there are paper plates hanging on trees just off the sidewalk all over our ‘hood. they announce that there will be a fourth of july parade early on the 4th.
for all the years i have lived here – longer than i’ve lived anywhere – there has been a childrens’ bike and stroller parade on independence day here in allendale. we used to have jack andrea at the front of the parade, beating a snare drum – with everyone, all decked out in red, white and blue with decorated bikes and strollers and wagons, following along. a joyous time followed by ice cream on author florence parry heide’s front lawn (now, for years, moved to a different front lawn).
at some point our children became too grown-up to participate in this parade and it was handed down to the younger children in the neighborhood.
for years now, we haven’t participated in it, but it still holds an old-timey sense of charm for me and i still can feel the anticipatory glee of little children who get to be in a parade.
only this time – as the parade makes its way around the blocks – i worry about what is to come for those very little children. this time – though we are celebrating our democracy – i wonder how long it will hold. this time – though a 250th celebration should be a big deal – i have to sit it out – the glee, the charm, the excitement. this time i have deep concern about where it is this country is heading.
dogga is more and more bothered by the fireworks, so we will not be leaving him as they proliferate throughout the lakefront. as our boundary-less neighbors set off giant fireworks directly behind our house, we will try to shield dogga from the noise and flashing lights, from the fire in the trees and the sky.
i worry about the opossums, the raccoon babies and the birds and squirrels in the trees adjacent to those pyrotechnics and crackers that rock the house. i worry about the fallout of bits of firework that we find in our yard and on our patio, our deck, inevitably our roof, the next morning. i worry about the lack of regard to safety and – as it approaches the wee hours of the night – i wonder about the lack of respect for others.
what is it they are celebrating? i wonder. what is it we-the-people are passing on to our children, our childrens’ children?
what about our country – in these moments – in the throes of unprecedented corruption – is there to celebrate?
the purple allium is in the garden over behind the art center on the lake.
as much as i have enjoyed a good fireworks display – and even a hand-held sparkler from time to time – this time – this year – in this country’s current circumstances – on this paper plate holiday – i will just glance over at the striking allium – exploding in all its purple glory – and call it a day.
cosmos. this incredible flower is a cosmos. it is flawlessly beautiful.
each time we have passed these in the ‘hood i have stopped and just stared – their whimsical look is enchanting. i have said – more than once – that we should consider potting this and enjoying it ourselves. i’ve been thinking maybe one of these hot days we will go to the garden center and see about it.
and then i read that cosmos flowers “symbolize order, harmony, balance, peace and tranquility” which moved the needle from ‘maybe’ to ‘definitely’ because we sure could use some order, harmony, balance, peace and tranquility.
matter of fact, it wouldn’t hurt to have the cosmos as the new national flower (now that the rose garden – and its roses – are destroyed in vulgar favor of cement and patio umbrellas).
gifting cosmos to others – is, apparently, a gesture of deep appreciation, conveying the message, “your presence brings peace to my life“. i can’t imagine how much it might mean to our allies around the world if we gave them all cosmos and stood behind that message.
clearly an idealist.
marc-in-high-school used to accuse me of being the rainbows/bubbles/sunrise girl and i suppose he was – is? – right.
but what if?
what if order and harmony and balance and peace and tranquility were valued more than money? more than power? more than control? more than carrying an elite attitude of ethnocentrism? of supremacy? of nationalism? of xenophobia? of privilege?
what if we could all live under this great big sun, this great big universe, with love for one another in our hearts, with care and concern and compassion and an unwillingness to caste – or cast away, for that matter – anyone?
what if?
reading further i see that cosmos are also widely seen as symbols of resilience and healing.
wow. damned if i can think of a better flower for right now.
purple has been her favorite color for as long as i can remember. so every single time i come upon a purple flower i think of her. this time – this downy wood mint – was no different.
i don’t always send a picture or a message that says i’m thinking about you but maybe i should.
because in these days i’m realizing that people really need that. people really need to hear that you are thinking about them, sending them good wishes, holding them close at that moment. because these are not normal times.
we are sticking closer to home, closer to our dogga. we don’t want to miss any moments with him, don’t want to not be there if he needs us. it’s not too much to ask from a beautiful being who has loved us unconditionally from the first. and so we hang out at home, out on the deck, on the patio.
sometimes we go to the store to resupply and sometimes we go for a hike. we ask 20 for help when we have to be gone a little longer, to stop in and keep an eye on dogga.
we won’t be going on vacation – away – this summer. it’s just not the right time for that. our priority needs to be this amazing pooch who has stood by us in every moment.
