we clearly need this. not just one horseshoe. two horseshoes. not in relief, but in iron. hanging over the entire country spilling good luck, positive energy and protection from evil over the whole nation. nothing else seems to be working.
honestly. it is freakish what is happening here. every single day i am stunned by the corruption and evil doings of this administration. every single day i am shocked by the cheering squad. every single day i am forced to reckon with the fact that people don’t care about the facts, that people don’t care about the evil or the corruption. every single day i am rocked to my core, grieving relationships that were dear to me but that place me or my very own children in peril.
i imagine many get what i feel.
if a horseshoe is supposed to bring good things, then – certainly – two will do the job.
we have one in the sunroom. it leans against the big ponytail palm on our plant stand. it used to be my sweet momma’s and it is upside down, supposedly catching all universe goodness for us here in our home. i’m hoping it’s still working; there are no low battery alerts, no alarm, no indicators of its potency or lack thereof. but there is belief. and maybe – just maybe – this rusty old horseshoe is keeping belief fresh and alive.
we surely need some talisman of better times, a way out of chaos, depravity and malfeasance, a generously compassionate way forward.
i have no doubt we’ll all fall over it at some point – the precipice.
there will be some moment of grief, some slight, some jarring change, some out-and-out grotesque manifestation of this-thing-that-is-coming that will be the precipice for each of us.
i have already felt it. i fell over it on new year’s day. i realized that this thing that is coming now – in 2025 – this new administration’s cruelty and revenge, the emphasized attitudes disenfranchising people, the new way of being in this country, the gloating extremist, isolationist stance this country will take in this world – is already taking a toll. the precipice is real.
for the life of me i cannot understand wanting such things. i cannot understand turning my back on the rights and needs and experiences of my own family or friends. i cannot understand being a cheerleader for what’s coming. and, on new year’s day, it pushed me over the precipice and i spent the day grieving. for all the light i have tried to seek, for all the light i have tried to be, this thing-that-is-coming faster-than-fast pushed me under and into darkness.
it is real.
there will be fallout. fallout for people who know it’s coming, for people who bandwagoned and didn’t bother researching, for people who have family and friends against whom they voted. and that’s the part that made my heart hurtle over the cliff.
even though i knew it – and have known it for a couple months now – the fallout – part of which, of course, is silence – is painful beyond imagining.
knowing is hard.
i imagine i am not alone…one day at a time it all becomes more and more real…and so one day at a time there are others who are over-the-precipice-ing. it’s not going away and, as we are gleaning, it will only get worse and worse. and people voted for all of it. and i wonder – again and again – if it ever occurred to them to think about their own families or friends or community that might be drastically impacted by this new reality – the one they were choosing.
and so the fallout will gain momentum. not just the stuff that the new administration is going to set in place – the stuff that will marginalize more and more people, that will push people down – those already disenfranchised, those about-to-be disenfranchised. the fallout will lift up others – those with self-aggrandizing agenda, those with monster motives, those who perpetuate hatred, those who are clearly soul-less. and the fallout – well – it will snap the binding of relationships at their core, it will silence conversation, it will destroy friendships, it will undermine families.
because it’s real.
now – each time we are hurtled over the precipice – for it is likely that will be more than once – it will be our job to climb back up, to seek safe shelter and to heal from the pummeling of the precipice-fall. even a little bit. to keep going. to get to – what we hope will be – the other side of all this. to survive.
somewhere – in the infinite infinite – i suppose that my sweet momma and poppo might be with my big brother, nibbling on crumbcake and coffee ice cream. maybe they are having a chat about christmas eve norwegian fish pudding and rum cake. or maybe about burning your fingertips making krumkake. maybe they are reminiscing about singing carols in the living room – gathered around the organ or the piano, my brother with his guitar, my uncle with his beautiful tenor.
i suppose that the party might be bigger…with their baby daughter i never met, with my grandparents, with their siblings, with friends they treasured. they may pop open the martini & rossi asti or blend some eggnog, assuming there is electricity. maybe they are swinging on stars and peering through the clouds at us here; maybe they are missing us.
