every day now the mourning dove shows up. all by itself, it sits on the wire. not cooing or preening at all, it appears to be waiting, waiting.
something about this lone dove tugs at me every time i witness its silent vigil. it feels as if it has lost its life partner and its perch – high above the backyards it can see – gives it a place from which to search or from which to be quiet and pine. though i know that it could be acting as a sentinel for a nest or simply resting with an eye to predators, there is something else i can feel.
i’ve whispered up to this mourning dove – that i see it, that i am privy to its vigil and that i honor its steadfastness, its constancy. i tell it that i am witness to what seems like its sadness. i hardly know if it helps – or if the dove can hear me or understand me. but being here and watching and aware, it feels like i am honoring its story.
it is not unlike that which we could do for each other. all each others, regardless. if only we were to sit on metaphoric high wires quietly and listen to each other, honor each others’ stories, be witness to joy or pain, hold one another tenderly. if only.
the gardens on the side of the backyard where barney is are not fancy, but they are lush. they are full of daylilies and ornamental grasses, three peonies and a volunteer hosta or two. it is the side of the yard where squirrels scamper and hide with stolen cherry tomatoes, finches and house sparrows and cardinals gleefully dine on birdseed, barney ages into mellow beauty with wild geranium at its feet. back in the corner there is an old firepit with burgeoning red salvia, surrounded by dwarf sedge grasses, a few dark green-leafed hosta, and one struggling pampas grass by the back fence. when it all gets away from us, there are a few weeds scattered into this garden, a little more wild than the rest but well-loved nonetheless. with a very few exceptions, all of these plants in this side garden have been generous gifts from others – from their own gardens or purchased at nurseries for us – and we value and cherish each and every one.
we also value and cherish peace, so the metal peace sign we purchased at a garden shop in the little town a smidge north from where dogga was born is an ideal addition to this wild and verdant garden.
one of our neighbors needed to clear off some vine from the garage that runs along the second half – the further half – of this garden. naturally, granting permission for access to our yard, he came equipped to do the job – with a ladder and a bucket and snippers and bio-bags. as they are avid gardeners i did not feel like i needed to be out there, managing his work. we were keeping dogga inside during his task on this sunny day and so i did glance out the window often to monitor his progress.
watching him step – with both feet and sans any sensitive awareness – over the little garden edge-fencing into our garden and directly onto our daylilies – crushing them – was shocking. he moved around in our garden, his foot placement of no apparent concern to him.
i did not go outside to admonish him. i just couldn’t believe what he was doing. i guess i didn’t want to create conflict, but i was most certainly feeling the conflict.
when he was done, the brick of their garage was clear of vine, but our little garden next to barney was trampled. the daylilies lay on the ground, their fronds broken. there was no mention of any harm done to them, no apology, no contrition whatsoever.
i couldn’t help but wonder why it was that our garden was not good enough to protect in his effort to take care of his own property.
i couldn’t help but wonder what he would have done had i literally traipsed all over one of his gardens.
i couldn’t help but wonder – after – why i did not go outside and demand that he stop immediately and to be please be careful.
at what price is keeping the peace?
fancy or not, our garden counted. whatever was this disregard? i literally cried looking at our flattened lilies, what was lush and standing now mushed on the ground.
and, mostly, i was utterly upset with myself. in an effort to not stir the pot, i allowed this man to enter my yard – and to be ruinous – and i did not stop him or hold him accountable.
and that is not ok.
we mustn’t just stand back and allow any single person – or, for that matter, any administration – to crush that which is ours. we mustn’t permit others to run over us, to expect us to grant them undeserved or undue authority or accommodate any higher priority in which they cast themselves (or is it “caste” themselves?), to trample any part of the precious home we have created.
that is not peace.
peace: a state of harmony marked by the absence of hostility, violence or mental anxiety.
relational peace: treating other people with respect and kindness
global peace: respecting the earth and all living things
every bit of what happened here translates – from the smallest act of irreverent ruin to the most heinous – lack of respect is lack of respect. where is the line?
and now, we will be tending what-were-our-intrepid-daylilies, our boundaries, and the loss of a bit of our peace, hoping for them all to come back.
i found myself both infuriated and blubbering. it all suddenly became too much, much too much.
the daily corruption, the cruelty upon cruelty, the absence of any morality or conscience, the vapid extolling of this administration by sycophants – it is just too much.
and the fact that i have family members who agree with this – who cheerlead it – who believe in the extremism and the horror – who WANT this – and this: who have chosen all of this over their lifelong blood-related relationship with me – makes me ill.
