we planned on being home to write this post. but littlebabyscion had different plans. so we are up-north and biding time to leave and journey home – a little later than we expected – so that we may be reassured by our friends’ presence following on the road behind us. we feel fortunate to have this support system. in the way i personify littlebabyscion, i’m guessing littlebabyscion feels slightly less stressed, a little less pressure knowing we won’t be alone. and we feel a little less stressed, a little less pressure with the gift of needed extra time from our 20, watching our home and our beloved dogga.
last night was the beginning of the democratic national convention in chicago. we all gathered in the cabin to watch it on tv together. the energy was palpable, the hope surging. we passed the tissue box around…each of us having emotional moments during the first night speeches.
freedom. democracy.
we’re not going back.
for the people.
USA.
together.
it’s the same messages as having your friends follow behind you as you limp home. only it’s on a national level. your brother’s/sister’s keeper…for one another…working together…
there is not anything i can imagine that would be better than an entire nation of people caring for one another, working together, solicitous, generous, kind.
i would hope that each person – responsible for their own vote – their own “prayer for the world we desire for ourselves and for our children” (sen. raphael warnock) would immerse themselves in real information, in the real character and integrity of what they wish for the future.
our lives are finite. we get this one go-around. to be surrounded by family and friends, a community, a country of people who care about the quality of that life, who lift each other up, who lead with kindness would seem to be infinitely more desirable than to be dragged down in ugly negativity, in a country divided, in a place where freedom-for-all has been decimated.
my prayer – as you are considering your vote – is to consider all the people.
do you want to be buoyed, to be held and cared about in this one life by a support system – people you know and people you don’t know – and to buoy others, to care and share with those whohave less, to live in a nation that values each and every person?
if littlebabyscion – this tiny vehicle which has safely carried me 276,000 miles – this little xb that will require us to stop every hour or less on the many-hours drive home to add coolant – this gigantic piece in my own story – could vote? i would bet it would vote for together.
because, really, everything takes a village. even getting home.
i had never been in a butterfly house before. the chicago botanic garden has such an exhibit right now and we saved it until last – after all the beautiful gardens and fresh air had zenned us out. if it is possible to sink further into zen than being enfolded in gloriously intentional blooming, this butterfly garden is it.
it isn’t a huge screen enclosure – and they allow limited people in at a time – but it is complete immersion in the magical. enchanting. for two artists who draw inspiration from the outdoors and its gorgeousness, we felt like we could have stayed there for hours.
butterflies were literally everywhere…on the plants, on the screen, on the path and – most delightfully – on us. the first moment a butterfly landed on us felt like you had been chosen for something uniquely special – this fragile creature with wings of scales and chitin (a fibrous protein) supported by a system of veins. nature, indeed. how is this kind of iridescence even possible?
only one other time – that i can remember – did a butterfly land on me. it was shortly after my big brother died and, as this butterfly flitted around me out front in an adirondack chair, i was convinced he was sending me a message. until it landed on me and hung out. then i was sure it was my brother, having converted his life energy temporarily into that of a butterfly. i was astounded and ever so grateful.
this time i was just in complete awe. i felt chosen as a few butterflies lighted on my hands or my arms, one at a time. i spoke quietly to each of them, thanking them for this incredible moment in time…a moment when i was reminded that we are all – butterflies and people – on this good earth together. we are all doing life the very best we can. we are all capable of gorgeous and of making another feel singled out and exceptional.
butterflies in this sanctuary just have to fly around and then land, their visit a thing of softness…a mica moment.
we – as people – can also lift someone, transport them into nirvana … in so many ways. we need remember that. our goodness is not winged, but – with our loving encouragement – others may fly. it’s all pure magic.
stripe, the caterpillar, after eating many leaves and crawling many crawls, was driven to climb a pillar of caterpillars he could see that stretched way, way high up into the clouds. it seemed an imperative – the thing every other caterpillar was doing. without question, he began to climb, stepping on other caterpillars in his zeal to get to the top of the pillar. he couldn’t see what was up there and he did not know where they were all going. he begins to wonder aloud. yellow, another caterpillar close by, agrees that she was also wondering, but that “no one else seems to worry about where we’re going so it must be good.” stripe needs to keep going and so he steps on yellow who is in his way in the caterpillar pillar, stating, “well, i guess it’s you or me.” he then crawls off and apologizes to her.
stripe and yellow continue climbing the pillar. but stripe is feeling bad and wonders, “how can i step on someone i’ve just talked to?” together – realizing that the pillar made no sense – they decide to climb off the caterpillar pillar and make a peaceful life together crawling and nibbling grass.
after a bit of time, it seemed that crawling and nibbling grass and hugging each other in a caterpillar sort of way was not quite enough, that there was more to life. stripe felt the call of the pillar once again and, leaving a reluctant yellow behind, went back to climb high, high, high with all the other lonely climbing caterpillars that had no idea of what was at the top.
