these stunning plumes rise above the grasses, catching the breezes, the last vestiges of light as the sun sinks, a place for lagging butterflies to linger a moment, catch their breath.
but – the tiny seeds that form these stunning plumes are actually tiny swords that find their way onto clothing and dogga and into every manner of places and stab us time and again. they are inescapable. they are incessant. they seemingly multiply like the needles from a fresh-cut scotch pine in december – and january and february and even march.
it’s a problem.
reluctant to deal with it, we put up with the pointy seedheads for a while, poking fun at their stubborn ability to show up – simply everywhere – even while suffering.
until it just seems silly that we are enduring this pointed attack on our peaceful existence – capitulating to these ornamental grasses – these beautiful, elegantly flowing sculptures around our yard.
but it’s solvable.
and so, we decide to snip off the plumes that bend over, arcing to attach themselves to dogga or our passing-by. we decide to snip off the plumes that block the sidewalk to our front door. we decide that we can have it both ways – gorgeous grasses with upright plumes catching the light, the wind, the creatures but no low-hanging attack plumes. we figure out what to do with our – beloved – grasses.
because that’s what adults do when faced with – even the smallest – problem. we negotiate a solution that will not cause more pain.
the heat dome has driven us to this place – under the steps in the basement – back past the really big bin with roller blades and tennis rackets and a kickball and badminton set – where there are a few old window air conditioners.
we pulled one out and installed it – just like last year – in the dining room window.
but this heat dome is incessant and suffocatingly hot – particularly in our old house – a house with charming radiators but no duct work for central air.
so we went back on the prowl under the steps, specifically looking for a slimmer-lined air conditioner i remembered from decades earlier.
we found it a little further back – in the spider web zone – and pulled it out to plug it in and test it before any attempt at installation.
written in sharpie on the pull-out filter was “1999” and as i washed it i pondered how we might make the air conditioner work. both accordion pleat side wings were broken and, clearly, the unit was far too old for which to find replacement parts.
we put on our thinking caps.
after a couple of hours of rube-goldberg-ing a set of wings we uninstalled from a different broken unit – to applause by my dad – who was seemingly guiding us from the other dimension – we used a combination of 2×4, hand towel and black foam to brilliantly – and in a clearly, umm, aesthetically pleasing way – install the air conditioner in our bedroom window.
it occurred to us – during both the thinking-cap-period and the period-of-installation – that we did not know if this unit might be leaking coolant – which could be unhealthy. but, after research and some deductive reasoning, realized that the cool air pumping out of the unit belied any leak and that we were – likely – safe. (though, of course, i would be checking in on any and all physical displays of freon poisoning we might exhibit.)
problem presented. problem solved.
in the cool flow of air circulating somewhat noisily around our house – aided by ceiling and standing fans – our thinking returned to the real problem at hand – one of the reasons we literally were determined to make a thirty-plus year old air conditioner work instead of investing several hundred dollars into a new one.
the real problem? the decimation of this country.
while we watch the current administration completely destroy the safety nets, the healthcare, the retirement, the rights and freedoms of millions and millions and millions of people they clearly don’t give a damn about, while we watch congress completely – sickeningly toadyingly – abdicate their responsibility to we-the-people while revering upping-the-ante cruelty, while the republican supreme court justices horrifyingly and repeatedly make the jump from objectivity to capitulation, while we reel in shock at the rapid descent into fascist, authoritarian ideology, while safety and any security is completely undermined, we wonder what will happen.
and my sweet dad – this man who served this country in the second world war, who was shot down, missing in action and taken prisoner of war, who never fully recovered from the post-traumatic stress he voluntarily experienced to aid this country and its experiment of democracy – this man hasn’t a clue on how to guide us.
the chasm between women and men widens post-menopause. i mean, it’s not exactly a divot before that. theyyy – meaning men – love to solve for things. everything. no matter what. weee – meaning women – sometimes just want to talk or vent or express how we feel. we are completely capable of solving-for when we want to be. and we are also completely capable of asking for help, asking for advice, asking for solutions…when we want them.
but, ahhh….that chasm. there are moments i start a conversation and announce, “i just want to vent.” it absolves me of guilt when i start growling if he starts to solve for the issue.
as we all know, many – and i won’t say “most” here, to avoid generalizing – many men can fall asleep at the drop of a hat. in mere seconds after placing his sweet problem-solving head on the pillow, d will be sleeping. down and out sleeping. meanwhile, my head is on my pillow, pondering life and all its idiosyncrasies. i find it flabbergasting how quickly time passes in the day and how slowly 2am – 5:30am crawls. or 12:30am – 3am. or 1am – 4am. it’s a goulash of wee-hour-clock-combinations.
so, while changing diet and exercise and patterns all seem like spiffy-doo-dah ideas, when one wants a little sympathy, one does not want spiffy-doo-dah suggestions. just sayin’.
not that i’m speaking from experience or anything. 😉
yet, in these times, calm is elusive. it is the floating dust glistening in sunlight. it is the golden ray through the cloud. it is the snowflakes silently falling in the woods. it is the sound of soft laughter, the sound of the dog’s feet running in dreams and the cat snoring in slumber. it is hard to hold onto, hard to touch; it is hard to find.
in these times, with coffee in our hands, we start the new day. we wake, wishes and burdens on our minds, both. the things that kept us awake in the middle of the night, the things that pushed us into sleep: exhausting, worrisome, celebratory, quietly reassuring, sleep-depriving, sleep-inducing. we start the morning, on the roller coaster, one of us holding the “calm” mug.
we have found that – the conversations over-morning-coffee, the conversations over evening-wine, the conversations on the trail, in the sunroom, at the kitchen counter – these conversations need a little help, a little preface, a tiny guideline. for him, a guy, though not a-macho-guy-type-still-a-guy-nonetheless, he is looking to solve. for me, a girl, well, i am looking to just talk, to just go on, to be redundant, to vent. we discovered early on that any talk-talk could easily dissolve into ugly if we didn’t clarify a few things, well, really one thing, first. was this a conversation where i wanted comfort or solutions? was this a conversation where i wanted him to listen or problem-solve?
i honestly can say these two questions – just this simple strategy – could have saved many a relationship moment dating back decades and decades. it took me way too long to realize this glaringly obvious simplicity – that men and women, women and women, men and men – any two people in relationship – approach from vastly disparate directions. i am riding my feisty mare in from the rising sun in the east and he is galloping on a sassy stallion from the setting sun in the west. meeting in the middle ground requires a little gps-ing, dispensing of the drawn word-swords and negotiating some clarity shortcuts. that simple. that makes all the difference.
in these times, though calm is illusory, we find that we can be in this world of unknowns mostly by just being. solutions are hiding with the calm, behind puzzling shadows.
but comfort, listening, empathy are right out in the open, in that field of possibility between the rising sun and the setting sun, riding a steady quarter horse, bareback and honest.
reverse threading 