i went out the back door and walked around to the front to see what was happening.
the house sparrows were building a nest above our front door, tucked carefully into the architectural elements of trim.
now, we love our birds. we take comfort in hearing them early-early in the morning. we watch them out the window on the wires above our driveway. we watch them out back at the feeder and the birdbath.
their constancy is balm for our spirits.
and in these times, there is nothing we need more.
when the twenty-one gun salute echoed in the muggy florida air, i had the shivers. my sweet poppo was gone and nothing would ever be the same.
we were at the national cemetery in bushnell, gathered under a portico, torrential rain on and off. my sweet momma was both heartbroken and stalwart. we all lingered before it was time to drive back and celebrate my dad’s life. it is just a month and a half shy of thirteen years ago.
the pride that i felt – with patriot guard riders leading our way to this honorable cemetery – was something i recognized. it came from a feeling of stability, living in a relatively steady democracy and honoring this man – my dad – who had valiantly fought for that very premise – democracy over fascism, the populace over authoritarianism. barack obama was president and i did not read the news every single day expecting chaos to reign or nationwide or global disaster to be absolutely imminent. i rested assured that the people elected were intelligent, honest, respectful, compassionately decent people of the utmost integrity who had others around them with the same virtuous qualities. i was not panicking. my daddy had died and i could be totally present with his sending-off and present in my grief, the grief i shared with my family. i assumed that – alongside any desire i might have to be involved in day-to-day politics – i could also sit back and trust that – as a citizen – i was being represented by someone who had a moral compass.
i thought that would just be there – always – the strength, freedom, courage, the ideals of liberty and the unity of the states of this country. i believed that the spirit of this nation – the immortality of it as depicted by the american bald eagle – would always prevail.
fast forward.
2025.
now – more than ever – i see that tomorrow’s sky is not just there. we are fearful of losing it all…every last bit of this country’s democracy.
the soaring eagle that dipped and swooped over us on the trail – time and again – gave me the shivers just like the twenty-one gun salute did. i hoped it was some sort of positive sign from the universe, maybe even from my dad.
my sweet poppo is weeping somewhere, knowing that his sacrifices – his time as a world war II airman and as a prisoner of war, his injuries, his post-traumatic trauma – may not endure this time in our nation. it crushes me to think of his utter disillusioned disappointment.
and then I hear him, “do you think the rain’ll hurt the rhubarb?”
i read through the lyrics of the star spangled banner, america the beautiful, my country ’tis of thee. i read the words on the statue of liberty. and i read the pledge of allegiance:
“i pledge allegiance to the flag of the united states of america. and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under god, with liberty and justice for all.”
this administration is peeling back the layers of democracy. as the nucleus of this republic – in dead center – stands naked and utterly vulnerable – we continually wonder if this absolute and vile destruction is what you wanted.
if it is, this is no longer your pledge.
because – republic (noun): a state in which supreme power is held by the people and their elected representatives, and which has an elected or nominated president rather than a monarch. (oxford)
because – republic: a form of government where power is held by the people, either directly or through elected representatives…a system where the citizens hold the ultimate authority…the government is expected to serve the interests of all citizens. (AI)
and then i re-read the declaration of independence, stunned by the sheer number of current parallels written into this noble historic document. and these words: “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, serving their just powers from the consent of the governed.”
nevertheless, it is getting darker and darker here.
and so i whisper the lyrics of irving berlin as a prayer: “god bless america, land that i love. stand beside her and guide her through the night with the light from above.” (irving berlin, 1918)
tens of thousands of people are attending their rallies. for good reason. bernie and aoc are speaking to the heart of america. they are the shining light – that glimmer you can see through the gap in the inosculated trees. their message to hard-working middle class america is balm for people exhausted-by-the-twisted-depraved-bullshit-warp-of-oligarchy, people like us.
we sat in the adirondack chairs in waning sun and listened to bernie sanders as he spoke. his words were – to me – like the sound of birds early in the sunrise or the wind chimes out back in a gentle breeze. direct to our hearts, we found ourselves hopeful, perhaps for no other reason than they “got it”. there is another way; there is sense instead of chaos.
it was like stepping outside the sickness foisted upon this country.
we are merely two days away from the possibility of an intensely corrupt chess move from the current just-itching-to-be-dictator administration – deliberately planned, contrived and soon-to-be-executed. the number of people involved in or supporting this evil is overwhelming. up close now, it makes me simultaneously nauseous and breathless.
i stood on the trail, gazing through the space in the trees – trying to see clearly. i attempted to get my camera to focus on what was beyond instead of rough tree bark, a different depth of field. it couldn’t. i could see light and color in the slit, but it was blurry, overtaken by the trees in the forefront.
but there’s something else out there, something better, something beyond what’s on deck now.
