there is something infinitely reassuring when a pair of mourning doves chooses your yard. these two sweet doves spend lots of time either in our yard or peripheral to it – in the trees, on the wires, on the neighbor’s roof overlooking our backyard – all directly related to whether dogga is in or out.
it’s not just because they are symbolic of peace, love, hope. it’s not just because they are representative of new beginnings and emotional healing and moving forward or are thought to be messengers from the next dimension. their gentle nature, their cooing, their life-long dedication to each other – all suggest comfort. seeing their sweet pudgy selves sitting together on our patio or brick pavers, on rocks lining the pond, or even gazing into the yard from high wires above – all slow my heart down, ease that quivering vibration present in my chest.
i’m hoping that this particular pair is steadfast – that they don’t let dogga’s barking or antics frighten or dissuade them from staying here. i’m hoping that they continue to make our home their home.
in these times it occurs to me that we need to take our cues for solace and serenity wherever we can find them. we need to look to the ever-presence of nature, through its own challenges with thick and thin. we need to welcome the signs and nods of assurance and consolation to which we may not have been paying attention, to acquiesce to the solid news that seasons change – regardless of what we do – there is a natural order, there is harmony.
those little mourning doves have a lot on their tiny shoulders.
it was not warm. at all. though the sun was out, the wind was off the lake and it was a bit brutal.
we huddled in a small cluster in and amongst a lot of other people, all gathered together to rise above the chaos that is this country.
our presence counted. we were merely two in the eight million or more who came out to the protests on saturday. with our little posse we were six.
and here is what i know.
i know that our energy – our very presence at this event – was part of an energy that strove to overcome the inertia of shock and utter dismay of the populace of this nation. our energy – our very presence at this event – is a statement of pushback that echoes across this land. our energy – our very presence at this event – is part and parcel of the responsibility as a citizen of this republic, of the protection of its democracy, of holding truth to power.
what will happen now will ride on the compounded energy of these efforts. what will happen now will be aided by the acknowledgement that we are part of an aggregate aghast at the illegality of this administration. what will happen now will spread in concentric circles and multiply like cells birthing new life – this time to an aggrieved nation. what will happen now will happen because of hope and dedication, fortitude and the steadying words of the united states constitution and its amendments. what will happen now will be a continuing consolidation of pushback against authoritarianism.
but it’s not the endgame. it is merely the energy of movement, of activism, a path into resistance.
it’s a lot to take in, we agreed, as we held vigil later that day, watching – on tv and social media – the protests across the country. it’s a lot of change to hope for, we worried, as we talked about how fast the latest destruction had happened. it’s exhausting and invigorating – both – we sighed from under a throw as we watched.
but the thing we were glad for?
that on a blustery blue-sky day we walked to the protest and were present in the midst of everyone else there.
she said it so often i wanted it to become a part of my own everyday vocabulary. borrowing from the french, “vis-à-vis” means in relation to or compared with or refers to a counterpart.
finding hearts – everywhere – merely stepping into the hall – a tiny tissue heart – and a quiet reminder: love one another. it prompts me to think of my relationship vis-à-vis the world. do i lead with love?
by the time you are reading this, the third no-kings protest rally will have taken place over the weekend. we will all publicly acknowledge our tolerance or intolerance of this administration’s regime-like policies and cruelties. we will publicly show our feelings about the current state of our country. we will push back on corruption, on explicit authoritarian advances, on extremism, on downright mean-spiritedness. we will stand for goodness and the republic this nation was meant to be.
my vis-à-vis and i will express ourselves vis-à-vis this country and its subverted stance vis-à-vis democracy.
these aren’t my favorite. i don’t regularly wear my favorite jeans, wanting to keep them “for good”.
but this pair is the runner-up. pretty distressed, these ripped jeans aren’t just a bit frayed. they are downright holey.
ai says that “ripped jeans are best for people with slim or skinny body types”. goodness gracious! i mean, who asked you? i would venture to say that if one wants to wear ripped jeans, one should just wear ripped jeans – without a pretty-little-head thought to whether ai thinks it’s appropriate or not.
i’ve been wearing these for years. decades, actually. some of the time it has been by accident. my jeans just got old and worn. some of the time it has been by design. i’ll never forget – and always cherish – the days at abercrombie with my then-teenage daughter, ferreting out the best ripped jeans on the sale rack.
