Tag: politics

aging, anxiety, friendship, life lessons, mindfulness, politics

A Positive Note

mimijk

Hi my friend,

These days I hold my breath after asking how you are. My hunch is that you are as frightened, stressed and as quasi-fatalistic as me. There is so much horror and division; it feels like decent conversation has gone by the wayside. We see the direction this beautiful experiment is going and shake our heads, shudder, and manifest peace only to hear the universe respond with ‘leave a message at the tone’.

I promise to turn this musing around – watch this…

I have been a domestic diva of late, reminding myself that my name is not ‘Hazel’ and Andy is not ‘Mr. B’ (yes, I’m dating myself and grinning because I hated that show when I was a kid). Doing laundry, cooking, food shopping – I’m finding these day-to-day activities comforting in a way. These are all repetitive actions that give me moments of calm. After all these years, there is a mindlessness to doing the mundane, while also needing to be a little bit present. In the haze of that limited awareness, I’m pretty calm. (Note to Andy – do not in any way read this as a paean to domesticity. Definitely not the intent).

There is something about bookstores that I gravitate to, as an oasis in a desert. A cup of coffee and the time to look at every aisle, breathing the smell of book and coffee is irresistible. It’s my happy place. I never leave empty handed, which to me is reflective of a positive outlook. Between my kindle and the growing pile of books on my desk, night table, ottoman and any other flat surface, it will take a really, really long time to get through them all. Let’s keep in mind, that every time I go to a bookstore, I leave with some written work, and the piles grow. If that’s not optimistic, I don’t know what is. I have every intention of reading them all and will likely continue to increase the books in the stacks. Kind of like Sisyphus, but I enjoy the trek.

I don’t have to say this, but I’m neurotic enough to do so. These are times of incalculable tension. It is true that I have not seen anything this fraught ever. There air reeks of acrimony that isn’t handled as reasonable people would prefer (on both sides of this huge divide). And it’s scary and it’s isolating and elicits feelings of generational trauma. I only inhale deeply when I’m in my cocoon of home, hearth, dogs and books (and Andy too). This isn’t the way I thought about getting older. Naive, I suppose. But I’m holding on to hope – desperately, perhaps. Jean Kerr defined hope as “the feeling you have that the feeling you have isn’t permanent”. I think I’ll go read.

Have a good day – sending love,

Mimi

life lessons, politics

Irony

mimijk

Hi my friend,

At the risk of redundancy, how are you? I wonder how you’re faring with these days of whiplash and cacophony – it seems like dissonance is the new normal. A strange soundtrack to be sure.

I’m careening between indignation and disbelief; two sentiments I don’t deal with very well. In fact I’m trying very hard to make sense of the nonsensical, and failing miserably. When Alanis Morrisette penned the song ‘Ironic’, I nodded in time and agreement, amused at the creativity of the lyrics.

Not today though – today I have a backpack filled with the ridiculousness of these times. So with no rhyme or reason, I submit the following with the hope that I’m not alone…

1). Dear Senators Graham and Hawley – your hypocrisy is showing – sit the hell down. As much as I agree with the perspective that streaming services need to be more diligent in creating safer platforms for children, it offends me to hear you assert that the CEOs have “blood on their hands.” You’re kidding right? He who throws the first stone, gentlemen …where is the sound bite about the NRA? Isn’t the absence of measures to ensure that AK-47s are excluded from individual purchase irresponsible at best? Or, that background checks should be rigorous? Does the fact that the majority of gun owners support reasonable regulations mean anything? And yet you do nothing. Hmm, I guess that means that you too have blood on your hands – just sayin’…

Dear Boeing – seriously? A few of your newly constructed airplanes have passed quality control, albeit with a few missing or loosened bolts. They assure us that every plane has been re-inspected, honestly it doesn’t do much to allay concerns..

Dear Puxatawny Phil – go ahead and burrow yourself. All the spotlights on you ensure that a shadow will be seen. Hardly prescient, I’m afraid.