it is heartbreaking – as i am sure it is for you as well…you who are dealing with this same sort of schism in your family, friend groups or community. i have lost family as a result of this administration. and that makes me feel rage.
we had survived a growing-up lifetime of memories, moments of utter joy, moments of anger and disagreement, moments of good health and struggling illness, moments of wondrous new birth and moments of despairing death, moments when laughter was the best approach to tension within the family, moments when forgiveness was necessary for betrayal. we had survived all of that – for almost six decades – with the bruises to show for it and the love that sustained it.
but this country’s twisted and irreverent leadership – its sadistic, bigoted, reprehensibly warped, narcissistic, gluttonous leaders – accompanied by cowardly, self-serving members of the cabinet and legislature, concentric circles doing the unconscionable – THIS has blown to bits this family.
there is silence in its wake.
and we are left like flotsam and jetsam – estranged – the detritus of a country-that-was – destroyed – we are floating around – isolated and grieving – without each other because of this.
because playing on the team of hate and division apparently became more fun than the hard work of love and unity. i can’t bear to think that the depravity was just more in alignment with them all along.
and suddenly, we are witnessing a generational family branch of our aspen tree.
breck has sent out roots and has established a tiny clone just next to our pond. this baby seedling has tentatively sprouted – with its pink stems and littlest aspen leaves – merely feet away from breck, growing in the shade that breck provides when afternoon sun is filtering through its branches.
seeing pando is on my bucket list…the ancient, interconnected organism that is more than forty-thousand aspen trees – all sharing the same root, the same dna. it is in utah and i can only imagine the profound hush that is – standing in thousands of quaking leaves, one of the largest single living organisms on earth.
what would it take for people to have this kind of awe about the interconnectedness of real live humans? what would it take for a hush to descend upon us as we stand in the midst of others, gathered together? what would it take to recognize the utter importance of preserving such a connection, of honoring it, of absolutely cherishing it? what would it take for humankind to acknowledge its ancient roots, its depth of wisdom, its trembling resilience, its soul?
what would it take for the family tree of humans – people all across the globe – to understand what family – all-inclusive-family – means, what family can accomplish together, how being truly connected – despite any differences – could perpetuate goodness…in a world that desperately needs goodness?
we will watch baby breck closely, tend to its safety, listen to the softest vibrations of its tiny leaves quaking, always aware of its quiet wisdom.
after my album as sure as the sun was released, the song slow dance was promoted to adult contemporary radio. listeners seemed to really like the song and it did fairly well on radio – eventually charting at #13 on the secondary market. i traveled to a lot of cities to be featured on radio shows – it was the early 2000s – and radio was still where it was at.
a very big radio personality in new york city – the program director of a big fm station there – invited me to dinner after our meeting. i met him – carrying the backpack full of music and clothes i needed for those recording/radio days in the city.
the bistro was veritas and it was way above my pay scale. the wine list was 3000 selections long – a full binder of choices with a wine cellar that had about 75,000 bottles of wine. it had earned a michelin star and three stars from the ny times. it was late 2002 and i sat down at what-i-remember-as a stainless steel bar, out of my league.
that evening the chef had a special offering – french truffles, just flown in – and my host – who was apparently a regular – ordered for both of us. i had never had a meal with courses that had their own wine offering before; it is not likely i will have such a lavish meal again. when the bill came – and its total announced itself off the check – i couldn’t help but think how many hungry people that amount of money might have fed right in that very city.
but the truth of it was that this was the core of things, how things worked, how things work.
and though i believe that people nationwide did indeed like my song, the inordinately steep price tag of radio promotion – for which i – as the owner of my recording label – was paying – was merely machination for the game. and my charting song was choreographed by a group of men who enjoyed eating at michelin star restaurants – on their radio tabs – around the country.
now, this enlightenment didn’t come to me sitting on that barstool that evening, having careful conversation and eating divine foods, sipping wine. that was all part of the design – to create a tapestry of reality around me – and every independent artist – so that we might continue to over-invest further and further into a system that was, at best, rigged and not real.
it seems more than ironic to me that the place of this learning – in retrospect – was at an establishment called veritas. veritas – the latin word for truth or reality, representing honesty, moral integrity and the alignment of one’s actions and words with facts or core values.
the restaurant was – in and of itself – lovely, though i stand firm on my thoughts about how better to use that kind of money.
but that word – veritas – has been coming up for me a lot lately, sort of stuck in my head, like gestures of songs get stuck on repeat, time and again.
as i look around – in the challenges we have faced and face – it would seem imperative that truth should be the basis upon which decisions are made, that truth and integrity should actually dictate actions and words, that facts should matter, should set the stage for accountability.
