on this day, election day in the united states, i cannot think of a better antidote… er…aspiration than to embrace the upcoming world kindness day wholeheartedly, emphatically, honestly.
the mission of the world kindness movement and world kindness day is to create a kinder world by inspiring individuals and nations towards greater kindness.
the goal of the non-profit organization is “making kindness a greater part of everyone’s daily lives and increasing the awareness of the positive benefits of kindness to health and the overall well-being of society.”
“this day (world kindness day) aims to increase the value of kindness in society as well as increase the amount of kind acts that take place nationwide, making kindness a greater part of day to day life.”
i cannot help but think of my sweet momma as i write this. she didn’t need a celebratory calendar-day to pledge to be kind. she just was. she would be disheartened by our current state of affairs, determined to make a difference one little moment at a time, one kindness at a time. for as i look around, that is what is lacking. basic kindness. what i see in its place is ugly; anger and passionate division, fear and volatility, rudeness and a combative disrespect for humanity.
“on this day, participants attempt to make the world a better place by celebrating and promoting good deeds and pledging acts of kindness, either as individuals or as organizations.”
wendy aka ben aka saul brought the movie so that we could watch it together. the musical the greatest showman was completely entertaining. there are so many quotes and moments in that movie that are worthy of repeating but the one that is on-screen at the conclusion is by far the umbrella quote. “the noblest art is that of making others happy.”(p.t. barnum)
so often, it is the arts that people turn to for a breather, for something beautiful, for something to relieve their stress. a person will listen to music, gaze at a painting, get lost in reading a book or watching a play, feel their breathing slow down during a ballet, sink into a poem. invaluable offerings of peace, of happiness, the arts give pause.
it is humbling when someone tells me that a piece of music has touched them, that a song has made them weep, that something i wrote made them stop a second and ponder. it is my job as an artist to do my best to reach out with my work. i can’t determine if it will resonate with anyone; i can only “put it out there” as they say.
it is more often lately that i bemoan the priceless value of the arts that coincides with the oft-price-less earnings of the arts. for what better work than to make others happy. what better work than to be part of what people turn to when they need to breathe, when they need beauty, when they need to de-stress.
it is noble work. however you achieve it. for at the end, will we remember anything other than what made us happy and, more importantly, how we made others happy?
i can feel this painting. i recognize it. i have anxiously waited, looking out the window, babycat in lap, dogdog by my feet. leaning forward, i have peered outside…waiting for someone to arrive, waiting for the mail, waiting for the sun to come up, waiting for my mind to rest.
we are in a time…you can feel the nerve endings jittering. it is not a time of rest, nor is it a time of peace and unity. we lean forward, looking out the window at moments passing, hoping to catch a glimpse of tomorrow and see a calmer day, a day where we might find a spirit of cohesion, a respite from the storm of divisiveness.
THEY WAIT…a beautifully poignant painting honoring the ever-faithful companions by our side, quietly and patiently waiting. with no idea of why, with no questions asked, they steadfastly stay with us.
these are the things we notice. little and big. the things we love about living two-artists-together. little and big. the things we ponder. little and big.
this one? an existential question indeed. but that sweet caterpillar….
i shudder when i hear the words “…and never the twain shall meet…”(rudyard kipling) in my head when i read this. but sue aikens’ words (on life below zero, she is a strong alaska-proof woman living in the arctic) were not a viewpoint on the polarization of our country. they were merely the way she was describing the ropes she sets outside her buildings so that in the middle of fierce snowstorms she will be able to find her way, despite not being able to see in the swirling snow.
in life – intellectual, emotional, political life – however, there is a middle ground. but it has become difficult in our current climate to sort to the middle, to not stand firmly on one side or the other of the great divide, a place that grows larger by the day, with an ever-brewing moat of hatred and vitriol, terrifyingly divisive to families, relationships, communities. there is danger on the far sides, danger in stubbornly and feverishly clinging to the left or the right, without considering ramifications, without any compassion, with an unbending dedication to absolutism, with no room or moment for thoughtful consideration, with breakneck righteous reactivity.
in sue aikens’ world, it will save her life to unconditionally sort left or sort right. in ours, it may destroy us.
missing comes in many shapes and sizes. colors too. i’m now at that age that i hear this song in the context of too many people i know who have lost loved ones. whether their beloved has moved on to a different dimension or a different life, it leaves behind someone grieving. “you’re so here though you’re not here.”
i occasionally browse through facebook and i am struck by the number of acquaintances or friends or family members who are remembering a loved one, this group of people unknown maybe to each other but bonded invisibly by a mutual intense emotion. my heart responds to their pain, their determination to keep going, their day-by-day stepping back into the world. it’s indeed a “crazy maze” that they are navigating, that i have navigated as well, that we each navigate at some point in time.
although moving on to a different life presents other extraordinary challenges to live through, losing someone to dying often leaves so many unspoken words, so much un-lived living-together. “i hear you whisper, hear you cry, hear you call my name at night, over many miles and many distant skies. i hear you whisper, hear you cry, hear you call my name at night, and i believe it’s not goodbye.” like many of you, i, too, have listened intently to the universe, to the night, waiting to hear, believing that just-on-the-other-side is a whisper, on the wind, wafting its way to me.
my front row seat on the dance floor of david’s studio affords me this unique opportunity to watch him waltz with his canvas, shift his weight from one leg to the other, lead the painting or let it lead him (much as i unintentionally do when we dance.) the images come to life. i can feel the pull in her neck, backward-bent in the beautiful flow of the tango, their faces raised to the sun in this morsel of TANGO WITH ME. i can feel their hands embracing, arms outstretched, reaching for their forward steps. the painting around them is magical and surreal, fantasy almost, just as a couple dancing is lost in the dreamy quality of their moving together.