i have worn ripped jeans to unimportant events and important events, to beautiful places and grocery stores. i have worn ripped jeans on high mountain tops, in midwest meadows, in paris, in the canyonlands. i have worn ripped jeans in recording studios and i wore ripped jeans at my wedding. i have performed on the smallest and biggest of stages wearing ripped jeans.
so, here we are, on my 67th birthday and it is likely i will be wearing my fave ripped jeans to go and do whatever it is we will go and do – unless it is hiking – because, as you know, i have to save my fave jeans “for good”. some other destructed denim will have to do.
there have been moments when i have looked in the mirror and pondered my jeans. (and yes, also, my genes, particularly as they are aging.)
i’ve wondered if mid-sixties was ‘getting there’ – there being a place where ripped, distressed, fraying, holey jeans might be better retired.
and – after some wondering, some pondering and a little bit of googling with downright obnoxious results – like this video narrated by a twenty-something guy – guy! – informing me that “women after 40 should not emphasize imperfections” – i have decided.
just like the amish leave a slipped stitch here and there in their quilts – to allow spirit in – and maybe for the same reason – i will continue to subscribe to the jeans i love to wear. perfection doesn’t exist and each quilt is an expression of beauty-in-that-moment, of artistry, of someone’s very soul, of the chutzpah of spirit. ditto my jeans.
so…if you don’t like my ripped jeans, don’t look at them. they are me and i’m just out here trying to emphasize my imperfections – especially now.
the seedheads stay present all winter. thimbleweed is ready. eventually the wind will carry it, dispensing it, seeding new growth, spreading it far and wide. the wooly tufts are evidence of nature taking care of nature.
the concentric circles are all around us. in reminders we get every single day, we are prompted to remember that even the tiniest of our actions will impact the next and then the next and then the next and then…
it is what makes me feel so utterly disheartened with what is happening here and now. it is not just the cruel actions of others that ripple out. it is also the mindbogglingly complicit inaction.
once again – and over and over – i see the absolute transience of this moment. once again – and over and over – i see the silky filament that exists between am and am not. once again – and over and over – i try to take in – to make part of my being – the presence of mind to be present, the ability to be stopped in my tracks, a nod to wondrous, utter gratitude for breathing.
to be amazed by the tufts of thimbleweed, to carry a sunrise or sunset, to drink the sun into our bodies, to hold one another.
and once again – and over and over – i wonder how it is that there are so many who would choose cruelty over kindness, who would choose corruption over goodness, who would choose marginalizing others over lifting others up.
how are we taking care of each other? what are we spreading in rippling concentric circles from our very center? how are we carrying, dispensing, seeding, spreading life – living – far and wide?
look to thimbleweed. its resilience, its anticipation. the seedheads seem to be ever-looking forward, planning for its survival, anticipating its continued beingness.
maybe – just maybe – nothing less than what humans should be doing.
the hawk didn’t move even as we rounded the bend in the trail. it stayed in the tree – watching – its clear vision taking in all that was below it, the lay of the land, so to speak. not swayed by anything other than what was true, it quietly watched, consciously aware.
it is what is striking about these times in our world. the amount of conscious avoidance – the ignoring of what is happening – the lack of question or research even in the face of the obvious – acting with eyes wide shut.
it is reprehensible that so many people deliberately ignore all of which is destroying this country, closing their eyes, not taking any responsibility for their inaction and for their complicity, their lack of seeking to learn the facts, their willful blindness.
it takes my breath away to know that people i know and love are consciously avoiding the truth and, thus, supporting the immense chaos that is now this country…even though every – suspicious or otherwise – single thing that has happened or is happening would confirm the existence of that very chaos.
we went around the bend and stopped. we looked back at the hawk and i took a few photographs, wishing i had a stronger telephoto lens.
and then the hawk – which had remained relatively motionless as we approached and stood underneath the tree in which it was perched – took off.
flying over the meadow and marsh below it, it was clear to us that it had set its sights on something, its focus zeroed in as it flew.
the hawk landed on a branch across the marsh from us. still laser-focused on its prey and the ground below, it had the tenacity that comes from clarity of vision.
with wisdom and power, this hawk had an instinctual plan based on being aware.
how is it that there are a plethora of people in this country who fail to function even at the level of a bird?
there is nothing like fierce winds, torrential sleet, and a blizzard to get your adrenaline going. it’s been a minute since a bit of quiet.
so monday morning – as we gratefully sat under our comforters and quilt and sipped coffee – the sound of red-winged blackbirds in our pine tree was like a symphony – significantly even more moving, at this moment, than listening to the ode to joy finale of beethoven’s 9th symphony.