Dear Literate People – if you don’t feel exorcised by the systematic banning of books, then your silence becomes complicit. Banning the Bible? The Merriam-Webster dictionary? Choosing to remove undeniable facts about our country’s history – because a discrete few want to edit the past? When did ‘woke’ become an epithet? Anyway, if you want to see the ever-expanding list of classics, just Google it – and then consider that anything other than a passionate defense, isn’t a defense at all.

Dear Politicos – give me a break. You flood my inbox, asking for money for elections that will take place in various eligible states. First of all, my name isn’t my surname, and it’s ironic that you plead for contributions yet can’t get my name right. Just for grins, I tallied up the requests for $20.00 – no surprise it would do up to a healthy contribution. Is it wrong of me to want to hear a stump speech that reflects aspirational ideas instead of negative assurances? Just throw me a bone – let me know what the plan is (caveat – I won’t vote for any misogynistic sycophants, those who limit the rights of women, denigrate minorities with extreme self-righteousness – but if your platform is filled with what you won’t tolerate, tell me how you’d change it)

I could go on, but your attention is being tested, I’m sure…So much irony, so much I find enraging. And in the purest sense we are all here to share the walk home (thank you Rumi), to accept the responsibility of being accountable to and for each other, to marvel at our ability to affect people without a clue that we have done so and to accept the mantle of love, for at the end of the day, that is our common denominator.

Take good care, my friend – I’ll write again soon. With love, me

life lessons

No More Than A Musing

mimijk

Hi again,

I was driving home the other day, anticipating the delight of throwing on my comfort clothes. More than all of the pret-a-porter fashion that I purchased when I was working, my deepest affection and connection is to my flannel pants and a ‘Davidson’ sweatshirt. Large sizes are not necessarily my most flattering, but they are, without a doubt, my most soothing.

When I was in college, my comfort clothes included a torn football jersey that my boyfriend (at the time) wore…in fact that was a big thing for awhile – wearing the shirts and jerseys of guys who were taller, bigger, etc…I lived in that jersey, wearing it and washing it until it was as soft as satin. Yeah, you could say it was a weird badge of some sort; for me it was a hug. Much like my outfit is as I write this at 6:00 in the morning.

I have reached a point in my life where comfort has usurped style in the pecking order of fashion, No more heels (and those of you who knew me back in the day, remember me wearing them at every opportunity – anything to reach 5’2”). No more outfits tailored to perfection. Nope – I look more like one of Oz’s munchkins in Scarecrow-sized clothes. Don’t get me wrong – my retirement style has not devolved to the point of pity. Jeans, leggings, Vans…it works for now.

But what I crave are comfort clothes, much like I crave coffee in the morning. And there’s a reason why, of course. I watch the news and I toggle between fury and fear and heartache – so much heartache. I find myself on a trek in a medical wasteland, where tests require more tests – a medical Matroshka doll, with few doctors that seem to give a damn now that Medicare has kicked in and private insurance has been kicked out (a post for another day perhaps).

And so I stand before you – a little person in overly capacious attire, looking a bit clownish, if not extremely comfortable. I have a feeling that you identify with this need for solace. I want to house every fleeing Ukrainian family, I want to cook for the displaced, I want to heal every person struggling through these times of frailty and horror, I want to propel us to some gentler moment. Big wants, big clothes. And so, I sign off for now – sending you love and hugs. Oh, and if you want some good resources for baggy comfort clothes, let me know.

aging, anxiety, bias, politics, Uncategorized

Defining Purpose

mimijk

Note to you, my friends – this post contains some political opinions which may likely differ from yours.  I respect yours; thank you in advance for respecting mine.

Hi,

The night merged at some point with the morning, although I honestly can’t tell you at what point that happened.  Yet here we are, 5:00 AM – the Sirs walked and fed, the sun preparing for its entrance stage right, and somewhere behind the clouds, the moon is tiredly anticipating some rest.

I’m over-caffeinated, over-tired, and my thoughts are a muddled reflection of both.

I alternated between watching our election returns and watching ‘The Crown’ on Netflix.  Arguably one offset the disbelief that informed the other.  I despair of the choice the US has made.  It isn’t the despair associated with backing the losing candidate – one reaches a point in life where loss is not unfamiliar; rather something that winds its way around the soul, infusing it with a sense of dread, a shortening of breath that mimics a mild panic attack when one tries to determine what is going to happen next.  I am not going to offer you chapter and verse of my concerns and/or fears – they matter little in a forum which precludes dialogue.

