every day now the mourning dove shows up. all by itself, it sits on the wire. not cooing or preening at all, it appears to be waiting, waiting.
something about this lone dove tugs at me every time i witness its silent vigil. it feels as if it has lost its life partner and its perch – high above the backyards it can see – gives it a place from which to search or from which to be quiet and pine. though i know that it could be acting as a sentinel for a nest or simply resting with an eye to predators, there is something else i can feel.
i’ve whispered up to this mourning dove – that i see it, that i am privy to its vigil and that i honor its steadfastness, its constancy. i tell it that i am witness to what seems like its sadness. i hardly know if it helps – or if the dove can hear me or understand me. but being here and watching and aware, it feels like i am honoring its story.
it is not unlike that which we could do for each other. all each others, regardless. if only we were to sit on metaphoric high wires quietly and listen to each other, honor each others’ stories, be witness to joy or pain, hold one another tenderly. if only.
(a note: i wrote this blogpost and initially thought i would not share it. i gave it much consideration, time to brew and ruminate over it. i share it now because i fear that too many people out there are feeling this grief, too many people have lost beloveds in this way, too many people can relate to these words, too many people feel alone in this: the brutal division stoked by the actions and attitudes of the current administration and all those perpetuating its ruthless inhumanity. my heart holds space for each of you hurting in this way.)
***
and, though we came from the same place and the same parents, the same set of dna, the same ancestry, we are on divergent paths.
i always held you in high regard. i deferred to you when i was younger – watching you when i was a teen – inspired by you – thinking i wanted what you had built for yourself: a little family, a sweet husband, a house, a good job, a nice car, a pool. i thought you had it all and i believed that, even though we were at different places in life, you and i would always be close – on tightly woven parallel paths, weaving in and out of each others’ lives, forever.
i never expected to be exact samesies. you are more than a decade older than me. that sets up two different social cultures – you are leonard cohen and the righteous brothers and i am john denver and james taylor. you are teased and hairsprayed and i am long and loose. you are eyeliner and lipstick and i am mascara and lipbalm-at-most. you are queen-of-the-prom and i am studious nerd. you are fancy cars and leather pocketbooks and i am high mileage and backpacks. you are hot temper and i am keep-the-peace. you are brand-name and i am whatever-costs-less. you are mani-pedi and i am do-it-myself. you are lovely restaurants and i am modest recipes and leftovers. you are white wine and i am red. you are palm trees and i am aspens. you are the south and i am the north. you are gold and diamonds and i am basic silver. you are generous and i am frugal. you are ethan allen and new and i am peeling-paint-vintage and repurposed. you are worked-for-companies and i am owned-small-business. you are sometimes a bit unaware and i am sometimes ridiculously over-sensitive. you are financially secure and i am ever-teetering.
none of that was or is deal-breaking. of course not. it is simply two people becoming who they are.
i haven’t always been happy with you. it’s likely you haven’t always been happy with me. because of our age difference, you have often chosen to act more like a mother-figure than a sister, judging or instructing instead of supporting. and, at times of true emotional turmoil, you have sometimes chosen to be betraying to our sisterly sisterhood. during the time that our daddy died we stuck it out together. during the time our sweet momma died it was tough. in a nod to avoiding conflict, i didn’t say anything and we continued on in life, still in the same tapestry of family, riding the coaster of both confusing, hurtful missteps and loving support of each other. even with all the reasons i may have been upset with you and you upset with me – through decades of living – i never thought there would be a time when there would be irretrievable distance between us.
until now.
every day i shudder to read what is happening in this country, what cruelty and destruction this administration has now wrought upon the populace of our nation. every day i cannot believe that you are in favor of this hideousness.
it absolutely breaks me.
my sister…our faces look the same. the more i age, the more i see you in the mirror.
and yet, there is something so very basic about our hearts that is different. something so fundamentally and extremely opposite.
and that, my dear beloved sister, has placed us on such divergent paths – such chosen disparate and conflicting paths – that i wonder if we will ever recover.
i found myself both infuriated and blubbering. it all suddenly became too much, much too much.
the daily corruption, the cruelty upon cruelty, the absence of any morality or conscience, the vapid extolling of this administration by sycophants – it is just too much.