we need to focus on that, and diligently seek out that hope, that color, that light.
somewhere around 1984 or 1986 or so i totally splurged on a dress. it had a background of light blue with puffed-up shoulders that narrowed along my forearm to my wrist, like a juliet sleeve. the bodice was fitted and the dress was knee-ish length. it was a pricey $35 and i wore it only “for good”.
i’m pretty amazed thinking about that treasured dress because i am not really a light-blue person. now, i love light-blue sky and light-blue robin’s eggs and light-blue forget-me-nots and the lightish-blue denim jacket that was my poppo’s, but light-blue in general is not a color i wear.
were i to wear it, however, i would have the tones of this photograph…reeds and sky on an early spring day.
i could have stood and stared at the reeds for a long time. as it was, i did stand and stare at them for quite a while, lost in the ballet that was driven by the wind.
and in those moments, i never once thought about what is happening in the world right now, the chaos and destruction. instead, i was dancing with the reeds, immersed in light blue sky and blonde plumes.
at this point, we are finding it necessary to try and escape our thinking minds. overwrought with angst is not a good way to spend time. so we step out of time and hike or cook or write or give belly-bellies to our dogga. we dream of places to go and trips to take and projects to embark upon. we continue to sort and clean out, donate and toss. we don’t – we can’t – spend every single waking moment trying to solve something that we – alone – cannot solve.
somewhere along the line i gave away that light-blue-puffy-shouldered dress. i wonder if someone cut it up for a quilt, much like i will do with a little-house-on-the-prairie type dress i remember absolutely loving in 1982 and which i found in the dress-up-and-pretend bin downstairs. that dress had big layered ruffles – which apparently are back in style. as a person who is now somehow always peripheral to trending fashion, it’s surprising to see flouncy ruffles out and about.
the dirt trail, dancing reeds and unlimited sky don’t seem to care what i wear. their light-blue and blonde gift is not simply lack of apparel-judgment or vogue-couture-wincing.
their gift is what they offer to us in presence. engaged in the ballet, the dress-memories, the air around me, i learn – once again – to stand still in the center of the moment.
i found the foam core board in the attic while i was trying not to step in between the floor joists. i was carefully looking for something in a box, placing my socked feet on the old piece of paneling that covers a small part of this tiny room under the rafters. leaning up against the wall and straddling two joists was this cellophane-wrapped blank foam core. making a mental note that it was there, i backed out of the attic – because turning around while bending over – which is necessary – bending over, that is – is almost an impossibility. one does not want to mistakenly place one’s foot through the plaster ceiling of the living room below. (this, by the way, is the reason i go into the attic rather than sending d…just in case any foot goes through the ceiling…i’d rather it be mine….for obvious reasons.)
when we heard of the protest early this month i went back up into the attic and retrieved the foam core, dusted it off and got ready to write on it.
which brings me to my question.
if you had a piece of foam core and one of those really thick intensely smelly magic markers, what message would you write?
because it is time to speak up. way past time.
who are you? what does your heart say? what does your conscience say? what kind of america do you want? what kind of america would you like to pass on to your children and grandchildren?
is it a supportive country that generously embraces the unlimited potentiality of its melting pot of different people? or is it a cruel isolated land where every evil move hinges on how it benefits only the wealthiest and the extremists among us, marginalizing the rest?
are you rah-rah-ing the fall of democracy? or are you stunned beyond belief that we are facing authoritarianism in this country – literally i’s-dotted-t’s-crossed – in the matter of a few days?
many, many years ago – when my children were little – they used to play a computer game called bugdom. it was based on perspective from – well – a bug’s life. the actual plot – as i recall – is way too contemporaneous now for comfort but the graphics – at the time – were fascinating and the mac version of this game was amazingly realistic. winding your way between bits of vegetation and rocks, you could feel immersed in bugdom as you – playing the part of a rollie pollie – try to save other bugs – like ladybugs – after an evil and tyrannical ambush of the bug kingdom. like i said, too close for comfort.
i often think about what things look like from a different perspective. it is essential as artists. the trying-to-stand-in-someone-else’s-shoes thing is important to me. things that are affecting bugdom are not just the things that are affecting me. since all of bugdom is interconnected, anything that is affecting one is, therefore, also affecting me. we try not to be so isolated – or cavalier – as to think that the plight of the ladybugs will not affect us rollie pollies.
so i get down on my knees to shoot photographs from a vantage point swinging on a snowdrop or a wild daffodil leaf. i sit on the ground to shoot pictures through the may apples. i take videos of caterpillars on their plane of existence, practically laying on the ground.
because everything changes when your perspective changes – when you allow for a shift in how you are looking at something, when you entertain empathy and compassion – when you stand in another’s shoes.
