“your hand opens and closes, opens and closes…your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding.” (rumi)
brave thistle plant – even in the bitter cold – open. this star in the meadow reminds me to stay open…fluid in breath…in and out.
i sometimes wonder about my music. my grand sits in my studio, waiting. it is patient, although i can sometimes hear it in hushed tones, calling me. there has been much between the last time and now, much that has left me closed to it.
i’ve touched it a few times in a few years. i don’t want it – or anyone, including me – to overreact to that. it is beautiful and full-stick and keys-open and – like the thistle – it bravely stays starlit even in the fallow times. and so, it is – every now and then – inviting. but it is complex – complicated – and it’s obvious I haven’t sorted through all the layers yet.
it is an artist’s imperative to create. but there are no rules that state the medium must remain the same. and so…in these inbetween times…i write. to be open to something different is to dance with that imperative.
the heavy old mic stand tucks right outside the doorway to the studio. it’s holding a vessel for candlelight right now but – at the end of our hallway – it reminds me of microphones and wood stages, simple lighting and boom stands. and then i wonder again – about all that.
the real answer is that i don’t know. i don’t know what will happen in these nexts. i don’t know if i’ll compose more, record more, perform more. there are a lot of ifs between here and there, a lot of details, a lot of stars that must align.
but the little thistle plant in the meadow reminded me that even with all that – all in the galaxy that must cluster – constellations in the cold are possible.
“i will not win all of my battles, and neither will you. but if we do our best with intelligence, compassion and love, that will be enough – it has to be enough. and that way, though each outcome may not be what we wanted or hoped for, at least each day we can be proud of who we are.” (elizabeth glaser)
with intelligence. with compassion. with love.
this made me cry. i was going through framed pieces that had had spots in various places of our house or back-in-the-day at my label offices. and these words – instantly stopped me in my tracks.
for these were the very things lacking in what-ended-up the winning campaign of this election. intelligence. compassion. love. and i find that devastating.
i saw a meme the other day. it read: i will be proud all my life that i voted for kamala.
and i will.
because the other thing – the other choice – the magachoice – the one where “he got you to stop trusting the media, scientists, legal and judicial systems, federal agencies, military leadership, economists, educational institutions, our closest allies” et al – leaving “the only person you trust is him“* – that choice…was without intelligence, without compassion and without love.
instead, it zeroed in on people’s internal rage, giving it permission by example. it exploited their lack of knowledge, their lack of curiosity or questioning. it perpetuated the maniacal glee of revenge and retribution. it made a farce out of the legal system of checks and balances, a limitless low bar on integrity for the highest position(s) in the nation. it made self-serving a positive trait. it exclamation-pointed prejudice and marginalization. it underlined and bolded all the worst qualities of humanity and it brought it all to the surface. without hesitation, people jumped onto the hatewagon, pistols drawn, flying flags and banners of “greatness”, bleeding out any semblance of intelligence, compassion or love.
and here we are.
and i wonder how you – who voted for him and for all the cruelty and hardship and extremist notions and fascist intentions and every thing vile of which he reeks – are proud of that.
and so…it made me cry.
and – better than i could have said this, a brief video (x-out top right, turn on audio bottom right). thank you to matt and for his courage to say it aloud:
we’re getting all the mail – snail mail, email, texts, phone messages. tons of correspondence this holiday season. and all about … healthcare.
because forget about thanksgiving, forget about the gatherings of family and friends, forget about the holidays. we are now in healthcare open season. ok, they call it open enrollment….but it’s clearly one and the same….and the other day – when we saw a hunter, all geared up in camouflage, stride into the woods – it made me think of healthcare open season.
we – david and i and, in amusing moments, my former dear husband as well – are all receiving every manner of advertising for our healthcare. i must say – there is something vastly wrong about this – ads, brochures, glossy words schmoozing us about healthcare.
so we have until the 7th of december to lock in our medicare wishes, in addition to our chosen drug plan. we have until the 15th of december to sign up for whichever “affordable” care act (ACA) plan we wish. it’s all a bit like gambling and there really is no actuary on earth – sans a fortune teller – who can predict what we might really need, what we might really benefit from, what teeniest-tiny details in each plan might be relevant, what might not make us financially suffer.