and the fact that i have family members who agree with this – who cheerlead it – who believe in the extremism and the horror – who WANT this – and this: who have chosen all of this over their lifelong blood-related relationship with me – makes me ill.
it is heartbreaking – as i am sure it is for you as well…you who are dealing with this same sort of schism in your family, friend groups or community. i have lost family as a result of this administration. and that makes me feel rage.
we had survived a growing-up lifetime of memories, moments of utter joy, moments of anger and disagreement, moments of good health and struggling illness, moments of wondrous new birth and moments of despairing death, moments when laughter was the best approach to tension within the family, moments when forgiveness was necessary for betrayal. we had survived all of that – for almost six decades – with the bruises to show for it and the love that sustained it.
but this country’s twisted and irreverent leadership – its sadistic, bigoted, reprehensibly warped, narcissistic, gluttonous leaders – accompanied by cowardly, self-serving members of the cabinet and legislature, concentric circles doing the unconscionable – THIS has blown to bits this family.
there is silence in its wake.
and we are left like flotsam and jetsam – estranged – the detritus of a country-that-was – destroyed – we are floating around – isolated and grieving – without each other because of this.
because playing on the team of hate and division apparently became more fun than the hard work of love and unity. i can’t bear to think that the depravity was just more in alignment with them all along.
the sweet potato is growing by leaps and bounds – it’s almost mind-boggling how quickly it has become so large. more accustomed to plants that grow slower, we wonder how it is possible. it’s only been two weeks since we planted the entire potato in this planter, its tiny pink tendril sprouts sticking out of the dirt.
now – merely two weeks later – this sweet potato is vining everywhere. this photo, taken a few days ago, is already outdated; the vine now reaches up onto the deck and is twirling around the pot that holds one of the basil plants. it reaches out to the lavender, over to the tomato, and forward onto the patio. it – seemingly – has no bounds, and these amazing heart-shaped leaves are multiplying, multiplying, multiplying.
in a non-rigorous scientific-community-questioned experiment back around 2000, a japanese researcher exposed water molecules to positive and negative input – commentary, music, sounds that are easily sorted into validating or dissing, softer reassurances or harsh aggression. the water molecules that had been privy to positivity turned into beautiful ice crystals while the water molecules that had been subjected to negativity froze into ugly shapes. the theory was that vibrational input – all the energy input – played a part in the effect on water, and the experiment posited a direct connect to how vibrational energy affects us as people.
whether or not this experiment had all the controls and data and science it purported doesn’t really matter to me. what matters is that this makes sense.
being kind, generous, positive, encouraging to someone, stroking someone with words of goodness is entirely the opposite of berating someone, demeaning them, being hostile toward them. clearly.
when you walk into the trader joe’s grocery store nearest us, the first thing you see – on your right – are bins of flowers. it is a wall of color, of beauty. we slowly browse through them all – so many are different than what your would find at a typical florist, these are intriguing and, obviously, very popular – as there are shoppers with armloads of these bouquets.
we haven’t bought flowers often there, though i have stopped and admired them each time we have entered the store. flowers weren’t in the budget so i enjoyed them at the store and thought about one day starting a new tradition of having fresh flowers around us, any time of year. my sweet poppo would buy my momma grocery store flowers for the little table in the foyer of their house and she loved that tradition, the ritual of changing the flowers, of having beauty right by the front door.
the last two times we went – which isn’t too often because it’s about 40 minutes away – we picked up a bundle of flowers. last time we picked up red hypericum, this time purple eryngium. each time we brought home a little posey of something uniquely different to us, something just simply so pretty we couldn’t pass it by. despite other shoppers leaving with multiple bundles, we have been quite pleased with ourselves, carrying out of the store a sweet bouquet of infamous tj flowers.
at home – in a ball jar on the bistro table by the windows in the sunroom – we enjoy our flowers every single day, for this is the place we sit most often. and every single day that we have enjoyed these flowers – this $4.99 investment in ourselves – we have felt the positive self-message that we are worthy of them.
it doesn’t take much. tiny affirmations. words of support, assurance, validation, self-belief. little gestures. big empowering. everything in between.
if i had to guess, i would think that having trader joe’s flowers around might be a catalyst – one among many others – for becoming beautiful crystals. that – even more than the 60% of our bodies that are water – our body is 100% beautiful. and in the overwhelming presence of that kind of beauty, we are most alive.
