The passage of months, weeks, days, and hours delivers us once again to The Holidays, a time of year we celebrate religiously whether we are or not. Christmas is such a fusion of new and ancient traditions, from pagan to Holy of Holies, it’s hard to know just what to make of it as an adult. If I were a novice looking in, I’d be totally baffled by all the cognitive disconnect involved and mystified as to what Baby Jesus has to do with singing mice in Christmas hats, and other flights of fancy. I would also be troubled by how militant Jesus appears to have become while I wasn’t noticing.
Christmas Past was always about family more than anything else. There was abundant food, a pile of packages under the tree, music, aromas, laughter, and hugs, all cooking down to a big happy mess called family. At least once every year we were many and we were mighty… and that feeling of belonging to something bigger than yourself can’t be replicated, so I miss it. Time extracts an inevitable toll on family dynasties… we become citizens of the world, taking our children and grandchildren with us, until the connections pull taut and start to fray. We don’t know each other, which is standard for this time in history but makes for a little melancholy nonetheless.
Christmas, whatever it may be, always arrives on time, even in war-torn areas and battle-weary hearts of every kind. It’s a few hours, a day, a week, in which we seek to make ourselves whole and new again before we screw up yet another year of living. Sigh… “it’s the most wonderful time of the year.”
And it really is, regardless. I have no idea what the whole thing represents to most people now, but the lights and decorations, the pictures of children’s happy faces, and the generous atmosphere improve the scene during an otherwise mostly gray season, no matter what.
It’s gray and chill this morning and nearly all the trees have finally dropped their leaves except the sugar maples, so it’s almost time to make the cookies and dust the chimney before Midnight Mass.
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A sincere Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and wishes for a good and safe year ahead.
What a long strange trip it’s been… and growing stranger by the minute. The air feels muted and in a state of suspended animation, but it’s winter time and the trees stand diminished in their vulnerable nakedness, painting stark lines against a gray sky. Nobody’s saying much, though, which brings a room down in a hurry. And it’s cold out, that’ll do it for sure. This is a strange time in history that we hoped never to see… but we instinctively knew that if it ever did arrive, it would look a lot like this.
So kids, if the voting stats are true we’re faced with the knowledge that a third to half the nation is opposed, often violently, to the values held by the other half. What do we even do with a sobering statistic like that? The next four years, and who knows how many more, lie before us. Days, weeks, months, and years when we won’t know which half of the people we encounter hate us and all we stand for, which half would prefer that we exist elsewhere or not at all. It is, to say the least, unsettling.
The nation that has represented freedom to the rest of the world is now scheming to rid the country of “undesirables,” by force and all other means necessary. It’s incomprehensible.
And there’s this, which we knew would be coming at us eventually:
Merry Election Eve, boys and girls, we’re finally almost there after a long tedious slog, but I must say this feels like the opposite of preChristmas excitement and more like existential dread. When the incident pictured below happened nine years ago that should have been the end of it. Instead it was the start of a continuous succession of unPresidential shenanigans, by which I mean crimes. He’s always showed us exactly who he is. Can we be done now, and will the tattered threads of democracy still hold?
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Since the day the polls opened here I’ve been antsy to vote early, but for once in my life tradition constrains me. Our official polling place is in the historic old Cider Gallery, now an art museum and event venue, so it always feels appropriately weighty to exercise our citizenship there, followed by breakfast at The Roost and maybe a Bloody Mary to mark the occasion. And then if all goes well, we’ll be on our balcony tomorrow night making noise.
The Cider Gallery
It feels like an eternity has passed since November 8, 2016, a date that truly will live in infamy. The events of that day, and all the ones to follow, have altered life for every soul within our shores, and ended the lives of over a million during the COVID peak. No quarter has been left untouched, no person unchanged. We’ve come close to losing everything that matters… and for no valid reason other than ego. Can we step back from the abyss now and come home to reality? Together somehow?
We’re tired. Exhausted from the effort required to hold it together for ourselves and everyone around us. We need peace and rest as a nation while we try learning to trust each other again. I hope we all find safe harbor.
When you were a kid, did your mom stretch a little clothesline between two points and fill it with the dates remaining until Christmas? Each day you’d remove the clothespin from the current page as your anticipation and excitement grew, hoping Christmas morning would bring sweetness you couldn’t even imagine.
And now we’re waiting day by day for either a desperately needed taste of heaven, or the Christmas from hell, feeling like the children we still are, hoping against hope for things to be right, tamping down the niggling fears with mindless activity, snapping at loved ones and generally being a pain. Doesn’t exactly feel like good ol’ Christmas Past, BUT WE’RE NOT GOING BACK because we don’t have that choice anymore. Either heaven or hell is in the process of enveloping us or obliterating us, and the not knowing is a test for the ages.
Last night America’s implicitly-acknowledged fascist presidential candidate held a rally in Madison Square Garden, just as the American Nazi party did in 1939. It was predictably ugly. Racist, bigoted, mean-spirited, crushingly negative. If there are truly people still straddling the fence between life and death, that’s a staggering thing to accept.
