we try to resist. these days it’s nearly impossible.
i mean, we don’t have a whole heckofalotta vices but these dang chips – well – we have succumbed.
we do try to avoid them by keeping them out of the house. if you don’t go to costco you can’t buy them. if you go to costco (a store we adore for their staunch support of diversity, equity and inclusion) but don’t costco-mosey and don’t go to the wall-o-chips, you can’t buy them. if you go to costco and actually buy them but don’t open the bag and leave it on the top shelf of the left side of the pantry in the kitchen, you can’t eat them.
yet, even with all these avoidance techniques, we have failed – numerous times – miserably. and then we think – eh – so what – it’s just a bag of chips! it’s not like a crime against humanity – which we can identify because we are seeing plenty of those these days.
so we eat chips.
my name is kerri and his name is david and we eat chips.
david, mark and i stood by the dyed harbor in the wind. mark commented that he did not have a painting of st patrick’s day green, rusty brown, cement beige. we told him that he did now. because we had made it so – as we stood there – “totally looks like a mark rothko,” we opined as we viewed the photograph i had just taken. mark laughed – in that other-dimension way we imagined. i reminded him of green and maroon – and my dedication to this painting at the milwaukee art museum. he was amused and agreed that emerald, rust and cement was – maybe – a worthy addition.
david just finished a piece he painted for me. it is stunning, both visually and emotionally. a really large canvas, it will find a home in my studio, where i can be reminded of the freedom – of space, of life, of voice, of love – it represents.
i have always wanted a horse and so he gave me one. this painting. and you can see – by the repose of my face – how undeniably happy it makes me, the peace it bestows, breathing the very air of all the universe.
it is said that mark rothko sought to make paintings that would bring people to tears. “i’m interested only in expressing basic human emotions – tragedy, ecstasy, doom and so on.” as an artist, i cannot imagine any other reason to create other than to tap in, to elicit, evoke, to acknowledge human emotions.
when i stepped onto the floor of the basement – off the last wooden step – i stared at the painting in progress. it was potent for me. it was a painting of an arrival, of sorts. though David’s title is in dreams she rides wild horses, the reality for me is the wild horse of voice. it is the gallop of speech, the beginning of the release of silence, the horse i never yet had. i wept as i told him.
mark appeared suddenly, standing on the basement floor with me. he stepped under one of the studio spotlights and called over to d, “good work, robinson. way to make her cry.”
d looked surprised and glanced at me calling back, “thanks, rothko!” before i wrapped my grateful arms around him, “yeah, good work, robinson.”
we commonly talk for our dogga. we talked for our babycat as well. we talk for wildlife in the woods. we talk for other drivers on the road. i talk for my toes. d talks for his knees. we pretty much animate anything.
including this veiled chameleon.
we rarely go to pet stores. but when we do go to a pet shop, it is with our hearts on our sleeves. this time the chameleon captured us.
i realize that he is being fed and watered (hopefully) properly and that his environment will be changed as he grows, but i couldn’t help but feel a sense of sadness as i watched him clawing at the glass of his terrarium.
as if he could understand what was happening in this chaotic world – sensing it perhaps – we stood with him, inches away, and interpreted the look on his face.
and in the strange way that all of us inhabitants of this earth somehow align, i was feelin’ it too. rejecting the idea that i was projecting my thoughts onto this small reptile, i told him that we were on the same page – with our shock, our dismay, our pointing fingers, our plea for a plan to make the chaos stop. we were one for these moments – cammy and me – and, in these same moments, i was reminded – once again – of how all the creatures – interconnected – human and critter – on this good earth could care about each other.
it’s been balmy the last couple days and we have been out on the trail, immersed in the beauty of the whole tapestry. i would bet that all of the people involved in the destruction of this country aren’t outside much. they have little to no perspective about how small they really are. somehow the almighty dollar has usurped any sense of camaraderie with the beings of the universe, somehow the climactic high of power has decimated their hearts and consciences. somehow they have lost it all while trying to seize it all.
we visited cammy again before we left the store. i whispered to him that i wouldn’t forget him. he whispered back the same. we exchanged a “what-now???” look that doubled as “get-me-outta-here”.
we walked toward the double doors that opened as we approached just as cammy went back to clawing the glass.
i would rather drive than be driven. relatively easily solvable. i would rather fly than be flown. there is one teensy problem with that one though. i do not have the qualifications to fly a jet airplane. and so, if i wish to travel via jet from one place to another, i have to give it up – control, that is.
for me, it is not so much about control as it is about motion sickness. if my brain – sans bonine/dramamine/large quantities of ginger chews – can see what my intention is as i drive/fly, than i am able to go with the flow, so to speak, and my equilibrium seems to adjust. i never did get a pair of those funky anti-motion-sick glasses, so that is one thing i haven’t tried. but wearing a pair of those – in addition to a mask – onboard an airplane is sure to get me some looks.
