it was rafiki who said, “it is time.” in a pinnacle moment of the movie the lion king, mandrill rafiki – an insightful spiritual guide – discovers that simba, the lion, is still alive and declares that he must return to the pride lands and restore order and balance. simba’s life force – to defeat evil, overcome adversity, to perpetuate a legacy of the interconnectedness of life – the circle.
it is time. it is way past time.
order and balance, goodness and kindness. the concentric circles of connection.
yes. way past time. already.
in these moments – the anguish-filled, agonizing moments before the figurative return of simba – we might turn to others – next to us – near us – far away though connected with invisible filaments of love and care – and say, “i am glad for you.” the tiniest message.
in these times of so much uncertainty, so much angst and pain, so much loss and grief, so much frustration and anger, it would seem that uttering five words might be a powerful salve. thought it may not change the heinous circumstances of our current world, it will wash over the person upon whom we whisper – or shout – these words.
it may be in the post “i-am-glad-for-you” moments that one is able to – once again, tirelessly, with great courage – reach deep inside to pull up bootstraps of bravery and pushing-back, bootstraps of protest and protection, bootstraps of generosity and altruism, bootstraps of humanity.
i am glad for you.
so, be weird – extraordinarily heart-on-your-sleeve weird – and tell all those people for whom you are glad that you are glad for them. i can’t imagine that not feeling good in your soul and i can’t imagine a response that does not carry the extraordinary, raw power of this message forward.
it is time.
way past time.
*****
“i see you. you are beautiful. i am glad for you. i am glad you are here.” (michelle obama)
there is a spot in our backyard – a pretty specific spot – where we can sit and watch the sun as it gets lower and lower in the sky. it filters through clouds or the trees to our west. it lingers over the familiar rooflines of houses nearby. it is a spot on the patio that is ridiculously reassuring as we adirondack-chair sit, sunglasses on, witnessing the beginnings of the end of the day.
because we are not given to dinners out – and they aren’t really in our budget anyway – we tend to spend the waning hours of daylight on our deck or on this patio. maybe with a little happy hour, maybe just quietly – either way, it is a magical way to be a part of sundown, to begin evening, particularly when the ‘hood around us is silent but for the sparrows, chickadees, cardinals getting in last licks at the birdfeeder, dustbathing in the dirtspots dogga has generously dug, sipping water from the birdbath or the pond. it can be so quiet as to hear the hummingbird’s tiny chirps as it buzzes over our heads after devouring at its feeder. these are good days, the days that decrescendo like this.
and so, i try and capture these ends-of-day – for other days when the time comes for sunset and the horizon is full of clouds or rain, for other days when our hearts need the reminder, the universe hug that there is a night of rest coming and a new day to follow.
i glance over at d – whose hand is holding mine – and watch dogga run his backyard circle of joy.
for this moment, i feel a sense of peace. I breathe it all in – soaking in the energy that we need to be in these moments of history. i lean back against the throw pillow and exhale.
i suppose it’s human nature. we tend to take it all for granted – our health, the place we call our home, our freedom. we are relatively complacent about it – maybe not necessarily actively grateful – more passively matter-of-fact.
until we are without it – our health, the place we call our home, our freedom.
and we want it back.
and then we wonder why we didn’t appreciate it when we had it.
each and every time i have had any kind of physical challenge, any ailment, i linger on what it was like before it began. before i broke both my wrists, before frozen shoulder, before i had covid, before…
it’s – of course – a fool’s errand and does absolutely no good save for being somewhat masochistic – which doesn’t fall under the category of good.
and – of course – the lesson i find is to intend gratitude for all in each moment we experience.
but we humans – particularly in this society – are slightly more hindsight types. and we tend to sort to the “in retrospect” view of things instead of being anticipatory or present.
so i do a heads, shoulders, knees and toes check-in and thank my lucky stars. i look around at our old house and thank this place we call home. i move about daily without restraint, making decisions about what to do, where to go – for which i am thankful.
and yet, right here and right now, we stand at a crossroads – an absolutely critical moment – when we must decide what all it is we are grateful for, what all we wish for, what all we believe in – before we don’t have it anymore.
those of us who are not in allegiance with the takeover of our democracy into autocracy, those of us who have not normalized an administration which is morally bereft, those of us who pledge our pledge to a republic and not a man – we all must decide to stand up for the freedom of this country. before it becomes one of those things we wish we had appreciated – when we had it – before it was gone.
it goes by fast on the train – almost a blur, but not quite.