My mom told us that following Kristalnacht, my grandfather went to synagogue with the belief that what was needed was more prayer.  Whether his assessment was right or wrong is not for any of us to say.  He lost brothers and sisters in the Holocaust, my mother bore the internal scars of a survivor with a burden on her teen-age shoulders that was unfairly weighted.  Yet, my grandfather, grandmother, mom and uncle made it here along with a few other relatives.  Was it faith that got them here?  Certainly, there were millions who perished who were equally righteous.  Serendipity?  Luck of the draw?  I have no idea.  I do know her reverence for this country, the way her eyes welled when she even mentioned Ellis Island – her belief that her life was to be lived for those who had not.  She was a complicated woman; she was a woman of valor.

Her perception of her purpose for being was fraught with ambivalence.  How the heck can an adolescent assume the responsibility for so many lost lives?  How does an adult fully actuate when she identifies herself with such a legacy?  Somehow it all got distilled into taking care of her family – and that was both a blessing and a burden, I think.

During one of the episodes of ‘The Crown’, the Queen Mum, still mourning the loss of her husband, her home (ok, Buckingham Palace isn’t exactly homey, but still…), reflects that these losses were deepened further by the loss of her purpose as a mother.  Her girls were grown, their paths understandably not reflective of any maternal need.  And so, she wonders what her purpose may be.

Switching back to the election results with tears spilling down my face…I’m identifying way too much.   Here I sit, in a temporary house with and without Andy (he’s still working in VA),  my sons fabulously grown, retired from a career which was defined by taking care of others and anticipating strategies for future success (within my purview).  What is my purpose now?  What is my place in a country in which I am not sure I am a part?  We have done such a powerful job of alienating each other, pouring vitriol as gas on a flame.  We have blamed and shaken fists, self-righteously proclaimed opinions with no regard for debate and conversation.  We have been disrespectful and judgmental, narrowing the width and breadth of love for humankind, replacing it with some weird sense of superiority.

So, before I devolve into Alice when she was carried along by her own river of tears, I demand to know what am I doing here?  What the hell is my purpose?  Here’s my short answer – I’m here to chart a path where I can make a small impact (let me tell you how challenging it is to try and volunteer anywhere – no, better save that for another day), I’m here to show that there is more to this world than self-important excuses and justifications for things that are just not justifiable.  I am here to love my family and small circle of friends to whatever degree they need that love.  I am here to breathe deeply and try to blunt some of the painfully sharp edges that reflect our current narrative.  One smile perhaps at a time, one genuine moment at a time.  I’m here to grow really, really, really old (I pray reverently) and take up my small space with unflinching love.  Even when I don’t see it.  Just means I have to look harder.  So world, I’m coming for you…after I take a nap.

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discretion, friendship, inspiration, life lessons, love, mindfulness

Saying ‘Yes’ – Though I Really Don’t Know

mimijk

Midlife – Julie Cadwallader-Staub

This is as far as the light

of my understanding

has carried me:

an October morning

a canoe built by hand

a quiet current

above me the trees are

green and golden

against a cloudy sky

below me the river responds

with perfect reflection

a hundred feet deep

a hundred feet high.

To take a cup of this river

to drink its purple and gray

its golden and green

to see

a bend in the river up ahead

and still

say

yes.

If there is anything that the last few days has taught us, it’s that we can be awed, humbled, frightened, moved and bested.  We can be rendered powerless and exhibit mind-boggling levels of strength and determination.

I can’t help but notice how simply exhausted the trees look.  Everything but their trunks looks bowed and submissive.  I feel like they need the winter.  They need the rest.  As impressively as they stand, as they cradle the birds (who were having an absolute flight fest yesterday as they celebrated the end of the storm and were just heading in droves over to each other’s houses to catch up on the neighborhood news), as they release their leaves, I can feel them sigh.  It’s enough.  Just a little break, a time to be fallow.  It sounds silly – I look at them and my eyes fill.