i was nervous when my children were little and i had to fly places – away from them – for concerts or shows. giving over control to someone i did not know at the helm required more than a bit of trust for me. i had to consciously work at it once i was a mom, with much prayer and self-talk throughout the flights. ultimately, as time went by and i safely arrived at venues and back home, i learned – slowly – to give over, to trust that the person in the pilot’s seat had all of our best interests at heart. i learned – slowly – to utter a prayer for her or his clearheadedness and expertise, sit back and relax a little.
but now times are different. we just recently flew – pretty much right after a couple aircraft disasters had taken place and many FAA personnel had been fired – introducing more risk – and i found myself wishing we had had the option to drive. trust me, i do know that driving is more dangerous than flying, but – remember – i get to be behind the wheel so it all feels a little different. i managed to keep my calm and fly – several legs – out west and back.
but the idea of control has stuck with me.
because here we are – in the seats of america – with madmen at the helm. here we are – sitting in a democracy being taken apart, being dismantled piece by piece. here we are – citizens of a country in which every check and balance is going unchecked, where oversight is being eliminated, where the core of our republic is being shredded.
this is most definitely a time to be absolutely worried about control. the risk is monumental, the potential loss world and life-changing. this is not a time to trust nor to give over. this is a time to be wary, to not sit back, to not relax. they do not have our best interests at heart.
“there are times when fear is good. it must keep its watchful place at the heart’s controls.” (aeschylus)
his name is guttah. he stands right off our deck, just yards away from the back door and the gutter overhead that started to ice-dam in perfect ice-damming conditions which necessitated use of the snow rake that pulled all the snow off the sunroom roof onto the deck and subsequently down onto the patio where it piled up and invited guttah to come to life. and so, there he is.
he looks a little stunned and i’m guessing he is. suddenly, he came out of d’s imagination and into the snow. suddenly, he got eyes of coal and sticks for a nose and mouth and arms and ornamental grass hair. suddenly, he is. pretty existential stuff.
we don’t know where guttah was before this. zooming around the universe in some jet stream, looking for a place to self-actualize, perhaps. we do know that his arrival prompted dogga to sniff and wonder. so that, in turn, has me wondering.
what does guttah see – here in this world of packed snow? what does guttah ponder as he stands there, looking a bit astounded? is he searching for meaning, for balance or healing in what he could see as he zoomed from non-existence into existence? or is he desperately looking for a way back to wherever he came from?
if i were a snowbeing that just arrived from the galaxy of ice crystals and snowflakes, i most certainly would be questioning the intention of bringing me to life. particularly right now.
but after perusing the contemporaneous news of my newfound home, after looking around, grokking all that is happening, i would be certain of the reason.
for i would recognize that my very existence had brought about a bit of giddiness, a little bit of laughter, many smiles, conversation, a fun photo shoot. my existence had made the day of ice-damming, another day of negative-news, the coming polar freeze just a bit easier.
and for that, i would stand in anyone’s yard, off their deck, on their patio or in their grass.
guttah will likely be around for a bit of time. windchills are going to be below zero for a few days, at least.
i have to say, he is a pretty adorable addition to the fam.
each time we returned to our airbnb west of aspen we turned it on. the salt lamp seemed a beacon, warm light welcoming us. i don’t know if it was actually emitting any goodness – as they are said to – but it sure felt like it.
we have a salt lamp in each of our studios. they glow in those spaces and, whether or not they are scientifically proven to be goodness-in-a-lamp, they are soothing to us.
my studio is clean now. i removed a desk and all the extra stuff that was cluttering up the space, all the relics of jobs or times that felt negative. i have yet to go through the closet where there are a couple file cabinets of music, but the space – as i walk in – is a completely different place than it had been and every day i light my salt lamp.
when he came over for dinner a few days ago he asked when we were going to take down the holiday decorations. “sheesh!” i said. “it’s barely over!”
truth of the matter is that i love the light and spirit of the holiday decorations. the intermingling of the everyday with the celebration of divine. even so, we will – soon – take down the Christmas tree, all the little trees, the ornaments. we may leave a few crystals up for a while. and, definitely, the happy lights stay. there is nothing wrong with keeping light and real-life intermingled.
pine branches on the trail always get my attention. there are sections of our trail that just have a glorious scent. those spots instantly take me back to a favorite hike in the colorado mountains – where we hike through a pine forest alongside a brook that meanders down the mountain. funny how scents do that.
it’s like any time there is the slightest bit of salt in the air i am back at the beach where i processed most of my teenage years, back in the sand where i walked winter, spring, summer, fall.
the rolling-around of the new year prompts much memory-exploring. i can’t help but think of holidays past, of decades of new years turning, of resolutions and wishes, of sadnesses and hopes for new, times of tucking away the holiday and times of leaving it all up longer than ever.
for right now, the snowy pine needles nudged me to keep it all up. for a few more days. intermingled. to stretch the magic it creates a little bit longer.
i pledge allegiance to the flag of the united states of america. and to the republic for which it stands – one nation, under god, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. (pledge of allegiance)
…and justice for all…
uh-huh. yup. fer sure.
