i imagine that there are many people out-there who are also grieving. grieving the loss of any level of a sane government, grieving the loss of democracy and all its fittings, grieving the loss of freedoms or rights or jobs or benefits or support or opportunity or various other basic human needs. grieving the loss of family and friends who decided this vile cruelty was what they wanted. grieving the disappearance of others’ bottom line of protecting those they supposedly love. grieving relationships and honest conversation. grieving compassion and kindness as the lead intentions of a free world. grieving the structure of the rule of laws. grieving a place that is not fraught with corruption, greed and violent aggression. grieving.
i would be lying if i said i think it will all go back to normal some day – these relationships, this country. i don’t believe anything will be normal again.
the betrayal against basic humanity and basic tenets of goodness is not something easily overlooked, tossed aside or forgiven.
we do sometimes feel like an island. but we aren’t, really. we have a connectedness with a chosen family of generously big-hearted people for which we are grateful.
if we had looked only at the sky, it would have reinforced the black-and-white-photograph world we felt we were in. the sky was so november. but the photo was in color and, despite feeling differently to our core, the world was in technicolor.
the trail was mostly empty, which was a good thing. we needed to be there – our lack of hiking through interminable covid was taking a toll. exhausted from covid, exhausted from doing nothing, exhausted after doing anything.
and so the sky heightened our feeling – of walking in the black and white of this past week.
by now you know i am horrified by the election, by its results, by the actual people voting for these results. it cannot be clearer to me that there is a dividing line between me and those people who voted against my own family. it is black and white…that clear.
i’d like to go all maya/mlk jr./gandhi, heck, i’d like to go all jesus christ (“love one another; as i have loved you.” john 13:34). i suspect they would be just as horrified. quoting any of them as any kind of justification in or support of this horror story is hypocrisy.
because you have knowingly undermined the safety, security, the rights of my family, of people dear to me – and that’s pretty black and white to me. and i realize i can maybe love you, but not respect you, not want to be around you, not trust you or feel safe with you. your heart is different than i thought i knew. and i can’t pretend i don’t know or that it doesn’t matter. this – this – is becoming black and white to me.
love is a two-way street. turning your back on humanity is not love. the cruelty and immense intentional hardship you intentionally voted in for other people – yes PEOPLE – no better or lesser than you – is not love. hate, misogyny, racism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia are not love. fascism is not based on love – you have fallen prey to cultish, narrow, extreme, bullying, propaganda-laden thinking that is not – despite the whipped-up and warped misinformed disdain you express at the price of eggs, individual gender identification, compassionate social programs – definitely not – based on love.
i’m pretty sure that many are struggling with this right now. we are all out here, internally trying to figure out the unthinkable – how our families or friends have betrayed basic rights – values – upon which we thought we agreed. it’s unimaginably brutal and painful and hard to wrap our heads around. it is so very, very sad. but it is pretty black and white.
it’s november. i drag my eyes from the november sky – where i was beseeching the universe for answers. and i look beside the trail, where leaves are still turning and the deer wait as we approach.
“happiness is….happiness is….happiness is…different things to different people. that’s what happiness is.” (ray conniff)
i can’t use these glasses – gifted to us – without hearing that song. our tonic and lime makes it happen every time. I don’t fight it. i succumb to it – humming or bursting into song – at least inside my head.
nine years ago the monday of this week was the start. everyone was on their way – sometime during that week. we entertained at our old house each night – and everyone present came for dinners we prepared with an entourage of kitchen helpers. it was a barn raising in every good way.
by the time we actually got married – at the end of the week – we were pretty darn tired. but happiness? it was abundant.
every now and then there is a moment, a snag, a who-are-you-and-what-are-you-doing-here. we all have them. but, in the way of moments, they are momentary. and if i give myself space to think about the passage of time and everything that has brought us to the puny moment, to allow in perspective, i am able to process, to rejuvenate out of puny, back to happiness. ok….not an immediate bouncing-dancing-leaping-about kind of happiness, but a deep-from-within happiness that reminds me of the reason we two people joined. the support, belief and love of our families, friends, community have generously seen us through.
