as barney ages in our backyard, he clings to his original form – he is a piano, first and foremost.
barney has spent the last four years in our backyard. his presence is inspiring. rescued from the dark church basement boiler room he had been in, the light of the sun and weather he now endures have brought nuance to his life as a piano. no longer serving his original purpose, he has a new destiny.
but barney’s soul remains the same. you look at him and you know he is a piano. no ifs, ands or buts. and he is cherished.
there is a different kind of power in his spot in the backyard. it’s not one of crescendo-ing music. instead it is now one of steady quiet. it is one of a history of service and workhorse reliability. it is one of a history of the dawn of creative moments and the dusk of amens sung in sunday school classrooms or weekly meeting rooms of committees or choirs. his piano-soul now resounds in the chirp of every bird or chipmunk, the sound of the wind and the rain, the glint of the sunlight deepening the wrinkles of his keys.
every morning on island i grabbed the phone and, usually still with pjs on, walked outside, to water’s edge, to take a picture. in this way i have an amazing collection of the moody displays of our little bay-of-lake-michigan during the months we were there. living right on the water was a gift…it balanced out all the other-ness of our time there…a collection of life and work and its challenges and joys from back at home as well as on our new little island.
we continue to be grateful to deb, who is generously sharing the magic of this sweet littlehouse with us as we live there. many times this summer and early fall we would get a text message from her house around the cove, pointing out the moonrise or the glittering of sun on the lake…gentle reminders of what was really important.
as fall rolls into winter i will miss sharing that bay and hog island with d and with deb-just-around-the-bend. i will miss the lake as it greets the day and lingers at day’s end. i will miss the sound of gentle waves and deeply unsettled surf.
i know that each tide brought with it new hurdles, new hiccups, new pitfalls. provocation is alive and well. but each tide also brought with it new triumphs, new delights, new joys, new learnings. inspiration is alive and well.
for starters, i was raised by beaky and pa. my sweet momma and poppo grew up in the time of the depression, born in 1921 and 1920, respectively. so my propensity to turn the shampoo bottle upside down and squeeze the last ever-lovin’ drop out of it – till there are no more molecules left in the bottle – is something i come by honestly. my momma may not have been the inventor of the soap sock or the wait-and-save-this-new-thing-for-something-special but she had it all down pat.
and so, it seems to run true that i do not easily replace stuff with brand-spanking-new stuff. our stove/oven is over 40 years old; it still works and why fill up the landfill with yet another stove/oven? i know that a new stove/oven would probably grace our little kitchen with more flare, but then the whole kitchen would have to be re-done around the new appliance.
among other clothing items i can carbon-date, i have, in my closet and drawers, clothing that was my girl’s or my boy’s – sport sweats or t-shirts, jeans or even shorts – not only do those connect me to memories with them, but, sheesh, why not? i have shoes from waaaaay back, not hoarding…really. the last time i bought a pair of shoes – other than my infamous old navy flipflops – was a few years ago, the black suede boots with fringe were on clearance and i couldn’t resist. i have worn the heck out of them.
and that brings me to little-baby-scion. a 2006 model, this little toastermobile is scrappy. equipped with few amenities, there is far less equipment to break on this little vehicle. (i turn to knock on wood as i write this.) this scion has been a rock – taking me/us cross-country to see my sweet momma when she was struggling, to see our girl in the high mountains, our boy on the east coast. it drove babycat home from florida, dogdog home from the other side of wisconsin and was our luxury vehicle of choice on our honeymoon. it kept me safe driving cartons of cds to concerts and wholesale shows. it has withstood ferry rides to and from the island. through rain, sleet, snow and ice it has prevailed. every time we get in, especially on a long-drive-day, we root, “you go, little baby scion!”
and so the other day i asked d to take a picture as it landed on this mileage. no real reason, just gratitude for something that has been lasting and lasting. i have no real drive (no pun intended) to have a new lavish car nor is it necessarily in the budget at the moment to replace something that doesn’t need replacing. little-baby-scion rocks and packs like a u-haul. and is now joined by big red, our 1998 ford F150 pick-up. we celebrate both of them, inanimate, yes, i know. but still…
today i just want to say – way to go, toyota! way to make a vehicle that is dependable and trustworthy. it’s a sturdy little car, full of sisu.
