sun's setting on 2020

I've just re-discovered what follows...three-plus years after the fact. I trust that no one has been waiting for it to land here, but I offer it today for whatever one gains from looking back. Perhaps some perspective. Other than that, I'll let it speak for itself...and wish you exactly what you most need and want as this year unfolds. 

Spoiler Alert: We survived.

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I consider it a good sign if I've had a good laugh before 7:30 in the morning.

Case in point: Caught the end of this morning's local news program with some mention of an asteroid...missed the story but one of the anchors commented that given 2020, the prospect of an asteroid might give us something to look forward to. I hear ya, sister.

It's been that sort of year, hasn't it? Our individual lives might be different in many ways (and places), but we've undoubtedly shared 2020's turmoil if only by association. For instance, I don't know anyone who's had to deal directly with Covid 19 but my heart's been with the millions who've been affected by its pernicious reach. It's been a year of extremes, stark contrasts, deep divisions, and yet moments of kindness, grit and grace...enough to give this well-worn heart hope. Hope and perseverance.

I certainly do not minimize anyone else's pain, loss, and personal experience, but I've been temperamentally suited to the pandemic restrictions which have only encouraged my introverted nature. I've also largely been spared the wrenching losses and separations so many have and are still experiencing. Writing, Zooming and texting all suit me. (Phone calls not so much since I much prefer to see people's faces -- unmasked, unfiltered, if only on my screen.) And I've felt enough anger, outrage and sadness these many months to last me a lifetime. Still, this homebody by nature has done okay. For someone who considers herself to be impatient though, I think I've also tapped an inner reserve of patience and expect to keep drawing on that for the next several months at least. Yoga helps. Hope you all have whatever reserves you need as well...in the broadest sense.

For me, it's also been a time for learning as so much has gone remote and easily accessible (to those who have the ability). I gave a Zoom poetry workshop a try. It didn't take, or maybe I didn't give it as much of a try as I might have. Been reading like mad -- fiction for escape and non-fiction to explore my many blind spots. That's been humbling. Lots of public talks/presentations/events via Zoom -- me listening, not doing the talking for a change. Lots of writing, however sporadically. I've also just finished what has become a ritual or tradition of creating a photo calendar for close friends and some others I know could use some TLC each year. There's plenty of need to go around this time but I've identified a few who are coping with some truly life-altering situations. I can't do much but I can do this. 

 

I toyed with a different visual theme this year but came back to what I can uniquely offer. My coastal setting here boasts lovely vistas, spaces to breathe, and beauty -- both quiet and tempestuous, so I keep returning to it. My hope is that each month's image might provide a scenic respite for the mind and soul, if not the body. (Although I'll bet that contemplating beauty in any form affects the body as well.) Oh, and I learned to cut my own hair! (Good enough for now, but no photos.) Ain't YouTube great?

It might be apparent that my interests have long included grief and loss, transition, and change, but it's not all serious here, folks. I can still laugh at myself...probably will when I re-read this (Taking yourself a bit seriously, Karen?). However, this is my December 2, 2020 morning take, fueled by only two cups of tea. Be glad I haven't had more...

I hope your holiday season, however different if not difficult this year, is filled with a deep appreciation for what all we still have, for what we're getting through together, and a celebration of the direction and promise that light in the darkness gives us. (Yeah, guess I do take myself seriously...)

 

Wishing you the people (pets too), places and purposes that sustain you...and remember, there's always that asteroid to look forward to.

 

In Memoriam

A multitude of thoughts and feelings have held my attention this week and today, the eve of the 20th anniversary of the 9.11.01 attacks on the twin towers, the Pentagon, and a doomed flight thwarted on its path to DC, thanks most likely to the heroic efforts of that plane's passengers.

Others will say it more eloquently and movingly but I'll share only one thread that's emerged for me: Meaning. How we remember, characterize, commemorate, attach and ascribe meaning -- then and now with the benefit of hindsight. That's way too complex and complicated an endeavor for this post, and then it would only be my opinion...assigning my meaning.

That's what we do though. In our many ways, we each attempt to find or make meaning in the wake of trauma and tragedy. To be unable to find or create meaning would imply randomness...and if I'm any judge, we humans don't generally like that. (Not to say that 9.11 was random. Hardly.) Instead, we've been living in and playing out a collectively agreed-upon story since that day. There are innumerable backstories as well. Meaning aids recovery. Stories aid healing.

Again, it's not for me to unravel, detangle, let alone tell anyone else what to think -- then or now. But "meaning" is the lens I've been looking through these many years later and, interestingly, I find that my initial reactions twenty years ago tomorrow are indelible, and as relevant and meaningful to me today as then. Maybe more with the passage and perspective of time.

when words aren't enough

For everyone who perished on this day in 2001, who risked and gave their lives to aid and rescue, and those who later died from the effects, there is someone who loved, treasured, and misses them...to this day.

 

For them...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qMG1BXo8Asg.

Wednesdays in the park with Karen

Mockingbirds are notoriously shy...or at least the ones in my neighborhood, preferring high perches where they astound with their mimicry. Yesterday though I was lucky to keep quiet company with one in the back yard...on the ground.