in the way that things are in this place right now, i am glad that my sweetest mom and dad are not physical witnesses to what is happening, for their hearts would be broken by the ugliness of these times. i am grateful – in an odd way – that they do not have to experience what will be in the next for this country, for our world. even with everything they saw and endured in their lives – which is plenty considering they were born in 1921 and 1920 – i know that what’s happening and what’s coming would challenge and disappoint their beliefs and values to the core.
and so, in the meanwhile – between now and the infinite infinite – i will miss them. the axis has never returned to balance since they’ve been gone and this time of year brings that home even more.
i do believe, though, that if my momma – ever the letterwriter – could write in the sky – out there by the moon – she would. she’d likely draw words with the help of clouds and contrails. and she’d spell out something like, “daddy says ‘hello brat!‘” and “don’t forget to live life, my sweet potato!”.
when i look up – or inside – i can hear them both.
i told him the other day I wasn’t sure if i had anything left to say. in the lostness following this horrific election, i still feel all the things i have already written about – truly gutted.
i would imagine that there are many of ‘me’ out there. heart-broken, infuriated, exhausted, confused, feeling betrayed.
and in that wanderland of grief sit the questions of “what is real?” and “who is real?”. they nag at me – wherever i am. we escaped to the trail and they followed me – sitting heavy on my heart, ponderous.
real (adjective): 1. actually existing as a thing or occurring in fact: not imagined or supposed.2. (of a substance or thing) not imitation or artificial; genuine.
and
real: behaving or presented in a way that feels true, honest, or familiar and without pretension or affectation.
and so i look at life now and think about what is real and who is real.
the “real” i knew would have stood by me, by my family, by values i assumed we shared, by the lifting up of humanity.
the “real” i knew would have been morally aghast by the cruel, devastating intentions of the new maga-regime.
the “real” i knew would have pushed back against all of it – leading with goodness and kindness.
but i guess the “real” you wanted me – and everyone else – to see wasn’t really real. and i will now admit, you fooled me.
i suppose – like many others will – that i could pretend it doesn’t matter. i could act like it doesn’t matter. i could interact like it doesn’t matter. i could just go on as if it doesn’t matter. but it does. it matters. it’s real.
mary oliver wrote, “you can fool a lot of yourself, but you can’t fool the soul.”
so even as i fight the internal fight – trying – irrationally – to hold onto what or who is really not real – my soul knows.
and, like many of you trying to process this soul-knowing, i am deeply sad.
there has been little air in me these last days. like many of you – but clearly, not all of you – i feel gutted.
i, too, watched as this nation elected what it elected. and, like you, we all know what that means, voting in cruelty, burying compassion, damning moving forward and any what-could-have-been’s.
someone dear to me texted me on election day, writing: “and the thing is, people will never not know who they [others] voted for and supported.”
exactly. we cannot un-know what you voted for.
as I quoted yesterday, you are who you elect. (michael ramirez – the washington post)
i woke up yesterday, my eyes still swollen – like yours – feeling strangled by the results of this election. it was as if color had escaped, as if texture had been jackhammered away, as if air was only to be found in shallow hyperventilated gulps. my children, i kept thinking, pondering their future, my daughter, my son.
there is much to do. and I don’t even know what that means right now.
we took a walk in the woods.
there was the simplicity of our footsteps – one foot in front of another – step, step, step. boiling it down. movement.
it was quiet but for rustling squirrels, blissfully unaware of the election, merely gathering for the fallow that will soon befall the forest.
there was beauty. inevitably. and, for a bit of time on our hike – the time when we weren’t spilling our grief on the path – i got just the tiniest bit lost in it.
i fear that things, that living – for the rest of my life – will never be the same again. that the darkness – darkness which people we all know have chosen – will engulf everything.
so i know that there is much to do, despite the utter grief and despair i feel right now. there is much to do to bring back the light.
this morning i woke when the sun was just coming up. dogga jumped on the bed as soon as he knew we were the slightest bit awake. we were quiet as the light began to stream into our room. we sipped coffee.
we will clean the house. we will go take a hike. we will attempt to breathe. we will be aware of beauty. we will study it – its astonishingness – and i will try to figure out how to bring it to this aching world any way i can.
and all the air will circulate ’round – the wind of next days and next days – filling our tired lungs, drying our eyes, helping us take one step after another, so that we can do the much that needs to be done.