“you are beautiful,” painted on the side of an old building.
in the middle of all the ugly going on right now, it is a good reminder: not to lose – or forget about – our own value, our own light, our own beauty.
somehow the most basic gets distorted in the chaos. somehow we put our joy to the side, we drop our view from the kaleidoscope of exquisite, we forget that this one and only moment is ours and we are here for it.
last year a black-capped chickadee returned over and over to this old barnwood birdhouse on our tree. each time it balanced on the the hole and pecked at the edges all around the entrance to the house. we wondered if – perhaps – it was not quite big enough for this bird and its intentions to build a nest. it worked at it – diligently – finessing the birdhouse as it could, enlarging the entrance and pecking off the sharp edges. but it did not end up nesting there.
this year two black-capped chickadees return over and over to this birdhouse on our tree. this year they carry in supplies – long strands of ornamental grasses, bits of branches and leaves. we believe that – this year – there is a nest inside this birdhouse. we hope we are right, for the idea of baby birds just off the patio – in this sweet birdhouse – makes us a little bit giddy. together these chickadees have made a home, taking turns with the chores of preparation and standing vigil, keeping it all safe from harm. we stay hopeful that there will be babies and that this sweet bird-family will endure all the hardships of nature and the passing of time.
yesterday was the 43rd anniversary of my (first) wedding.
i think back to the preparations and nesting through the years, as we worked together – successfully and not – as a couple and then as parents of two beloved children. like the chickadees, we had no guarantees – we just worked at it, best we could.
i look back – as we all might do – and see the moments in time we might have done better, might have made different choices, might have pecked at the edges of the entrance to our house instead of other things we did – things that would have finessed our home in lieu of harming it in some way or another. but we are human and our failings are as numerous as our triumphs. it is easier now – years later – to offer generous grace to our best attempts, despite how it all turned out. our two children are good people in the world – making their way in work, in their own passions, in love.
i am grateful for those years. i am grateful to have married a man back then who also tried his best to build a life together. as in any relationship, we brought different baggage with us – some of which was surmountable, some of which made life challenging. we started out pretty young. time has smoothed out the edges – pecking off the sharp parts – and what remains is softer, gentler, accepting. it is with deep affection that i now tell the tales of our thirty years together.
d and i met twelve years ago now – after six months of being daily email penpals. this year will celebrate the 10th anniversary of our wedding on a warm and sunny october day.
we have done our share of edge-pecking. we have finessed our home and stood vigil for each other. we have shared in the hardships of nature and the passing of time – for that – the passing of time – seems exponentially fast starting later in life. we have been fortunate and we work at it, best we can.
i am grateful for these years. i am grateful to have married a man who is also trying his best to build a life together. as in any relationship, we brought different baggage with us – some of which has been surmountable, some of which made or makes life challenging. we started out later in middle age. but time smooths out the edges – pecking off the sharp parts – and what remains is softer, gentler, accepting. it is with deep affection that i tell the tales of our life together. it is with humble and immense gratitude that i look into the future with him.
there is no telling what chickadees may do in life. but they seem to realize the very preciousness of it as they zealously prepare and tend their life together with another chickadee. sometimes they stay with the same mate all their lives. and sometimes they don’t. either way, chickadees have strong pair bonds – which is the very best we can all do for each other.
“sometimes it can feel like you’re never doing enough. but to touch the life of even just one animal or one person can help heal the world.” (hellen rescue centre)
the golden rule is a relatively simple concept. basic moral compass stuff. “do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” universal. ethical. compassionate. conscious.
it would seem that we each – in this world – would feel an imperative to strive for the best we can do, with these words as a north star. it would seem that we would wish to lead with goodness.
and we are surrounded by real people who do just that. people who reach to others, sharing abundance with those in need, caring for those in despair, giving a hand to those who feel forgotten. we have been the recipients of this sort of care and we are grateful – not only for the aid of wisdom or resources we have received, but for the reminder of what it means to be human in a world of humans.
in turn, we try – best as we can – to be helpers. to lift spirits and, as we can, to lift the circumstances of people who have been less fortunate. we try to live thinking about others, treating others, as we would want them thinking about or treating us.
as artists we are entrusted with the creating of work that might somehow touch the world – change it – if even only the tiniest morsel of a bit. we write many words a day, never knowing if anyone will read these words, never knowing if any of the words make any kind of difference. we do it anyway. we paint, we compose, we take photographs. we just never know where any of it – all of it – might reach. and every now and then – out of the blue – someone we do not know, someone we will likely never meet will let us know that something has touched them, something has moved them, something has made them think or question or linger. and we know that the concentric circle has widened, the ripple has rippled. even a little bit.
as humans we are entrusted with short lives of being humane. we have every opportunity to show care and concern, to reach across differences, to offer kindness and love to others – people or animals. every single time we do even one small act we know that it impacts the world, that there are cells out there vibrating with the frequency of grace.
our presence in and with life – life itself – grants us the ability to appreciate it, to live into living. we know that – in the very end – all will fall away. and what will be left are the heart impressions we have made on others and they on us.
even if we have touched one person or one animal – in our tiny time here – we have healed a morsel of hurt in the world.
it doesn’t seem like that hard of a concept. it doesn’t seem that hard of a job.
in the end of ends, isn’t it the only thing that matters?
