i suppose in-disbelief would also apply.
and horrified.
and sickened.
frustrated, repulsed, outraged, heartbroken, scared, exhausted, disoriented…
…
…overwhelmed.
*****
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i don’t honestly think that john lennon’s song needs much explanation or needs me to go on and on about my own yearning for a peaceful, compassionate world.
so i think i will just leave it as it is.
*****
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supine (adjective) 2. failing to act or protest as a result of moral weakness…
the example given – of this word used in a sentence – was this: “they remained supine in the face of terrible wrongdoing.”
though there are many other adjectives (and nouns) i can think of to describe what is currently happening while this administration attempts to destroy this democracy – the complicity, the evil, the negligence, the capitulating, the out-and-out lawlessness – the word “supine” seems mighty relevant.
relevant and shameful.
*****
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it is impossible to even know what to say about this.
every day i wake up. the sun has not yet risen, the window is open; i hear the birds singing close by and in the distance. dogga stands and shakes in the adjacent sitting room where he likes to sleep at the end of the night, his collar making that tiny clinking sound from the attached tags. he comes in and jumps on the bed, his wagawag wagging.
and then – somewhere between the delicious unconsciousness of slumber and the first sip of coffee – i remember.
and, in all honesty, i cannot believe where this country is at.
it is beyond any wildly-imagined scope of shameful.
“mmm mm mmmmm mm.“
what i said.
*****
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every single day. the insanity, the chaos – it is all exhausting.
there is nothing beautiful about the goings-on in this america-the-beautiful as it is led by cruelty and bigotry beyond belief. we are inside their sickness, a violent extremism that is gutting the heart of this democracy.
it makes me lean on a card i have in my studio. i received it from a dear friend in 2012, shortly after my sweet poppo died. i’ve quoted it before, but it certainly bears repeating. it reads:
“life is slippery. here, take my hand.” (h. jackson browne, jr. )
now, it seems, is a good time to take one another’s hand.
*****
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we’d get on our bikes early in the day and just take off. susan and i would bike hike anywhere – we’d plan our journeys and make sure there was a carvel or a mcdonald’s somewhere on the way. as long as we were home by dinner no one worried about us. and we had the freedom to roam around our neighborhoods or anywhere we could reach on the island.
it should be this way.
back in school, in the fall – after the ultimate freedom of our summer – we practiced getting under our desks at school but the likelihood of any bombing actually happening to our school was a mere mention on a fire-drill-bomb-scare just-in-case checklist.
every year d and i talk to each other about “the wistfuls”. it hasn’t happened yet this year – neither of us has felt it descend on us. but we know it will.
there’s fall – the changing of the guard moving toward fallow. my favorite season of jeans and boots and flannel shirts. and there’s fall – a recognition of summer ending, of the sun and long, hot days and freedom and a lightness of spirit coming to a close.
and i wonder – in these gorgeous fall days, the lower sun intense, the breeze cooler, the colors more vibrant with the humidity pushed aside – what that wistful is about.
is it about those days growing up? is it about a yen to have little to no responsibility, no concerns, a time of fiercely following curiosity, of grasping the tiny adventures of childhood with both hands, believing they were huge explorations? is it about painfully remembering a time when my whole extended family seemed to be on the same page, supporting each other, caring for the world and its inhabitants?
is it about a yearning for when my own children were little? when their backyard playing was the everyday joy of looking out the kitchen window? when the dining room table was the gathering place for school supplies and backpacks? when the summer freedom slipped back into a schedule of school and homework and lessons and sports practices? when, after dropping them off or seeing them onto the bus, hoping that they ate their packed lunch, remembered their spelling words, weren’t bullied by anyone were my worries?
although there were occasional bomb threats issued at the schools and 9/11 was a profoundly terrifying day, there was never an actual shooter on the premises (that i knew of).
but there had been moments in our town. and the moment i heard a loud inner voice direct me – vehemently – to NOT stop at the mcdonald’s i was about to pull into on my way home from the mall with my two tiny children – the day that minutes later a shooter entered that very mcdonald’s through the back door, killing the people at the table where we always sat – the one at the very back opposite the door, where the smoking-allowed-smoke didn’t reach our happy meals – that moment reached inside me and raised up the fear i had carried with me since my own earlier life, the time after bike hikes and carvel and fireflies in the neighborhood.
it shouldn’t be like that.
i just watched an instagram reel during which a mom instructs her little boy – who is five years old – about following his teacher’s directions during an emergency at school. between reading the circumstances about her little boy, his physical challenges, and the thought that his tiny – tiny! – self following directions could mean the difference between life and death made my head want to explode.
it should not be this way.
and is it any wonder that i wonder what the wistful is about???
oh, i imagine that when the wistful hits, it will be with some degree of force. for everything is changing – not just the leaves. and we are suddenly thrust into a world – a country – where freedom and rights are being usurped, where the administration is upholding the secrecy of sexual predators, where school shootings – with children and adults dying – dying! – elicit merely passive thoughts and prayers, where xenophobic, racist, homophobic, misogynistic leaders wish to eliminate – eliminate! – actual people they consider superfluous, unwelcomed, expendable, where the premise of warmongering seems to be a sport and the propensity to further lethality and offensive actions on those they perceive as disposables runs rampant, where healthcare and the ability to have enough food is considered elite, where having more gets more and having less doesn’t matter.