“you are who you elect.” (michael ramirez – the washington post )
dismay doesn’t begin to describe it. devastated doesn’t begin to describe it.
the betrayal of any goodness is rampant. over half of this country voted for it. whatever your flagship policy issue was – when you stepped up to that voting booth – it should have absolutely paled in comparison to the potential of the cruelty that is now coming, the cruelty you chose.
in your vote you have eliminated all options for meeting in the aisle, for affording change that would have addressed your concerns as well as mine. in your vote you have forever undermined the constitution of this country, undermined democracy, paving the way for authoritarianism, people gleeful to have absolute power and control. in your vote you have done away with – trampled – the rights of women, of minorities, of the LGBTQ community. in your vote you have decimated healthcare, social security, medicare, education. in your vote you, who have descended from immigrants, gallingly voted to remigrate the country into whiteness, into extreme nationalism. in your vote you have opted to give your complicit nod to the alignment of this country with dictators and tyrants around the world. in your vote you have doomed any hope for our physical planet. in your vote you have thrust this country backwards.
but silly me. why would i spell out what your vote meant? you already knew. and you didn’t care.
i did not know your heart was quite this cold. i am horrified. i fear i no longer know you.
and it’s time again. two years have gone by since the last time. it was two years prior to that.
and now, another. another Y. the third one.
appropriately timed, i’d say.
it’s not common to come upon a branch that is a literal letter y. most of the time it’s a stretch. but this is pretty obvious – and it gets my attention.. again.
like those previous two times – mid 2020 and mid 2022 – there is just as much reason now for nature to be asking “why?”. truth of the matter is – there’s more.
sometimes, there just isn’t time for a long, belabored, ponderous “why?”
this is one of those times. there isn’t. the time for this country is running out. we are accelerating down the pike toward the november 5 election day and it feels like things are beginning to spiral out of control.
i am truly having a very hard time grokking the current political state of affairs of our country. every day now it feels like the fabric of our democracy is on the verge of shredding. in extremist-agenda-riddled moves, at best, the destruction will be a demolition of this republic, at worst, it will be a hellish bend to authoritarianism. and the words of the declaration of independence “we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” will cease to exist for all men and women. full stop. period. what is the united states if not united? what is this democracy if not a democracy?
baffling me beyond reasonable comprehension, it’s being facilitated by people whose evil intent seems obvious and it’s supported by those who are not asking “why?” it’s downright frightening to watch others rabidly embrace any and every single thing that will ultimately destroy this nation as we know it.
now, don’t get me wrong. i’d love to write about something lighthearted, something trivial, something that doesn’t feel like the weight of the world is hanging in balance.
but it is.
and – before november 5th, i hope you ask yourself “why?” for who? for what? why?
the magic wand – infused by the sun – stood tall in the reeds. if only i could pluck it out and take it with, still full of its magic, still glowing, i thought.
it was a brilliant day. the sky blue-blue, the air crisp, the trail ready for us, quiet, winding. we pass by marshes and bogs and woods – the hoofprints of deer preceding us, crossing the way from safe-place to water source.
and then the magic wand glimmered and reached out, tapping me on the head, bestowing glimmer magic, begging the question: and what will you do with this?
i carried the glimmer as we hiked. it was quite like carrying a toddler – full of energy and zeal, ready to get down out of my arms and run, run, run. the glimmer knew that it had work to do and there is no time to spare. for the power to light dark places is not to be underestimated, the ability to drop a spark into ash is not to be underplayed. the glimmer was anxious and excited, both.
