Author: mimijk

Woman of a certain age…mom, wife, grandmom, sister, friend, mentor, advisor, perpetual ponderer. “I get up every morning determined to both change the world and have one hell of a good time. Sometimes this makes planning difficult” (E.B. White)
life lessons

Not My Words, Though In My Heart

mimijk

This echoes throughout my heart…

Incredibly written for us all…❤️

The acclaimed Italian novelist Francesca Melandri, who has been under lockdown in Rome for almost three weeks due to the Covid-19 outbreak, has written a letter to fellow Europeans “from your future”, laying out the range of emotions people are likely to go through over the coming weeks.

I am writing to you from Italy, which means I am writing from your future. We are now where you will be in a few days. The epidemic’s charts show us all entwined in a parallel dance.

We are but a few steps ahead of you in the path of time, just like Wuhan was a few weeks ahead of us. We watch you as you behave just as we did. You hold the same arguments we did until a short time ago, between those who still say “it’s only a flu, why all the fuss?” and those who have already understood.

As we watch you from here, from your future, we know that many of you, as you were told to lock yourselves up into your homes, quoted Orwell, some even Hobbes. But soon you’ll be too busy for that.

First of all, you’ll eat. Not just because it will be one of the few last things that you can still do.

You’ll find dozens of social networking groups with tutorials on how to spend your free time in fruitful ways. You will join them all, then ignore them completely after a few days.

You’ll pull apocalyptic literature out of your bookshelves, but will soon find you don’t really feel like reading any of it.

You’ll eat again. You will not sleep well. You will ask yourselves what is happening to democracy.

You’ll have an unstoppable online social life – on Messenger, WhatsApp, Skype, Zoom…

You will miss your adult children like you never have before; the realisation that you have no idea when you will ever see them again will hit you like a punch in the chest.

Old resentments and falling-outs will seem irrelevant. You will call people you had sworn never to talk to ever again, so as to ask them: “How are you doing?” Many women will be beaten in their homes.

You will wonder what is happening to all those who can’t stay home because they don’t have one. You will feel vulnerable when going out shopping in the deserted streets, especially if you are a woman. You will ask yourselves if this is how societies collapse. Does it really happen so fast? You’ll block out these thoughts and when you get back home you’ll eat again.

You will put on weight. You’ll look for online fitness training.

You’ll laugh. You’ll laugh a lot. You’ll flaunt a gallows humour you never had before. Even people who’ve always taken everything dead seriously will contemplate the absurdity of life, of the universe and of it all.

You will make appointments in the supermarket queues with your friends and lovers, so as to briefly see them in person, all the while abiding by the social distancing rules.

You will count all the things you do not need.

The true nature of the people around you will be revealed with total clarity. You will have confirmations and surprises.

Literati who had been omnipresent in the news will disappear, their opinions suddenly irrelevant; some will take refuge in rationalisations which will be so totally lacking in empathy that people will stop listening to them. People whom you had overlooked, instead, will turn out to be reassuring, generous, reliable, pragmatic and clairvoyant.

Those who invite you to see all this mess as an opportunity for planetary renewal will help you to put things in a larger perspective. You will also find them terribly annoying: nice, the planet is breathing better because of the halved CO2 emissions, but how will you pay your bills next month?

You will not understand if witnessing the birth of a new world is more a grandiose or a miserable affair.

You will play music from your windows and lawns. When you saw us singing opera from our balconies, you thought “ah, those Italians”. But we know you will sing uplifting songs to each other too. And when you blast I Will Survive from your windows, we’ll watch you and nod just like the people of Wuhan, who sung from their windows in February, nodded while watching us.

Many of you will fall asleep vowing that the very first thing you’ll do as soon as lockdown is over is file for divorce.

Many children will be conceived.

Your children will be schooled online. They’ll be horrible nuisances; they’ll give you joy.

Elderly people will disobey you like rowdy teenagers: you’ll have to fight with them in order to forbid them from going out, to get infected and die.

You will try not to think about the lonely deaths inside the ICU.