yellow, desolate without stripe, wandered away from their home. she came upon a caterpillar spinning a cocoon and it spoke to her, telling her it was doing what was necessary to become a beautiful butterfly. it told her that “without butterflies, the world would soon have few flowers.”
yellow could not believe that there was a butterfly inside of her, but the cocoon explained to her that she had to wish to fly with beautiful wings so much she need give up being a caterpillar. it explained that “life is changed, not taken away.” it explained that a cocoon is “an in-between house where the change takes place” and though “it will seem to anyone who might peek that nothing is happening…the butterfly is already becoming. it just takes time.”
and then it tells yellow that “once you are a butterfly, you can really love – the kind of love that makes new life.”
yellow chooses to spin a cocoon.
stripe – on the caterpillar pillar – determined to get to the top – watches the caterpillars squished at the top falling off to their deaths far below. he is ruthless, with the words “don’t blame me if you don’t succeed! it’s a tough life” at his lips for any caterpillar on the pillar who would complain.nearing the top he felt the pressure of the other caterpillars jammed in around him.
one day a beautiful yellow butterfly with eyes filled of love flew near him. “looking into the creature’s eyes he could hardly bear the love he saw there. he wanted to change, to make up for all the time he had refused to look at the other…the others stared at him as though he were mad.” and stripe realized that to get to the top he needed to fly, not climb, delighted to believe this possibility – that there was a butterfly inside of him.
stripe began to carefully descend the caterpillar pillar, looking each caterpillar in the eyes and whispering, “i’ve been up; there’s nothing there.” other caterpillars were shocked, refusing to listen, dedicated to blindly climbing. one asked, “don’t say it even if it’s true. what else can we do?” stripe answered, “we can fly! we can become butterflies! there’s nothing at the top and it doesn’t matter!”
the other caterpillars were not as convinced and it was a struggle to get down off the pillar. one “crawler sneered, ‘how could you swallow such a story? our life is earth and climbing. look at us worms! we couldn’t be butterflies inside. make the best of it and enjoy caterpillar living!”
stripe made his way to the bottom, exhausted, falling asleep.
and just as in every good story – yellow, the butterfly, flew to him and – with great love – helped him to spin his own cocoon and then waited. until one day stripe emerged as a beautiful butterfly, able to fly to the heavens and bring love to the flowers. 💛
the simple metal coneflower sculpture outside in the garden of the shop in the tiny town of stockholm on the river road invited me to walk to it. soldered slightly askew, it was the perfect flower for our ornamental grass garden right in the middle of our backyard, right next to the old bricks from the standing basketball hoop, right next to breck, our aspen tree. a permanent flower.
i could not help but think of this little book as i looked at this photograph. published in 1972, it is completely relevant in today’s world.
if you need a visual for kamala harris that is different than all the joy and positivity she is already offering our country, you might think of this story. she is a butterfly.
it is without a doubt the maga party is the caterpillar pillar, full of ruthless pillar climbers, of crushing pressure and no compassion, of nowhere to go, of no one asking questions, of no love.
it’s a clear choice, worthy of thoughtful consideration.
i choose the butterfly life, just like stripe and yellow.
breck is strong, its trunk is solid, it’s rooted and feels grounded as it grows not only taller, but seems to have more and more branches filled with more and more beautiful aspen leaves.
this is the year. breck is a tree.
in the last years of saplinghood, our tiny aspen has had more than its share of challenges. from its beginnings in a pot we carried from city market in breckenridge to its ability to withstand the seasons in a big clay pot on our deck to being planted in a dark corner feathery fern garden where it suffocatingly couldn’t fully see the sun to transplanting to a different garden out back, the curving of its trunk as the west winds buffeted its more fragile spirit, its fight to resiliently stand tall, its skinny jack-in-the-beanstalk growth last year, odd leafing and an infestation of aphids, ants and wasps. and now, there it is – right there, out back – proudly standing tall, loved through it all. rooted, grounded, healthy.
i would draw the parallel between me and breck and our last few years were it not to be that i’d like to linger more in now, look more toward next. the challenges have been plentiful, the sun minimal, the wind battering, the growth sporadic.
but i would also draw the parallel between me and breck – once you get some real roots under you, once you transplant out of the dark corner garden, once you feel the sun and can breathe in fresh air, once you fight to stay centered, once you steadfastly feel grounded in who you are, once you resiliently stand tall growing and leafing, loved through it all, you are far more likely to be a tree.
when she knew i was coming to visit, she’d be sure to make a big decanter of her iced tea and a whole bunch of her own salty deep-fried french fries. she’d put it all in the fridge to wait for me, because she knew i’d head for that yellow chex cup in the cabinet, pour the iced tea and pull the container of cold fries out to munch on. i was predictable. and she was ever-so-reassuring. to be known.