it would seem that all manipulation of the facts, warping of narrative, revising of the truth – to escape culpability – should fail in the end. ahh…perhaps we must be patient.
i sat on the barstool at that high-brow bistro – trusting a process that was not to be trusted, wined and dined, my very cautiously spent independently-owned-label’s marketing and promoting budget exploited by a system. i was one of the little people, taken advantage of.
and just as we look around in our current country and its circumstances, just as i – or you – deal with other personal matters of trauma – we can see the grooming systems – the skewed-to-one-side systems – out there – not to be trusted.
all too often, these words speak the truth: it happened. it was wrong. it matters.
and then what?
from my place off the barstool i’d add this: vincit omnia veritas – truth conquers all things.
sweet potato black bean chili was on the menu, so we went to the hanging basket in the stairwell to get a couple sweet potatoes.
lo and behold, one of our sweet potatoes had sweet pink tendrils growing, growing. we giggled as we recalled last year’s pink-tendril-adorned sweet potatoes and how we planted them in big planters and they took over the world.
because the world could use a good takeover, we decided to plant our little catalyst and watch goodness grow and spread and blanket every single everything.
it didn’t take but a few short days and, already, this sweet sweet has leaves.
i have to say – it gives me hope.
nature – despite all the contrarians out there who don’t care about it – will prevail. and deep down – underneath all the evil intent and the scripted corruption and the yuck that is distressing those of us with moral centers – there will be goodness.
the sweet potato will vine. the tomatoes will ripen. the trees will turn in autumn. the hummingbirds will migrate. stars will explode with light and galaxy dust will scatter. there will be symphonies of sound in the woods and by the shore. love and compassion, empathy and altruism will roll in on the tide.
our out-of-town guest had never been here before. not to our state, not to our town, not to the shores of lake michigan, not to our home.
staying at the local hotel right on the harbor channel, she sent photographs right after arriving, stunned by how beautiful it was. she repeatedly expressed this – along the lakefront, on the channel, by the rocks, in the gardens, in our neighborhood, in our old house, on our patio.
through her eyes we saw Home.
this week i passed through my 37th anniversary of living in our old house. more than half my entire life, it’s longer than i’ve lived anywhere else.
sometimes – no matter where you live – you stop seeing it…really seeing it.
and you get caught up in every everything else.
and you miss the sweet creak of the floors, the breeze off the lake, summer sunlight streaming in all the windows, the fresh basil in ball jars in the kitchen, the dogga-holes in the backyard, the giant pots filled with flowers in the parks, people out sidewalk-walking together, the birds lined up for grape jelly, sunset’s eastern sky over the water, the sound of children giggling in the surf at the beach or an amplified live band drifting over from by the harbor.
it might benefit each of us – even for just a few minutes – to just follow the advice of this chalk artist:
they will come back to grind out the stump. the crew said it will likely be a few weeks before the grinders get around to it, but eventually they’ll come and remove the last vestiges of our sturdy old tree.
after that we can get on a list for a new tree, the cost partially underwritten by the city. there’s a list of tree varieties one might choose from, depending upon availability. we’ve printed the current list and have begun studying trees – like one studies refrigerators or washers and dryers when you need one – immersing in photographs and information and reviews.
when we are officially on the list we will request our tree; we are actually hoping – with all the space out front – we might be able to purchase two. we’ll see. and then, maybe in the fall (or next year?) it (or they) will be planted in our parkway and we will start a new relationship with our tree or trees. it will signal a new time, a new era. and, in the way that these things go, it will also mark time. a new tree for both of us in this time of daisy-pathing.
there is something about a fresh start, something inviting, even compelling. a chance to write new narrative, from a different starting gate.
i can feel it – that fresh start – peeking out from around the corner. it has showered me from time to time with its freeing grace. and when it does, it is euphoric, a buzz of sorts – intoxicating like dopamine. releasing all harm that has been tightly held – stored – a toxic i did not choose but which has stayed with me through all the silent times.
and i hope – against hope – that soon i will also be a new tree. soon, there will be a sapling i can nurture. soon, there will be new growth, new branches and leaves. soon, all manner of the old pain-inducing stump inside will be gone.
and our new maple – or honeylocust – or ginkgo – and i will freshstart together.
after the fourth was over, i watched a video of the fireworks display in glenview, illinois – just down the road a-piece. by the time darkness had fallen, glenview was socked-in by fog. it looked like hundreds, if not thousands, of people had gathered, on chairs and blankets, ready for the show.
this is much like our town – our fireworks displays are held on the lakefront, over the water. there are crowds of people, gathered on bag chairs and blankets and beach towels. for the size of our city, the display – sponsored by the local grocery store – is actually amazing. though we haven’t attended the last two years, i know that it is well-done, well-timed, well-managed and safer than those people who are setting off ridiculously large fireworks – overkill, really – in backyards with houses all around.
