There’s nothing like having a title so succinctly tell your story that you don’t need to write a single, additional word. And here we are: long day short post.
It’s all I can do to keep my eyes open.
Not only has it been a long day capping a brilliantly emotional weekend, I’m also laboring under the additional handicap of listening to the steady patter of raindrops through the screen of our front door. It’s deeply relaxing and mesmerizing and makes it oh so hard to maintain a focus.
Wishes flowing out into the Universe – Photo: L. Weikel
Short Walk, Too
I will persist, however, until I achieve my goal. Just like today – while we may not have managed as long a walk as we usually take when we’re together, we did manage to squeeze a short one in before getting on the road.
And there they were: leading the way, embarking on a brand new path – together.
And overhead? It was as if the clouds embodied the wishes of love, hope, and joy for the future – theirs and ours – that so many of you have so kindly offered, swirling ahead of us, leading the way to the very future we are co-creating.
All I can say is that my heart is filled with gratitude for the abundance of blessings we experienced this weekend. Hope exists in all of our hearts. And Love prevails.
I’m not big on speeches. I listen to them when they’re in my face or given at a time that commands attention, such as the State of the Union. But if given the option? I usually pass and wait for the highlights later in the evening. Today, though, a campaign speech was given that was well worth a listen.
That was the case with me again today. I heard that Joe Biden was going to give a speech at Gettysburg and even saw clips of Trump supporters, sadly fulfilling the stereotypes, out and about protesting Biden’s arrival in this small central Pennsylvania town. It didn’t even occur to me again, quite honestly, to pursue watching or listening to that speech.
Late this afternoon, someone I know and respect suggested that this was an outstanding speech, definitely worthy of attention. I started listening, but had errands. I didn’t even get into it far enough to give it a chance.
Then tonight, after our walk, Karl and I had the tv turned up loud so I could hear it while I made dinner. We were watching a taped segment, and surprisingly, the host aired the full Biden speech at Gettysburg.
All I can say is that I’m glad the powers that be kept thrusting this speech in front of my nose. And I’m glad I finally listened.
We Really Truly Need This
And so, on the off chance that any of you may have eschewed the opportunity to listen to Joe Biden’s speech at Gettysburg on the afternoon of Tuesday, October 6th – exactly four weeks before election day – I am providing a link here. Note: the speech doesn’t begin until the 3:00 minute mark.
It’s only about 22 minutes long. I think you’ll find it’s worth it.
It’s a speech aimed at shifting perceptions, expectations, and aspirations.
If nothing else, we owe it to ourselves to allow for the possibility that it’s not too late to save our country from the carnage DT is relentlessly trying to wreak upon us. We owe it to each other, ourselves, and our children to dream this vision of our country into being: stronger, more diverse, more free than we’ve ever been in our history.
A Reminder
October’s not over yet, my friends. In fact, we’re only hitting the one week mark tomorrow. I’m guessing you’re possibly rethinking my entreaty to keep track of your perceptions of what’s going on all around us this month. If you haven’t been writing things down and keeping track yet…I challenge you to reflect upon the myriad of shockers we’ve survived already in the past seven days.
Time’s not up yet.
And as we continue to negotiate these turbulent beyond measure times, keep the embers of hope and determination reflected in Biden’s ‘Battle for the Soul of the Nation’ speech tucked away in your heart, refusing to be doused by all the awfulness being heaped upon us right now.
I’ve always loved living where four distinct seasons occur. And I’ve never quite been able to name a favorite season. Each has its own unique charm and reasons to love it. But I have to say, this fall, beginning just at the equinox (September 22) and persisting into this October, has kissed us with some rapturous beauty.
On our walk this evening, it was almost as if Karl and I were struck dumb with the surreal beauty that kept unfolding around us. Funny thing is, not only was it unfolding around us, but it also felt as though it were wrapping us up, cocooning us, enfolding us in a warm embrace of hope.
Propaganda
We are being subjected to some pretty thick and intense propaganda lately. We’re being whipsawed from one dire situation to another, one outrageous slashing of norms and decency to the next.
As a result, we’re left feeling vulnerable and raw.
And what message do we keep receiving day after day? Take a walk. Look up. Immerse yourself in nature. Listen to the crickets. Notice the clouds. Watch the wind swirl the leaves off the trees and carry them miles away.
Hopefully, this pandemic has shifted all of our lives enough to make every single one of us realize just how important maintaining a direct connection with Mother Nature.
If you’re still on the fence, I offer you the two photos I’m including in this post. Look at them. They are unfiltered.
Open Your Heart
I love how rays of light piercing the sky the way they are in the photo at the top of this post make me feel that hope is alive and well and an utterly vital sense to have and maintain.
And then – I don’t know what to tell you. The photo below, which is simply a shot of some of the wonderful trees lining the dirt road that we walk along every night, makes my heart want to break wide open in an outpouring of joy.