every now and then there is a moment, a wildly astonishing wide-eye, a heart-lifting teary eye, an i-wouldn’t-wanna-be-anywhere-else. and, in the way of moments, it is a gift, a reminder of the unlikeliness of ever having met, a gratitude for how the universe aligned two tiny stars distantly apart, a peek into the big heart – and the sense of humor – of whatever deity you wish to name. those are bouncing-dancing-leaping-about kinds of happiness moments.
each year that we celebrate another year we relive that week preceding our wedding. each year we are grateful. each year we are really aware of happiness … which begets happiness … which begets happiness.
prior to going up-north i had only been on a pontoon boat once – in the carolina mountains with a black lab who loved to swim and a tiny little life-vested girl who equally loved the water and who spent time rafting alongside. our little boy had not yet even joined us, so it was a long time ago and the memory, although faded in detail, is clearly peaceful and beautiful. gloriously great fun.
the pontoon of up-north means laughter and snacks, old-fashioneds and slow cruising around the connecting lakes. it means conversation and story-telling, the search for loons, and the art of spontaneous plan-making.
we haven’t solved all of earth’s mysteries onboard, nor have we come up with a design for world peace, but we have found solutions to less pressing problems, offered and heard advice, dreamed a bit.
there is nothing quite like a pontoon boat to remind you of the power of community. and, more than once on that pontoon boat a few weeks ago, i looked around and gave abundant thanks for the others on the boat. snugged into comfy seats, sun on our faces, a summer breeze blowing, we are in a cove of deep friendship, people who can count on us and upon whom we can depend.
moments like these lend themselves to carrying a kind of a pontoon boat philosophy of life everywhere…a place of inclusion, of generosity, of comfort, a place of openness and caring. a place to share some time, to float ideas, to listen, to feel heard, to have raucous fun, to be quiet. a gentler ride through life, with people around you who will be there when the seas are rougher, when you need a little help with forward momentum, when their support is like oars in a rowboat.
we are fortunate – when we can give over to the pontoon boat. we are fortunate – life presents us with people with whom we can ride along together. we are fortunate – we are reminded of the sheer gift of community. we are fortunate – and we take time to be grateful.
the loons watched us and then, after a few seconds of study, they determined we were simply co-existing with them. they paddled away, riding our rippling wake.
there are a lot of reasons to zoom through days, to forget about what is really important, to perseverate on things that make us unhappy, things that worry us, things that cause us to push others away, to not take time with others, not give time to others. much of the time we can convince ourselves – somehow – that those reasons are impeccable, that they matter. we can get ourselves all riled up and full of the shadow side of relationships and daily life. and then something wakes us up, takes us out of the dark.
it could be something really inconsequential, seemingly unimportant. the notice of a bird on the wing, the sunrise, dandelion seeds in the wind, a strain of music, a scent. it could be something way bigger – something that brings a sense of mortality, that brings you to a full stop and makes you realize that time is – indeed – passing by and that the moment that has slipped past is never again retrievable.
and suddenly we realize that they are all like that. all the moments.
irretrievable.
and love taps us on the shoulder and reminds us. to take the time, to give the time. to be aware of the things we want to do, the simple stuff that feeds us, the people we love and who love us. it reminds us that there is no time to waste – really, ever – no matter where in life we are. it reminds us we are not all-that and we don’t do this life alone. it reminds us it is flying by and by and more love is the only thing that will last and last – forever.
my niece sent me a text. it was a video of her turning her heat down to 60° and saying, “i…am becoming you.” yup. we are not – well, i am not – a toasty-warm-house person. now, don’t get me wrong. i do love to be cozy. but not toooo toasty. and radiators – as in our old house – retain their heat for a long time so you have to be a teeny bit cautious about how high you put the thermostat…the temperature in the house won’t go down for a while with those radiators radiating – their job in life.