“we begin to find and become ourselves when we notice how we are already found, already truly, entirely, wildly, messily, marvelously who we were born to be.” (anne lamott)
our treasured tree had been shorn but its main trunk and some branches remained after the city arborists cleaned it up post-storm that split and felled it.
now they were back.
i knew as soon as i saw the trucks pull up that this was the day. this was the day that i would say my final goodbye to this beautiful tree, the guardian of shade in our front yard, the stalwart maple next to our driveway’s apron. this was the day i would whisper – once again – “you didn’t do anything wrong. you did everything right,” to the tree that pre-dated our family here by at least four decades and still grew up with our children. this was the day i knew would be hard. last goodbyes are like that.
they showed up around 11 and, even with a lunch break, they were deft and efficient and the last big piece of sturdy trunk was lifted into the bed of the dump truck at 1:15. they raked and blew some of the sawdust off the driveway, got in their trucks and, before 2 or so, drove away.
when i brought them bottles of water i asked them, “do you guys get attached to trees, too?” they all said, “no” and i wonder if that’s because they aren’t thready or sentimental or if that’s because we are only talking about trees or if that’s because it is their livelihood to trim and take down trees. any way you look at it, they knew that i was really sad – and they were actually quite kind about it.
the guy on the lift had a giant chainsaw. there was one more big branch to remove from the trunk – a big branch whose upper branches they had already trimmed. this branch arced upward from the main trunk, up toward our house. it had been the branch responsible for shading our front garden, the branch that towered over much of the yard, that shielded the daylilies from too much sun, that held a bit of a flat space where it met the center trunk – a perch for weary critters. this was the branch on which the kids would grasp to try and swing up into the tree. this was the branch i saw the best when i rocked babies in the nursery and gazed out the window. this was the branch i looked out upon – in all seasons – from my studio – composing, practicing, answering the muse. this big branch was central – a sturdy, steadfast piece of a long-beloved tree.
the big claws swung around to hold this branch as the arborist began to cut through the dense maple. it took a surprisingly short time for the chainsaw to make its way through – and then the big branch let go of its tree and it swung freely, held by the claw.
and then you could see it.
right where the branch had met the trunk – right where the branch separated from the tree and the very last offshoot from this very old tree trunk was gone – was a heart.
at approximately 3:48 last wednesday afternoon, in the first mighty gust of the storm, the great soul – the great tree – in our front yard – for decades and decades and decades – fell. and nothing was the same.
this sturdy old tree was wise beyond its years, withstanding all manner of weather-fury, all seasons of plenty and not-enough.
this sturdy old tree – magnificent, its canopy shading our lawn, its spirit encircling our home and family – stood vigil out in front, a talisman of protection and a peaceful adapter to the change of winter to spring, of autumn to winter, each time, bending to the rules – or whims – of nature…for at least seventy-five years.
this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from the nursery while rocking babies, looking out the window. it marked the passage of time as my babies grew, early morning light in its leaves, the sun setting through its crown, its winter-nakedness to its verdant maple-leaf splendor, its yellow glow in fall, the way snow lay on its strong branches, its promise in early spring.
this sturdy old tree – was what i looked at from my bench in my studio, sitting at my piano composing, lyricizing, practicing. it gave me breath and reminded me to place rests in the music, to give others breath, time to process, to take in, to feel. i stared at this tree out the window from that spot, standing still or sitting quietly, pondering what had been, what was, what might be. it was a touchstone of consistency, of continuity, of the timeline that goes back and forward, dynamic.
this sturdy old tree greeted us as we came down our road, as we turned the corner. it offered shelter and filtered sunlight, framed the moon and the stars and planets, played with color at dusk. it elicited our appreciation for yet another homecoming. it was the monument, the lighthouse, the trailmarker that said “home”.
this sturdy old tree – wizened – was that which i advocated for, in times of electric-wire-branch-trimming, in times of water main work, in times of road construction, in times of other injuries it withstood.