we were in the aftermath.
even with the bits of destruction we experienced and unexpected – but necessary – expensive repairs – some already made and some on the ever-present maintenance docket – we felt the change and we rested in the sound of birds who had essentially disappeared during the chaotic weather.
the sun came out, we saw a bit of blue sky.
we took a breath.
there will be other storms.
some will be weather, some will be personal challenges, some will be directly connected to the state of this country.
and for any of it – for all of it – we need to gear up.
so – for right now – the sun, calm winds, melting snow, a few comforters and a quilt, coffee and the birds of our backyard will all help. they stoke up the fortitude, endurance and resilience we all have and we all draw on, the fragile crossing from destruction to recovery.
there was little light. without power we had tealights and candles scattered about the house. a small ikea lantern my poppo gave me years ago lit the way to the bathroom. and i put fresh batteries in a few small flashlights. both of us – and our dogga – have had plenty of time in our old house that we can find our way around in the dark, so bright light wasn’t an imperative. heat – yes. bright light – not so much.
the far-reaching effects of the lack of power are striking. we were at a standstill in some dramatic ways. no power. no heat. no stove or oven. no internet. no home phone. no cable. no inside phone charging. a lot of waiting and not a lot of doing. pacing.
we sat at our little bistro table – with this candle – and talked. we spoke about people overcome by the ravages of war, people in crumbled cities destroyed by hatred, people trying to live in rubble in the dark, in the cold, in sickness, in hunger. we were silent as we both became overwhelmed. quite certain that we had more in this cut glass candle, we were downright appreciative for the promise of our power being restored at some point, even if that timeline didn’t fit our preferred plan.
we watched the shadows play off the wall and dance on the ceiling. i took photographs. we put a frozen baguette on the grill to thaw and heat up. we cut up cheese from the fridge, prepared a small charcuterie in a hobnail server. we made lemonade. it’s easier to make lemonade when you know that all will be well again.
i would imagine it’s nearly impossible to make lemonade when nothing will be well again. that kind of spirit, that kind of chutzpah, that kind of fortitude is hard to muster in desperate situations. we – once again – felt humbled by the destruction felt around the world, our own immediate problem less than a mere blip in comparison.
there are many lessons learned from perspective. much humility learned from knowledge. a realization of interconnectedness – we-are-all-brothers-and-sisters – learned from even the smallest degree of empathy. and the stunning acknowledgement that fighting, the subjugation of people all over the world, cruelty beyond compare continues on and on and on as we burn our candle.
it was early when we tucked in under an extra comforter. snowflake flannel sheets, two comforters and a handmade quilt – even with mighty cold house temperatures – were cozy and we fell asleep, exhausted and knowing the next day would bring both the hope of reconnected power and the beginning of the blizzard.
post-nightfall, standing in the living room – bathed in light – we looked at each other not sure what to do next.
instead of taking a shopping bag with us when we shopped, she did the opposite. it seemed to work – we’d find the things we were looking for when we did not have the shopping bag.
instead of taking an umbrella for the impending rain, she’d take an umbrella to quell the rain. that also worked much of the time.
it was sort of like the opposite of preparedness. manifesting what she wished for, staving off the rain, inviting the bargains – all seemingly achieved by opposite actions. even though my sweet momma was a staunch girl scout supporter and volunteer – with the motto “be prepared” – she also exercised her own juju as she went about life.
though i laugh when i think about it – and have told d about these itsy-bitsy quirks of my mom (unlike me – with no quirks at all – teehee) – i tend to take the polar opposite action. i put the umbrella in my backpack. i take the fold-up shopping bag. i put snacks in my purse. i tuck duct tape and tools, extra oil and blankets into our old vehicles. and i bring the phone charger when we leave home for any destination, event or activity over an hour away.
so when we saw the weather report that issued wind warnings – which we and our new electric mast can now certainly attest to – we brought in the windchimes. they are really beautiful and their soulful, resonant sound is of reassurance to us from the backyard, so we did not want them harmed by the coming winds. we often take off the clapper if the weather is too gusty, but this time d brought the whole kit-n-kaboodle inside. we both felt better seeing them safely on the rug in the sunroom. just a small action, but a nod to being prepared for what was on its way, to protecting their value to us.
it’s hard – extremely hard – not to take these little lessons we have all learned along the way and apply them to the present-day in our country. it feels like utter chaos, with no real preparation, no real plan, nothing but self-serving agenda reeling around and running the show. it is utterly exhausting.