but wait! there’s more! because now we are at the threshold of new stuff! there is a concept of a plan out there – floating in the universe somewhere – to change the lives of all americans who need healthcare which, ummm, is all of us.
maybe it will be like something we’ve never seen before! maybe something that might place the health and well-being of the populace highest on the priority list!! maybe something that won’t bankrupt people or place healthcare as the apex reason for being impossibly financially strapped. maybe it won’t be privatized in any way, won’t be so insanely priced that it necessitates government subsidies – which, incidentally, will likely disappear anyway in this regime. maybe something that will be like industrialized nations around the world! maybe – just maybe – universal healthcare!!
you are dreaming, i warn myself.
because magaland is not interested in what’s best for actual people. the bottom line, the bottom line, they scream! money, money, money, they insist! and so, instead, their concept is to go back to the days when pre–existing conditions were like leprosy to insurance companies. their concept is to severely cut medicaid, healthcare for the needy. their concept is to eliminate medicare supplemental plans – eliminating choice for people in their own healthcare, foisting privatized advantage plans upon unsuspecting purchasers who think that getting $80 in toothpaste is advantageous over the freedom of seeking out appropriate physicians and facilities and treatment plans for their own needs. their concept will keep regular americans poorer, all in their efforts to make the oligarchy richer. their concept is to be limiting, repressive, serving their own pockets and the pockets of their cronies in some kind of weird quest to make america unhealthier.
it’s all a sad story. and i’m wondering which maga-voters out there are now “learning” all this – suddenly knowledge (all available PRIOR to the election, i might add) is now more abundant. suddenly, some of the corrupt and cruel “policies” (and i use that term loosely) don’t seem like they are in your best interest. suddenly, it occurs to you that this looming autocracy wasn’t really a good idea.
oh well. que sera sera.
in the meanwhile, we’ve gotta don our camouflage and hunt down some healthcare.
the leaves have not all fallen yet. looking out back, they are still clinging to the oaks, the maples. i gathered a few that had made it onto the deck…just bits of green, yellow, a little orange, red. they went on the dining room table under the gourd that had spent long sunshiny hours on the potting stand, wicking away its outer layer, stripped down to its mustard shell. we celebrated the simplicity and lit candles to showcase these small trinkets of fall.
our stock pot of irish guiness stew simmered for hours. we shared it with our son and his sweet boyfriend, sipping wine and dipping chunks of baguette into our bowls. it was a joy to be there – at that table together – on thanksgiving – and i was grateful in each moment.
i’m more and more aware of the tiniest showcases of miracles. from our quiet hikes on trail to listening to the wind resonate the tenor chimes in the dawn hours to walking about inside post some clearing-out and rearranging in our old house to times spent with others. in silence and in boisterous noise. an abundance.
the light shines. it radiates through. noticing it is not only our task, but it is our gift.
sweet potato casserole is, admittedly, one of my favorite dishes in a thanksgiving feast. that and stuffing. and maybe that string bean casserole – the one with the french-fried onions on top. oh. and mashed potatoes. even though turkey and gravy and any variety of cranberry relish are traditional, i’m not crazy about any of that. i’m perfectly content with sweet potatoes and stuffing and mashed potatoes and maybe those green beans.
this year we will not be making anything traditional. instead, we’ll make an irish guinness stew with plentiful root vegetables. something that seems grounded, reassuring. but probably without the carrots since carrots are on the don’t-buy-don’t-eat list right now. so…substitute in maybe butternut squash and some sweet potatoes – to add the sweetness that carrots would have provided. it seems right to wait and stir and wait as a good stew simmers.
liminal space is defined as a transitional period or place, often evoking a sense of unease, a waiting area.
if you are like me, i would guess that – at this holiday – you may also be feeling in a sort of liminal space, a waiting place. these are troubled times.