somewhere in the old romper room do-bee song i’m guessing there’s a line that says “do be a good rollie pollie.”
were my momma still alive, i would purchase this for her. she would have loved the bright colors, the sweetness of it. mostly she would have loved the message – be kind. she was not a complex person, not really. she had a basic approach to living. be kind pretty much encapsulates it.
were my momma still alive, i would bring it to her and we would plant it in a garden she could easily see or, more likely, plant it in an indoor pot, maybe with a snake plant or aloe.
were my momma still alive, we would chat about things. we would talk about how the illustrator of this garden-art post depicted happiness. we would talk about color and folk art and hearts and simplicity.
and then we would talk about right now.
were my momma still alive, she would be appalled at the state of this country. she would be gobsmacked by the outright cruelty and lack of attention – shall we say – to the law, to decency, to morality. she would be devastated by the rifts in her own family. she would be sickened by the rapid dismantling of our democracy and the descent into hellish authoritarianism. she would remind me – though i need no reminding – that my poppo fought against fascism, risking his life being taken prisoner of war – all to keep this country safe from the exact sort of thing that is now rampant.
were my momma still alive, she would weep. and i would try to console her, wrapping my arms around her in a hug, holding her just as she used to hold me in times that i was inconsolable. she would be tired then. she would lay down in exhaustion, wringing her hands in intense worry, fear across her brow, tears on her cheeks.
my sweet momma died ten years ago now – on the 29th of april. i still feel the loss of her in every fibre of my being.
i might go get this garden-art post. because – though it would cost money we are big-time reticent to spend – it would be like my momma is physically here. at least just a tiny bit.
we test our smoke alarms the first day of each month. it is likely overly cautious, but i want our smoke alarms to be self-actualized in their vigilant monitoring of smoke – and thus, flame – so we check them to make sure that the battery is still functioning, that the alarm is still as brutally loud as it should be. we have smoke alarms to warn us of impending disaster. we pay attention to them.
we have a carbon monoxide alarm as well. when i go downstairs into the workroom i glance at it every single time, making sure that it still lights up at 0% and that there is no indication that the battery back-up needs to be replaced. we have this carbon monoxide detector to warn us of impending disaster. we pay attention to it.
we both have weather notifications on our phones. in the way that weather alerts work, we are notified if there is dangerous weather on the way – if there are high winds or torrential rain or destructive flooding or a tornado or a big snowstorm or ice or thick fog or intense heat. these notifications alert us to danger and inform our decisions about outdoor activity and various other things. we pay attention to them.
each time we get out of our vehicles, we click the lock, engaging the security alarm. each night people go to the panel that initiates their security system for their home, ensuring that they will be alerted should any danger present. people thru-hiking carry bear spray and whistles. people in extraordinarily threatening zones carry pepper spray. though we personally do not have hurricane shutters or wind-proof glass or generators, we do know those who do – and we assume these are just in case there is lurking peril.
it is likely that most of the redwagoners also – like us – have the basics – smoke alarms, carbon monoxide detectors and weather notifications as well as an assortment of other reassuring security devices. it is likely that they wish to be warned of any potential disasters. it is likely they do not slough off these safeties, give no heed, laugh with glee. it is likely they pay attention to each of these.
that these same people – the red-red ones with all these just-in-case safety aids – are failing to pay attention to the complete devastation of our democracy, the absolute stripping of the constitution, the one-step-away from authoritarianism is beyond my comprehension.
the flame is raging, the oxygen of the united states is being usurped, the destructive storm is at its peak.
every safety alarm, every security alert is blaring. yet they are not paying attention.
it had been two years. two years plus since we last hiked there. after the woods added a high ropes/adventure course we were less inclined to go there, less eager to go hike its trails. the tranquil quiet was interrupted with the sounds of groups on the contrived course, the echoes of planned adventure bouncing off ancient trees and the forest floor.
but the other day – on a blue-sky-slightly-warmer-less-windy day – we decided to go back. because it is still merely early-spring, the course wasn’t yet open, though the staff was there training. one of the guys – suspended in a harness on lines high above us – called down to us, telling us how happy he was to spend the day in the woods.
we set out on our trail, a bit eager to see how things might have changed, how the familiar might be a bit less familiar after so many seasons had passed.
seeing this much-trod-in-the-past place was sheer joy. there is something about knowing the bend in the path, something about knowing where the tiny ponds are tucked in the woods, something about knowing certain trees and where the green glow might be starting.
we took our news-weary eyes and placed them – instead – on the roots crossing the trail, on the rise and fall of our breathing. we focused on spring arriving in the woods in this place where we have spent so much time.
we were – gloriously – nowhere else for a couple hours.
“and into the forest i go, to lose my mind and find my soul.” (john muir)
reverse threading 