” we called it. we couldn’t wait to get there – to this spot of sand and pebbled shoreline that rarely had any visitors.
we emerged from under the big fallen branch and stepped onto the sandy overlook to see a beach full of people, full of jetskis and motorized rafts, boats anchored in the water, waverunners zooming in and out of the new jettied cove.
wow.
we stood for a moment, taking it all in.
for this was the place we went to for quiet. this was the place we searched for hagstones. this was the place we sat on big pieces of wild driftwood, watching the waves come in, the waves retreat. the place to reflect, sort, breathe.
we stood for a few more moments, trying to grok it, decide what to do.
we took a walk on the shore where the waves meet the sand. it was clear a lot of work had been done on this beach. and we had to agree that it was truly beautiful, even in its changed state. we walked south and then back north. and we found that – all along – there was a parking lot that led to the beach. all along there was an easier way in. all along there was access. go figure.
as we walked south, with the waves lapping our feet – in the exquisite way that feels on a soft sandy beach – we remembered the other days we had spent there. beautiful, peaceful days. we talked about how grateful we were for those days.
and then we walked north.
we took the road past the marina and stepped onto the boardwalk. we hadn’t ever gone this way before.
the boardwalk wound its way past all the slips, around the yacht club, past the charters. on a most gorgeous day we delighted in this new place to stroll. the sting of the busy-ness of the beach faded and we planned on returning to “our beach” later – maybe a late evening, maybe in september. in the meanwhile, this stroll was the loveliest thing.
“what day is it?” i asked david, a little lost in time having been under the weather for over a week and just starting to feel better.
the fireworks were exploding everywhere. all over the neighborhood. up-close-and-personal in the yard riiiight behind us. down the street. around the corner. e-ver-y-where.
but we survived.
dogga is frightened by fireworks. and it is unfortunate that the fourth of july is his birthday, which makes it seem unusually wrong for him to be frightened.
we made absolutely no plans. we knew we needed to be there for him. we turned on the noisy window air conditioner in the dining room and tried to help him settle in. but they were ridiculously loud – particularly from neighbors who – each year – set them off right behind our backyard.
so we brought him into the kitchen with us, closed all the gates and pulled out the rummikub game.
and somehow – miraculously – that did the trick. he settled down – no longer in charge – and, even though we could still hear them pow-pow-powing all around us, he went to sleep. i can’t tell you how relieved we were that he was relaxed.
just like his first impulse is to protect us, so is ours to protect him.
we love our dogga. but i guess you already know that.
“fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars…”(bart howard)
my uncle allen sang. his love of singing – through years of lessons and practice – often starred in our living room, where my brother would play guitar, i would play organ or piano and allen would sing. there is not a time i hear “fly me to the moon” without thinking about him or his devoted support of me.
it was my uncle allen who first encouraged me to record. it was my uncle allen who financially supported those early recording sessions. it was my uncle allen who celebrated the three-song cassette when it was done, ordering extra copies for everyone. it was my uncle allen who was my first go-to and my confidante when life-as-i-knew-it fell apart, when music-as-i-knew-it was shattered and when i fled new york. it was my uncle allen who built a house in florida that i could rent from him, trying to heal with no victim advocate or the assistance of any therapy. and it was my uncle allen who celebrated when i finally – sixteen years later – started recording again.
the third ward in milwaukee is one of our favorite places in which to wander about. i have a thing for paper and notebooks and pencils and all things stationery, so i find broadway paper a joyful shop. their paper airplane mobiles enchant over by the entrance door that shares the vestibule for marn art & culture hub. the exposed beams, exposed ductwork, exposed brick – ahh – d and i could live in such a space. we spent the afternoon strolling around with 20, in and out of shoppes. a tiny crazy air plant called my name and we bonded; “waukee” was the only purchase we brought home with us. we sat at the public market, had wine and gumbo and fried clams. it was all heavenly.
i searched in the hall closet – an utter melange of stuff: games, crafts, 10×10 vendor tent weights, playing cards – and found what i was looking for: the last vestiges of the origami airplane folding kit. because their dad was a pilot, this paper airplane kit was a big hit with our children. but i remembered there were a few pieces of origami paper left and – more importantly – the directions on how to fold. mayyyybe d and i will channel the mobile-making juju of groundbreaking mobile sculptor alexander calder … or, at the very least, channel broadway paper.