but just as dr. seuss described the waiting place, he also described the places you go:
“you’re off to great places! you’re off and away! you have brains in your head. you have feet in your shoes. you can steer yourself any direction you choose.”
it is my hope always that we access great places, that we steer ourselves any direction we choose. it is my hope that – past my life here on this planet – those left behind me will also have the same american freedoms i have taken for granted throughout my life on earth. it is my hope that democracy will have survived the next years – years that will test its resiliency and fortitude. i guess we’ll see.
i have shed many tears during these last months and weeks. i have mourned for solidarity of family, of friends, of community, of state, of country. i am weary of crying, bone-tired of the grief.
my sweet momma wrote to me long ago – at a different time when my rooted energy felt depleted, “live life, my sweet potato.”
and that is what we will do. live life. looking for the great places, the places to which we might be off and away, the directions we might go…in our home, in our artistry, in our world. it is still time to create, to generate goodness, to adhere to our values, to begin.
i give thanks for our old house, full of memories – a long river of time. i give thanks for the abundance i have experienced, for my sweet momma’s legacy of the imperative of kindness. i give thanks for david, our grown-up children and their beloved partners, the people we love, the people who have generously held us close, who have helped sustain us. i give thanks for opportunity, possibility, the gift of time, sweet potatoes.
i hope we – as a nation – find a way of virtue through this liminal time to the other side – the place where our constitution breathes a sigh of relief, where we gratefully grab onto the coattails of every person who has fought for our freedom – holding on for dear life – where we stay vigilant and dedicated to democracy, where we heal and re-commit to unity in these united states of america.
and today, as i write this – the day before thanksgiving – all that is left for preparation is to breathe thanks and pick up a butternut squash and some sweet potatoes.
a closer look. i like to turn my macro-lens eye at things…to look at the detail of them. the close-up is often so very different from the overarching view or the afar – and, out in nature, it reveals tiny worlds we are generally unaware of.
i aimed my camera at the reed grass plumes. gorgeously graceful, arcing, they are plentiful in our yard – and their dance in the wind brings life to our gardens. i was astounded at the closer-up photographs, ropey, twine-like, fibrous. are these jute fibers shot with a macro lens?
there is so much more than meets the eye. from a distance, we give nod to the plumes, appreciate them but not necessarily the complexity of their makeup or their role. as a singular object – a reed grass, a plume – it is likely of little consequence to us.
but contextually – in the context of the garden – it is a haven for the winter, a place where creatures will find safety and warmth, protection from predators. this singular grass may make the difference between survival and not for some critter out there.
there is a lot going on now in the arena of this country. incompetent leaders are being selected to destroy the hard work of the past that protects rights and freedoms, that addresses survival for the populace.
we could giggle at the singular choices – laugh – guffaw – at the insane maga administration and cabinet picks that can only point to destruction. were this to be a movie – a farce, satire – about the country, it would be tempting to laugh – it is that unhinged, that thuggish. but it is not a movie and each singular choice has profound consequence – even if it does not directly affect specifically me or you…yet.
and so, contextually – in the context of our country – it is a breeding ground of calamitous policy – deliberately harmful to our democracy, deliberately regressive, deliberately hurtful – expressing the wish even for crushingly austere hardship – led by a catastrophic kakistocracy. there is nothing to giggle about there, nothing funny about that. the close-up is a macro view of a cold overarching exploitation of these united states.
we can sit back – and watch the show – some of us (though not including the personal “us”) feeling somewhat impervious to the destruction-to-come. one can poke fun to get through a moment or two. but from afar or close-up – either one – the consequences of this election – the choice that almost half our fellow voters chose – will eradicate what we know.
there are gleefully menacing people – predators – out there, just chomping at the bit to have power, to reign with supreme control, to remove all the reed grasses from our gardens and leave us there without the safety or warmth of democracy.
sometimes at the end of the day we can hear the bagpiper playing on the lakefront. it’s a bit haunting. and it makes me think of buglers who trumpet taps: “day is done. gone the sun, from the lake, from the hills, from the sky. all is well, safely rest, god is nigh.”
