when i came across the green plastic ant farm stashed on a shelf in the storage room in the basement – between two stacks of books – just innocently sitting there – i couldn’t help but immediately feel like it could be a metaphor to how this universe – in the biggest sense of the word – is now looking at us.
through a plastic shield, the universe stares at the goings-on on this planet – and let’s make that even more specific – in this country – and – without describing all the horror that meets the eye, the horror that is happening below the surface, the horror that is intended and about which we can only guess – so let’s cut to the chase – the universe groans in utter dismay, shocked beyond belief that we have screwed up OUR ant farm so appallingly.
because instead of ants – relying heavily on the importance and responsibility of connected community, with unselfish dividing up and equal sharing of work, with patience and problem-solving skills, their committed and unrelenting devotion to a positive and generative end result – we humans here on this earth seem to shun the values of equality or connectedness in community, lead with narcissistic and immorality-driven agenda, devote ourselves to divisiveness, cultural, status and caste, racial, gender, religious, nativistic dominance, drive toward a brutally suffocated powerless populace.
to think that an uncle milton’s giant ant farm could show us humans up is preposterous. but it’s absolutely true.
“you keep worrying you’re taking up too much space. i wish you’d let yourself be the milky way.” (andrea gibson)
i don’t believe that snowflakes worry as they fall from the sky. i don’t believe that they have any concern for whether they will fit or whether they will fit in.i don’t believe that they are self-conscious or self-doubting or – even – self-aware. they just are.
they form, they float, they land where they may. and then, they just are.
it is clear to me that we do not occupy such a singularly thin space of reality or consciousness. but were we to, it would simplify matters. we would form and float and land and be.
and perhaps that would mean that we would each bring all of us to the space into which we landed. we wouldn’t bring limited or limiting notions of mattering. we wouldn’t bring devices or attitudes measuring importance or gauging hierarchal places of belonging. we wouldn’t bring open hatred or cruelty. we would just land…into a community of other snowflakes, gathered and scattered, all beautiful, and unique.
maybe it would mean that no one of us would feel compelled to rule the space, to take over the place where the snowflakes gathered. maybe it would mean that no one of us would feel like they were more a snowflake than the next snowflake. maybe it would mean that each of us would feel that we count. maybe it would mean that each of us would feel like we are important – galaxy-size-important – even in the middle of all the other snowflakes. each one of us. maybe that kind of valuing could save the world.
every snowflake. they accumulated on the adirondack chairs we left outside in the just-in-case there might be another warm enough day to sit outside or to be by the firepit. i didn’t brush them off. there was something compelling about seeing them – this tiny community of snowflakes – something that drove me to study it, really look at how they scattered onto the surface.
it would seem that – indeed – these snowflakes let themselves fly. unconcerned, undeterred by anything else, i imagine they each – in all their glory – made like they were as big as the milky way and – in all their grand single-snowflake-power – floated and twirled their way down to the very important space that would be theirs. and no one stopped them.
and then, there they were.
tiny individual flakes. taking up all the space.
and they stayed there. waiting for the next snowfall – when they would hear the laughter and joy of the next batch of flakes as they fell, glistening and swirling like diamonds from clouds.
perhaps we are too noisy to hear such glee, to believe in such magic.
and what if we, like the sweet autumn clematis, were each merely one featherduster, one long, wispy tendril birthed from a maroon-brown pod joined with other maroon-brown pods on a single branch of a single vine.
what is it we would do with our wispiness, our soft fluffy plumes, tiny jet engines to propel us near and far? what seeds would we disperse, what knowledge would we dispense, what silvery sheen would we spread?
what would we choose to do with our one, wild featherduster life, our one journey through air, aided by wind, abetted by the twirling of our feathertail? where would we go, what jet stream would we join? what earth song would we sing? what would we touch – ever so lightly – brushing past, barely felt, a tickle of plume?
what if that were all we had? would we join with all the other featherdusters, an intertwined community seeding community? or would we spend our time engaged in disjointed competitive infighting with the others? would we choose a path on which we might twirl through together or would we choose to shoot off, like that one plane in a memorial fly-by, forging a new trail in air, bushwhacking through underbrush? what would our desire path be?
what if that had been our passage in this place? what if our featherduster existence had been it? would we have been all in? would we have given our best? would we have embraced seeding more clematis – like seeding more shimmery goodness? or would we have held back, continually waiting for something glorious to happen, for better weather, or for whatever later might be?
the rest of the subway car stared at us. we kept talking anyway.
back in the earlier days of my recording and performing – when a dear girlfriend and i used to travel together – we found ourselves all over the country, laughing. our escapades were hilarious – at least to us – and we readily shared our time on public transport with anyone nearby. we’d chat with the other people grasping onto the silver subway rings over the seats. we’d chat with the seat mate on the plane, once all holding hands together as the plane hit severe turbulence and – incredulously – even the flight attendants were weeping. we’d talk in the taxi, in the terminal, in the restroom. we seemed to be entirely capable of writing what-seemed a seinfeld episode everywhere we went. we were thoroughly entertained by – us – and it made all the travails of travel into adventure.