and, the best part, around some design table at some point in the early 2000’s, i can picture some 20-something saying, “hey! let’s put blue lights under the dashboard. we can do away with map lights and light people’s feet.” yes! the real merits of our sweet scion.
in the last few days, both of us have heard the deeply sad news that someone in our lives – each a unique voice of great wisdom – has passed. it’s bracing. we are here and then we are not.
in all the difficult moments we have had these past months, both on-island and off-island, these past few days once again remind us of what is actually important.
it’s not the work challenges or politics. it’s not the worry over details and relationship snags. it’s not competition or one-upping someone else, nor is it about power-struggles and issues of control. it’s not about being undervalued or serving those who do not appreciate you, nor is it about the tippy-top of the ladder where lower rungs are no longer visible to you. it’s not what you don’t have or what you wish you had.
instead, it’s what you do have.
it’s the simplest of moments. when you look over and dogdog and babycat are butt-to-butt snuggling. or you are sitting next to your beloved, writing or reading together. or your grown children call to chat a bit, out of the blue. you spend time together. you do good work and stand in it. or you take a walk, in fresh air, under a sunlit sky or in a night full of stars. you savor a hot cup of coffee or raise a glass of wine in a toast with friends. you embrace or hold hands with someone you love. the simplest.
with gratitude to a man, alan walker, who encouraged me to love both the piano and open-faced peanut butter sandwiches. and my thanks to a man i never met, quinn, who, in innumerable conversations in his study, brought many moments of wisdom and perspective to david. you both remain reminders of what is really important.
babycat’s work ethic is clear. he is not dedicated to screen time, nor is he dedicated to long portions of work-related tasks. he prefers to nap. anywhere. anytime. his eyes squeezed shut, he pretends to be unaware of the things going on around him. because he is “big-boned”, a-lot-of-cat, scooting him out of the way is like gently easing a massive concrete block a little to the left or a little to the right; there is no give. yet we work around him, we absolutely accommodate him. if he is sleeping on the bed, taking up perpendicular space, we will squish to the side, choosing to list starboard or port, whichever direction he is not. he rules supreme.
i wake in the middle of the night, d jostling me, a clear sign to turn over and stop snoring. only i am not snoring. from the foot of the bed or perhaps under the bed, where jostling is impossible, it is babycat who snores loudly. his contented breaths both amuse us and keep us awake. a gentle poke-at-the-cat yields a temporary lull, but his sweet hulking body settles back into sleep and snoring commences. the white noise of our overnight, he rules supreme.
dogdog wants to get a drink of water from their mutual bowl. but babycat stands over it. dogga reaches his paw out to try and drag the cat from the bowl, but babycat is firmly planted and dogga is unsuccessful. so, even though he whines with frustration and looks at us with a “do something!” plea, dogdog, at least twice the size of this supersized cat, waits. because babycat rules supreme.
and yet, even with the snoring and the bed-hogging and the torture-of-the-dog and the clear reign-of-the-house, we cannot imagine life without the babycat. his presence and the fact that he-saved-me-i-didn’t-save-him rules supreme.
watching as the ferry arrived, we were practically jumping up and down with glee. our up-north-gang was arriving and the ferry was taking a few minutes too long to dock. we had been anticipating them for weeks, our company log on island too few.
it’s not like there is a ton of stuff to show them here or, really, to do. but there are friend groups who don’t need stuff to see or do; instead they are just there to simply be together.
they are there to laugh at funny hair in the morning, sip coffee and wait in line for the one bathroom. they are there to pile in and out of the truck, dodge raindrops, play short-list tourist. they are there, wishing for sun but not minding the bad weather that moves in, content to just be together. they are there to make mimosas and old-fashioneds, pour wine and have more snacks than you can imagine. they are there to take turns cooking, cleaning up, always gabbing, always laughing. they are there in the tough moments, profound and honest conversation, balancing, disarming the sting of the sword. they are there walking side by side, talking and being quiet. they are there playing games in evening dark, heads drooping with sleep, wishes of sweet dreams. they are there, together.
we watched as the ferry left, both of us feeling instantly wistful. our up-north gang leaving for the mainland. as always, we were ever-so-grateful to have been together.