and so we tend our little garden – herbs and vegetables and flowers. we make suntea on the deck and move our adirondack chairs from sun to shade and back again. we are grateful for the littlest things – the house sparrows taking dirtbaths in the holes our dogga digs. the squirrels scampering across the wire and down the spruce to get a sip of water at the birdbath. the intermittent hummingbirds at the feeder, the cardinals on barney munching on birdseed, the baby raccoon trilling from the maples behind us. nothing extraordinarily exciting, but it all feeds our souls on this daisy path.
and – as we chat – planning or reminiscing – we pick up our phones every now and then and let someone know we are thinking of them. at that very moment. knowing how good – how reassured – it makes US feel, we try to do the same.
this is the last day of national cancer survivor month.
and in the mess of chaos that this country is in, i haven’t seen much press about cancer survivor month.
instead, in the eddy of cruelty and the deplorable diminishing of real people with real stories – the administration has slashed medical and scientific funding, particularly as it has impacted cancer research.
it boggles the mind. truth be told, i don’t hesitate from saying it should boggle your mind as well.
i spent the better part of a decade involved in oncology events, touring with my dear friend and cancer survivor heidi, to lift up survivorship, to honor research, to celebrate pharmaceutical breakthroughs, to buoy non-profit fundraising for efforts related to cancer. it was good work, these events, as they brought us onto stages to speak and sing, to bring the heart-part to events that were more left-brained, to reinforce the heart-part to events that were already immersed in emotion and hope.
i cannot imagine a civilization that does not want to protect its citizens – its adults and its children – from the ravages of disease – any disease – nonetheless cancer.
i cannot imagine a civilization that does not want to do anything it can to provide treatment to its citizens – its adults and its children – in the ravages of disease – any disease – nonetheless cancer.
i cannot imagine a civilization that does not want to dedicate intensive research and profoundly generous funding to prevent its citizens – its adults and its children – from further iterations of ravaging disease – any disease – nonetheless cancer.
national cancer survivor month is about survivorship. it is about celebrating life, prevailing over horrific disease, acknowledging and pushing back on uncertainty and fear, helping others in these circumstances. it is about hope.
we – sharing the land of this nation – from sea to shining sea – are at a crossroads of choice. is it too much to expect the government of this country to invest in taking care of its citizens – ALL of its citizens?
may we – in this choice – be as courageous as the millions of cancer survivors among us.
“may your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.” (nelson mandela)
“these incredibly brave survivors speaking out about unspeakable things. it changes your entire f—ing life” (valerie bertinelli)
they were walking toward us slowly, pushing a walker, every now and then stopping to dance a little in place. it is hard not to jive to the EDM music – it sets your spirit free and makes you dance. our son and his collaborator were lighting a fire under a massive audience dancing on waveland and halsted at chicago’s PRIDEFEST.
i noticed their shirt.“i am somebody” it read. i nodded.
it was clear that this person was struggling with something that physically debilitated them, their gait awkward, their pain visible. still, they danced and smiled and fistpumped the air and all of us around them cheered. yes, i thought, you are indeed somebody.
yet this country is working on eliminating all kinds of help for the disabled: medicaid, healthcare, food assistance, education. conniving to make somebodies into nobodies.
the guy in the crowd was visibly upset. he didn’t just hug the people nearby, he clung to them, crying. something was moving him profoundly. i don’t know what it was. but every person near him was acknowledging these moments of catharsis, these moments when he – this somebody – needed their support and love.
i weaved through the tight crowd to get to the front of the stage while we were at milwaukee PRIDEFEST so that i could get close-up photographs of our son on stage. once at the edge of the stage – smushed – i started snapping pictures. the guy next to me turned and looked at me as i was feverishly snap-snap-snapping and said, “this is my first time at pride!” he was elated, joy beaming from his face. it clearly meant the world to him to be there – celebrating – for the first time – maybe being openly authentic in public – for the first time. i was thrilled for him and we hugged. he took out a big handheld fan and fanned me while i – in the humid heat of the pavilion – took more photos. he sought me out in the crowd a few more times, every time this somebody glowing, this giant crowd of people embracing him.
and the administration of this nation – in a disgusting display of homophobia beyond the pale – is going after the very rights of the LGBTQIA community, rabidly seeking to foist their own version of love and sexuality upon all.
in recent days i have read a post with passionately evil words beyond what i can even describe nor care to describe. it was written about alex pretti and renee good. both somebodies who were doing the right thing against horrifically extremist deportation intent. these young people – the same ages as our daughter – lost their lives at the hands of this government. these somebodies who deserve to be here still, living, breathing, celebrating and – yes – constitutionally pushing back.
and now – beyond the evil intentions already in place – in an unconscionable decision by the supreme court, hundreds of thousands of real-live somebodies will likely be hunted down, merely for the beautiful brown color of their skin, a product of where they are from, where they have escaped, from which they have sought legal asylum.
and the statue of liberty in the new york harbor reads, “give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”
your somebodies.
