we needed tuscan sunset seasoning and stopped in at penzeys – which is a favorite place to both shop spices and feel like we are in a big club of like-minded zealously-protective-of-our-democracy folks.
we picked up a bumper sticker because, well, it has an out-of-this-world important message: i will vote.
there are only eight days now. eight days left until this country – as a country – decides what it is going to do – what direction in which its populace votes to head.
it is more than slightly terrifying.
at this point – merely eight days out – i wonder what those-of-us-who-prefer-the-united-states-remain-a-democracy should say. how more blatant can this administration’s intentions be? how deep of a hole must one stick one’s head in in order to believe that there is anything but irreverent, soulless, cruelty trying to lead this country into oblivion?
please plan on voting. vote early. or vote on november 3rd. but please vote.
your voice – pushing back on the authoritarian-world-order-rearranging-oligarchic-despot-inhumane agenda – is needed.
bring your heart and true patriotism of this nation to the polls.
so that dawn’s early light reveals a better america – the land of the free and the home of the brave.
just a block or so east, around the bend and a bit further south is the southport beach house. built during the years 1936-1941, the united states department of the interior has since declared that it is on the national register of historic places. a bit up the shoreline is simmons island beach house, built around the same time, also a designated historical site. both are stunning eclectic examples of tudor revival buildings on the shoreline, architecturally beautiful.
we are deeply connected to “our” beach house for many reasons, including that it is in our ‘hood. it was the site of our wedding reception – so it is filled with memories of people we love, toasts, a food truck, music, a bonfire, hula hoops and daisy cupcakes. we will forever feel connected to that art deco place and love that it has undergone renovation and preservation work, just as the simmons beach house has as well.
it isn’t all that complicated. protecting history and historic sites for this-land-is-your-land-this-land-is-my-land seems pretty basic.
but we live in a country with an administration that struggles to embrace truth – the truth of history, the truth of how historic sites inform us. instead of telling an honest story, they are choosing to whitewash anything that gets in the way of their extremist-male-dominated-white-supremacist narrative.
instead of preserving all of which has made this nation both beautiful and ugly, both stunning and stunned, both rich with hope and deeply wounded by the lack of this-land-was-made-for-you-and-me civil rights for all, this administration chooses to move forward with dumping history, banning books, paving and mining our national parklands, decimating the peoples’ house, rescinding the endangered species act, tossing environmental and wildlife protection management, eliminating mention of slavery and climate change… the list is expansive – all brought to you by this gluttonous administration and its wildly-bowing – and – wildly-profiteering sycophants.
the same department that listed southport beach house on the historic register: the department of the interior – whose mission statement is: “the u.s. department of the interior protects and manages the nation’s natural resources and cultural heritage; provides scientific and other information about those resources; and honors its trust responsibilities or special commitments to american indians, alaska natives, native hawaiians, and affiliated island communities.”
there were fewer people as we walked along the harbor. it was a weekday and school was back in session. some of the big boats were being lifted out of the water for dry dock. the minks were scurrying around and the gulls were likely frustrated with fewer available schnibbles readily accessible. the light is golden, the sky is azure. it is a stunning day. we spent time with the bees out on the patio, until the bees were just too much. so we took a walk.
the alien showed up on our way back. we had made the big loop – along the sidewalk, through the park, hugging the beach, around the point, along the harbor and then – east – onto the walk along the lake’s rocky shoreline, down the channel and back along the marina.
and there it was. just standing there. it wasn’t scary. it was actually quite cute. and it held up two fingers in a galaxy-wide understood symbol of “peace”.
we flashed peace signs back to it and it grinned.
we pondered why it was there.
i’m thinking that it must have shown up because it had to actually check in on this earth…to see for itself.
it had to jaunt over – like, perhaps, many of its cohorts – to “normal” places in these united states to view how it is that we-the-people are continuing to allow the utterly dangerous ravings of the leader of this country, how it is that we-the-people are continuing to permit our very lives, our resources, our land, our rights, our allied loyalties, our respect to be desecrated – to be shat upon – by this administration. it had to jaunt over to see for itself the decimation, the schisms, the lunacy of this time – when – last it checked – when ET stopped in – we were a relatively good people.
i’m not sure if it found any answers, this cutie-patootie alien.
i’m pretty sure it left with as many questions as it came here with. “why?” is a big question but, apparently, there has been much heinous and clandestine planning for this shocking, morally-devoid takeover. it goes way back. the corruption is rampant and generational.