I was cooling down on a chaise after some industrious traipsing around and heavy lifting. I'd spotted her as I schlepped back and forth hauling soil, surprised that she hadn't spooked and flown away. Maybe she was a younger bird with fewer humans-to-be-avoided hang-ups. Anyway, I stayed as still as possible as she hopped ever closer...and closer...doing what I now know is "wing-flashing" either to flush out insects or to warn me off. Regardless, she bounced even closer (now minus wing-flash) onto a planter, and ultimately onto the back of a chair. She stopped there -- no more than five feet away and the most pleasurable social distancing I've experienced in months. What a treat, a close-up side view and chance to check her out. She didn't stay long...puffed out her breast feathers then slowly...slowly...and with the utmost grace and gentility released a most tidy dropping onto the chair. Then picked herself up and flew back to the ground for more foraging.

While I'd created a place to rest, I hadn't intended it as a rest stop!I couldn't help wondering if she was sending me a sly message.

Nonetheless, it pleased me to continue watching birds of many stripes enjoying and making use of the space...generously sharing it with me. I tend not to be still out there, always planting, pruning, pulling something. Instead I was rewarded when I simply stopped, paid attention, and basically stayed within bounds in what is inherently the domain of my feathered and furry coinhabitants. (Note: I'm referring to wildlife.)

Neither exotic or rare, a modestly gray bird managed to teach this 2-legged know-it-all a thing or two: stop running, play nicely with others, and share the playground. If not, you know what will happen. Yep, **** happens.

toward a (more) perfect union

Faded black-and-white photos.

Ten-year-old white girl, proud in your petticoat-ed daisy print dress, white socks and wilting ponytail,

Fountain behind you...visible through the towering black fence.

The people’s house.

Feet tucked tidily, hands light in your lap, you sit together on the low wall.

Grandmom, as she called herself, in her own neat dress and comfortable shoes.

Lady’s handbag filled with everything needed just in case.

Smiles all around in the sweltering sun.

Later you're alone in the distance, Lincoln looming large.

His is a long shadow. You’ve yet to cast your own.

Hard not to stand tall in the presence of greatness however flawed.

Over sixty years since, I see promise, hope and the future in your shining face.

No gas...crowd fleeing...rubber bullets...arms and armor advancing.

No menacing phalanx spanning the stone edifice for a truly monumental man.

No steel barricade-turned-memorial-wall, art transforming the facade.

I don’t see the rainbow forming. Yet.

Ten-year-old white girl, you don’t know and can’t see what should be and what shouldn’t. Yet.

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Black citizens were boycotting in Montgomery, Alabama that sultry August day in 1956 as I was sitting in front of the people’s house and visiting the memorial to a revered leader. A few months later an all-white Supreme Court of the United States upheld that segregated buses in Alabama were unconstitutional. That separate but equal would not stand.

strangers

I think about them whenever I hear the new tallies.

I met the daughter last month during the last stocking-up run I made before joining others in staying at home for the next while. It was one of those seemingly innocuous encounters that suddenly takes on an urgency and depth that comes from being in distressing circumstances.

I had let her go ahead of me in the check-out line. We then had a few minutes when the cashier had to leave to change her drawer. She turned to thank me explaining that she was picking up a few things to take to her mother who lived in a residence for people living with Alzheimer's and had taken a fall recently. She'd just been moved to a nursing care facility the night before to recuperate after a brief hospital stay. It had been the only one with an available bed so here she was in an unfamiliar town and her mom in the second unfamiliar place in just a few days.

The center had instituted a necessary "no visitors" policy the day after her mom was admitted, informing the daughter that she'd be unable to enter again after having made sure her mom was settled. So now she could only drop off the necessities in her basket and not see her mother at all. This in the anxious days leading up to a state-wide stay-at-home advisory. It was possible to call in to keep in touch, but her mother was confused about how to use the phone so unable to call out on her own.

I secretly hoped the caregivers and staff could do more than help the older woman with her physical rehabilitation. She'd have even greater needs. Suddenly being in a new place with its own routines, with nothing and no one familiar around her, and aware enough to realize that...well, it was just the sort of disorientation that could have a compounding effect on her.

That was over six weeks ago as we were entering a new, more restrictive phase of this mushrooming public health crisis. Little did we realize, and I could already see and hear the effects on the wife/mother/sister/daughter. Our cashier returned and this stranger with whom I'd shared only a few spontaneous, personal minutes turned to apologize for sharing so much and thank me for listening. Thank you? It was a privilege.

I think of them often - mother and daughter - with no way of knowing how either of them is. I never learned that customer's name but I'd asked for her mom's first name before we parted, hoping to remember it. I wanted to make her real, feel her right there with us, and to acknowledge her. I can only hope she's not become an anonymous number in the rolling count over these subsequent weeks. She certainly is not anonymous to those who love her.

Terry. Her name is Terry.

simply this

My thoughts today are pretty simple. The feelings this evokes in me are not.

Stay Home if you can, Save Lives because you can.

Keep safe, everyone.