ahhh. it is a privileged front seat i have. each time…watching another birth.
a legacy. todd bol has left a legacy in his wake. and i can’t imagine one that doesn’t touch imaginations and creativity and limitlessness more. todd built his initial little free library in 2009 in hudson, wisconsin, as a tribute to his mother, who was a teacher and a book-lover. his first little free library was a replica of a one-room schoolhouse, which he secured on a post and filled with books that he invited his neighbors to borrow. it caught on, as no one could have dreamed possible, and now these gems are across the united states and in more than 80 countries.
we read every day. together. we always have a book going and it is one of our greatest pleasures to read aloud to each other. there is something magical about it – sitting close under a blanket, experiencing the book at the same time, reacting to it, talking about it. sometimes a book is so engrossing it requires one of us to pull the other out of the book-world-reality that has consumed us. such is the power of reading.
if you walk around our neighborhood, even without walking on every single street, you will encounter these little libraries. there are five within just a few minutes, a few blocks of us. todd bol died at age 62 on october 18. but his legacy? he has left behind “more than 75,000 little free library stewards around the world dedicated to literacy and community.” an amazing – and ever-growing – gift to the world. thank you, todd bol.
and, speaking of legacy, happy would-be-68th birthday to my big brother wayne. no matter what plane of existence you now grace, you live on in each of us. i wish i could peapod or instacart or jet you gallons of coffee ice cream. i love you and miss you. always.
having avoided the inevitable summer onslaught of mosquitoes in these woods, we recently went back to one of our favorite local hiking spots. bristol woods – with the pringle nature preserve – is an easy decision for us, at any time of day that we can step away. it is off the beaten path and serene and two loops through the trails give us about a five mile hike, a perfect revitalizing. we adore this place and the priceless quiet it affords us.
walking the trails recently, we came upon a wooden structure that invited me to go to the narrow end and speak into the woods…seemingly a megaphone, but a size we hadn’t seen before. it’s a nature megaphone. it draws in the sounds from around it and, as you sit inside, with the sun on your face, surrounds you with nature, amplified a bit closer and more personal. this one needs to be turned around into the woods, as there is a busy road in the distance and it pulls in those sounds as well, but that’s a mere detail. i love the concept. a little googling shows that there are nature megaphones of great size in estonia, placed there for the healing power of the sounds of the outdoors, the quiet. ahhh.
the other thing we notice as we walk are the red and green ribbons encircling trees, the little red flags planted in the dirt. fearing what we had read earlier in the summer, we asked the naturalist what these ribbons and flags were for. she verified our fears, telling us that they were markers for the new aerial ropes course that the county has decided to move forward. the article states that there are no high ropes courses in the area; a very quick google search shows one in lake geneva and three (!) in east troy. but money talks (is this shocking?) and the county will share in the gross revenue. and the quiet of this small county park, the well-being of the wildlife in the woods, the educational value of a pristine teaching environment untouched by commercialism will all cease to exist. is “teaching confidence” and “learning about yourself” not found in the quiet woods? is a “family-oriented, wholesome” experience no longer a hike together? what exactly does “putting people in touch with nature” mean?
while i don’t question the opportunity for learning that a high ropes course might afford children and adults on all different levels, i do question the sacrifice of an active nature facility and its woods for this purpose. an official associated with the county is quoted as saying, “(bristol woods) is not going to be significantly impacted.” hmmm. i disagree. during the construction of and upon the completion of the high ropes course, what sounds will be amplified in their beautiful new nature megaphone?
while i laid awake, i tried to picture how i would react to someone literally placing me – without ropes – several hundred feet up a sheer granite wall, my hands gripping a crack and small outcropping, my feet perched on a slight deviation in the granite face. it made my hands sweat and my heart race thinking about how paralyzed by fear i would be, unable to move either hand or foot. THIS is out of my comfort zone. far out. and i couldn’t get the image out of my mind.
the wind was gusting about 35mph and there were tiny snow squalls on the way to madison. we were on our way to a movie theatre for a national geographic release of the movie FREE SOLO, the documentary capturing alex honnold’s successful free solo scaling of el capitan in yosemite. free solo. without benefit of any ropes or safety gear. just his hands, his feet, climbing chalk, and memorization, no – absolute physical retention – of the precise moves he would make on the way up this 3000′ beautiful monster.
alex doesn’t talk about his fear much. he, instead, speaks of enlarging his comfort zone, little by little. his somewhat unemotional approach to this challenge is daunting. one of his support team said words to the effect that alex had this challenge: like an olympic athlete he needed to win the gold. no ifs, ands or buts. it was the gold or he would fall to his death. who does that?!! the black and white of that makes my breathing pause. but alex pressed on. clearly his comfort zone is huge, that bubble around him. at least when it comes to mountains.
i know, as fascinated as i am with mountains and climbing stories of all sorts, that this is not something i could or would do. my mountains are different than that and my comfort zone bubble has more to do with my artistry, music, writing. not necessarily less scary, but certainly less physically demanding and clearly, without a doubt, less treacherous. but we are not limited to one mountain at a time.
each of us has this bubble and i picture pushing on the walls of the chrysalis, little by little conquering the fear of the outside – whatever the challenge or challenges – making our way, without ropes or safety equipment, into the next step of our lives. we try to “dream big.” we “go after it.” we “just do it.” but in reality, with no protective membrane around us, we first have to gear up, face fear vs comfort, garner courage and climb. yes. we free solo every day.
reverse threading 