You’ll want to cover with rose petals all medical workers’ steps.

You will be told that society is united in a communal effort, that you are all in the same boat. It will be true. This experience will change for good how you perceive yourself as an individual part of a larger whole.

Class, however, will make all the difference. Being locked up in a house with a pretty garden or in an overcrowded housing project will not be the same. Nor is being able to keep on working from home or seeing your job disappear. That boat in which you’ll be sailing in order to defeat the epidemic will not look the same to everyone nor is it actually the same for everyone: it never was.

At some point, you will realise it’s tough. You will be afraid. You will share your fear with your dear ones, or you will keep it to yourselves so as not to burden them with it too.

You will eat again.

We’re in Italy, and this is what we know about your future. But it’s just small-scale fortune-telling. We are very low-key seers.

If we turn our gaze to the more distant future, the future which is unknown both to you and to us too, we can only tell you this: when all of this is over, the world won’t be the same.

©️ Francesca Melandri 2020

life lessons

What Are You Doing?

mimijk

Hi my friend,

Well, here I sit – as overwhelmed and stymied, nudgy and confused as are we all. I should be maximizing this time – pouring over the classics that I have sworn to read again (not to mention the number of books I have downloaded to my Kindle), writing you far more frequently than I have been, organizing the pantry…

…instead I’m looking at puppies on Instagram.

Hardly a coping mechanism.

I’m trying to FaceTime with my kids and granddaughters, fretting that the proximity matters little. I’m cooking for the family of a neighbor who is in the hospital right now, baking…walking out on the deck and feeling grateful that I’ve got a deck to walk out on. Honestly, what I’m doing is seeking the mundane, searching for the every day that was every day before our lexicon moved from the politics of the day to the health of the world. I know there will be an after. There will be an after.

Our supermarkets opens early for the over-60 crowd, and I neglect to acknowledge that I am in that cohort, so I keep missing this window of senior opportunity. My kids are worried because I’m one of those over-60, who’s also immuno-compromised and enthusiastically in denial about both. “I don’t believe in aging. I believe in forever altering one’s aspect to the sun” – Virginia Woolf

I bought a half roller so I can practice my balance (Christy, I miss you), I’m going to dance to whatever Alexa selects, I’m going to keep checking on those I love so I can remain connected to the crux of my heart. And I’m going to send up prayers and hope and energy and love to the world. It may not be much, but it’ll make me feel a bit more productive than I do when looking at puppy pictures. And yes, I’ll keep looking at those too – for after. Take good care my friend.

life lessons

Postcard from Pilates Reformer

mimijk

Hi again,

I’ll tell you something – I wear Nikes and have found that I can’t ‘just do it’ – it’s a bit awkward frankly. After searching vigorously for the one pair of sneakers that would magically allow me to jump higher, cardio longer, dance with the intent that everyone watches…um, not happening.

Methinks I can’t blame the sneakers.

And as much as I would love to do my best Scarlett O’Hara impression, shake my fist at the sky and drawl a commitment to never be clumsy or compromised again, I’m not sure I’d be able to get up from my knees. I’m getting to a point here –

I’m beginning to think it just doesn’t matter.

There’s a guy – a gentleman really – who claims time with she-who-has powerfully-impacted-my-life Christy (it’s her studio, her heart, her humor, etc) before me. He’s got a degenerative neurological order similar in cruelty to ALS. And the point isn’t what he can’t do, for he has the good sense to celebrate what he can. I listen to the lightness in his voice, relish the smile that seems to generate more from his eyes than his lips, yet I can ‘hear’ from the waiting area. He works hard while he is there, not stinting one minute and enjoying it all. When he says goodbye, I feel the air change.

I have no doubt that he has days when he curses the fates, attends a pity party with or without guests. I’m sure he has daily discomfort and disquiet. It would be insulting to him to suggest otherwise.

The point is, I think he wears Nikes. And he just does it. Maybe I’ll keep my pair too.

Uncategorized

And There You Have It

mimijk

Hi my friend,

How has your week been so far? Are you finding time to check in with yourself as the driving beat of daily have-to’s increases as the holidays near? Come sit for a minute – I think you’ll appreciate this.

