the grocery store receipt reads $157. there is no meat on this bill. there is not much on this bill. we made a menu, made a list from the menu and shopped to the list. there may have been an exception or two: a 99 cent box of tissues and a loaf of bread that somehow didn’t make it onto the list. $157.
we are frugal. and we know that – when the ridiculous tariffs take effect – this $157 will be lots more.
on the way home we talked about how families are doing it. sans high wages and benefits covering health insurance, it seems like it would be impossible to exist. it is a world – this country – that is leaving the middle class behind, burying us all in costs, living expenses, debt. all imposed with a side of apathy and cruelty. my heart hurt for the man standing on the other side of the road with a sign asking for help.
it takes an instant to go from feeling shaky to feeling fortunate.
and being washed in gratitude is empowering.
we can make more with less, we agree. we can make meals that extend leftovers for days. we can ignore the frivolous and buy only the practical. and we can help.
the local food pantry/shelter has an easy-to-access list of needs on their website. it is clear. i called to make sure that something that was labeled as “urgent” was still considered urgent; we wanted to address that need the best we could.
driving away from the center after dropping multiples of their “urgent need” was a gift. it was a reminder of all the times someone has sensed an “urgent need” in us.
and sometimes, in those moments, somehow the white light of the universe enveloped us and someone stepped up to help.
we are all capable of being that white light. and – in these times of need, these times of people’s lives being beaten down and minimalized, these times dismissive of compassion and care – it would seem urgent – and incumbent upon us – to gather that light and pass it on.
whether or not this is true, i thought it was funny and i laughed when i saw the bumper sticker.
there is definitely a little hippie in the two of us….all right, more than a little. and i’m perfectly ok with that. particularly the part about wishing for a world centered on peace, love, social change and harmony. and the part about gender and racial equality. and the part about being a conscious consumer, about focusing on environmental wellness, awareness of the footprint of products and of, well, everything, about being accepting and open-minded. and the part about not being excessively materialistic or terribly mainstream or fixated on massive accumulation of wealth. and the part about believing in kindness.
yes. if those are the descriptors, then, i guess, the shoe fits.
and then i think of the opposite.
those wishing for a world that is dictatorial, with extremist and narrow views, centered on suspicion and hatred, bigotry, patriarchal mores, xenophobia. a world that is cavalier about its nonchalant environmental abuse, apathetic about the future impact from the footprint of its intentions, close-minded and exclusionary. a world that is rigid, isolationist, with self-serving restrictive inhumane tenets, competitively materialistic and skewed to the stratospheric haves. a world that believes in cruelty.
though i didn’t sign up for it, i receive emails from a source called uncover words. in the middle of the middle of all the chaos and destruction of this country, this is the word that i received one day recently: addle.
i could not help but grimace at the timing.
addle: to confuse or muddle; to make unable to think clearly.
gee…i wonder who that could describe.
might it be people who are being tossed around as if they are at the end of a crack-the-whip – flung from one inane or juicy-gossipy topic to another in an effort to cover up the really important things that are taking place in this country? might it be people who are absolutely and completely averse to fact-checking, to looking up anything that might distort their cultist admiring view of the current administration? might it be people who have been propagandized into sheer ignorance by watching a news channel that is overtly dedicated to the pedestalizing of this same administration? might it be people whose base anger has made them into spitting, spewing hate mongers? might it be people who react before thinking, who yell before talking, who see only red even when it brings harm to their very own families, people in their own communities?
to addle.
addled.
lost.
a second word in that email was maunder. maunder is a verb. it means to talk in a rambling manner, to wander aimlessly in speech or thought.
wow. that seems contemporaneously and politically connected to “addled”.
to maunder.
the addled.
to maunder to the addled.
to make the lost more lost.
hmmm.
a third word that came on that email was this: effulgence.
effulgence is a noun that is defined as: a brilliant radiance; a shining forth.
an auspicious word.
using that in a sentence:
let’s hope there is an effulgence that might awaken the addled among us.
yes.
otherwise, we are destined for this country’s democracy to be entirely mauled by a maunderer with a dedication to depraved darkness – the opposite of effulgence – while the shockingly addled stand by, complicit.