we arrived in minnesota for our mini-vacay and took a little tour of our cousins’ beautiful home. when we got to our bedroom, i laughed aloud. there on the dresser, in a basket, was a whole bunch of bananas. just waiting for the wide-awake-in-the-middle-of-the-night moment when nothing is better or helps more than a banana. to be known.
we were at the tapas bistro, laughing over amazing tapas and sangria, when our chef’s table paella showed up. my son turned to me – clearly remembering my allergic sensitivity to crabmeat – and asked, “think there’s crab in there?”. my heart swelled. to be known.
we have every opportunity under the sun to notice others, to pay attention, do little things, reassure them, to be sure they know what it feels like to be known. from the tiniest things to the biggest things – listening to stories, zeroing in on words they use, the tilt of their head, the inflection in their voice, the look on their face when they feel comforted, remembering important dates, their history, favorite things, their ongoing challenges – we can do the best we can, to walk alongside, keep others company, be reassuringly there, let them be known.
tyler waited on our table at ikes. he was a wonderful server, personable and attentive. before the evening was out, we knew his boyfriend lived out of state, that he was working on moving there, that it would put him further away from his family a state even further to the west, that they wanted to buy a house together. we encouraged him and listened to his stories, the four of us getting ready to adopt this lovely young man. even though his spirit seemed happy the whole time, it was clear that in his telling of his story, our questions and encouragement, he was lifted. he felt just a little bit known.
i stood on a chair and dug the suntea jug out of the top shelf of the pantry. i carefully counted out eight lipton teabags. my momma used seven, but this jug was bigger than her decanter. i pulled the tags and their tiny staples off and put the whole thing out back on the deck in the sun. hours later, we brought it in, added many slices of lemon and a lot of mint from the garden next to the daylilies.
we waited a day before trying it. my momma’s iced tea was brewed in a pot on the stove and she used realemon juice and some sugar, so i knew it wouldn’t taste exactly the same as hers. but having real iced tea was like having momma around.
we took out a couple bonne maman preserves jars we use as glassware and spouted some iced tea into them. clinking a toast, we tasted it – this homebrew that was refreshingly lemony and minty. i raised a glass to my momma and looked at david.
“now all we need are some cold french fries,” i said.
“i know,” he said.
and even though there were no fries, it felt the same.
this time is fraught. there is not a lot of love going around. visit social media and you’ll see some pretty horrifically mean stuff. it never fails to surprise me what some folks are saying. like, wow….really?
in some ways it feels as if THINKING has stopped and REACTING has stepped in full force. under the guise of political prowess, it appears anything goes, yet, i wonder how many people are really stopping to think about the if-this-then-that of their staunch stances. dire ramifications are being ignored in deference to bandwagon chaotic rhetoric, mean-spirited pokes, two-sided mouth-talkers, atrocious meannesses. unimaginable backsliding cruelty fait-accompli project 2025/agenda 47 lays in wait, smugly enjoying the poverty of scutiny, the lack of reasoning. it’s sort of like everyone needs to go to time-out and THINK. critical thought is consequential. it is imperative. this IS an inflection point.
because – truly – this democracy is on the line. it is no longer ambiguous. it is no longer questionable. it is non-negotiable. it’s time to decide – where do we go from here? what do we really want for those who come behind us? what kind of country will this be? what kind of people will we be? who are we? who are you?
so, not too long ago, we took our penzey’s flag and hung it up on a spare old door we have sitting in the garden against the garage out in the backyard.
because “choose love” deserves to be flying (or, in this case, at least hanging.)
a reminder in a time – it appears – we all need reminders: are you choosing love? really?
if you need another reminder, watch lady gaga singing at baku 2015 european games opening ceremony. and imagine. imagine that here.
choose love. always.
*****
*thank you to bill penzey who steadfastly and bravely supports choosing love at all times.
it was one of those and-the-light-goes-on moments.
i was just scrollin’ along on social media and came across a meme that said this:
“if someone treats you badly, just remember that there is something wrong with them, not you. normal people don’t go around destroying other human beings.”
amazing where you find illumination.
and, battling back my own fuzzy remnants of hurt, i could see it. through the cluster of experiences, the middle of confusion, the unanswered questions, the mind-boggling chaos, i could see it.
and – like you – in any circumstance wherein you found yourself equally as astounded at the behavior of another person or other persons – i could see the rational logic in this simple statement.
we are all capable – and guilty – of hurting others at some point. we would not be human were we to be above this.
but the other-level-ness, unequivocally deliberate poor treatment – is another story. and those among us who have been privy to this sort of thing need remember this meme.
because – in plain language – normal people are not super mean like that. normal people are not agenda-driven like that. normal people are not pushing others under water. normal people don’t lie to substantiate their actions.