i’m a new yorker – a long islander – so talking – tawwwking – is not necessarily a problem for me. now i am a recovering interrupter (which i came by honestly) but back then…interrupting each other was part of the gig and it made us laugh even harder.
we’d step onto the subway – having gone through the turnstile with great aplomb or – more often – like something out of a cartoon – and immediately say “hi!” to whomever we encountered. sometimes people would answer as these were the very earliest days of cellphones so people were not staring into the palm of their hands. sometimes people would strike up a conversation – “you’re in town visiting, eh?” sometimes people would just stare. literally stare.
i carry these episodes with me even now. it is impossible for me to be on an elevator without saying anything; i simply cannot participate in the stare-at-the-slit-in-the-center-of-the-doors. or the up-stare at the numbers of the floor changing. “hi” just doesn’t seem to be a really challenging or aggressive kind of greeting. it just acknowledges that someone else – a person – is there. with you in the same space.
though i would not encourage the spray-painting of these boulders along the lakefront, the simple “hi” – in the middle of everything we are all reeling in, in the middle of this country – made me smile. an acknowledgment of someone else’s existence.
none of us are alone here. we’re in this together. we all count.
when we moved here – 36 years ago – there was no deck in the backyard. there were concrete steps leading up to the back door, a cement sidewalk from the driveway around the back of the house to that set of steps.
the people who lived in this house before us had some – interesting – decor ideas. granted, it was the 80s so that offers its own bit of explanation. they generously offered to teach us how to remove and apply new wood grained contact paper to the kitchen countertops and backsplash – which, i guess, they thought coordinated nicely with the peach colored cabinets. (we declined, removing all semblance of contact paper from the counters and peach from the cupboards.) curtains and valances and priscillas and cafes covered all the windows – and there are a lot of windows in this house. there was brown carpet everywhere but for the orange and green shag in the sunroom. it all felt a bit dark and closed-in, suffocated even more by the rows of hedges literally everywhere outside.
but when i walked in – despite the overabundance of brown – the plethora of double-hungs draped in fabric – doors hanging in door frames serving no purpose but for taking up space – butter yellow shingles with brown (yes, more brown) trim we soon replaced with narrow white vinyl lap siding – a house with few personal touches, a house that desperately needed to breathe – it felt like home.
it still does.
and, despite all the changes this house has gone through, there are still multiple projects that linger on the list – deferred or just dreamy. but it breathes – in and out – and we can feel its heart beat.
it wasn’t long after we moved in that we decided to build a deck out back and my children’s father and grandfather set to that project, designing a smartly shaped L with a deck railing that would protect our small-children-yet-to-be from falling off.
soon after – seemingly a minute or two – there was a swing set with a slide and a glider, a fort and a turtle sandbox. five minutes later we added a basketball hoop. eventually, we took down most of the railing. i had all the hedges taken out and planted ornamental grasses, for this house is a graceful-on-the-breeze ornamental grasses kind of house. i added a pond, a focal point – while ever changing the plantings around the perimeter of the yard, dependent mostly on friends who had extra bushes or plants. we laid a stone patio – a place for slow dancing and dinners al fresco. we thoughtfully designed the garden along the new fence in the back. we gently added peonies and built a barnwood potting stand, laying slabs of rock in that corner garden and around the pond to protect our aussie’s circular run around it. we brought breck home from breckenridge and tenderly tended this aspen tree – the only tree either of us have ever purchased – finally finding its preferred home in a small garden in the middle of the backyard. and the sedum cuttings we placed there took, surrounding breck with green serated leaves and yellow flowers.
just the other day we noticed that this very sedum groundcover had somehow planted itself under the deck – in an obviously dark space inhospitably filled with rocks; its tiny volunteering stems were peeking out from underneath. it is growing out – reaching east – and we will not eliminate it from this new place it inhabits. we will do all we can to encourage it, foster its growth, help it soak up sunlight and continue to proliferate along the edges of the deck.
gardens are a constant source of surprises. we find volunteer switchgrasses in places we didn’t expect. there are day lilies in the most challenging of spots. and ferns have tenaciously found their way to places where there is clearly a bit too much sunlight for them. we tend all of these and transplant the fern volunteers into the shadier fern garden out back.
but the surprises are just that – surprises. joyful. they are a tiny nod that we – even in our seemingly infinite non-knowledge of gardening – are doing something right.
i honestly don’t think it has anything to do with providing the right soil or the right nutrients or the right fertilizer or the right amount of sun or the right amount of watering. we are guessing on all of this – with the aid of research we desperately try to apply appropriately.
what it think it has to do with – more – is how much we mindfully love it all – our house, our front yard, our backyard, our deck, our gardens, our patio. surely it all can feel that.
people respond to love and nurture the same way – coming alive, seeking light, growing and changing, thriving, nurturing back.
and i wonder how it is anyone would treat people – members of a community – respectful participants in the weave of the concentric circles of humanity in our towns, our states, our country – any differently than a garden.
why would anyone not wish to foster a nurturing and supportive environment – any community of people – any town, state, country – where all may grow and thrive?