I realize that sounds radical and a bit weird. It’s not necessarily a unique or special photograph in many senses of the word. But there’s something about it. Every time I look at it, I feel a tug in my heart. I almost feel tears starting to form. I can’t explain it.
But maybe you will feel it too.
And if so, then my work for the evening is complete.
In an effort to avoid as much deliberately-induced anxiety as possible, Karl and I decided to abstain from political fare this week. We’re choosing instead to rely primarily on video clips embedded in news articles for a recap of the state of our country as viewed by the Republican Party. Which brings me to what we’ve been watching instead: Schitt’s Creek.
We only started watching this show, which ran for five seasons, about six weeks ago. It just aired its last episode on Netflix this past April – and I’m pretty sure we started watching it because of the affection expressed by viewers who seemed genuinely sad to see it end.
It took us a couple episodes to get into it, but the campy characters and their affectations are both over-the-top and endearing. There’s no violence or ugliness. It’s mostly about relationships, primarily superficial ones, but some of them are particularly playful and truly fun to watch develop.
Most importantly, though, the show is an easy, light, and playful escape from, well, the shit’s creek we find ourselves up, especially as Americans, if we’re clear-eyed and honest. And just catching some of the clips from the two evenings of the RNC extravaganza so far, makes it clear (if it wasn’t already) that we’re navigating without a paddle.
(No. I couldn’t leave it. It had to be said. You knew it was coming. I tried to muzzle myself but, in the end, I couldn’t resist.)
The truth is, we’ve streamed an especially generous number of episodes of Schitt’s Creek over the past couple of days – and the irony just had to translate into a blog post.
The Alternative
The alternative to me making lame jokes about the name of a television series and extolling its efficacy in allowing our minds to slip into neutral for an evening is – you guessed it – more cloud sharing.
Tonight we witnessed some towering specimens of magnificence, which then gradually gave forth to some startlingly ominous and threatening banks of darkness. And yes, the metaphors weren’t lost on us.
It was as if we were witnessing a water vapor enhanced exposition of the soaring visions painted last week juxtaposed against the oppressive boogeymen of fear and oppression on offer this week. What was most remarkable, perhaps, was the rapidity with which the transformation occurred.
Looking NW – Photo: L. Weikel
A Warning
All of which feels like an essential reminder and warning to all of us. Things can change dramatically (in a myriad of ways) in the blink of an eye. We make assumptions at our peril.
We mustn’t be afraid – but we also must, at the same time, remain vigilant and steadfast in what we know to be of greatest importance in life. We’re living in unprecedented times, and we’re being asked to choose the world we want to both create and leave as our legacy.
Do we choose to see and build on the beauty? On love? Or will we focus on the darkness, the fear, and the division?
It’s not a stretch to figure out what the title of tonight’s post is referencing. When the announcement was made today that Joe Biden was selecting Kamala Harris as his running mate, I’d say my first reaction was a subdued, “Wow.” Not subdued because I was less than enthusiastic. My “wow” was quiet because it contained a surprised admiration that Biden had actually selected her.
There’s no question that she is absolutely qualified to both hold the position of vice president and step into the position of president should the need arise. But she has many other outstanding qualities that complement Biden and will combine with his strengths to create a formidable governing team. And boy, do we need a resurgence of good government.
Most of all, my “wow” was subdued because it surprised me. I was impressed with Biden’s self-confidence and maturity. And no, just because he’s 77 years old does not by any means translate into wisdom or maturity. Mere age alone does not confer self-confidence. Nor does it confer wisdom. And it sure as heck does not confer maturity.
Our Current President
Let’s face it. I don’t even need to write anything under this heading – it is self-explanatory. We’ve all been living (and dying) at the mercy of the whims of a person who lacks these very qualities that Joe Biden just exemplified in his choice of running mate.
The reason I was pleasantly surprised by Biden’s choice is precisely because so many men in his position (and yes, white men in particular, sad to say) would have been both intimidated by how roundly she scored points on him in that early debate and then vindictive as a result. Indeed, I seem to recall some relatively has-been male politicians (Ed Rendell springs to mind) recently being quoted as counseling Biden against choosing Kamala “because she was too ambitious” or “rubs people the wrong way.”
What a bunch of garbage. But when I heard that there were men, the Old Guard, so to speak, of the Democratic party weighing in on the danger of choosing a powerful, God-forbid ambitious woman, my heart sank. There it was again. That same old trope.
A Stellar Field
Let me be clear: I felt that the field of candidates from which Biden had to choose was extraordinary. And those candidates were all stellar in their own ways because he’d promised he would choose a woman as a running mate. And for ever (so far), especially in this country, for women to compete with men they’ve had to jump higher, be smarter, have thicker skin, be more creative, and do it all for less money. So I challenge anyone to honestly tell me they were surprised when it was obvious that the ten or so candidates he was vetting were all superlative candidates.