“the line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either — but right through every human heart — and through all human hearts.” (a. solzhenitsyn)
it isn’t without hesitation that i speak now of september 11, 2001. eighteen years ago today. both yesterday and an eternity ago.
there is a dividing line that is the place of before and after. in many ways, this date, september 11, 2001, marks that line. a time when, before which, we innocently and trustingly got on airplanes to fly to destinations we anticipated with great joy. a time when, before which, it didn’t occur to us to be wary in crowded places, to know how to exit, to navigate fear, let alone terror. a dividing line.
but the truth of it is, there has always been good and evil. the division has always existed. history demonstrates that evil – in all its iterations, big and small – rears up like a wild stallion, flailing at goodness, rejecting compromise.
and when i look around, at the world, at our country, at this little island microcosm, i see that our collective hearts have not learned. it saddens me to know that as my children continue to grow, adults in 2019, this has not changed.
solzhenitsyn’s quote continues: “And even within hearts overwhelmed by evil, one small bridgehead of good is retained.”
i pray that this ‘small bridgehead of good’ will cross the dividing line and, like a snowball rolling downhill across a field of white, will grow…eventually bigger than any iteration of evil. it’s our only hope.
grey/gray rarely has such a line of demarcation, rarely has distinctive texture such as in this picture beyond our littlehouse yard. grey is simply gray. it is the zone of not right/not wrong. it is the living in-between-ness of doing life this way/that way. it is the space of not-knowing, asking questions, learning, being vulnerable. it can be uncomfortable. but it is necessary.
the most growing i have done has been in the grey zones. the times when i did not know, the times i made mistakes, the times choices were confusing, the times devastated by life events, the times moving forward meant tiny baby step by baby step, the times i was vulnerable.
i would add we can never know, or even approximate, what someone else is feeling without being unguarded ourselves. we can never know the unanswered questions, the struggles, the amorphous-ness of life without the grey. we can never create without the grey – for an artist languishes in grey, if for no other reason than to seek the color within himself.
some of you will think i am ‘bewildered, confused, perturbed, disconcerted’. some of you will think i am ‘not disconcerted’, that i am ‘unperturbed’. wow. how would you know? particularly if i only say, “i am nonplussed by this.” language! it’s nonplussing.
context is everything. it is the arrows pointing to clarity. it is the measure of the meaning of someone’s words. it is the scale of importance given to a statement. it is the framework within which to assess, to understand.
to be in a mature conversation, a mature communication, we seek out context, a fair understanding given the circumstances around a statement. we look for truth and transparency in words spoken to us, searching for a place we can meet on common ground and really talk. we provide context to others to clarify our point, to clear-stream muddy waters and avoid misunderstanding. context is everything. indeed.
but for right now, i will just say i am nonplussed.
saturday august 17 was national honey bee day. a day that recognizes how critical this species is, it also celebrates those people who ensure that honey bees are protected, managed, healthy. it is crucial to ensure the longterm survival of honey bees; among other things, pollinating plants is clearly paramount to our environment. clearly, each day should be national honey bee day.
in a scary report about honey bees in brazil, half a billion bees died in the first few months in southern states of the country, with traces of a pesticide also listed as a human carcinogen. a country with fertile soil, the choice to increase the use of pesticides will take its toll on the food chain and, already AND ultimately, the health of the country’s people.
what about our country? what are the true checks and balances on the responsible use of our land and resources, the overwhelming use of insecticides, the purity or impurity of our food, our health? into what greed-chasm have those in environmental decision-making positions fallen? what really matters?
when is it the time to regard the decisions of conscience-depleted environmental naysayers as imminently deadly? when is it time to listen to those who advocate for the continued responsible honoring and health of our land and resources? when is it time to regard environmental issues as issues that will save lives?
it seems like that would be yesterday, yesterday, yesterday.
reverse threading 