in the meanwhile i dove into the thickly-filled drawers of old file cabinets in my studio. and found the other thing i was looking for: the sheet music for fly me to the moon. it is pretty likely i’ll play that later and d and i will sing it – in great honor and loving memory of my uncle allen – a man for whom i am grateful, who is likely singing on the clouds, who generously encouraged soaring and playing among the stars.
the owner of this gorgeous paw, dogga has us wrapped around it. he wrapped around our hearts the moment we saw him, a gangly puppy just three months old.
and on his least favorite day – the day the entire world around him sets off loud fireworks – he will celebrate his birthday. eleven. and where did the time go?
this is the dogdog who traveled innumerable miles in littlebabyscion, particularly back and forth to florida while my sweet momma was ailing in her last year and a half. this is the dogdog who was in love with his babycat, bowing to his feline alpha-ness. this is the dogdog who stared at the front door – not moving – waiting for his babycat to come home after his best friend died. this is the dogdog who chewed our kitchen table legs and the trim of my mom’s kitchen cabinetry (which we cleverly replaced with trim from behind the fridge). this is the dogdog who didn’t do well in elevation, the dogdog who fell in our pond and never really liked the idea of water since. this is the dogdog who has sat with us for happy hour in the driveway in LBS with the air conditioning running. this is the dogdog who loved the giant number of ukulele band rehearsals and gatherings and parties at our house. this is the dogdog who earned himself an official, full-size european traffic circle sign in our backyard. this is the dogdog who used to eat goose poop but has lifted his palate to chips and aged cheddar and carrots and – mostly – any kind of peoplefood he is offered. this is the dogdog who adores digging holes and checks on the bunnies in the ornamental grasses. this is the dogdog who protects d – running the perimeter – when he takes out the garbage. the dogdog with amazing amber eye contact. the dogdog who will convince us to gear-it-down by retreating to the bathroom. the dogdog who anticipates our every move. the dogdog who will go on any errand at any time, who backs-up when asked (thank you to daena for this!), who has clearly-beloved people (20, his girl kirsten), who spins and speaks and shakes and gives “five” and says “love you” back and won’t touch even the treatiest treat if you tell him not to. this is the dogdog who likes to lead – not necessarily “heel”, the dogdog who barks like a maniac when his favorite dachshunds are out, who will stand in the yard – right smack in the middle of the backyard, bark and wait for an answer – like he watched 101 dalmations and knows about the bark chain. the dogdog who leaves tufts of aussie fur everywhere he goes. the dogdog who loveslovesloves his chicken-and-rice-and-peas-and-caaarits for dinner, peoplefood we now make him and package for dinner every night. this is the dogdog who lives for belly-bellies, the dogdog who runs out of gas about 8pm, the dogdog who loves sleepynightnight and its rituals.
THAT dogdog.
on his birthday we’ll do the best we can to reassure him – our neighborhood, unfortunately, is a fracas of fireworks.
i’ve seen on social media where people post suggestions – donate dogfood to a shelter instead of purchasing fireworks and other such goodnesses. i wish the people in the ‘hood would do that. there are beautiful big displays put on by the city they could attend. it would scare fewer domestic pets and certainly be less of a terror for all the wildlife.
as a person who grew up with sparklers as the end-all of fourth of july celebrations, i would think that grownups could defer to what’s best for pets and birds and squirrels and chippies and deer and, well, anything out there that doesn’t know what to do in the middle of those explosions.
but – maybe they don’t have a dogdog who has stolen their heart forever. maybe they can’t feel the fear or anxiety of another living creature. maybe they don’t feel the love. maybe they don’t care. they sure didn’t learn that from a dog.
we will be home – inside – hugging on our dogga on the fourth. wishing him a happy birthday and wishing for quiet to come outside as soon as possible.
“do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.”(my sweet momma, but originally, john wesley)
my sweet momma would have loved his friends. like i mentioned in blogs last week, they – and strangers – surrounded us at PRIDE with hugs and conversation, bottles of water and gatorade. they laughed and danced and applauded and volleyed the beach ball. solicitous, they paid attention to those around them, even us. they made us feel like it mattered to them that we were there. it was fitting that one of our son’s friends wore this hat. doing good – being kind – choosing kindness without hesitation – seemed the theme.
it is surprising – with all the touting of goodness that is preached in various places on our globe, the pontificating about generosity that permeates, the statements of mission written and proclaimed in mighty boardrooms – that it is in the simplest of places that you find goodness. it is in the humblest of people you find generosity. it is in the groups – marginalized and demeaned – you find mission. it is sometimes just absolutely missing in those other places – the places where you would expect all of that. irony is alive and well. or would that be hypocrisy?
