hilton head, south carolina cares. it is an honor to be in a place that has committed itself to protecting creatures put at risk by human behavior.
each night, right before 10pm, one of us (often it was dan) would run to carefully lower the shades on the ocean side, turn off the outside lights, and double-check that there was no light spilling out onto the sand, something that could confuse the loggerhead hatchlings on their pilgrimage from nest to water. large sections of sand and dunes were roped off to protect shorebirds and information is readily available that explained how one should not run into a flock of birds or go too near an obvious nesting area. the piping plovers are endangered, as are the loggerheads. and hilton head is dedicated to them.
these creatures deserve our respect. this world deserves our respect. how many creatures, how many species are endangered? how are we making an effort to respect and protect them? how are we not?
there was something very sweet, very encouraging about seeing My Girl, My Boy and our Dan all immediately acknowledge the importance of these simple rules protecting the shore wildlife.
it gives me infinite hope, despite the current efforts of our country to ignore the plight of our good earth, that this next generation will not stand by and watch it destroyed. it’s pretty simple, they said, referring to the rules environmentalists had written. yes. it is. respect and protect.
“the real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.” (marcel proust)
sage words.
i once found an unwritten card in a drawer that had this saying on it. i wondered how it had gotten there. i revisited this card from time to time, trying to take in these words of advice in a time i needed words of advice.
in a society that always seeks the newest, shiniest, most chic, it is easy to fall into the trap that new is better, that new will be satisfying. in a society that is seemingly full of consumable products, replaceable employees, expendable friendships and relationships, we need be reminded that the new will not continue to be new; it is not new instantly – the moment – after it was new.
were i to stay in front of this tree and look through the knot-hole in its trunk and only see waning lifeless brown, dried late-fall, believing that my little view was static, i would miss the blink of an eye in which this knot-hole lens turns the scene into rich verdant green, hope-filled.
the same landscape. the same work. the same relationship. the same thing, day in, day out. the same old same old. but is it?
my niece (well, technically d’s niece) posted this on instagram. she and her husband, a pastor, are missionaries and have done pure and amazing hard work in the world. she encountered this sign on a mirror in cairo, egypt while they are out gathering information to make a decision on their next placement. i can’t think of two people more curious about others and the lives that people live outside our country; they have done impactful work and are seeking the next location where they can make a difference. this sign must have felt like a sign to her – a reinforcement of their choices, their passion, their dedication, their direction.
it would be my guess that the moment you cease being curious is the same moment that you cease learning. curiosity takes guts. so does learning. and adjusting. at any age, we like to think we know. and yet we don’t.
when my sweet momma entered assisted living, she was, quite understandably, apprehensive. a person who adored her own home, but yet loved to converse with others – all others – it was hard for her to adjust to a new place outside of her own place, a new rhythm, new people, new things to do. but she had great courage. and she participated. confused on lingo, she called to tell me that she was going to “taize on chair” but what she really meant was she was going to “tai chi on chair”. and she liked it! i was speechless with respect for her ability to try and learn new things, even at 93. she was curious. she kept asking questions. she kept learning. she kept having new adventures, albeit small adventures. it mattered not to her that these adventures were not staggeringly earth-shattering. what mattered to her was that it changed her. it made her grow and think. it made her try something new. it made her braver. it made her even more curious.
like hannah, like my sweet momma, i hope to stay outside the box. to try new things and walk to the edge. to look to others for inspiration. to ask questions and listen to the answers. to trust being curious.
deb said, “you need to go sit in the adirondack chairs. and just breathe.” being a lover of adirondack chairs, any color whatsoever, i immediately agreed.
and so we did.
we sat quietly, in purple, in this very important time, as the sun warmed our faces and we could hear the gentle lap of the waves of the bay on the shoreline. there was nothing else but birdcalls and a bit of wind. it was sans noise. no traffic sound. no sirens. no trains. no loud stereos. just quiet. and the sound that sunlight and blue sky make on ever-greening spring.
i did not inherit good teeth. were i to be a horse i would not be running in the derby or any other horse race (which, right now, sounds like a good thing.) anyway, i blame my sweet momma and my poppo; i’m not actually sure who gets the lion’s share of the blame, so i will just blame them both (and all the ancestors before them who did not have great teeth – we might as well make this a class-action-blame-suit.)
when i was a child growing up, my parents were quite a bit older than most of my friends’ parents. this is because my sister is sooooo much older than me. i was born soooo much later and, so, had parents who had some, maybe, backwards ideas.