i whispered words of – truly loving – gratitude to it, “you did nothing wrong. you did everything right,” as they began to tend to the-cleaning-up after the wind had wreaked havoc upon it. with more extreme storms coming – and a heavily one-sided bit of our beloved tree left – i knew that it was its time. and it was hard to watch, this family member which had preceded me, which had lived here the whole time i have, which had seen much life in that bit of yard at this house on this street. we were fortunate that it was our tree and we loved it for being our tree.
it feels like a marker in time to have felt and heard this great tree fall. to see its brokenness. its soul continues on with us; we need that wisdom and resilience, especially now. we need its tenacity as it aged, especially now. we need its stalwart goodness, its dedication to being the best tree it could be, especially now.
our big, sturdy old tree lives on. it will always be one of the great trees because of its great soul.
and – after its decades and decades and decades of time as a tree on this good earth – in the bowing of its beautiful canopy of leaves, its hefty rough-barked branches, its branches that curved outward with a bowl in the center of the trunk where creatures could rest and shelf fungus could excel, it reminds us of something:
there is no great anything without a great soul.
“and when great souls die/after a period peace blooms,/slowly and always/irregularly. spaces fill/with a kind of/soothing electric vibration./our senses, restored, never/to be the same, whisper to us./they existed. they existed. /we can be. be and be/better. for they existed.”(maya angelou)
we can’t wait for this evening. we will drive the backroads with hundreds of thousands of others in wisconsin – all out on a friday night.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will join with fifty-thousand others in milwaukee attending one of the three days of PRIDEFEST.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will be with the tens of thousands wandering the summerfest grounds for the friday evening shows.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will stand in the dance pavilion – out in front, in the house, or backstage – either place – with over five thousand other people in that same pavilion and gathered all around its edges – and we will watch our son perform.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will have the moment of his first downbeat, the moment he raises his hands in the air, the joy on his face under spotlights and between pyrotechnic fountains of sparkling stars and confetti releases. we will likely be standing and dancing and cheering with a group of his friends, a group of deric’s friends – deric who shares the stage with craig as they perform together as EDM artists DOGGPOUND.
we can’t wait for this evening. we will hug him after his performance, ecstatic with him on this day, on this journey. our own pride will be bursting and he will absolutely know it. just as he has absolutely known – since the very moment he came out – that he is loved and – with-no-exceptions – completely accepted, embraced and supported.
we can’t wait for this evening. we’ll watch him and a large contingency of friends and fans as they all go on their way, celebrating peaceful coexistence at this celebratory festival. we will walk around, buy rainbow trinkets, happily ensconced and feeling a sense of belonging.
we can’t wait for this evening when we drive home on those same backroads and talk about the night. we will be exhausted and exhilarated. we will be thrilled to have spent such amazing time with our son – we will be looking forward to the next.
and then, we can’t wait for chicago’s PRIDEFEST when we’ll take the train down and spend an afternoon and evening in the streets of boystown. we’ll stand with the setting sun on our faces and – again – watch our son perform. there will be many hugs – his friends will surround us and make us feel at home. and at the end of that day, getting back on the train, we will again feel exhausted and exhilarated, both. we will sit back and talk about the day and the people – the people – all of whom are there to just simply honor each other and their very important place in the world – peacefully together.
we can’t wait for a day when all the world is a continual pridefest, when all the world honors each other’s place in the world, when all the world feels that kind of love for one another, when all the world lives in peace.
we took off our sunhats. it was a hot day and we had been gardening for hours. the purchased plants had been potted, all the transplanting in the yard was done. it was that golden hour after all the work and before making dinner. we poured a bit of cool pinot grigio, took a tour around the yard and then settled into our adirondack chairs in the shady corner of our deck to gaze out at the yard – one of our favorite pastimes now.
the daisy path – as d has aptly named it – is slower. it doesn’t require the striding or racing around of earlier years. it is a – rather, The – sweet phase and we are trying our best to hone it. we never expect to perfect it, so we are doing everything we can to appreciate it, be grateful for it, honor it.
every night last week we sat on our patio or on our deck, just sitting. at the end of the day – after having dinner al fresco – we – truly – just sat.
and we talked. about anything, everything, nothing.