regardless, we just layer up here. with energy costs as they are, we are more likely to have on baselayers (even inside) with thermals and vests. and at night – that window is always a wee bit cracked. there is nothing like sleeping with a little cold fresh air.
but, that’s not really what i was going to talk about. “warmth looks good on you” from stio – a very cool company based in jackson, wyoming – is on page 58 of the “deep winter 2024” catalog. and, despite all the exceptional gear this company sells, the inordinately courageous influencers, the gorgeous photography, it made me stop and consider it from – yes – another point of view.
warmth looks good on you.
approachable, open, inclusive, inquisitive, embracing, warmth does look good. it looks like a conversation waiting to happen. it looks like a friendship on the cusp. it looks like generosity of spirit and compassion. it looks like community. like support. like loving one another.
it has been in the most likely and the least likely of situations i have made new and dear friends over the years. in classes. at a job. in the ‘hood. in a studio. at kids’ soccer games, baseball games, cross-country meets, tennis matches, colleges. after a concert. on the wood floor in the hallway of a ballet class. in an airport car rental line. in the fitting rooms of a white house black market store. on a trail. online. i can’t imagine life without these people. and yet, had i or they not been open – had there not been a bit of warmth exchanged between us – we would have missed. and the possibility of friendship, the chance of a relationship would have glanced off. and, for me, that would have taken away from my being better for knowing or having known them.
it’s kind of a cold world out there. it’s not that hard to layer up.
warmth looks good on you.
it’s as simple as a decision.
*****
*stocking face created by my sister waaaay back in the day
if you asked me what word best describes our up-north trips, it would be laughter. pontoon boatrides and utv drives, hikes in the woods and lots and lots of food and drink and snacks, and it is still laughter.
there is nothing – truly, absolutely nothing – like being with other people who are in the same – ummm – age bracket you are in.
i remember my sweet momma and poppo gathered around their pool in florida with multiple other couples. yadayadayada they’d go on and on about their trials and travails. i was stunned back then by the ordinariness of their conversations, by the chapter of life.
but i tell ya, they had nothing on the up-north gang. we will literally talk about ANYthing. any sordid detail, any grimy description, any mighty middle-age challenge, any blahblah that floats into our brains. we share life, we tell stories, we compare notes, we make suggestions, we google and sort and — yes, laugh.
the other day we took a walk in our neighborhood and met up with a couple friends walking the other way. after the initial hellos and whatchabeendoins, we took the fast track to a fascinating conversation about – drumroll, please – medicare. never would i have ever thought we would have stood on the sidewalk chit-chatting about medicare plans, but there we were – for a long time – the waves crashing on the shore next to us – comparing and contrasting information about supplemental plans and advantage plans. thrilling, eh?
it actually was. thrilling, that is.
because everyone needs to be surrounded by people who “get it”, who “get” where you are in life, “get” the tribulations, “get” the worries and the stuff you have to figure out, “get” the aches and pains and physical morphing that seems to be happening to us. together we can do this.
at the front corner of my growing-up yard on long island was a forsythia bush. and many years, at the march of my birthday, i remember having my picture taken there. home. spring. there are few things that make me think of Home like forsythia does.
except for maybe the voice of my beloved daughter on the phone. she is forsythia for me. for just moments or for an extended conversation or – if i am fortunate – in person together, the sound of her voice, her zeal, is Home.
and except for watching the way my beloved son immerses himself in his music. his hands – now all-grown-up man-hands – moving dials and sliders, his voice and body dancing, his explanations – it’s forsythia for me. Home.
and except for the look across the room from david – the moment he touches his hand to his chest while in his gaze – forsythia. Home.
and dogga – at the door with his angel-babycat greeting me – thrilled, once again, to see us. forsythia. Home.
and the love and care and concern that are abundant in our lives – our family, our friends. forsythia. Home.
and the work we have chosen to do – create – music, paintings, many-many words, cartoons. forsythia. Home.
reverse threading 