and here we are, short-term residents of planet earth, inhabiting relatively tiny spaces of dirt for relatively tiny spaces of time. it seems absolutely paramount to be considerate of this most-amazing place – to nurture it, protect it, sustain it – while we are here before we move on to whatever other dimension to which we pass.
it was in the most basic of childhood lessons i learned to clean up after myself. i learned not to be wasteful or disrespectful to the environment. i learned to be mindful of good practices of ecology, of thrifty reuse, of repurposing, recycling, of proper disposal. my sweet momma always taught me the importance of leaving a place better than i found it, a lesson of stewardship with a quote commonly attributed to robert baden-powell (of mount baden-powell fame), the founder of the scouting movement.
and here we are. it would seem to be our deigned responsibility to be adamantly, vociferously, actively committed to leaving this home place of ours – this community, this state, this nation, this earth – better than we found it.
we need wrap our time here in conscience, in honesty, in compassionate dedication to virtue, to morality, to the upholding of equality and the rights of people to live free of prejudice and abuse, to truth, to accountability.
we need commit to the acknowledgement of empirical evidence of human-based climate change, to intelligent, scientific efforts of atmospheric correction, to alternative ways of meeting present needs without compromise of the future, to preservation and sustainability, to a rabid promise for a clean earth.
it would seem we must leave behind us all the best we can – a place of peace and respect for all, a place that will meet the needs of, nurture and not harm our descendants – physically, psychologically, spiritually. we must safeguard a place that will selflessly forward goodness for all mother earth and its creatures, for all humanity, for all time.
to place feet on the ground, to dig in the dirt, to gaze at the sky, to breathe the air, to drink the water – it is all interconnected. we all share in its enduring legacy.
“leave it better than you found it.”
please.
anything less is shameful.
and here we are.
*****
(in significantly relevant-to-the-moment news, it is more than unfortunate – quite stunningly devastating – that it is apparent – with the advent of tens of thousands of sexual abuse cases against the boy scouts of america – that actual boy scouts have not been left better than thousands of scouting leaders found them. indeed, baden-powell would likely be horrified at this tragic twist in the organization he created, necessitating a $2.46 billion settlement for sexual abuse victims left worse than before their time in the boy scouts. and here we are.)
almost every time we mosey around an antique shoppe – likely every time – i find myself musing about how no one should buy anything new. at all. ever. we should all just go peruse antique shoppes, flea markets, thrift stores, for – in those places just brimming over with possibility – it is probable that we would find all we need. and more.
we really do love a good antique boutique filled with vintage treasures just waiting to be re-homed.
because i agree with annie leonard (greenpeace), “there is no such thing as ‘away’. when we throw anything away it must go somewhere,” we have not yet disposed of our (decades and decades) old range. we have, instead, cherished it and putzed with it when it was struggling. but it is not in a landfill somewhere and, for that and for its long, long lifeline, i am grateful.
we were on the quest for a single ladder – to add to our deck with a purple sweet potato vine. we wanted a bit of interest over in the corner and found a stack of single ladders outside our favorite antique shoppe. but in the steps between where we parked big red and the ladder stack, there was this little garden table. d instantly stopped and drew it to my attention.
because our backyard is – indeed – our sanctuary, a small peeling paint white garden table could be the perfect addition – over there, on the deck, next to the railing that defines the potting stand garden.
$20.
but there is a sale. 20-40% off.
we buy our chosen ladder (who knew there were so many different widths?) and bring it out to the truck, ready to leave.
but that garden table.
it called us as we walked by. the second time.
so we went back to look at it, to wonder at its story, at where it had been, at its character as evidenced by its patina.
we snapped a photo and went inside – just to ask.
because we have been there many, many times, the gal at the checkout knows us. she asked me what I wanted to pay (though we weren’t yet sure we wanted to purchase it.) i replied $10 and her quick answer was, “sold!” i couldn’t help but wonder what a small garden table with as much joie de vivre would cost in a retail shop, a garden store, a catalog.
we happily loaded up this small sweet table and readily re-homed it on that spot on the deck, placing a soft green petite licorice plant on top.