every now and again since, as we walk on our walk, we look for our alien friend. it hasn’t been there but we pretty much know the reasons.
i mean, i can certainly understand why an alien wouldn’t choose such a place of disunity, of dismantling – of disgrace – when it could simply stay where it was, hanging out with ET and sharing peace.
two saturdays ago – on the 26th – we noticed on our weather app that the total daylight – for that very day – was 11 hours 59 minutes. the sun rose at 6:43 am and set at 6:42 pm. almost exactly half and half. we missed the actual half and half day, but we were still astounded by these numbers and nodded our heads, honoring the equinox.
i’m not sure we are really ready for the aftermath of the equinox. not yet. as these days get shorter – and the nights get longer – my wistful grows. so we change the timers on the garden lights, the living room lights, lamps in the bedrooms upstairs. we turn on the happy lights sooner and light candles. we mitigate the darker season that will arrive, anticipating and alleviating the impact earlier darkness has on us.
we are getting closer and closer to the midterms. the halfway point between big presidential election cycles. where time that came before is what is to come. so much in the before. what will be the after? it literally makes me sick to my stomach.
so much is riding on this election. our country is being destroyed, brick by brick by brick. it is blatant. it is mindbogglingly breathtaking. thinking about what could come is both paralyzing and numbing. it is not as simple as the amount of daylight decreasing. it is the amount of LIGHT decreasing.
at this point – on this day – there are precisely 29 days left.
my sweet poppo – a man who dedicated part of his life to the united states army air force, who was missing in action and then taken prisoner of war in world war II, who earned a purple heart and has his story told in the records of the smithsonian – this man is freaking the hell out as our democracy teeters…even from the other plane in which he exists. and with him are all the others who have fought for this country’s freedoms, rights, constitution. all the others who have resisted, protested, died for this country and its republic. all the others who have pushed back against all manner of authoritarianism.
and i am with him. my pompoms are solidly in the stop-this-takeover camp. i no longer have any tolerance for anyone who is cheering on the madness of the current administration. they have clearly not anticipated the impact that kind of darkness will have on us.
a very long time ago – decades – my friend joe-z took me on the curvy, hilly route 25A on long island – east of northport – to teach me how to drive his datsun 240Z.
at the time my own car was my 1971 volkswagen superbeetle bug, so i was driving something that was quite a bit more tame than the 240Z – ok, a lot more tame than the 240Z.
his red z-car was powerful, low to the ground, with a very responsive suspension and tight steering. it was a lot to handle if you wanted to take it to its limits. i remember it as being stick shift – four on the floor – like my bug.
i was timid as we started, the curves of the road intimidating, the hills and slanted roadway a bit nerve-wracking with this much power in my hands.
but joe-z was patient and had time to spend. and, among other things, he taught me that driving into the curves – accelerating – would give me the ability to control the curves and not have the curves control me.
i can still remember driving that Z, still remember the power under me, still remember the lessons from those times driving that car in various conditions.
so i nodded during the movie the art of racing in the rainwhen the race car driver character denny said, “no one knows what curves life will throw at you, but if the driver has the courage to create his own conditions, then the rain is simply rain.”
25A’s curves are simply curves. its hills are simply hills. and the road right in front of you is what exists.
in this time of my life, i am finding that courage is the thing that counts. the unpredictability of life can be mind-boggling and sometimes shattering – in so many ways – and accelerating around the curves may well be the only difference between succumbing or having some sort of control.
on these particularly rainy days, we can see that rain is most definitely rain. it can overwhelm the land, communities, spirits.
standing up to the fear of any of that while adapting best as one can may not diminish the rain’s potential impact – we cannot underplay the rain’s havoc-wreaking. but presence, resilience and placing your eyes where you want to go – like the race car driver in the movie – can help survive the conditions.
we can learn from each other – lessons that generalize over spectrums of life: shift our weight in the saddle, press into the turning waterski, sustain-pedal with some reserve, taste food before salting.
looking back on the 25th anniversary of september 11 i am struck at how viscerally profound it remains – in my heart, my mind, my body. not that i am surprised. it was an absolute day of terror – and none of us alive during it will ever forget.
scrolling anytime before, on or after the-day-25-years-later of these brutal attacks on our democracy, there are memes after memes on social media. person after person writing the words, “never forget!”
and that – i agree with.
but, many of the persons posting this are of a different political persuasion than me – many of them are carrying zealous pompoms for the current administration and for its undermining of this nation’s constitution.
so what – exactly – is it that those people are asking us not to forget about september 11, 2001?