I had the misfortune of hearing an Ann Coulter sound byte where she was opining about the presidential campaign in the States, and defended her use of the word  ‘retard’ as a descriptive.  My shoulders sagged, my head bent and my breath caught.  Really?  Please don’t lecture me on the finer points of free speech.  I’m tired.  I’ve wearied of the season – the glaring examples of ugliness, the mean-spirited back-and-forth that in my view diminishes any substance to drivel.   Name calling – on Facebook, Twitter – are we done yet?  I am interested and intrigued by opinions other than my own, but honestly I don’t do offensive posturing well.  You lost me with your first epithet, your first invective.  I’m done.  I need the arrival of the fallow season.

I try (emphasis on ‘try’)  to ask myself a few questions before I open my mouth (unless I’m singing of course) – “Is it honest?”  “Is it true?”  “Is it kind?”  Would that these would be the rules that govern our more incendiary social conversations.   Of course I realize that there are many who prefer the in-your-face discussion, voices raised, opinions morphing into facts – bet they don’t like me very much.  I will not engage.

And so the day moves inexorably into its morning, and the sun is still hesitating to make an appearance.  As the clouds cast shadows on the remaining golds and reds and yellows above me, I honor the insistent posture of the trees.  I stand with the people who have lost so much and still rise with some belief and inner conviction that there will be a new season.  And though I am not sure why, I too say ‘yes’.

humor, leadership, life lessons, mindfulness

Swinging? Like On A Star?

mimijk

Ok, at last check there have been over 19,000 hits on this little blog o’ mine, and I am beyond amazed that there are more than three people following me on a regular basis (well, seven if you include all the kids..um…eight counting my sister…ok, my sister-in-law and parents-in-law – that’s eleven).  I feel a responsibility to you – to be as honest as I can be and with any luck, be occasionally interesting.  If something tickles your inspirational fancy – all the better – it makes my day.

But there’s something going on in the media which is so blatantly flawed and untrue I feel it only right that I try to set the record straight – at least among my friends. You’re welcome to share this with whomever you choose, or just keep it entre nous – your call.

Every news channel, newspaper, e-magazine, etc is referring to Virginia and Florida as “swing states”.  Friends, I’ve lived in Virginia for twenty odd years now.  There is nothing ‘swinging’ about Virginia.  Nothing.  Nada.  Nil. If anything, we would take umbrage at the intimation.  Forget that whole ad campaign “Virginia Is For Lovers” – we’re as much for love as any other state (except Hawaii which is all about love).   We  have a lot of Civil War battlefields, Jefferson’s home (ok, there may have been some swinging going on there, but who’s here who can provide any specifics on that?), a couple of good amusement parks and some great wineries.  Arguably one could go zip-lining in the Shenandoah and you might swing a little if you choose to do that.  We have big malls, strip shopping centers, a lot of geese (who by the way are monogamous), farms and some gently rolling hills.  The swings in our playgrounds don’t even go very high (or low).   I have some friends who have experimented with ‘swinging both ways’ – but none of them live in Virginia.  They’re in DC and Maryland.  We don’t even do much swing dancing here.  Most of us don’t know how to do it (although my in-laws are quite good at this).

And Florida – really?  Have any of you been to Florida lately?  Of course not, it’s the summer – who goes to Florida in the summer?  And those people who live in Florida through the summer aren’t allowed out of their houses, for they’ll keel over from the heat if they venture forth.  Yes, DisneyWorld is there – and when I visited with the boys twenty-five years ago, some of the rides did swing a bit.  Save for that and the disruptions of hurricane-force winds, there is nothing moving in Florida, let alone swinging.  Wait, I’m wrong – golf clubs – yes, there are golf clubs swinging in Florida.  Is that what we’re talking about here?  And if so, what the heck does that have to do with any reportage about the election?  Does either candidate want to golf?  No one’s asked me, but I wouldn’t think now is a good time.

Sigh…this is but one of the many reasons why I’m a political neophyte.  If I think the terminology is strange and incredibly inaccurate, you can only begin to imagine what I think of the theatrical productions.  This is why I stick with Broadway – things really swing there.