and yet, the magic wand knows this: that relighting the dark and touching the grief of flame doused by others, the pain of trauma caused by others is not easy. dark cannot be readily relit if there are only shadows and no room for light. grief cannot be easily eased if there is no corner of the heart untouched by it. pain cannot be addressed without balm to the wound.
the glimmerwand was trembling at the end of the trail, still held in my arms. i wanted to hold onto it, to believe it would be that simple.
but the wand knew better. like the extended finger of ET the extra-terrestrial, it touched the center of my chest, through down vest and thick thermal and baselayer shirt, directly to my heart.
and it told me it would always be there – this light from the sun. it would wait and wait. and it would be with me – with me – diffusing fear, enlivening exhaustion. and i could reach down and touch it any time, this glimmer, and it would warm me up from inside out.
i would be lying if i told you i didn’t cry at the string shop.
i did cry. i’m crying now.
i am a professional pianist. a composer. proudly a yamaha artist with an intensely beautiful C5 in my studio and fifteen albums plus of vulnerability out in the world. i play the guitar and the ukulele. i dabbled on the trumpet in college for five minutes or so. but, oh…the cello.
the moment i touched my cello i had a bond with it. and, holding the idea close of learning to play mournfully heart-draining melody lines, i purchased it. because artists dream, i played.
but reality is reality.
and now – with 45° of wrist forward range of motion – my cello needed a new home. it’s just a fact.
i held onto it long after i knew this. it’s hard to let go a dream. and i’ve never before sold a beloved instrument.
yet, cellos – like all instruments – need to be loved on: played, listened to, tweaked, played more. a paesold, german-made, warm and resonant in tone, it begged to come out of the corner of my studio. though i tried to ignore it, it is like ignoring the stare of an australian shepherd who clearly wants you to do something (and we have experience with this). so my cello kept staring at me and staring at me. even without entering my studio – for i have not spent much time in there in these most recent years – i could feel the stare of the cello through the wall.
until finally.
i know this cello is valuable. yet, the string shop i sold it to – for much less than its value – was full of string music and luthiers working, a performance space and a full marching line of cellos on the wall. it will not be lonely as it waits to be re-homed.
the shopowner knew how hard it was for me to sell this cello, to leave it behind, to leave at all.
i touched its maple and spruce, exquisitely varnished. i spoke to my cello. and i blew it a kiss as we left, entirely and utterly choked-up.
and i wondered how my cello-dream might morph into something else.
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my sweet poppo died three years before my sweet momma. when she died, the tilt that my world had already felt dove down into a deeper angle, the axis of the earth struggling to keep it in balance. the loss of both parents is profound, no matter your age.
it had been years since i had heard or seen a blue jay. they were common where i grew up, the screeches of jays in the woods or the trees surrounding our home. they have husky voices, always a little bit raspy. but they make me think of home.
i still remember the first day i saw one – after. it’s a few years ago now.
we were hiking on one of our favorite trails and suddenly i could hear them. they flew across the path and i stood still, reveling in the moment, taking it in. since that day, there have been more sightings and i have heard their birdcalls, even out our bedroom window from time to time.
since they are a common bird in wisconsin, i wonder how it is i missed them.
and i realize that sometimes the way home – the sound of a blue jay – is something we just don’t pay attention to, something that falls down on the list of priorities. until one day.
the day comes that all the really important stuff comes into focus. and we realize that we have – maybe – taken for granted the stuff that really is a part of who we are. we slough off paying attention to those things, those places, those people because we believe that there is plenty of time – later. or perhaps there are reasons we cannot grant grace to those things, those places, those people and we somewhat haughtily, in some selfish kind of righteous amnesia of our own actions, put them to the side, the corners of our hearts. or maybe we are just too busy and we have gotten lost, overwhelmed in our very real and partly contrived busy-ness.
any way you look at it, i am surprised i didn’t see the blue jays. until after.
now i hear them, see them, find their feathers in the usualness of our days. each time it is like a tiny nod to home, to all the moments of goodness, to the realness of unconditional love in the midst of the ridiculous hardness of life.