is it how the country – and all its occupants – came together on that day – reaching out to each other, to help in the crisis, to comfort, to give aid, to stand with – regardless of any – ANY – differences?
is it how this country was helped by – and was grateful for – its allies in the time, the days, the months, the years after these hideous events?
is it how this nation’s people embraced each other, grateful to be alive, deeply grieving those whose lives were taken by this evil?
is it how there were adults in charge, who spoke eloquently and thoughtfully about the course of events, who made intelligent, well-advised decisions not based on impulsivity or gluttonous greed or narcissistic aggrandizing?
is it how the administration encouraged unity on the very day of these attacks: “this is a day when all americans from every walk of life unite in our resolve for justice and peace.“? (president bush)
is it how that president called for solidarity- instead of divisiveness – asking the country to put aside differences, support first responders, and stand together with resolve and shared purpose?
are these the things that the supporters of the current administration are talking about when they implore us to “never forget”?
because as i see it – their support of the heinousness of this administration means that they have already forgotten.
and in looking at what they are instead aligning themselves with, i say – with a heart, mind and body that remembers 9/11 – i dissent.
i was glad to see it wasn’t just a tiny puddle. the next time we passed the rocks along the shoreline i looked for the heart again. and there it was. sans rain. which means it is an inherent part of that boulder and that it will be there each and every time we pass by. there is something reassuring about that.
we are living very much in the middle of the decisions you make when you love something unconditionally and you are loved back unconditionally: our dogga.
in these days our everyday decisions are based upon his needs. we have found that dividing up his meals into small meals every few hours has aided his belly, has made him less apt to feel yucky. and so, every few hours we need be here in order to give him breakfast, lunch, dinner or one of the snicky-snacks in-between.
now, being at home at those times cuts down on our ability to come and go, but this is for a beloved dog who dedicated his whole life to us. it is not too much of a commitment to – best as we can – make sure he is feeling well in these later-aging days. and so, we stick around home.
our walks these days are not on our river trail or out in the woods or in the meadows and trails of the state or county parks, nor are they in distant mountains or canyonlands or forests. instead, we stay in the ‘hood and walk our own streets and the sidewalks along the lake and the harbor. our standard walk is 3.5 miles, but we often add to that, walking further. there is a lot to see and no end to the kind of mileage we can add to our exercise regimen, all nearby. driving a half hour each way – or more – adds more time to our time away from dogga, so we choose right local most of the time and are grateful we have such amazing views steps away from our house.
now, every time we pass the heart i will think about our very-conscious decision to stay close to home…close to tripper.
every time i pass the heart i will nod and know that we have chosen love – and time together – for our old dogga.
every time i pass the heart i will remember that dogga – who is soaking up all the belly-bellies he can get – is right there with us, appreciating our staying close – just as he has all these years.
every time i pass the heart now, i know that it will be there the next time too. constant. unassuming. unconditional. inherent.
there are large groups of seagulls here – and they congregate in all the normal places – like on the boulders on the shoreline, on the beach, around the trash bins by the beach, out riding lake waves or soaring above the water and scouring for morsels of food. they also congregate in abnormal places – particularly like the kohls parking lot. i used to joke that they were having a conference – all together for the invocation and then splitting off into groups for brief in-service sessions that are, i suppose, for the purpose of whetting their appetites for more knowledge about a topic – 45 minutes or so before they move on to the next mini-topic breakout session.
perhaps today these seagulls are gathered because they are NOT at the conference. instead, they are having a sit-in…just off the shoreline…noisy and stubbornly not moving. it’s their labor day too, they point out.
my first “job” was to go door to door in my neighborhood, dragging a red wagon behind me that was filled with baby cacti in tiny pots. a little later i diversified and added homemade candles. door to door, selling cacti and candles for $1 and keeping a log in my ledger.
at some point i added washerwoman to my paid-job list, as my grown-up sister hired me to do her laundry at the laundromat. my ledger shows that i earned $5 for this domestic task.
according to my meticulous recordkeeping, babysitting rates way-back-in-the-day were anywhere from $2 – $4 an hour, accompanying soloists for solo-ensemble was merely $2.50 or $3, tutoring math was $3.50 an hour. clearly, i was zealous.
i started teaching piano lessons to beginning beginners at age 16 and my mom drove me to the houses where i taught lessons. $3 (and later $4) covered the cost of a piano lesson, which lasted about 30 minutes or maybe a bit more. i have had countless private students through the years, in my own studio or their homes or at the music studio.