“the powerful, loving bonds formed between individuals who are not biologically related but who choose to be family…highlighting the strength of these non-traditional family units and the unconditional love they provide.”(the trevor project)
so, dna ain’t everything.
i, for one, have found it personally shocking at times to be related to my similar-dna-stranded relatives. particularly now. for one – incorrectly – assumes that one is aligned with those in one’s family – with values and love and respect leading the way. this, however, is not always true. and – shockingly – families, like friends or colleagues, are quite capable of throwing others under the bus. shocking, indeed.
so we seek those who support us, who support our world view, who challenge and push, who protect, who encourage others to be their best and most authentic self.
in this – incredibly the 21st century – with a twisted administration – we are faced with making decisions of estrangement – boundary setting that is squarely focused on the upholding of each other and our rights and freedoms. it is impossible to pretend to be “family” if members have chosen to undermine the rights and freedoms of other members. dna schmee-n-a.
a week ago we spent the weekend attending milwaukee pride events at which our EDM artist son performed. his friends welcomed us with hugs and dancing and conversation. we were embraced and felt the love. i cannot imagine why anyone would reject or endanger such a community – LGBTQIA – so inclusive of all. it is incomprehensible.
one of his friends came up to us while we were dancing and drew us close in to talk above the music. “if i had parents like you, i’d have everything,” he said into our ears. i cried as he walked away.
my grown children have a wonderful father. they have a generous-of-spirit stepmom who cares about them. they have me. and they have david, who has been supportive in every way that a caring father can be. they are every much his children in this last decade. we all share them and join together as the circle of one-generation-previous people around them who want them to be their best and most authentic selves. isn’t that what parenthood is? they are just lucky enough to share dna with two of the four of us. but we are all their parents.
these are days of non-traditional. we are fortunate to live in these days – days of wisdom and cultivated illumination – when love is simply love and the bonds of family extend beyond ancestry lines. i can only hope that we all celebrate each other – in our differences and in our sameness. we can seek family with bonds based on unconditional love and support. if we can look at our biological families and freely choose each other, we are lucky. if our own families endanger others or refuse to see or value them, it is incumbent upon us to draw lines in the sand. this life keeps ticking. it would seem infinite love – acceptance, inclusion, belonging – would be the way to live these tiny lives we get.
be the people whom others choose. “chosen families have helped queer people survive and experience radical love and joy at a time when their rights, and in some cases their very lives, are threatened.” (alex welch)
radical love and joy. life is too short for anything else.
the sun, the contrail – elements of an exclamation mark in the sky.
i imagine it is an exclamation-mark for the beginning of PRIDE month – events with themes like “united in pride!” (chicago) and “remember, resist, rejoice!” (milwaukee) and “rise up: pride in protest! (nyc). i imagine it is lifting up the indisputable importance of acceptance of others and pushing back against discrimination and the violence that accompanies it.
we are proudly attending PRIDE – both in milwaukee and chicago. our edm artist son is performing at both festivals. for the last years we have attended both PRIDE events in these cities and i have come away with the big-sky-like feeling of people loving one another. it is a freeing reminder for anyone who has forgotten what it’s like to just care about each other, despite any of the differences that have been politicized into marginalizing people.
i – we – will always be staunch supporters of our son. we will always be staunch supporters of his friends, his extended family. we will always be staunch supporters of the LGBTQ community. we will always question the ugly – people who wish to eliminate LGBTQ freedoms and safety. we will always question those people – who tout their “christian” beliefs, their “jesus-saids” – while their gross bigotry shamefully reveals their empty words. no, jesus did not say anything that would buoy your cruelty. we will always question those people who have voted against the rights and privileges of the LGBTQ community, who have gleefully cheered on the homophobic, patriarchal march into autocracy, who have betrayed their own families.
the exclamation mark in the sky marks the beginning of a month in which we have the opportunity to promote unity, in which we have the chance to truly love one another, in which we might set down the vileness of homophobia and pick up kindness and the embrace of what diversity is.
it’s a simple concept: a community of people who support each other.
it should be every family, every friend-group, every organized community, every town, every city, every state, this nation.
we watch thru-hikers on videos. carl – in the middle of the hot desert section of his PCT thru-hike – was gifted a bottle of cold water. his words were write-down-worthy: “people are beautiful.”