(snarky – though truthful – alert for what follows…and…if you are running low on snark tolerance, I understand. these times are difficult and it is overwhelming to be surrounded by so much hypocrisy, so much that is truly unthinkable. i am merely one more voice out here, expressing outrage, hoping against hope that the voterswhovotedforthis might be capable of hearing and – more importantly, though clearly belated – of listening. and that the voterswhovotedagainstthis might feel less alone in their own outrage.)
in case you hadn’t already read this – in numerous other posts i have written – i was raped. i am a survivor. i have been a survivor for over four decades. i have carried it with me throughout my adult life. though i spent most of that time in silence, it has affected me physically and emotionally, psychologically, professionally, and financially. it has touched every corner of my life. it is both profound and a profound change agent in one’s life.
my rapist was a predator who expertly groomed and preyed on young women, older women, underage women, virgins, innocent targets. my rapist also “successfully” raped other women. my rapist was not charged. my rapist walks in the world – free – even today.
and – clearly – my rapist could be president.
because – fact of the matter is – here we are…poised to have an adjudicated rapist as the president – a man also convicted of 34 felonies among numerous other indictments and allegations, but golly gee, why would we even mention or consider those petty little details?
and so, i have some questions for you, ye who have voted for this, er, person.
where is the justice?
did you know when you voted? did you not care when you voted?
did it feel ok to vote in a rapist, a convicted felon?
is this the person you wish your father, your husband, your son, your grandson, your brother look up to, emulate? is this the person you wish your mother, your wife, your daughter, your granddaughter, your sister look up to?
would you leave your daughter alone with him? your granddaughter? your mom? your sister? your auntie, your niece? would you leave your tiny child alone with him? would you trust him to keep his hands to himself and his pants zipped?
what is the deal?
or – and this possibility sickens me beyond the disgust i am already feeling – did you have some sort of sadistic vicarious fantasy voting him in – a man laden with cruelty, revenge, evil intentions – some arsonist lurking in you wishing to watch the fire?
i saw this meme:
“we could have shown our daughters that they could do anything.
instead, we showed our sons that they can rape, cheat, and lie and still become the most powerful man in the country.”
if you don’t find that inordinately disturbing as a parent (you know, the whole i want the best for my child; i want to protect my child thing), as a woman (you know, the women supporting women’s rights thing), as a human being (you know, the whole moral compass thing) – if that bit of injustice doesn’t get your goat – if the utter lack of and-justice-for-all doesn’t take your liberty-breath away – i don’t know what will.
i told him the other day I wasn’t sure if i had anything left to say. in the lostness following this horrific election, i still feel all the things i have already written about – truly gutted.
i would imagine that there are many of ‘me’ out there. heart-broken, infuriated, exhausted, confused, feeling betrayed.
and in that wanderland of grief sit the questions of “what is real?” and “who is real?”. they nag at me – wherever i am. we escaped to the trail and they followed me – sitting heavy on my heart, ponderous.
real (adjective): 1. actually existing as a thing or occurring in fact: not imagined or supposed.2. (of a substance or thing) not imitation or artificial; genuine.
and
real: behaving or presented in a way that feels true, honest, or familiar and without pretension or affectation.
and so i look at life now and think about what is real and who is real.
the “real” i knew would have stood by me, by my family, by values i assumed we shared, by the lifting up of humanity.
the “real” i knew would have been morally aghast by the cruel, devastating intentions of the new maga-regime.
the “real” i knew would have pushed back against all of it – leading with goodness and kindness.
but i guess the “real” you wanted me – and everyone else – to see wasn’t really real. and i will now admit, you fooled me.
i suppose – like many others will – that i could pretend it doesn’t matter. i could act like it doesn’t matter. i could interact like it doesn’t matter. i could just go on as if it doesn’t matter. but it does. it matters. it’s real.
mary oliver wrote, “you can fool a lot of yourself, but you can’t fool the soul.”
so even as i fight the internal fight – trying – irrationally – to hold onto what or who is really not real – my soul knows.
and, like many of you trying to process this soul-knowing, i am deeply sad.
it was this morning – while i was nibbling on gluten-free cinnamon toast. it was while i was dishing out dogga’s dinner. it was while we sat at the kitchen table, darkness quickly falling outside. it was while i was sending a picture-of-the-day to my children, while i was texting with my dear friend. it was while i listened to george winston’s thanksgiving. it was on the trail. it was at the matinee of the movie here. it was leaving the theatre, tears in our eyes, grateful it was still a little light out.
it is right now. and this is where we are.
there are boundaries to be drawn, plans to be made, worries to be worried, griefs to be grieved.
there is shock and outrage. there is absolute horror.
there is no humor in what will come – and there is disgust at those who laugh with the sadistic glee of getting their way.
there is knowing and not-knowing. there is lostness.
there is uncertainty in the insanity of these moments.
but it is right now. and this is where we are. still.
so i will take stock wherever i find goodness, wherever i find community, wherever i find even a bit of joy, wherever i find love.
and i will dance in the kitchen, make homemade tomato soup, grow parsley in the winter. i will hold tighter to his hand and hug on our dogga. i will be frugal and i will be frivolous.
and i will sit on the wire with the other birds, watching the sky turn from night to day and night again. grateful for the tiniest things – that sky, the birds who love me and who i love, the wire and the still of still being here.
reverse threading 