every day – several times a day – we step outside and are deeply sated by this place of sanctuary. we wander to each plant, each herb, each grass, our aspen tree, and marvel at the growth in this hot-humid-greenhouse-type summer. we express, once again, gratitude for this space and its stuff.
and we plan our next trip – just to stroll about, to tell stories as we see items with which we had grown up, to goof about purchasing items completely out of our taste or – sometimes – completely out of taste at all. it is always an adventure.
to borrow from home goods advertising, we go finding. only our finds are the things people no longer want and wish to sell, the items that may have ended up disposed of, tossed out. our finds are filled with the magic of repurpose. they have stories we don’t know and can only imagine. they have new stories we have created for them. in turn, they create a place of tranquility and easy serenity.
and in some small way, we have saved the earth – even just a little – by saving one more thing from ‘away’.
one of the coveted front spots beckoned. it is pretty unusual to arrive at this grocery store and for there to be a front spot open. we don’t mind walking from afar but when it’s 150 degrees out with humidity tilting the charts – and you don’t personally have central air conditioning – and you just came from a hike where you nearly melted into the gravel in the parking lot – you take the coveted front spot because from there to the door of the pretty bitterly cold air-conditioned store is merely steps. steps, i say! i pull littlebabyscion into covetland and start to jump out of the car – ok, slither is more like it – when i see the sticker on the stanchion in front of the covetedspot.
“you are beautiful”
in this moment – when my hair is plastered to my head, my lake-geneva-tjmaxx eddie bauer first ascent sun protection UPF50 lightweight moisture-wicking trail guide capris are two-way-stretch-stuck to me, my injinji coolmax no-show toe-socked-toes are screaming for freedom, my eyes are watering from coppertone spf 50 dripping down my forehead – unchecked by my meager blonde eyebrows – into my eyes – which makes my nose kinda run – and i look wrung out, not at all fresh or pressed or glowing from being outside and from having exercised – i do not feel beautiful.
“you are beautiful”
i laugh aloud, get my phone and schlither myself somewhat-debris-flow-ish out of the car and to the front of littlebabyscion so as to take a photograph of this sticker, prolonging by at least 45 seconds my entry into the much-anticipated cool-dom of the store. two young girls are walking by – looking fresher and definitely tan and glowing – while i position my camera. i’m pretty sure they were wondering why this melted woman was taking a picture of the metal post in front of her car.
i take a closer look as i get ready to click.
below the sticker that reads “you are beautiful” is another sticker. this one says “visitor” with a smiley face as the “o”. sheesh. i nod. i soooo feel like a visitor to this place. particularly right now. and i’m not talking about this grocery store. everything that is happening is hard to understand, to grok, to even slightly wrap my head around.
visitor. yep.
because what i really believe – in my rainbow-bubbles-sunrise girl kind of way – is that if we could all embrace each other – respect each other – treat each other kindly and with equality – rights, privileges, care and concern – if we could really truly look at the words “you are beautiful” and believe these words about all people – all people – regardless of any – any – differences – we could stand a chance of survival.
anything less makes us visitors to a land of ill intent, a land of corrupted souls, a land of immorality and sociopathic narcissism. and nothing about that is beautiful. we are privy to that.
nevertheless, i show my photograph to david as we walk into the store.
“you are beautiful”
he gets a cart and stops for a second. he looks at me and says, “you are.”
i hook my arm through his – as he begins pushing the cart toward the baguette aisle – and – for these moments of freon/puron/HFC/HFO/other-refrigerant-bliss – all is right in the world.
as much as I’d like to – perhaps – write a post about historical town criers traveling town to town, city to city, ringing a bell and crying “hear ye, hear ye!” delivering important news for all to know….as much as i think it might be more effective than today’s mainstream media or social media or propaganda-filled decrees from the top down….as much as i think there are many, many people in the dark completely or in the dark catacombs of conspiracy theories….i will pass on this temptation and share – instead – that these virginia bluebells made me think of past years and years as a handbell director.
from my post and the handbells (july 2023): i’m not sure the handbells are played anymore. we had three octaves and a dedicated choir of players. it was the last rehearsal of the night – after choir, after ukulele band. by the time we got to handbells everyone was a little bit giddy. many of the bell players were also in ukulele band, so these amazing volunteers spent quite a bit of time in the choir room.