drumroll, please. my sweet momma – adorable as she was – and my sweet poppo – equally adorable – never ever EVER had novocaine when they got fillings. for some unknown reason, they just toughed it out. now, i am quite sure you are cringing at the very thought. those drills. that hook thing that tries to pull your tongue out of your mouth. the sounds alone are unnerving. anyway, they seemed to reach deep inside, thinking they were getting extra points or something, and they endured the pain throughout drilling/filling procedures.
this brings me to me. because that is what they believed in, i was subjected to the same torture and did not have novocaine until i was well into adulthood and realized it was a thing. having had two children without the benefit of anesthesia, i can honestly say now that i would rather have more children than go through any more dental work without novocaine or some such numbing agent.
so, this is a long preamble to my story.
i broke a tooth during lent. you would think things like that wouldn’t happen during lent, but, alas, it did. my dentist, who is a saint, was out of town and i waited for his return. because of my ptsd from childhood dentistry, i cannot go alone to an appointment like this so david went with me. he always does. we try to be there for each other in each of our doctor/dental appointments; it’s part of the i-support-you-in-everything deal.
my favorite moment when we walk in (my REAL favorite moment is when we walk OUT) is when the dental assistant says to david, “you can sit on the tooth.” it is pretty funny to see a grown man figure out how to sit on a tooth. it’s even funnier to watch him not feel awkward. he handles his tooth-sitting with great aplomb, alternately cracking jokes with dan, the dentist, and holding my foot, since he can’t reach my hand from the tooth.
for this dentist who has all the patience in the world for my terror and for david’s presence there on the tooth, i am eternally grateful. i would totally sit on the tooth for him.
a burl on a tree is caused by the tree undergoing some form of stress. indeed, if this were true for humans, we would be loaded with burls. instead, our burls are inner-burls. they don’t generally manifest as growths on the outside or present as small or large bark-covered lumpy warts. instead, our worry makes us lose sleep, have intestinal issues and headaches. it makes us eat too much, pour the glass of wine a bit too early, seek medicinal solutions or drugged numbing. it makes us argue and lash out, insist on our own way, slam doors both figurative and literal. it causes sickness, physical exhaustion, loss of relationship or work or time in our lives. we become afraid to share our burls with the ‘outside’, scarcely making headway, fearful of the opinion of others, confused by the wart in our lives.
we should be like trees. the burls cover with bark, insulating from the outside yet evident to the outside. they grow in response to the stress of disease or injury or insects, but a tree may continue to live with these burls indefinitely. actually removing the burl exposes the tree to infection. the burl wood is prized, with swirling grain patterns. often, burls are harvested (both legally and illegally), with stunning furniture and wooden bowls the goal of burl-wood-turners. these trees stand tall and mighty, growing from seedlings, co-existing with disease, injury, insects and, even, together with trees more beautiful sans burls. they wear their wrinkled protuberances with grace. they don’t rid themselves of the evidence of life amid stressors, seeking botox to hide irregularities and minimize affirmation of living. instead they continue on, growing and growing and growing – despite a few warts.
i am a sign-reader. whether i am driving or riding in the car, i read signs. billboards, people’s clever license plates, bumper stickers, storefronts, oh, and road signs. there are certain areas of the country where signs for attorneys are rampant. other areas tout strong religious beliefs. some signs are clever “buckle up next million miles” and some are deeply insightful “when there’s only one race and that’s mankind… love is in you.” because we adore both road trips and short drives, we are privy to signs galore. one of my pet peeves is to see blatant spelling or punctuation errors on billboards; it makes me rant for several minutes about editors and proof-reading and the propensity for people to ignore the amazing thing called the dictionary.
we took a drive the other day. it was after all the services of the week were over and we were unplugging. turning the car west we headed out in search of a new hiking trail. on our drive we passed this sign. PRAY FOR OUR NATION. no fancy font, no centered spacing, just four simple words. i don’t know how long that sign has been there. it’s not in the front yard of any religious building; it’s just there, in a small park-like setting. i thought, “no kidding.” it seems apt timing.
instead of reading the paper first thing everyday now, we are reading meditations. we are considering the mica moments of the day before, the mica moments to come. we are trying to be hopeful, trying to slough off pettiness and disagreement, trying to avoid those who are clearly toxic to themselves and others, trying to engage in positive ways, trying to spend time doing things that advance us as humans in a big world rather than mire us in stunted selfish plots to further polarize and make inequity even more profound.