we often hike in the afternoon – after all our tasks are finished. so it is not unusual that we run into the sun setting as we begin to return toward the trailhead. and now, in these late autumn days, that is happening earlier and earlier.
it was particularly beautiful to see the sun on the day i took this photograph. it had been cloudy and we didn’t expect the sun to pop through above the bank of clouds just over the horizon. we were grateful.
i’m guessing that this is the way to move into these uncertain times. to note the clouds and to be grateful for the sun. we are troubled, much like you might be as well. we can’t pretend that everything is coming up roses or that this future will be smooth sailing. but it is doing our hearts and souls harm to linger constantly in the toxicity that was voted in. i certainly have spoken my piece about all that.
i also can’t simply play taps to our country. because all is not well, because i don’t feel like i can safely rest and because I’m thinking god may not be being all peaceful-nigh-like watching hypocritical thuggish people steeped in bigotry, revenge, cruelty being all righteous in his name. so taps is on hold.
i will, however, lean on the day, the sun, the lake, the hills and the sky to remind me of what is really, truly real, what is really, truly beautiful. i will be mindful of the importance of the each-others in our lives. i will draw strength from any and all light around me, around us – including the unexpected elusive sun setting in cloudy dusk.
it’s true. we write a lot. without fail, six days a week now. we haven’t missed a day since the beginning of our melange 355 weeks ago.
it is likely you have not read all of these posts. we completely understand that. life – these days – reading-wise – is lived more like a reader’s digest condensed book than a novel; there is just simply not enough time.
i haven’t ever gone back to read it all – every single post. maybe some day i will do that. it will surely tell a tale – narrating our lives, pondering artistry, speaking to issues about which we feel zealous, documenting times we are celebrating or enduring – ourselves, in our family, our friends, our community, our country.
sometimes these posts are light, hopefully uplifting. sometimes they express confusion. sometimes they ask hard questions. sometimes they are enraged. sometimes we are trying to answer a need we see. sometimes we are a little bit eloquent. sometimes we are awkward. sometimes they are full of the absolute joy of getting to be alive. sometimes full of wonder and gratitude.
it is likely you will not agree with every post. we don’t expect that nor do we wish that. these are simply our perspectives and, you will see, sometimes even the two of us – viewing the same image prompt – write from completely different perspectives.
i imagine that there are times you have vehemently disagreed with me or david. and that is also good. hopefully, that will mean that someday we might have a conversation about that, talk about it, share thoughts and knowledge, even emotions that disagreements evoke.hopefully, that will mean it might be generative.
the thing i can say is that we are merely doing the best we can to write. every single day that our melange is published. not to elicit attention nor to be overbearing in our words or our stance on things. we don’t expect you to adopt our stance – we are merely expressing our views. we are just vulnerably putting it out there and, frankly, it takes courage to be as transparent as we have been. but an artist’s work demands that, demands voice. and we are two artists reflecting on real life…two blogs…two vehicles for our creative hearts, sorting it all out – this life – as we go, just like you.
though it might be tempting to assume these posts are the full and complete autobiographies – the diaries – the whole kitnkaboodle – of our lives, i would caution by saying that we are writing to prompts – photographs i have taken – and there is more to our lives – and our life together – than these images. just as we cannot – would not – assume what you have been up to every moment of each day, neither can a reader of our blogs. these posts are not the entirety of our days. so, maybe we might spend some time together – by communicating in some fashion or in the same room – to learn a few more details, hear a few more anecdotes, ask a few more questions, express a bit of concern and empathy, understand where we are all coming from.
we heartily welcome your perspectives and your comments. we appreciate your reading. we appreciate your feedback. and we are grateful for anyone who has ever directly impacted us with financial support – of this blog, my music, david’s artwork, our combined artistry.
it all started with a print hanging in our bedroom. it needed to move somewhere else and it needed to be replaced with something different or nothing, blank wall space.
and so I took the print off the wall and brought in the vintage piece i thought might work. we held it up and hung it up. a little bit of change.
i went into my studio and pulled out an old full-of-personality metal tripod work light we had found at an antiques flea market this summer. it was five dollars and it actually worked. i brought it into the living room, wanting to find a spot for it.