playing handbells requires a bit of hand-eye coordination. you are reading music while you have this bell as an extension of your gloved hand…counting, counting and then…you thrust your wrist forward, allowing the clapper to strike the bell, hoping it’s at exactly the right moment. there are many evenings when laughter was the music we produced. as the director, i was always grateful for the generous collaboration of this group. and every time we played – from old hymns to gospel songs to contemporary pieces – it was beautiful. the bells would ring out into the high-ceilinged sanctuary and, i suspect, each player would marvel at their own contribution to such beauty, to such a particular lift of melody, of harmony.
if the handbells are silent now, i am sad. handbells harken back to the late 17th century and early 18th century and are considered percussion instruments. their sound is particularly unique, meditative in isolation, exuberant in chorus.
the virginia bluebells play in tutti every may over by the fence of the house that has signs about migratory butterflies and many butterfly-attracting plants. each early may when we pass this house on our ‘hood walk i photograph these early bloomers. and this may was no different. these stunners – excellent pollinators, particularly in their spring-is-springing appearance – were waiting, perfect flowers for bees and butterflies and hummingbirds. and really exquisite at being photographed – it’s like they beckon “hear ye, hear ye! take my picture!” and i comply.
clearly, they bring back memories of decades of the ringing of handbells and gleeful groups of people performing in laughter and collaboration with each other.
but, just as these flowers conjured up the quieted handbells in my mind, this year these tiny bells also made me think of the old town criers. it made me think of the utter importance – the imperative – of the spreading of true news, of honest reporting to the people, of virtuous dissemination of facts, of telling it like it – really – is.
there are small house sparrows that make themselves at home under our awning. they perch and flit about and, every so often, attempt to start building a nest, from which they usually fly off after a bit. but they are clearly at home by our back door and we can see them through the window and across the deck as we sit on the raft and write.
as we entered the back door the other day – home from the market and with bags in our arms – i saw the feather, tucked into the old screen door. a sweet i-was-here…maybe a little we-are-all-in-this-universe-together symbol of reassurance, hope. this tiny grey feather – stuck on our back door – a tiny sign of encouragement, perhaps a nod of being watched over in distressing times. any way you look at it, we won’t remove the little feather,
distressing times. i’d say so.
from the smallest concentric circle in to the furthermost concentric circle, these are distressing times.
and, in the middle of reading tarana burke’s book unbound i read this sentence: “indeed, i don’t believe you can practice love and be in community with folks without an incorporation of accountability as an ethic and a practice.”
her book – all of it – was profoundly moving. she is the originator of the #metoo movement. her story resonated with me over and over again. accountability. accountability. i read and re-read it, this simple statement of ideology.
particularly in the context of this country as it is right this very minute, i stopped re-reading and snapped a photo of this sentence.
for there is not much more infuriating than to be in community with others who stress their transparency and, thus, following, their accountability to the others in the community but who are the least transparent and the least accountable. there is not much more infuriating than to see those who have wronged others – regardless of the community, the institution, the organization – big or small – get away with it, to take in those silently complicit, to watch the fallout, to bear witness to the lack of ethics indicative in letting others “get away with it”. there is not much more painful than being the victim of a lack of accountability, the dust – radioactive gossip, the decimation aimed and fired, the shock long-lived.
to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding each community member as important, as a cog in the wheel, as contributing, as morally obligated as the next.
to practice love and to be in community would suggest a set of expectations – rules, bylaws, laws, moral codes – that would reign supreme, guiding the steps and actions of the community.
to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding the fragility of love and its mutual obligation to each other as paramount. it would suggest leading with love, leading with respect, leading with support.
to practice love and to be in community would suggest holding to truth, to honesty, to responsibility and, thus, to accountability.
to practice love and to be in community would suggest that not taking responsibility, skipping any kind of ethical standard, having zero expectation that all in community would be accountable to each other and to the bigger picture would be the very antithesis of practicing love and being in community.
to be in community – in a freeforall devoid of moral compass – in a lack of answerability, no effort of liability, a structure without structure, without compassion or empathy, without the abiding of laws, sans checks and balances on the collective or those in charge, a governance with leadership lacking virtue – this is not a practice of love nor is it being in community. this is here and now.
grey feathers are said to be a sign that there will be a period of calmness and clarity. it is a buoying keep-on-going.
it will stay on the door as long as it stays on the door. and tarana burke’s words will echo in my mind as a north star message.
