Hi my friend,
I am acutely aware that we live with one emotional paradox after another – really I’m on it..
No, I’m not.
A quick comment about what I’m writing about – you don’t have to agree with me – I’ll love you anyway – but please limit your comments to those without a lot of snark. I’m barely handling the cacophony in my head and you could upend that delicate balance easily.
I wake each morning, with a quiet ‘thank you’ for the return of my soul into my very flawed body. I am grateful for this flawed body and recognize with a bit of ambivalence, that this is the only one I’ve got, so no pity parties (most of the time).
I celebrate spring – the smell of fresh grass, the awakening of flowers with their timid entrance before they burst with delight. Yesterday my granddaughter and I tried our best to grab some rain on our tongues – grateful; my other granddaughter FaceTimes with silly filters that turn her beautiful face into cats, puppies, unicorns and some really bizarre stuff – we laugh a lot – grateful.
Moments with my sons – again, beyond grateful – they are my heart and soul. Andy is still my anchor and rarely pulls on the string to bring me back, knowing that my flight path is different from his. He accepts the sneakers in the garage, placed there in case I have to run. It is true that after 30+ years, they’re looking a little frayed; I’ve never put them on.
Ok, arguably an attenuated picture, but you get the point. I spend a great deal of time tempering my anger with these reminders.
I am beyond disgusted with this country. This country which provided my mother safe harbor. This country where the first song ever sang in public school glee club was the music to Emma Lazarus’ ‘Give me your tired, your poor…’. The metastasis of hate that is quickly becoming too invasive to resolve with customary forms of treatment. This week the college in my town had to address racist and anti-Semitic graffiti plastered in public places. WTF?? Unconscious bias no longer is particularly relevant since all the prejudice is out there for all to see. My granddaughters will have fewer rights than me. I feel like I’m in a passionate minority of people who intrinsically want to restore what little social advances we have made. Basically, I want to bring flowers to a shoot out. Is there a branch of government that isn’t so politicized that they can lay claim to sincerely being ‘for the people’?
I’m done – believe me, I could go on. And on.
“He took of his fleece jacket, and then I saw his t-shirt. It said, ‘Fuck your feelings’ superimposed over an image of a big ram’s head. The ram had become the unofficial mascot for the confederates who were always complaining about people like me being sheep – which was weird, because a ram is a sheep.” – Christine Grillo (“Hestia Strikes A Match)
It’s a beautiful morning here; and we will have rain in the afternoon. There is no better way to end this musing. Be well and take good care, we’ll talk soon.