we are in the very tiny lull in the middle of the blizzard that started last evening. radar shows that we are in this small white blob in the middle of a gigantic blue blizzard field. soon the snow and the winds will start howling again; it is to go on for several more hours. the gusty sleet pummeled the windows last night as i worried about trees and power lines and electric poles and new electric masts. we take a deep breath, getting ready for the rest.
it temporarily took my mind off of war and mass deportation, healthcare and social safety net programs and exponentially rising costs, extremism and voter disenfranchisement, a justice system and leadership sycophants hiding blatant sex-trafficking, abject cruelty and an absolute lack of regard for fellow humans complete with disdain for any social differentiation.
i don’t know what that all says about preparedness. it certainly raises some outraged emotions. i do feel like “they” have been preparing for years – stoking up hatred and bigotry to the gills – conniving and in cahoots with the richest – and clearly most cavalier – people in the world – with the dedication and commitment to take over everything. they have prepared. and they have not prepared. they have plans and they shoot from the hip. they are the wind blasts and they are surprised by the pushback and the guards against the battering wind.
the wind last night kept me awake. because i know what can happen. and i want to protect us from all that harm.
why is it that so many in this country’s leadership seem to care so little about how battered this country is becoming? where are the checks and balances on this administration? how is complicity so rampant? how is it that there are so many citizens who seem to care less about being in the middle of this storm – the unbelievable corruption, the outrageous grift, the isolation, taunting the rest of the world, the clear attempt of authoritarian takeover? is there no natural tendency within them to protect the country – our cherished country – from all that harm?
what is the value of this country, its democracy, its people, and its laws to all of us?
i glance over at the treasured pipes on the rug. knowing that soon we’ll hang them back in the tree and the chimes will once again float in the air, i’m grateful we took precautions to keep them from being destroyed.
it was even before the windstorm. before the tree fell in a yard behind us. before the tree – landing on the wires – snapped the utility pole. before the utility pole put intense tension on our electrical wires. before that tension severely bent our electric mast. before our quadrant in the neighborhood lost all power for two days. before the house was aching-joint-cold inside. before the angst of the last-minute – very pricey – ultimatum of having to have a new mast installed – on a weekend – before we could get power restored to our home. before.
because there was plenty before all that that required comfort.
and it was most definitely a pasta day.
had we had power, each of those next days were also pasta days.
it was dang cold in the house. everything slowed to a standstill. no power, no heat, no internet, not a lot to do but watch out the window and wait for any sign that the power company was coming.
our friends and neighbors – we all kept in touch. they rallied around us with offers of help, our turn for the concern of those who care about us.
when the power company did arrive and we saw them out back, it began to raise our spirits. we knew they had a lot to do – the downed tree, wires all enmeshed in bushes and tree branches, a snapped pole in a difficult-to-get-to place, placing a new pole, restringing wires. a ‘hood without power. our comfort lay in their hands.
and these guys – in windy conditions and cold temperatures – and eventually – snow – were out there, diligently getting it done.
at the last minute we were told they couldn’t safely connect us without a new electric mast. 4pm on a saturday.
in high gear, we feverishly placed calls and texts to electricians and our friends and electricians of our friends. we knew it might not be easy to get someone – with a mast in their back pocket – to swing by and install it – at that very moment.
the young electrician who’d done work for us before came through. and it was no small comfort we felt knowing that he and his colleague were out there installing our shiny new electric mast. in texts our friends cheered them on.
the power guys were finishing up when our guys were juuuust about done. knowing the weather that was due to arrive the next day – a blizzard and, subsequently, negative windchills – they worked together to make sure we got connected – the only house with a damaged mast in this particular wind-tree-wires-pole-wires-mast fiasco. comfort.
i walked back into the house – with all the layers on that i had worn for the entire day – and the lights were on. i could hear the boiler as it worked to start warming up the radiators, which had a long way to go from in-house temperatures in the 40s.
d and i stood in the living room, staring at each other, tired from the worry and the cold.
we both spoke generous words of appreciation for the workers who had restored power – that basic of which we all take for granted. we both spoke generous words of appreciation for the electricians who dropped everything and accommodated our need. we both spoke generous words of appreciation for those people who had reached out to virtually keep us company. we both spoke generous words of appreciation for keeping relatively calm in what had become increasingly angst-ridden.
reverse threading 