i felt productive doing any of my early “self-employed” jobs. that feeling of pride continued when i started working retail at the outdoor recreation/dive center or the music store or the photography shop. i was happy to earn money that i could save or spend on necessities or, maybe, things i was pining over. i liked being a worker bee.
as an adult, i began working for non-profits and government entities – which ranged from educational to religious to legal settings. it became quickly evident that better pay and perks were not necessarily going to be part of the equation. but, when one chooses to work for a non-profit (or an institution that functions under a not-for-profit basis) – though one hopes for ever-improving pay-and-perks – one knows there are limitations, and rewards for your work come in different packages of appreciation and in knowing you are making a difference in the life of an organization, an institution or a community. most of the time i liked being a worker bee in these settings, though there are definitely exceptions.
when i started my independent recording label, responsible for all the ins and outs of the business, my relationship with work took on different parameters. suddenly, everysinglething was within my scope to dream about, decide upon, to initiate, to represent, to carry out. everything that was related – even in small ways – was important to me and respectful relationships mattered: relationships with those i worked with, those who worked for me, those who were in concentric circles with significant adjacent impact on my company and those who were more removed but still had a role to play. i have loved being a worker bee with my own company, despite all the angst, the napkin math and the middle-of-the-night ruminating.
each of us makes choices about how we wish to fit in – what metaphoric spoke-in-the-wheel we wish – or feel comfortable enough – to be. each of those spokes matter in the big picture, no matter how seemingly minuscule or peripheral or menial. we all do this together; recognizing interdependency is paramount to any success.
in these times – fraught with the elimination of jobs, the dismantling of agencies and regulation, the bigoted prevention or stalling of women and people of color to advance, the trad-wife perversion, the mob-like corruption to stoke up money, the xenophobic erasure of immigrants and their very important work, the pronounced caste system of less and more-more-more – we are looking at an administration that does not seem to care about good old-fashioned work and how it should be rewarded.
ahhh. the importance of labor day.
there are some basics, after all, for us worker bees.
where have those gone??
the seagulls – at their sit-in – are clearly pissed.
though i recognize how very impactful graffiti may be, i am not necessarily a blanket-fan of graffiti on public property.
these words, however, caught my attention: “be happy”“be kind”
such a simplicity – the imperative of life – in two short sentences.
someone – or someones – thought it important enough to place these thoughts in blue spraypaint onto the lake’s shoreline rocks. they didn’t sign their name or names, but i can understand that…that would be risky. nevertheless, they felt the risk of defacing the boulders was worth it – especially in light of the message they were leaving for others to see.
in these recent days, we lost an icon in the music world. dolly parton lived the imperative of art and of tenacity and of life and demonstrated a generosity that leaves a legacy stamped all over the world, forever. her example is profound. happy and kind were her companions.
completely the opposite is the deplorable example of the leader of this country. his feverish need for his name to be everywhere is distorted, narcissistically outsized. his pugnacious and gluttonous attitude prevailing over utterly everything he does, it is difficult to even utter his name without shuddering. this is not something we want graffiti-ed all over our precious country. enough already.
there is a tiny card that sits in my studio. it reads: “if you asked me what i came into this world to do, i will tell you: i came to live out loud.”
to live out loud – happy and kind.
seems pretty simple.
and it is easy to discern the difference – between those who live happy, who live kind and those who do not.
why would we elevate, entrust, enable, elect or endure anyone who does not?
as sunflowers age, their woody stems lose the ability to turn back and forth – east and west – in their track of the sun. instead, their older, more mature stalks keep them more planted, most often facing east – to capture the rising sun and warmth from early morning’s rays, to stoke up.
now, i’m guessing that it would be easier for the sunflower if it were able to continually use their magical heliotropism superpower their whole life, but – much like humans – some of their flexibility fades as they get older and they deal with life differently as an aged sunflower.
in the storylines of our own lives, it would be much easier if we were able to constantly pivot to goodness – the sun, easy answers, fixes, healing solutions, the fair solving of problems, any evil affecting us succumbing to accountability.
to think that all might go our way – the first time – or, heck, any time at all – sounds mighty fine.
but life as a sunflower isn’t like that. and neither is life as a human.
instead, lots of times we must set down our expectations and take a breath. a deep breath.
we allow a bit of time to readjust: to maybe grieve, to pine for a different result, to rail over outcomes dashed.
we reassess. we sort. we brainstorm.
we strategize. we plan.
we gear up.
and then – we rise up – with strong and straight spine – and face the next day, ready for what comes next. whatever it is.