normal people choose kindness. normal people appreciate each other. normal people consider what is best for all, recognizing our interdependency. normal people lift each other up. normal people hold each other up. normal people are honest and transparent.
sometimes smack-dab is based on something we saw or heard. sometimes smack-dab is completely made-up. and sometimes smack-dab is autobiographical. this time – this cartoon – is most definitely that – from the first person.
i do lay awake – wide awake – at night thinking about this election. i spend hours thinking…thinking about the issues at hand, thinking about what is at risk, thinking about what the fallout could be, thinking about what others are thinking. particularly people i love and care about.
it worries me that there is bandwagon-energy-infused-reactionary-anger that is blocking the good and rational, critical-thinking hearts of voters ensconced in maga-world.
it alarms me that the screaming-fired-up propaganda thwarts people’s true consideration of reality, of how their votes would affect those they purport to care about, of how this country would change from by-the-people-for-the-people to under-the-thumb-of-autocracy – the very fascism my sweet poppo, 20’s dad, my brother-in-law, david’s nephew, dear friends fought and fight against.
it disappoints me to the core for my daughter’s future to think that the diminished rights of women my sweet momma endured – and which she gratefully watched as that ever-so-slowly changed – would once again fall under a patriarchal iron fist.
it devastates me that there are people – who i clearly know – for a maga vote is a vote against LGBTQIA rights – who will vote against the possibility of my son’s right to marry, his right to possibly adopt a child some day if he would wish to.
it confounds me that the same people who are on medicare and receive social security, or whose children go to public schools, or who subscribe to healthcare via the affordable care act or medicaid, would want to change these social programs in any way that negatively affects their benefits or those who follow them.
it confuses me that people would vote for the further pushing-under-water of the middle class and for exponential growth for the wealthy, when most people in this country are just getting by and making the chasm between classes even wider would elicit even more emotional division and even less potential, fewer possibilities.
it disgusts me that people would wish for the tiny children of our country to look up to this person they will vote for who has so little integrity, who is a puppet to the biggest of big money, who is down-right mean-spirited in every arena, who is a narcissistic criminal, who is apparently soul-less. i can’t fathom telling my three-year-old, my eight-year-old, my twelve-year-old, my teenager, “this – THIS – is the best man to be our president.” i can’t wrap my head around gifting my children, my grandchildren, my great-children or this democracy with THAT as a legacy.
so i lay awake at night. wide awake. i think about what people are thinking about. i wonder what they care about, who they care about. i worry if it’s just too late to hope that they are thinking or caring.
the fireworks were exploding everywhere. all over the neighborhood. up-close-and-personal in the yard riiiight behind us. down the street. around the corner. e-ver-y-where.
but we survived.
dogga is frightened by fireworks. and it is unfortunate that the fourth of july is his birthday, which makes it seem unusually wrong for him to be frightened.
we made absolutely no plans. we knew we needed to be there for him. we turned on the noisy window air conditioner in the dining room and tried to help him settle in. but they were ridiculously loud – particularly from neighbors who – each year – set them off right behind our backyard.
so we brought him into the kitchen with us, closed all the gates and pulled out the rummikub game.
and somehow – miraculously – that did the trick. he settled down – no longer in charge – and, even though we could still hear them pow-pow-powing all around us, he went to sleep. i can’t tell you how relieved we were that he was relaxed.
just like his first impulse is to protect us, so is ours to protect him.
we love our dogga. but i guess you already know that.
“do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.”(my sweet momma, but originally, john wesley)
my sweet momma would have loved his friends. like i mentioned in blogs last week, they – and strangers – surrounded us at PRIDE with hugs and conversation, bottles of water and gatorade. they laughed and danced and applauded and volleyed the beach ball. solicitous, they paid attention to those around them, even us. they made us feel like it mattered to them that we were there. it was fitting that one of our son’s friends wore this hat. doing good – being kind – choosing kindness without hesitation – seemed the theme.
it is surprising – with all the touting of goodness that is preached in various places on our globe, the pontificating about generosity that permeates, the statements of mission written and proclaimed in mighty boardrooms – that it is in the simplest of places that you find goodness. it is in the humblest of people you find generosity. it is in the groups – marginalized and demeaned – you find mission. it is sometimes just absolutely missing in those other places – the places where you would expect all of that. irony is alive and well. or would that be hypocrisy?
they weren’t tryyying to do good. they just were.
it takes just seconds to decide how to respond to someone else’s question, comment, action, behavior. in that moment – just before responding – i would hope – if at all possible – to choose to be kind, to do good.
my sweet momma loved to whoop it up at parades and concerts and sporting games. any chance to be boisterous and she’d take it. i can just imagine her at PRIDE – putting on a rainbow lei and a “do good” hat, waving her arms in the air yelling, “wowee!! wowee!!”
reverse threading 