earlier in the day – on one of the days – i got ready to plant one last sweet potato vine. d had spray-painted a plastic pot and it was ready for the transplant and to be hung on the old ladder in the corner of the deck.
d asked me if he could get me a chair – as i have found that placing a chair on the patio next to the raised deck makes planting easier on my back. i thanked him and said that i was only planting this one pot.
but then i was struck by how generous this offer was. for in the middle of everything he was doing, he was concerned that it might be easier for me if i had a chair – as i had used while potting other days – and he was going to drop everything to go get me one if i wanted or needed it.
and so, it was then – one of those rare moments you remember – not because you don’t appreciate each other all the time, but because sometimes a very intentional wave of gratitude is easy for your brain to snapshot into your memory.
i walked over to where he was weeding the cracks in the patio and bent down. wrapping my arms around him, i told him how much his kindness meant to me. it wasn’t even a few seconds and dogga was there, right in the middle of our embrace, pushing his head up into the armwrap hug, his face even with ours, in the middle of so much love.
i whispered to d, “memorize it.”
of course.
we three stayed that way for at least a full minute, which is a long time for a busy aussie. it was a magical minute. definitely daisy-path stuff.
our old dogga stuck close for a bit more, to get kisses and pets and butt-butts. he didn’t see the tears welling up in our eyes as we committed it all to visual and visceral memory.
d went back to weeding and i potted the sweet potato vine and hung it on the ladder.
it seemed right that this sweet potato would keep vigil over our little corner on our deck. my sweet momma’s words, “live life, my sweet potato,” ring in my ears.
sweet potatoes and the daisy path. sunhats and glasses of wine, a checkered tablecloth and adirondack chairs. our dogga and a sanctuary of peace. love and gratitude.
it sits on the dashboard of littlebabyscion – the vestiges of a single daisy. it is now thirteen years old, this daisy. and it has been right there for all thirteen years, its seed coats still hanging on, though toughening by the day.
because we had never met when we met, i brought a daisy with me to o’hare – to distinguish myself from all the other people waiting at baggage claim, to be clear that it was me – there – waiting to meet him – arriving.
i told him that i’d be the one holding the daisy because i thought it better than a sign and because daisies are happy. i stopped at the florist earlier in the day to get my one daisy while in the middle of perseverating over what to wear.
in the end i wore jeans, boots and an oversized black chenille sweater and i felt like me. which is a good thing, particularly when you are meeting someone you have never met.
we had written for about six months. every single day. emails would arrive in the evening or in the wee hours and i’d lay awake devouring it all and writing back about my own life, candid and vulnerable – honestly typing it all to this new friend with whom i had only had one phone conversation.
we discovered that life – as artists, even in different mediums – had some parallels to which we could easily relate. we discovered that life held some of the same mysteries for us. we discovered that life’s challenges were, well, challenges for both of us. we discovered we could see that life’s joys were swinging on a star…or two….or a zillion.
i was sort of aware of people laughing when we skipped through the airport to get on the escalator. but it was more like a slow-motion movie happening outside of me, one of the people skipping. slightly dreamy.
but it wasn’t all dreamy.
and though we found our zealous friendship evolved into something much, much bigger, something where two hearts melded together, something where love was undeniable and where we found we made a good team, it had many moments that were less than dreamy.
because life is like that.
this year it was thirteen years on the thirteenth. thirteen years since that veryfirstday we set eyes on each other – two artists scanning baggage claim, both in jeans and boots and black – both nervous, both excited. the next day we got big star drive-in burgers and fries, had a little champagne. this year we got big star drive-in burgers and fries, had a little champagne. a celebration of a big day.
back then, thirteen years ago, on the way into the airport, a girl asked me why i was carrying a daisy. i told her why. we ended up going to the same baggage claim. she was meeting her fiance at baggage claim because he was flying in. it was their wedding weekend. we saw each other in the ladies’ room a couple of times, nervously fixing our hair, pacing.
she looked at me and said, “he’s going to be your soulmate, you know.”
i laughed and said i’d be happy if we even turned out to be friends.
she was right.
and so was i.
thirteen years since the first day i laid eyes on him now.
and we were both right.
and the daisy sits on the dashboard of littlebabyscion, the eye keeping an eye on us with still so many seeds for the future.