So, I have re-entered the world of exercise – or rather, a modest introduction to the concept of movement. It was quite depressing at the outset, with all these modifications being made for she–who-cannot-bend. I’d alternate between sensing a whiff of possibility in the air and then catch a tear slipping down my cheek, for I couldn’t help but wonder when the hell I became incapable of doing the most mundane stuff?

Anyway, cut to Saturday when I met the trainer for a Pilates session – just me, her and the reformer. No accommodations but for my height (let it go, Kanigan). It was fantastic! Each discreet movement reminded my body that it can still engage – and even suggested that there were some muscles I had yet to meet. In the midst of this delight, Christy said to me “Isn’t it great? You’re feeling your power again. Consider this past year AFGO.”

And what, may I ask is that?

Christy told me about the elderly grandmother of someone she once knew who referred to every plot twist in life as AFGO (Another F–king Growth Opportunity). After laughing at the visual this prompted (white bun, rocking chair, orthopedic shoes…), I delighted in the way it tweaked my thought process.

Most of life doesn’t happen as we plan – there are arguably more times when we have to adjust our thinking to the reality presented. How nimble we are depends upon our state of mind far more than our ability to physically bob and weave. Shaking my head and smiling, I considered the impressive number of growth opportunities I’ve had, while hoping for gazillion more. I welcome most of them – after all, I’m learning to be nimble. I do Pilates.

Have a good day, ok?

aging, friendship, honesty, life lessons, love, Uncategorized

Some Trips Are Longer Than Others

mimijk

Hi there,

I know – it’s been a while. I’m not sure if you’re still passing this way – and it’s certainly understandable if you’ve changed routes. After all, there hasn’t been anything here to see for more than a year.

But if you’ve stopped by – it’s good to see you. Clearly I’ve been gone – and I’m tentatively back. In the interest of abbreviating a very long year – I got sick. If you listen to my hematologist, rheumatologist and every other ologist I’ve seen – I didn’t know how sick I was. The year has been a blur of blood transfusions, biopsies, a bilateral hip replacement and a brain that went wonky because my blood was so compromised. I had to get multiple assurances that I was clear-headed enough to even try writing again. The thought of appearing more nutty than I usually do was a bit too much for me to handle.

I’m better now. I’m a version of me again – one I sort of recognize and occasionally don’t. I lost a year of mobility and engagement with the world. These days, my body is a cranky participant in my efforts to get a bit stronger – thinking it prefers being sedentary to the aches and strain of movement (honestly, I can’t even call it exercise – it’s more like wishful thinking with a beat). But, I can tell you that the return to normalcy is greeted each day with an emotional ‘thank you’, even if my body and I occasionally disagree. There are no more hospital beds, occupational therapy tools and elevated seats. I can put on my own socks thank you very much. I can engage in the most mundane activities – driving, food shopping, laundry – and I think each is pretty damn fantastic. Musing over the monotonous with a significant amount of delight.

And yes, there’s also some fear – fear of a recurrence (the autoimmune world is at best dystopian, at worst just plain freaky), an awareness of how much I am unaware of – I could explain the list, though I don’t think I need to.

So, I’m going to re-enter the community and see how we do. The musings won’t be this intense – they weren’t before and life doesn’t ask that of me now. I’m just going to keep my eyes open and my heart full – and we’ll see what happens next. Thank you for stopping by – see you soon.

faith, friendship, life lessons, love, Uncategorized

Where are my words

mimijk

My dear friend,

We exchanged emails last night – and now I’m without adequate words.  This post will not do anything justice, and yet…I feel like there’s so much I want to say.

I’m sitting in my little office, surrounded by pictures of my family – parents who I miss daily, Andy, my boys who are now men, daughters-in-law, granddaughters.  This is where I feel most comforted, most bewildered, most loved.  I have one of your photographs framed here too.  An abundance, truly.  It can make my heart hurt.  I whisper “thank you, thank you” throughout the day.  I can think of no better mantra.