Given this state of affairs, he could not have made a poor choice. He could’ve made a safer choice – safer as far as his ego goes. He could’ve chosen someone thought to have a more deferential temperament. Or perhaps even more saliently (especially to some of the small men counseling him) he could’ve punished that uppity chick who chastised him on national tv using her own lived experience of being a child who benefited from the busing he failed to support.
Joy and Hope
After my initial, “Huh, wow,” response to hearing the news, I started watching the coverage of the selection on tv. The reactions expressed by so many commentators, activists, and politicians honestly made tears roll down my cheeks. For the first time in so long, I saw joy on people’s faces. I saw hope and heard a renewal of faith in the true nature of our country being expressed.
It felt like when we elected Barack Obama. For me at least, I was seeing an expression of unity and inclusion, a celebration of diversity and an expression of self-confidence that doesn’t require subservience to feel powerful. I was seeing an expression of our country and its values that so very many of us have yearned for and were perhaps beginning to despair of ever seeing again.
It’s overwhelming to consider how many people in our country feel invisible, disposable, voiceless, and worthless.
Which is why it was incredibly powerful to hear so many people interviewed this evening, including those who often do the reporting of our news say, “I feel seen.” Over and over, I witnessed the tears in their eyes. Saw the joy written all over their faces. Heard the hope tingeing their voices.
The election isn’t won yet. Not by a long shot. But the spontaneous expression of joy and hope I witnessed this evening was like a steady, yet gently soaking rainstorm on a vast landscape of parched cracked earth.
I realize many of you are starting to gain an appreciation for my fixation on clouds. Karl teased me this morning about what I wrote about them in last night’s post, but you know what? I’m standing my ground. Or maybe, more appropriately, I’m standing my ground but keeping my head in the clouds.
As we took our walk early this evening, I of course was enchanted once again by the most peculiar shapes of clouds that were contorting themselves above the fields. It was hard to imagine the dynamics of the air aloft that would create such convoluted shapes.
Nevertheless, today, I found myself resisting ‘seeing’ anything specific in those shapes other than their innate beauty.
Weird clouds – Photo: L. Weikel
A Rare Moment
All along our walk today, I found myself looking up. Maybe it’s a metaphor. Maybe there’s something within my being that wants ‘things’ to be looking up. Or maybe I just want a change in perspective.
I don’t think it really matters one way or another. The point is that I looked up as we walked through one of our oft-frequented ‘tree tunnels,’ and I felt awe sweep over me.
The photo at the top of this post is what I saw.
I grant you – in the grand scheme of things, perhaps it is one of the least special photos I’ve taken or shared. But just the way the trees framed the periwinkle blue of the sky brought a rare moment of peace to my heart and soul.
And then we turned the corner – and the clouds performed.
Nothing says “I have hope for the future!” like bringing a child into the world.
And so it is that someone very dear to me has brought a ray of light, an infusion of hope, into the world today – and I could not be more thrilled or grateful.
Cecelia June was born today – this most special “Leap Year” day – making her forever a child who will always be making choices for herself. For instance, on those years that her birthday doesn’t appear on the calendar, she will choose: February 28th? Or March 1st?
If she’s as feisty as her mother, I suspect she’ll say, “BOTH!”
A Connection to Someone
Funny thing, this little girl. We (her mother and I) knew she was on the way before we knew she was coming. And that’s because we were given a ‘heads up’ by the person to whom I’ve dedicated each and every one of these 475 blog posts.
Yup.
He knew before any of the rest of us knew. And he made a point of coming through someone, in a completely unexpected and surprising circumstance, to tell me how excited he was for this future addition to the family to arrive. And I swear to you, not 24 hours went by before I received a text from ‘Cecelia’s mom’ – out of the blue – telling me she’d had a dream about Karl that night– a dream having to do with bringing a baby into the world. A very short while later…
So little Cecelia June will always and forever have a connection to her “Uncle” Karl. Not only did he know she was coming before anyone else, but her birthdate and time will always share something with him as well. She was born on the 29th (of February, no less – no mean feat, that, being born in February!) at 5:15 p.m.
Welcome, Cecelia June. Your decision to be born at this crucial time in our evolution brings us all hope. And joy. “Bring it, feisty one!” (Check out that clenched fist. She’s not going to take guff from anyone. Ever.) The resemblance to a certain iconic photo is uncanny.
Some evenings I sit here and struggle to come up with a topic that might be even remotely interesting for you to read. And sometimes the best I can come up with is to suggest that we all just enjoy the clouds.
Tonight, for instance, I thought of a handful of subjects that have been running around in my brain like squirrels being chased by Spartacus, but decided, for one reason or another, were not places I really wanted to ‘go.’ It feels like the only way we can avoid absolutely every day being a challenge to our equilibrium is to almost become hermit-like. And that’s darn near impossible for most of us.