glenview was ready for theirs on the fourth. and, as the instagram video started, there was nothing to see. until suddenly, the foggy sky lit up in waves of orange and green and then red and then pink – much like heat lightning or aurora borealis. people began to laugh and ask where the fireworks were. the fog had taken its toll on the actual display and wasn’t letting go. had it lifted during the program of pyrotechnics, i’m sure it would have revealed beautiful sparkling sparks, clear trajectories of color, a stunning show. it appears it never lifted.
it seems that the fireworks in the nation’s capitol had a, well, similar problem. in a predictable effort to havethemostfireworksever, it appears that whatever company administered the fireworks very, very late on the fourth did not write a thoughtful show, did not reasonably time them, did not take into account rests inbetween the notes. instead, the longer the display went on – a display that was only designed to be thebiggestandthebest – the more smoke filled the air until the fireworks were no longer visible but for the smoke that had overtaken them. a fog of smoke caused by a fog of arrogant pretentiousness or poor planning or ignorant superiority or just plain incompetence. it’s not a surprise.
fog is one thing, but lacking capacity to properly time a fireworks display is completely another thing. wasteful. it should be embarrassing.
in a perfect parallel of themes, i wonder when the contrived-fog that has distorted the actual capacity to think for those cheering on this current administration might lift. when those who are sycophants, those complicit, those perhaps just-too-stupid-to-care might start to see things clearly. i wonder – if they ever do see things clearly – when they might actually do something about it…push back, speak up, put down the bigotry that blinds them.
i wonder if it will be too late. so much will have been wasted. so much will have lifted into thin air – behind the fog of this unconscionably destructive administration, gone, decimated, replaced – our democracy in tatters.
there were many comments on the glenview fireworks post. some people complained that they shouldn’t have gone. some people found humor in the natural circumstance of weather wreaking havoc on their fun. some people expressed they didn’t know what they were missing for they hadn’t been to the fireworks display before. it was all perfectly innocent. no one purposely interfered with their fireworks or destroyed their event.
what will socked-in people say when they come out of the fog of complicity and cultish-reverence and realize what is gone in this country isn’t natural, isn’t funny and, for sure, isn’t innocent? will they realize how a very purposeful intention set about to destroy their nation?
and the sailboat – in a bit of misty lake fog – sails on. and we sit in a country wasting away. it’s embarrassing.
there are paper plates hanging on trees just off the sidewalk all over our ‘hood. they announce that there will be a fourth of july parade early on the 4th.
for all the years i have lived here – longer than i’ve lived anywhere – there has been a childrens’ bike and stroller parade on independence day here in allendale. we used to have jack andrea at the front of the parade, beating a snare drum – with everyone, all decked out in red, white and blue with decorated bikes and strollers and wagons, following along. a joyous time followed by ice cream on author florence parry heide’s front lawn (now, for years, moved to a different front lawn).
at some point our children became too grown-up to participate in this parade and it was handed down to the younger children in the neighborhood.
for years now, we haven’t participated in it, but it still holds an old-timey sense of charm for me and i still can feel the anticipatory glee of little children who get to be in a parade.
only this time – as the parade makes its way around the blocks – i worry about what is to come for those very little children. this time – though we are celebrating our democracy – i wonder how long it will hold. this time – though a 250th celebration should be a big deal – i have to sit it out – the glee, the charm, the excitement. this time i have deep concern about where it is this country is heading.
dogga is more and more bothered by the fireworks, so we will not be leaving him as they proliferate throughout the lakefront. as our boundary-less neighbors set off giant fireworks directly behind our house, we will try to shield dogga from the noise and flashing lights, from the fire in the trees and the sky.
i worry about the opossums, the raccoon babies and the birds and squirrels in the trees adjacent to those pyrotechnics and crackers that rock the house. i worry about the fallout of bits of firework that we find in our yard and on our patio, our deck, inevitably our roof, the next morning. i worry about the lack of regard to safety and – as it approaches the wee hours of the night – i wonder about the lack of respect for others.
what is it they are celebrating? i wonder. what is it we-the-people are passing on to our children, our childrens’ children?
what about our country – in these moments – in the throes of unprecedented corruption – is there to celebrate?
the purple allium is in the garden over behind the art center on the lake.
as much as i have enjoyed a good fireworks display – and even a hand-held sparkler from time to time – this time – this year – in this country’s current circumstances – on this paper plate holiday – i will just glance over at the striking allium – exploding in all its purple glory – and call it a day.