PRAY FOR OUR NATION doesn’t just start with folding hands and closing eyes, as much as that may help. it also starts with reaching out hands, opening your eyes, listening, learning, believing that there is only one race and it is mankind.
we were in madison and we really could have gone anywhere to linger, have a glass of wine and a meal. my sister had sent me a birthday gift, with instructions that we celebrate with it, so we were on a quest to find the right place. it was a crowded friday early evening and just getting around the streets was nuts. we looked at each other blankly, unable to find a place to park and walk the downtown area to scour for THE place to celebrate. and then i turned the car east.
we drove onto the main street of the little town of fort atkinson and turned onto water street. there sits cafe carpe, a small been-there-since-1985 cafe, bar and music venue, run by two “fairly sentient centenarians” (as it states on their website). we walked in and were two in a total of five. it was early though so we had our choice of seating. we love to sit at the bar, especially if we are in a place where we can gaze out and see most of what is going on, people-watching and enjoying the camaraderie of a place. we found two spots at the bar, on a small stage-like pedestal, and got comfortable. two glasses of wine were delivered; lingering started. and all was perfect.
cafe carpe started to fill up. the door, with the bell on it alerting you to its opening, a sound you associate with shows like mayberry rfd, opened time and again and customers came in, greeted as they did so, clearly locals on their friday pilgrimage. it was a step into the past, and just exactly what we needed. we settled in for the next few hours in a place that felt like a second skin.
somewhere along the way, i noticed i was sitting in front of a spot on the bar with a brass plate that read “just bob” and next to my spot – to my left – was a plate that read “just leslie”. we asked our sweet bartender about this and she told us that the couple that is there every.single.friday.night.for.years. had purchased and installed these plates, marking their territory. we worried that we needed to move and asked her to give us the high sign when they arrived; we would not tread on their designated spots. she laughed and agreed to let us know.
leslie and bob didn’t show up while we were there, so we sat in their spots, keeping them warm for them. i’m sure i can imagine them walking in though. the door opens, the bell jangles against it and they stride in slowly. everyone turns and calls out hello to them and they take their seats at the bar, ordering maybe a standard wisconsin old-fashioned sweet. just leslie. just bob. how good is that?
going to our local grocery store is kind of a social outing for us. we always walk in the same door and are immediately greeted. it’s like walking into ‘cheers’ the bar on the tv show of the same name. no one yells out, “norm!” but it feels the same. leticia and skye and anthony and thank-goodness-she-is-recuperating-and-is-back-hugging-everyone-cheryl…all are sweet and hardworking people who make us feel welcome, noticed. it keeps us going there; it makes a difference. it’s this grocery store’s mission – to serve – no one is forgotten.
feeling recognized – whether you are or not – is essential. someone else’s act of including you can change everything. for you. for them. someone else’s act of noticing you can change everything. for you. for them. it humanizes experiences that can be mundane and even cold. those moments on an elevator in the absolute quiet, everyone staring at the door. the security line at the airport. finding your way through a train station. in the doctor’s office waiting room. seated in an event auditorium, minutes before its start. fast-walking through city streets. in the oil change wait area. and yes, in the grocery store. notice.
i try to remember this. it’s my natural inclination to fill the gap of awkward silence with something, anything. i have had many strange stares on the subways of nyc, actually having had the audacity to talk or laugh with someone i don’t know. but those brief words or quick laughter changed something in me right then; the moments on the subway became real, the people became real, everything slowed down and it was about right then. noticed.
we heard a comedian once say, (words to the effect) “it’s not about making people laugh. it’s about bringing laughter TO people.” festival’s got it right. they are on target with their mission – to serve. the are enriching the lives of others. in the simplest way, by noticing people, their customers, they bring a sense of community. noticing.
and no one – or thing – is forgotten. not even lettuce. well, maybe green leaf.
“healer of the forest” nurselogs are numerous in the woods we hike in. the white rot fungi grow easily in the outer bark of the tree, breaking down the structure of the wood and allowing small pockets of rich soil to form, remediating and inviting moss, mushrooms and small plants to feast on the nutrients and grow, stretching roots around the fallen tree to plant themselves deeper into the ground. small animals find welcome in these healers and they live companionably together, each benefiting the other. the concentric circles ripple outward. symbiosis. harmony.
i’m trying not to read the news as often these days. i find it deafeningly dissonant. apparently, we, as a human race, are not naturally healers. instead, we are creators of havoc, bullying, agenda-pushing individuals who give little care to remediating or living companionably together. the concentric circles that ripple outward are filled with toxins; people get lost in power and control games, indeed benefiting no species whatsoever. strident discord.
wishing the happiest birthday to my amazing & beloved daughter, The Girl. 
reverse threading 