they weren’t tryyying to do good. they just were.
it takes just seconds to decide how to respond to someone else’s question, comment, action, behavior. in that moment – just before responding – i would hope – if at all possible – to choose to be kind, to do good.
my sweet momma loved to whoop it up at parades and concerts and sporting games. any chance to be boisterous and she’d take it. i can just imagine her at PRIDE – putting on a rainbow lei and a “do good” hat, waving her arms in the air yelling, “wowee!! wowee!!”
we went to chicago PRIDEFEST on saturday. it was in the 90s and a sweltering day. though we have taken the train countless times to chicago – and to the festival last year – we decided to drive down this time. we did not check the chicago cubs calendar first. yikes. the north halsted boystown area was a hot mess with the concurrence of cubs fans and PRIDE. so.many.cars. it literally took us an hour and a half to go just merely two miles to get to our son’s condo where he had saved us a parking spot.
we breathed a sigh of relief as we pulled into his alley, driving toward our parking spot…until…we saw that someone else had taken it. uh-oh. though we had planned lots of extra time, we now had 23 minutes until his performance on the waveland stage. i considered double-parking and rejected it, thinking littlebabyscion would be towed. clearly, we needed to go back out into the fray and find a spot. with our senses of humor still intact, we drove down the alley and exited back onto his road. somehow there was the miraculous appearance of a spot on his street…miraculous except for the signs everywhere that say “tow zone: no parking on cubs game days except with a parking permit”.
the four guys on the sidewalk in this boystown ‘hood were walking somewhere briskly when i jumped out of the car to ask them about the seriousness of the signage and parking, explaining the whole story and apologizing for telling the whole story (to which jordan kindly said, “it’s ok!!”). bryson – understanding the imperative of a mom getting to see her EDM artist son perform and notmissabeat – immediately told me he’d run back to his place and get me a temporary parking pass he had and no, i didn’t need to pay him anything at all. the generosity of these guys!! what’s not to love?
we parked and walked as fast as possible to the entrance our son suggested. the lines were astonishingly long but the security guard got us in quick as a flash when he heard our son was performing in four minutes. what’s not to love?
we found our way to the camera by the middle of the intersection – where our son had directed us. and we found ourselves surrounded by his friends, every one of them hugging us hello, an unparalleled warm community. his dear friend brought us a gatorade, another brought us a water, another – at the end of his performance – a canned adult beverage. what’s not to love?
we danced and visited and celebrated with thousands of others all smushed in to watch. our son’s friends – all so kind – wandered over again and again, checking in on us and hanging out. i gave out “be kind” buttons to anyone and everyone around. beachballs volleyed across the audience and PRIDE flags waved in the air. their set was amazing – the music kept everyone upbeat and happy. it was thrilling to watch – just like at milwaukee’s PRIDEFEST a couple weekends ago – where i took this photo from the VIP section where our son – since he was performing on the giant dance pavilion stage – made sure we were given access. i just don’t know what’s not to love about this.
although it is verrrrry unusual these days for me to wear a pair of shorts out and about if we aren’t hiking on some trail, i did anyway. because pride encourages people to be simply who they are. and every body shape and size and color is accepted and celebrated. i never had even one of those self-conscious “why did i wear this?” moments. even as likely one of the oldest people in the crowd, i felt completely included. what’s not to love?
i believe that even if i were not the mom of a gay son, i would still feel the same way. i believe that i would still completely support the LGBTQIA community. i believe i would still wonder – when i see others pushing back or curling their lips in disdain and exclusion – what’s not to love?
because i believe in love. i believe in loving one another. i believe in the most basic tenets – of kindness and generosity, peace and fairness and equality, respect and truth and – the big one – love.
and, though it shows a (disgusted) glitch in my own acceptance-of-others-meter, i have a really hard time understanding why anyone – on this good earth – would have the effrontery to not find acceptance-of-others part of life itself. who among us has that right? to eliminate others? to treat others less-than? to exclude because of a person’s gender identification or sexual orientation? “how does that even affect you?”, i wonder of those who marginalize LGBTQIA, who promote ‘anti’ ideology, who bully-pulpit, who hypocritically pontificate, who write or encourage or vote for laws or politicians that minimalize and restrict. without thinking. or sorting. or discerning. or checking in with their heart. i just don’t get it.
i was proud to go to PRIDE. i always will be. what’s not to love?
reverse threading 