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)
like big red, it was an old truck – a pickup that has been around for awhile. in front of us driving down one of the main arteries in town, i was hoping that they would pull into the grocery store parking lot so that we could stop by their truck and tell them how much we liked their bumper stickers.
they kept going. so i never had the chance to tell them.
i feel like they don’t need to be told. they know. they know how important these gestures are – the reminder – in pride rainbow colors – that “equality hurts no one” and that we are all “human”. equality for all persons – regardless of gender identification, sexual orientation, race, ethnicity, nation of origin, religion, economic status. human – bones and flesh and organs and a heart and a brain. breathing in and out the same way, we are all human. well, maybe.
for the things we are witnessing these days – the cruelty and chaos – are most definitely subhuman, far below any expectation one would have for an administration that actually cares – read that again – cares – about its populace, cares for its populace.
today is cinco de mayo…a day to celebrate mexican culture and its rich heritage. though you may find yourself at the local watering hole having a margarita or donning a sombrero, it is a holiday more celebrated in the united states than in mexico. often misunderstood as mexico’s independence day, it is simply a local holiday in that country.
if you are having a margarita or some fish tacos or steak fajitas on this day i am hoping that you are also honoring the people of this country that runs along our southern border. courageous and hard-working, family-centered and wanting opportunity for a better, safer life – just like you or me – we must be careful to extend a helping hand, just as we would wish for in like circumstances.
if you have held a “mass deportation” sign in your hand or voted for someone who did i would ask you just exactly where your ancestors came from – for the vast majority of us, our family tree did not grow from seeds in the dirt of this country. our melting pot country’s origin is that of diversity – good grief! there’s THAT word!! we have all assimilated into this country, but we cannot forget that as humans – humans – we came from somewhere else.
it seems incumbent upon us as humans – humans – to be compassionate, to be benevolent, to be humanitarian. to buoy our fellow humans in the populace of this nation with intentions of equality and love.
i hope we see that old maroon truck around again one of these days. i just want to thank them for their tiny public statements, mustard seeds in a land where we – now, especially – need reminders and stewards of the potential for the growth of goodness.
though we love-us (as they say) a familiar trail, we found a new trail to hike recently.
it was a really windy day and we set out knowing we would not-know what we might find along the way. that – in itself – is one of the gifts of hiking. even on trails we know like the back of our hands.
i knew being a minister of music like the back of my hand. and, as the easter holiday just passed by, i thought a lot about the 35 or so easters for which i had been responsible – the decades i had shaped the music of these seasons. i always believed it was my job to help people connect to that which they could not see – thus, ultimately, to touch faith, to touch love.
a dearest friend of ours retired this past week. with great joy, we celebrated his new freedom and listened as he told about the party his colleagues had thrown for him. he told of their stories, their comments, their appreciation – it was a powerful validation for him and for all the time and energy and life he had spent working in that place. he finished with a flourish – full of affirmation – ready to walk into next. one door closed, others ready to be opened.
it brought up personal grief.
for my very last days – of that career – one of the professions in which i used my knowledge of music – that spanned three and half decades – these days were not lined with validation or gratitude or even a nod of thanks. instead – for me – they were fraught with being fired, what felt like a plethora of undistilled meanness, full of unanswered questions, betrayal and shock and – then – absolute quiet. an assault.
i never finished. there was no brunch, there were no casseroles, no sheet cake, no jello mold. there was no t-shirt, no mug to carry off and use each morning, warmed by the memories of time spent.
this was an awakening.
i suddenly realized that i wasn’t done.
for all the sorting and cleaning and throwing out, there was still something incomplete.
there was no flourish; there was no affirmation.
this was an epiphany.
since i can’t go back literally, there is something in me that wishes to find a way to closure. maybe it is to go back to this place we found on this new trail. to this gate that stands in the messy field of wild grasses next to the birch tree just a bit back from the meadow. maybe if i lift up that gate and just step – even just one step – into what is past it – what is on the other side – maybe it might feel – in some metaphorical-retirement-party-crepe-paper-streamers-strewn way – like there was a little flourish. that i will grant myself the validation, the affirmation – the acknowledgment of a great deal of dedicated time of my life – that others tore from me, disregarded – that i will know – deep inside me – that i gave that place – and all the 35 years in that particular spoke of my sedimentary-layered life of music – giant pieces of my creative soul and that i can finally – finally – leave the familiar behind and get about the new. whatever their agenda or issues – in an end that was not of my choosing – it should not detract from my own celebration of me.
i will never be a minister of music again. that part of my life – that arrow of dedication of the music within me – has finished. and – i was damn good at it. i understood it. i knew it like the back of my hand.
and now it’s time for a new trail.
right after i pull down all the streamers and toss them out.
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.
reverse threading 