We’ve never met, yet I feel like we’ve known each other for years.  How do I console you when I am literally across the ocean?  How do I begin to articulate to you – a man of faith and family, deep love and incredible grace – that I have an ache deep within that exists with yours.  How I pray for a miracle, even though I know that you and your wife have made peace with something I am railing against.  Yours is one of those once in a lifetime loves – and though I believe it transcends time, I want you both to celebrate it together forever.  Petulant, I know.  Selfish, I agree – for this is not about me at all.

I pause to look once more at your magical new grandson, as he is held with some distractedness by his toddler sister.  Her eyes are luminous, filled with some whimsy and a little mischief.   You are literally in the midst of the alpha and the omega.  One struggles with this most profound of extremes.  Yet, you sent me peace last night.  How can that be?  In your deepest sorrow, you offered me gratitude for feeling the telepathic connection that has caused us to write each other out of the blue for a few years now.  How can that be?

Cherished friend, I wish you peace.  I am thankful that your faith is deep and your family surrounds you.  I wish your beloved wife time…time to delight in your love and the love of her children.  I wish she could stay.  What can I say, I’ve never been one for small wishes when it comes to those I hold so close in my heart.  Needless to say, I’ll check in again soon, perhaps with better words – though that’s unlikely.  What can one say when there are no words?  Only these random murmurings.   Much love..xx

duality, honesty, inspiration, Joe Klaas, politics, Uncategorized

The Truth About The Truth

mimijk

Hi,

Remember that great scene in “A Few Good Men” when Jack Nicholson vehemently states, “You can’t handle the truth!”  I love that.  Because we skirt so many truths out of fear, reluctance, discomfort, personal disgust – I could go on.

Does that mean we are dishonest, horrid liars?  Absolutely not – in fact, I really like us as a species.  For every awful, despicable action that we witness, there is a generous, loving gesture to be seen.  We are cool, talented, smart, and have great music.  Our hugs can nourish us; our humor evokes hiccups, stomach cramps and a warmth like nothing else.

But are we honest?  I mean, really, really honest?  When we insist that we are our own worst enemy – um, not sure about that.  I think we’re honest with ourselves to the point of disquiet.  If it causes us too much agita, we move on to the issues we can handle.  Joe Klaas writes, “The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off”.  We certainly can feel self-anger – I’m just not sure if it’s about the stuff that whispers to you in the dark.

Don’t misunderstand me, please – I’m not the icon for honesty.  As a kid, I thought I invented lying – rationalizing (and perhaps to a degree rightly so – or so I believed) that my parents would freak if I came clean.  Obviously to a kid, that means you don’t want to get in trouble, and I hated getting in trouble (of course, who does?).

As an adult, some truths are harder to face, and perhaps if the effect of keeping them hidden causes little harm to yourself or others, those defense mechanisms arguably should remain in working order.  After all, they’re there for a reason.

But the big ‘but’ to me, is the illusion of all truth all the time.  I think that in and of itself is a fallacy.  I think we hide from certain truths, deny others and refuse to even consider some.  And perhaps the admission of this is the most honest we can be.  Personally I think that’s ok.

I’m not suggesting that we shouldn’t look deeper, harder and with a more fearless eye. We may learn something about ourselves that really can free us from certain emotional binds that inhibit blood flow.  In fact, I think it’s a courageous thing to do.  I also think that in reality it is the fear of what we might find that makes us our own worst enemy.  Surrounding ourselves with a sycophantic chorus that assures us that our flaws are minor and our assets too numerous too mention – I’m not sure that gives any of us the love, understanding and perspective we deserve.

Where the hell is this all coming from?  Certainly the disingenuousness of the news here in the States, the frustration I feel at all the crap that’s circulating and frankly soiling the air I breathe.  A little self-reflection, a little candor, a lot of humility and a recognition of the failures in our humanity would be welcome.  Whoever you’re for or against is not the issue – what is at issue is the absence of honest self-reflection, for starters.  And frankly, if you’re an enemy to yourself, how can you be for anyone?  Just sayin’.