104. in the moments i am writing this post – a couple days ahead of today – my sweet momma would have turned 104.
i wasn’t sure about using this photograph. it isn’t something we stumbled across when we were out and about; instead it is a photograph i took in my studio. but, it is an effort to continue an effort we are making – which, i might add, is a big effort considering the here and now – to list over to presence and gratitude for the other parts of the here and now…the real…the stuff that i simply cannot imagine that the rabid purveyors of cruelty ever notice. for, if one can see the stunning in the falling dusk or feel the heart-stopping of a simple james taylor song or taste the fresh basil in the stockpot of sauce, one cannot also relish the sheer and abject depravity of current events.
my sweet momma – always – her message to me, “live life, my sweet potato.”
and to that i would add – as i stood in the kitchen – his arms wrapped around me, with our birthday dog at our feet – “never, never, never give up.”
there is a visceral response – breathing – i have to seeing the wild horses in the documentary, the dueting voices in the music video. there is a fascination of the munching-munching caterpillars on our dill plant, the finch drinking from our birdbath, the tomato plant’s explosive growth, the jalapeños becoming peppers from tiny blooms. there is an appreciation of the eye-to-eye contact of our amber-eyed aussie, the feel of flipflops on a hot summer day, the wafting scent of basil on the air.
we didn’t go to any celebrations on the fourth. we did not feel that this very moment in time was aligned with commemorating the democracy and freedoms as written into the declaration of independence for these united states. this moment – instead – feels like the antithesis of all of that – the un-uniting of this country, the dismantling of freedoms, the fall of democracy. so we stayed home, away from the carnivals and the parties and the bands and the fireworks (though our neighbor set off fireworks right above our backyard for hours late into the night).
and this morning, while d was picking up the vestiges of those fireworks which, thankfully, did no harm to our home, i watched the caterpillars on the dill. while he brushed away the chalk marks of firecrackers landing on our patio, i watered the herbs. while he made doubly sure there was nothing pyrotechnic-like left that dogga could ingest or could cause him harm, i watched and listened as the birds returned on a refreshingly quiet morning.
we have a list. i mentioned it the other day. it’s simply a list – not far away – of places for us to go, to visit, things to immerse in. to do the best we can, right now.
to the top of the list i am going to add “never, never, never give up.”
because momma was right. live life. it is not unlimited.
it was rafiki who said, “it is time.” in a pinnacle moment of the movie the lion king, mandrill rafiki – an insightful spiritual guide – discovers that simba, the lion, is still alive and declares that he must return to the pride lands and restore order and balance. simba’s life force – to defeat evil, overcome adversity, to perpetuate a legacy of the interconnectedness of life – the circle.
it is time. it is way past time.
order and balance, goodness and kindness. the concentric circles of connection.
yes. way past time. already.
in these moments – the anguish-filled, agonizing moments before the figurative return of simba – we might turn to others – next to us – near us – far away though connected with invisible filaments of love and care – and say, “i am glad for you.” the tiniest message.
in these times of so much uncertainty, so much angst and pain, so much loss and grief, so much frustration and anger, it would seem that uttering five words might be a powerful salve. thought it may not change the heinous circumstances of our current world, it will wash over the person upon whom we whisper – or shout – these words.
it may be in the post “i-am-glad-for-you” moments that one is able to – once again, tirelessly, with great courage – reach deep inside to pull up bootstraps of bravery and pushing-back, bootstraps of protest and protection, bootstraps of generosity and altruism, bootstraps of humanity.
i am glad for you.
so, be weird – extraordinarily heart-on-your-sleeve weird – and tell all those people for whom you are glad that you are glad for them. i can’t imagine that not feeling good in your soul and i can’t imagine a response that does not carry the extraordinary, raw power of this message forward.
it is time.
way past time.
*****
“i see you. you are beautiful. i am glad for you. i am glad you are here.” (michelle obama)
reverse threading 