i think it was the five-dollar-metal-dome that started the avalanche. still in our buffalo plaids, we set to work.
now, usually when people decorate they go to furniture stores and home good type places looking for pieces, new items to incorporate into their decor. but that’s not budgeted at this time, so we tried using different eyes as we looked at what was in place, what was in the basement stored, how we could change things up, refresh our home.
in the end, we spent the entire day rearranging. many spaces were treated to a littlebittachange – the living room, the dining room, the sunroom, the foyer. we imagined all kinds of things – maybe in the future some of those will happen.
and we laughed to find ourselves at 7pm – still in red buffalo plaid – ready for some leftover homemade soup.
the best part of the day, though, was a realization. at 7, sipping a friday night glass of wine with our tomato soup, we realized that neither of us had thought about or talked about the current political turmoil. it was a relief to be lost in something positive, something productive, something personally gratifying.
i know that as i go into the rooms of our home today it will strike me somewhat differently today than during yesterday’s flurry. i – sometimes – don’t do change well and my threadiness includes my surroundings.
but this time may be different. this time i think i will walk around our home and imagine all the potential of our future here. this time i will again feel the comfort of this old house, no matter what the decor. this time i will be decidedly more open-minded about not changing it all back.
because going forward – in all its shapes and forms – and not going back – holding to hope and possibility needs to override the exorbitant negativity – the absolute control-mongering insanity – so prevalent in our country right now.
we sat in the old wooden glider – moved – surprisingly – from the deck into the living room – and talked about the new perspective it gave us on the room.
“furry pillows will offset the rough-hewn-ness,” i coaxed him. we glanced around the room – at the peeling-paint-chunk-of-concrete in the role of coffee-wine-perch next to the leather recliner, at the portion of desk – with the sawed-off-side next to the radiator – in the role of end-table, at the huge tree branch from the beloved tree out front happy-lit in the middle of the front window and we laughed.
getting lost in our own home – our sanctuary – was just the thing we needed.
and to remember that little bit about control: “let there be an opening into the quiet that lies beneath the chaos, where you find the peace you did not think possible and see what shimmers within the storm.” (john o’donohue)
i wanted to pluck it off where it had landed. floating milkweed snagged on dried brush. but it was too beautiful to pluck – this pure white fluff in the middle of much brown. so i left it there for others to see and carried away a few photographs.
fluffs like this always make me think of dandelion fluff – and childhood – and wishes sent on the wind. curiously, there is – somehow – still dandelion fluff out there, on the trail, in the middle of november.
maybe the universe – overseeing all fluffs and all other things – knows we need a vessel in which to put our wishes, a way to wish them, a little wind to carry them on.
a few years ago – for holiday gift giving – we purchased a few dozen sets of flying wish papers. we sent them out hoping that each recipient would feel excited by the idea of flying their written wishes into the air. the icing on the cake of these wish papers is the lift-off – after you have written your very own wish on the paper, it is lit and lifts off into the air, turning into the finest of ash.
flying wish papers and milkweed fluffs, dandelion seeds – they are all somewhat like prayer flags – expressing to the universe a heart-wish, a prayer…asking the universe for a chance…something we wish to achieve, maybe imploring…for peace, goodness, health, maybe something whimsical, maybe something serious.
maybe the point of wishing is to make us more attentive – maybe more courageous – about what is in our hearts. maybe the point of prayer flags is to make us more attentive – maybe more courageous – about what is in our souls. maybe it all connects us inward – to places that aren’t superficial, that do not slough off the amazingness of actually living.
the milkweed fluff captured me. i wished wishes for solid ground, for good purposes, for decency in this world. i wished wishes of regaining balance, of hope, of support for each other.
wishes – both simple and complex – gathered on the filaments of the milkweed fluff. it waited there, on the brush, to gather more wishes from more wishers. and, then, i imagine it flew off into the wind, possibility in the air.
and i carried wishes – that had somehow magically turned into intentions – home with me.
and the finest ash settled on the forest after we left.
reverse threading 