Sometimes, as you well know, I can’t keep my passions under wraps, particularly if I’ve been watching tv (like I will be tomorrow night, watching the last debate before a large swath of our country weighs in on who will be the Democratic nominee for president). And while I know it’s ok for me to ‘let it rip’ on whatever I choose, I do try to be mindful of the diversity of my readers and refrain from poking my stick into too many eyes (at least not that often).
Photo: L. Weikel
Look Up
I’ve been lucky enough to have a chance to walk a lot this winter. I’m not loving the mildness of the weather this winter, but it has made walking every night at least somewhat less of a hassle. Especially over the past three days, it’s been easy to average a bit over 4 miles each day.
Tonight’s walk, though, just begged us to “Look up!” At first, the sun simply looked particularly exotic as it started sinking in the west, rays bouncing off and squinting out from behind clouds. But later, those same clouds took on some fascinating and varied shapes all within the same small area of sky.
Without doubt, the performance by the cloud brigade as our walk approached its last stages this evening left Karl and me in silent appreciation of just how lucky we are in so many ways.
I even fancied seeing wings in the clouds. I’ll admit it; the simple beauty of these meteorological wonders lightened the load on my heart.
Wings – Photo: L. Weikel
So I offer them to you. Because that’s the tone I wish to set at this new moon: An intention to look up, witness the natural beauty that surrounds us, and smile at the hints that, despite appearances, we must make the effort to enjoy the clouds – and hold on to our hope.
Of course, with a post title like that, you can probably guess that Karl and I went to see the wonderful documentary Fantastic Fungitonight.
I have to admit, if you’d suggested that I would have an emotional reaction to a film on mushrooms, I’m pretty sure I would’ve been…skeptical, to say the least.
And yet it was just the thing I needed to watch, especially after the week we’ve all had. Besides being fascinating, perhaps even better was that it left me, and I dare say the entire audience, with feelings of hope, inspiration, and awe.
We’re ‘All Bad’
We humans think we’re so great. We stomp around on this planet acting as if we own it, know it, are better than it, and oftentimes, could give a crap about it.
And yet, we are still only scratching the surface of realizing the existence, and understanding the amazingly vast network, of interdependent life that works in concert within and without, keeping everything in balance.
In so many ways, we know so little. And the irony is that perhaps we only need look down in order to discover the solutions we think are impossible. Cooperation and collaboration with other species. What a concept.
Held Over
Some great news: the management of Acme Screening Room in Lambertville, NJ, where we saw Fantastic Fungi, announced tonight that they have arranged for the movie to be shown three more weekends! So if you want to see it, you’re in luck! I would suggest that you purchase your tickets ahead of time, though. Tonight’s show was sold out last month.
Actually, I’m pretty sure we can all agree the ordeal’s been going on for far longer than a week (and will undoubtedly spin out into the foreseeable future). But this week, in particular, has been especially brutal. And this evening’s climax, albeit both predictable and foreseeable, was nevertheless searingly disappointing. And deeply worrisome.
A Respite With and For My Friends
While I was noodling around FB a little, contemplating what I might write this evening, I came across a ‘share’ from a friend of mine that shifted my perspective. It immediately made me think of you – the people with whom I share myself, my thoughts, my joys, my worries, my peeves, and my devotion.
Right away, I knew I wanted to share his share that shifted my spirits, with you. Why? Because of this truth: a joy shared is magnified exponentially, just as a sorrow shared is halved.
What I find especially fascinating, though, is that I call this man who touched my heart with his FB share my friend. The truth is, we barely know each other. I live in Pennsylvania, he lives in Salt Lake City. We met eight years ago and spent maybe ten days total in each other’s company in Iquitos, Peru. We’ve not seen each other nor spoken since the end of February, 2012.
We rarely, if ever, communicate directly, even though we’re FB ‘friends.’ But FB does give us the ability to stay in touch tangentially. And one of the greatest blessings, for me, are the thoughtful and often fascinatingly beautiful or poignant posts he shares. They’re often insightful in some way, provocative of a different perspective, or simply loving or peaceful.
This friend I made eight years ago when I was in the throes of grieving for my son makes a difference in my life. His posts often touch my heart or make me think or perceive in a different way. And yet, as I said, we (he and the eight or so other people in our group) only spent a total of a little more than ten days together- albeit ten intense days.
The Briefest Encounters
My point is that the briefest encounters can make a huge difference in our lives. Kindnesses, smiles, words of encouragement, gestures of hope…they make a difference.
We make a difference.
Here again is the song my friend Brock shared on FB this evening that shifted my perspective. I needed to hear it. I bet you do, too. I hope you feel what I did when I listened because we need to carry on and not lose our heart.