like carl, thru-hikers criss-cross the country – and other countries – on long trails, carrying all they need in backpacks, stopping in towns to resupply, to eat prepared food, to rest. people come from all over to support these hikers, planting trail magic in their path, driving them from point a to point b, aiding them in whatever they need. there is never any hesitation. the community extends love and support to each other – no matter what.
anything less is missing the point.
to be human is have precious little time on this earth. that kind of mortality, that kind of flawed-ness, that kind of capability to love – makes one question why anyone would wish to be anything less than generous or kind. it makes one question why anyone would exclude anyone else, why inclusion of all humans is not paramount. it makes one question why anyone would be cruel to others, to populations of others. it makes one wonder why anyone would waste time and energy on agendas of hatred. it makes one question what in the hell is going on in the administration of this country and why so many people – humans – are ok with it.
the state of this country belies the definition, the very concept of humanity: the human race; human beings collectively/compassionate, sympathetic, or generous behavior or disposition – the quality of state of being humane/the totality of human beings: the human race.
a few years ago we watched a show about housing in the bay area of california. the housing crunch was producing outlandishly high rents, making it impossible for workers – particularly younger people at the outset of their careers – to live anywhere near where they worked. an answer – it seemed – was to offer sleeping pods – bunk bed pods stacked upon each other or next to each other – in a communal living space. with very mixed reviews to these confined space morsels, people moved in and made tiny personal space within communal living their home.
in the many years that our girl was working in the snow industry of the high elevation mountains, she – like every other professional snowboard or ski coach or instructor, every other industry worker from restaurants, boutiques, ski shops, etc – was faced with the impossible task of finding a place to live. costs far outweighed earnings and, so, either these dedicated employees shared spaces (often questionably-worthy of passing basic health standards) renting the rights to a bedroom and a shelf in the refrigerator or they drove extended commutes in all kinds of treacherous weather. it was nerve-wracking, to say the least, as a mom – ever concerned with the daily living conditions of her child (who was far more tolerant of the living conditions than i might have been). post-pandemic exacerbated these circumstances and rentals are scarce or aggressively priced.
for the longest time we have watched house hunters on hgtv. though there are many fix-up kinds of shows, our favorite is the basic house hunters where you watch people select a home to purchase from three homes you virtually-visit with them. you are aware that there have been many other homes considered before this ultimate decision, but you are steeped in the choice between three – with the information of their purchasing budget, their desired amenities and location and a walking tour through the house. it is astounding to us – over and over again – how much a basic house costs these days. we watch – totally immersed – and try to decide which house will be chosen, always blown away by what that choice will cost the buyers.
and each day – for a multitude of reasons – we thank our own home. its old house juju suits us. it is our sanctuary. it looks like us, feels like us, buffets us from the world and renews us. every one of its quirks – that we love – reminds us to love our own quirks. every one of its tiny beauties reminds us of our own tiny beauties. we find peace there and we find a jumping-off place for challenges and self-exploration.
and as i write this, i am aware that – if we are lucky enough to have any physical place we call home – we each make it into what we need. we embrace whatever its circumstance, its location, its imperfection or perfection. we find the space where we feel comfort and reassurance and the ability to be exactly who we are.
some day we would love to travel in an old vw minibus (or one of those amazing converted vans our son-in-law creates), carrying with us all we need for extended periods of time, seeking home in high mountains and canyonlands, deserts or meadowlands, atlantic or pacific beaches, northern forests.
some day we would love to thru-hike one of the national trails, carrying all we need in backpacks on our backs.
either way, i’m pretty certain – even now, even before we have tried either dream – we will feel at home, at peace, in our skin.
“remember, the entrance door to the sanctuary is inside you.” (rumi)
the sky set softly on the end of the day. it was chilly on the patio, though still. any wind off the lake had eased up. it had been a day.
we attended the hands-off protest here in our town. i had some trepidation before we left to go. still too close in memory are the riots from 2020. still too close are the screaming-loud trucks-with-flags driving around our neighborhood before the election. still too close is the distorted reality that we witness from people who voted for all this destruction, chasms of morality difference. still too obvious is the hyped-up aggression we are witnessing every day. too much to bear is the annihilation of civil rights, impartial justice, checks and balances based on the rule of law. trepidation seems appropriate.
but the protest was inspiring. heartening. people – regular folks – rising up for the rights and freedoms of our constitution, speaking up for our democracy.
the footage around the country – big cities and small towns all – of people – neighbors and friends and strangers – all standing together to clutch onto every filament of this republic.
and i wondered, “what now?”
for fighting fascism from this side of the election seems much more onerous than from the other side – before the election – when people needed to completely grok the far-reaching impact of their very important vote.
we have an arduous journey in front of us. and i know so many of us are already exhausted.
reverse threading 