WHY is it this way?
the wistfuls indeed.
*****
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growing up, we each had family doctors. general practitioners who saw us regularly for physicals as well as being available when there was a crisis point, a concern, an illness, an injury. when presented with such a thing (a physical crisis, a concern, an illness, an injury) one would call the doctor and they would “fit you in”, addressing your crisis/concern/illness/injury and sending you on your way. they were well-versed with you, your history, even your family history; distilling information to get to a diagnosis and treatment were aided by this consistent relationship.
not so much anymore.
david has a new pcp. his pcp moved and a new guy replaced him. we have no doubt that this new pcp has every good intention for his work in medicine.
david’s annual physical was booked with this new guy, who did all (and only – per insurance guidelines) the annual physical stuff (eyes, nose, throat, blood pressure, weight) and ordered the typical annual physical fasting lab work for the next day.
d fasted, had his bloodwork done, and checked on his livewell portal for the results.
and then the bill arrived.
suffice it to say i have made ten communications (phone, email, portal) to the dr’s office, the billing department, the insurance company to correct the bill we received which charged us for the labwork – preventative bloodwork – a standard in healthcare insurance 100% coverage (including d’s healthcare insurance).
alas…the healthcare provider coded his visit a “welcome visit”.
“ahhh,” i said to d. “so you dudes just sat around visiting, sipping a whiskey and shooting the breeze???”
he stared at me.
“your doctor’s office and billing department have coded your annual physical as a welcome visit. that sounds like visiting, a few appetizers, a whiskey, cutesy conversation….”
he shook his head.
after ten phone calls, emails, contacts through the portal – with the nurse at the doctor’s office calling billing to say (words to the effect) “oh no…this was david’s annual physical” – we have since received an insurance denial for the preventative lab tests and services and an updated bill from the healthcare provider that states we are overdue. so. cue up either the eleventh phone call or relinquish to the checkbook.
and now, as d has been bitten by some toxic something-or-other which has spread and swollen and looks mighty angry, this same healthcare service – his very own primary care physician’s office – has offered a possible appointment two weeks out.
two weeks.
i cannot help but wonder what toxins are in his system that are making his body react this way and what waiting two weeks might mean.
this, of course, pushes us to visit an urgent care or the emergency room, both already overburdened.
i’m not really sure how that helps the healthcare provider, but I’m guessing there is some way that a trip to urgent care/emergency room will net that umbrella healthcare provider a bit more billing, a tad more profit.
generations before us expected some kind of relationship with their doctor, their doctor’s office. the next generation after us is accustomed to using urgent care, telehealth, the emergency room. they don’t expect a relationship.
while we appreciate the presence of urgent care, the ER and telehealth, we are stuck in the middle generation – where we still think that relationship is part of healthcare, where we think consistency and the sharing of medical history over time are imperatives, where paying such exorbitant prices for insurance is supposed to ensure being insured.
but american healthcare is doing a good job of making us non-believers. it is truly a broken system – in a billion ways.
unconscionable that this country does such a poor job of taking care of its populace.
and – now – as we all know – at a time when health and care are going by the they-don’t-give-a-damn-about-health-or-care-of-the-people wayside – it will only get worse.
*****
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john pavlovitz wrote, “if tens of millions of people get up every day and do a small something, that’s a pretty damn powerful something.”
his wise words suggested to “leverage your life where you are” and that we are each gifted with “the proximity to need and the agency to alleviate it“.
his wise words helped the paralysis that we were feeling.
in these times of extreme chaos, it is easy to be overwhelmed and we have felt that just like many around us. it helped to be reminded about the power – the moving of mountains – of leading with the intention of good, of choosing even simple acts of kindness. doing something.
tens of millions of people could get up every day and do nothing. tens of millions of people could be complicit with the state of the country. tens of millions of people could be cold-hearted, could not care, could place their own needs first and foremost and singular. tens of millions of people could look away from the chaos and the cruelty, the lawlessness and the devastation upon others in their community. astonishingly, tens of millions of people are doing just that.
but there are other tens of millions of people who believe in something different, who are showing up, who are cutting through the noise, who are helping, who are trying to make a difference, who feel the imperative to do something.
and it all adds up.
to “damn powerful”.
*****
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in true escapism fantasies we are either touring around in a tiny rv or we are hiking the pacific crest trail. both speak to us.
there is an obvious difference – the physical nature of the PCT is a tad bit more taxing than pulling a little rv around behind us.
in my dream, we do both.
and we never look at the news.
ever.
we just ride – or hike – off into the sunset, toting the minimum of stuff we need. we write, we paint, we compose, we take photographs. we drink coffee made over tiny ultralight stoves by streams and sip wine in canyonland blm sites. we hold witness to day in and day out.
we remember what is good, what is gloriously beautiful, what is real.
*****
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with a beaucoup of wishful thinking, i’m thinking we are there. at the lowest ebb. at the tide turning.
but the reality is that there are lower and lower ebbs – abyss-ebbs – inescapable rock-bottom ebbs – nadir-ebbs – and it appears that this administration is headed there.
i am holding onto henry wadsworth longfellow’s words. i am looking for – counting on – wholeheartedly relying on – desperately clinging to – the turn of the tide.
for surely we – as a nation – are better than this.
i hope.
*****
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reverse threading 