i just read an article about a woman in texas suffering from a miscarriage. she sought medical assistance only to be turned away twice at hospitals afraid to treat her because of the unbelievably extensive abortion ban. doctors were fearful to help her. her condition worsened and, though it is not hyperbolic to say that many women can experience acute distress from the complications of miscarriage, they still did nothing.
this nation is actively seeking – and succeeding in – limiting the rights of women as they seek care for their own bodies, unconscionably imperiling them. somebodies.
i have watched the epstein survivors many times now, speaking out about the atrocities they endured – at the hands of so many heinous people who have not been brought to justice, whose culpability slips into oblivion as institutions – with twisted mission – protect them. i could feel their pain, their frustration, their horror at the culture of complicity, of silence, of irresponsibility, of unconcern, of sloughing them off. and in those moments i have whispered to them how very much a somebody they each are and how very much they count.
“it happened. it was wrong. it matters.” (deborah tuerkheimer – credible: why we doubt accusers and protect abusers)
i can so relate. i, too, am a somebody.
“…brave survivors speaking out about unspeakable things…”
so many unspeakable things.
changing entire lives.
it’s all too much.
we are ALL somebodies.
“we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. –that to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, –that whenever any form of government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their safety and happiness.” (from: preamble to the united states declaration of independence)
somebody.
somebodies.
“…you are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here…(max ehrmann – desiderata)
in a diverse cross-section of life, i sat at the round table – one of fifteen such tables in the room. there are chairs, too, but not enough to accommodate all the people in the room, waiting.
it is a waiting place.
it is a jury room…and the hundred-twenty-five or so people gathered there all held a little orange card with their panel number on it.
it was a strange time to be serving jury duty, for more than one reason. the climate in this country does not seem to be one where the law is upheld, where the court is respected. and the ultimate court, those supreme justices, seem to be strangling the constitution at every turn. it is disconcerting.
i take this responsibility seriously. i’ve been on jury duty twice before. the first time i was merely 18 and in new york, called for two weeks. the second time i lived where i live now – and i, likely, sat in this same room as i waited for the high sign about my duty. that time i was sent home the first day. this next time, i was one of about 40 who remained in the room…
…and so we waited.
eventually we were told that cases had settled and that there would be no jury trials, that we could go home. i admit to being relieved, for i had much on my plate that might have precluded me from being the best juror i could be. and i believe that one must be the best juror one can be. in every single case.
and so as i look at the most recent decisions of the highest court of the land – the jurists above all others, i am appalled. how are these decisions upholding the united states constitution? how are these decisions aligning with the touted compassionate nature of this country? the empathy gap is extraordinary; the rhetoric of this political polarizing is aggressive and downright cruel beyond imagination. how is this the best these supreme judges can be?
it is utterly shameful.
another waiting place.
i hope for a profound watershed moment. i hope for the sun to come back out – to find its way, to wipe away the sickening darkness that has fallen upon our country. i hope for people to actually be the best versions of themselves – to use good moral conscience, to have compassion, to care about their sisters and brothers in the country and in the world, regardless of any social identifiers. i hope for this despicable time in the history of this country to end, for our nation to honestly examine how it got here, for people to honestly examine how their hearts embraced this bigotry and extremism. i hope to eradicate all that is choking off our democracy’s true potential so that it can be the best it can be, so that we can be the best we can be.
it’s been 38 years since i’ve moved here. thirty-eight. it even takes me by surprise. when we moved here, the deal was “three to five and then we move on”. uh-huh.
but it’s where we bought this old house, where the children were born, where life was lived – good and bad, happy and sad – and time seemed to fly by. truly. and now it’s 38 years later.
in the time i’ve been here – this place where i was transplanted – i cannot remember weather that has been as ornery as this spring and summer.
yesterday, while trying to keep up with yet another tornado warning coming from the west, i was on jake’s weather page on facebook – a local and much-appreciated meteorologist. he was reporting on the progress of the storms heading in our direction, with his predictions about them.
i read the comments on his latest post and totally agreed with a few, particularly:
“good grief! not again!” and “i can’t believe these storms this year.”
exactly.
because climate change is real and our extreme weather is directly related to it.
because global warming is real and our extreme weather is directly related to it.
because ecology and green sustainability are real and dealing with our extreme weather is directly related to both.
because caring about our resources, our natural environment, our atmosphere, our forests and seas and aquifer and pollution control and this good earth is real and we should care about all of it, protect all of it, invest in all of it. our extreme weather – and the extreme weather around our state, our region, our country, the global world depends on us and what we choose to do.
the survival of this place we call home – whether it’s wisconsin or any other place on this planet – is dependent on us to make good choices.
there is no way around it, despite any twisted misinformation that the current administration wishes one to believe.
make good choices. time flies by.
our world becomes our childrens’ and then their childrens’. our home becomes theirs.
“preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we’ve ever known.” (carl sagan)
even in decline, the day lily is stunning. even as it prepares to fall – its veined petals listing toward the ground, stamen curled and ready to release.
even in decline, it is beautiful, the bloom looking more like the wings of a butterfly than the petals of a vibrant lily, heralding summer.
even in decline, it participates in the garden, granting space to those blossoms that are just starting, buds that are just bursting, tiny green treasure chests on the stem just begging for attention.
even in decline.
my sweet momma – and i have told this story – used to tell me that she was astonished when she looked in the mirror. she would grab her red lipstick, carefully lining her lips, applying it, and would look at me – in horror – saying, “i look like an old woman!”
it was impossible to convince her – even as i insisted – that she was absolutely beautiful – which she was – those creases and lines in her face worn in by life, the sparkle in her blue eyes that never faded, the worry lines earned by worrying about those she loved. even in decline – her beauty in the mirror and in the world – was palpable, was real, was undeniable.
but i am beginning to get it. such an emphasis placed on youth – and how that manifests in our minds and hearts – the way aging reveals in our bodies vs the way youth looks on our bodies – it’s an insanity to think that static is the only way to see beauty. so now, when i look in the mirror, i – like millions of other women – are maybe measuring what we see, maybe counting the wrinkles, maybe frowning at the dynamic changes through which our individual lives are expressing in our bodies, maybe bemoaning what we are taught to think of as flaws.
instead, i just want to remember.
i want to remember how entirely gorgeous the daylily in our little garden – in all of its stages. how much i welcome every last dewy bud, blossom, gossamer-wing-petaled bloom, the dropping petals. how much joy it brings, this simple cycle of life, evidenced along the fence, not-so-flawed.
it would seem that i should grant myself the same grace i grant the daylily.
it would seem that as each day unfurls into the next i am – indeed – learning that it is ever more beautiful than the last.
according to AI – which is interesting to quote on a somewhat ironic level – “artistic expression is the process by which creators translate internal emotions, thoughts, and personal experiences into tangible visual or conceptual forms.” (ironic because, well, AI is doing so much creating-creating-creating, yet the question – is it even a question? -remains of the existence of any internal emotions, thoughts and personal experiences as they relate to AI, void of all of that. but i am digressing. we are talking about “artistic”” expression and the truth of emotions, thoughts and experiences.)
aussies (australian shepherds) love to dig. they not only love to dig, but they are damn good at it. dogga is not an exception. he is a next-level digger.
and so, because he is simply expressing himself – particularly at this senior point in his life – we have decided not to put boundaries on this expression. we fill in the holes so he and no one else trip and he digs them again. it is a small price to pay to see our sweet old dog in his bliss. and someday – which, no matter what, will be too soon – we can again have closer-to-perfect grass in our backyard. it’s really not important. in the meanwhile, we applaud his translation of “internal emotions, thoughts and personal experiences into tangible visual and conceptual form“.
it’s like that with all of us artists. to have others applaud our translations, rich in emotion, thoughts and experiences – whether in dirt, clay, canvas and paint, dance, words of verse or story, notes of music you can hear and feel though not touch as they float by – is to acknowledge not just our bliss, but our imperative to speak, in whatever medium fits.
it’s not applause-applauding we seek. it is freedom-to-express-applauding, the granting of the air on this earth to us – the artists – just like it is granted to all other ways of living, ways of being, all other imperatives. it simply can’t be helped or stopped. it is the way of the earth, of thinking minds, of questioning hearts, of the visceral and the emotive, of making something from nothing.
today. be the change, today. in your own little corner of the world, today. the change. what you wish to see in the world. today. be it. right where you are.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will change the narrative. i will expose ill intent, brazen abuse, toxic audacity, all manner of power and control that yields long-term devastating trauma.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will push back against lies, against spin, against complicity, against all manner of hiding the truth, all manner of abdicating responsibility, all manner of forever escaping culpability, all manner of those who walk free and without conscience.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will lift every one who has been harmed, every one who has been victim of monstrous wounds, every one who has not been safe. i will hold them tenderly and fiercely, i won’t let go.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. because i have spoken up, spoken out, acted on my words. i will protect my little corner of the world – historically and contemporaneously.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will lift the rug and sweep the dirt from beneath it. i will scrape through layers of the disregarded toxic, the loathsome secrecy of it all.
it is today. and today, i will be the change. i will not be silenced. i will breathe. and…exhale.
it is today. and today, i will be the change.
just as you can.
bridie’s words – an addendum to those of mahatma gandhi – be the change – in your own little corner of the world. that is where we all must start. that’s where i’m starting.
reverse threading 