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The R ticket, both of them, have said they’ll send the military for the “enemies among us,” meaning all who didn’t vote for them, and mos def for people who’ve been mouthy about them. I should be afraid, I guess… and if it came right down to it my voice would probably shake… but they’re just gonna have to come for me, I’m too tired to move everything including my memories, and I’m not willingly going anywhere without all my kids. I hope.
If democracy prevails on November 5th, how long do you think it will take to repair the damage done over the past decade and more? We know it’s going to take time for the trump stench to fade… we’ve learned things about friends and loved ones that we can’t un-know or unsee, and trust is not a thing easily restored. It will always be heartbreaking to me that one of the worst humans to ever walk the earth was able to foment such division between people who knew better but followed him anyway… or didn’t.
A relative’s warning sign on social media will stay with me forever: IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE TRUMP WON WE CAN’T BE FRIENDS. This era has definitely brought home the lesson that blood is NOT thicker than politics, and for someone who believed all the family fairytales, that’s a comeuppance, but not the first.
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My biggest HOPE hit is coming from the massive army of women, right about now cresting the horizon and temporarily blotting out the sun. The bullies have left us no choice and WE ARE NOT GOING BACK. They should be thankful we only want justice, not revenge.
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And in a gesture of solidarity with my reading public…
Remember the night of November 8, 2016? Remember the tears and how sick with dread we were, knowing life was about to become very difficult… and indeed it did. We were aghast that someone so awful had been placed in the White House… and he STILL refuses to go away and leave us in peace.
And now, running for president again, still, ad infinitum is this 2x impeached candidate with 34 felony convictions, how insane is that? As a convicted felon, he can’t vote. As a convicted felon, he can’t join the military, but as president he would be its “leader.” Makes my head swim. He’s a rapist, a pedophile, a career criminal, a friend to Putin and others like him. How did we get here?
After years of angst and concern, we’re within 21 days… three weeks… of knowing whether there will be a peaceful transfer of power this time, and who will hold what used to be the most important office on the planet. We have three weeks to climb down off the “undecided” fence and state with our vote whether we choose democracy or fascism, the only question on the ballot. As Americans we tend to think we’re fairly untouchable… magically blessed somehow. We aren’t used to facing stark reality the second we open our eyes in the morning. Reality, however, has come to roost on our doorstep and demands to be faced NOW.
The MAGA party is confronted with a classic bait-and-switch. The corpulent reeking hulk formerly known as King Drumpf is crumbling and decomposing before our eyes. Try watching and listening to one of his most recent rallies, which are now being held in the afternoon before he starts sundowning TOO badly. Even then things aren’t going smoothly in any way, and there was a credible report that he soiled his diaper during one recent speech, necessitating the spraying of a strong scent in his vicinity. This is a potential U.S. president. His diet is awful, his drug use rampant, his exercise nonexistent. Whether he’s drooling on his french fries by January, or face down in them, everybody gets JD by default, a fascist to the core and far more dangerous than the orange clown. It’s likely that JD or someone synonymous with him was the plan from the get-go.
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Since I’m not a compliant lil’ ol’ lady, and have said my piece all over the internet, I have to wonder if it would even be wise for me to stick around if the party of revenge were to win. JD says they’re going to send the military out to round up everyone who didn’t vote for them, so my voting record, let alone my words, would likely damn me to their version of hell. Crazy to think about, but they simply ARE crazy, so we’re on our own if they win.
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In my late 70s now, I have no urge to relocate and start over yet again, and leaving loved ones behind would be a bridge too far, so here we are. I would benefit at this point from a conversation with my great- and great-great grandparents who left Germany to keep nine young brothers from being conscripted into Kaiser Bill’s army and made a good life here in eastern Kansas. Even more, I’d like to talk with a German contemporary from the 1940s. What were the vital signs, both early and late? What kept you from leaving your homeland? If you could do it over, would you choose to stay or flee?
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This being no time to fall apart, I’ll pray for a dry spell and keep on keeping on, bearing in mind this admonition from a wise man…
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The idea that there are “others” who are not like us is what keeps hate simmering. Are we ready yet to turn off the fire?
… and the flowers and the trees and the moon up above and a thing called Love.
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If you’re a regular here, you know that we hosted a mourning dove couple last spring and summer, watching them raise and fledge four sets of chicks. Kim named the parents David and Darlene Dove, and he subsequently gave monikers to each chick as they hatched. One set of babies was named Durwood and Donna, I remember. And then, right on schedule, D&D showed up here again in April this year and hatched Willie & SnoopDove… but lil’ Snoop failed to thrive. After that, D&D put one more set of eggs in the nest before they inexplicably disappeared, leaving the eggs to languish and making my Mama heart hurt.
So when a young skinny pair of doves started scoping us out in May, I feigned disinterest. Not gonna hurt me again, ‘k? Totes unaware of my sulky mood, they bypassed the wooden dove house to nest deep in the east end of the fern baskets… and kept their own counsel. Fine with me, don’t wanna know, everybody just stay in your own lane. One day both parents, whom Kim had by now named Bonnie and Clyde, were out of the nest, and a casual look-see told us that there was one tiny white egg. On a subsequent day, we saw that there were two. My interest was piqued, of course, but far be it from me to precipitate another vanishing act via simple curiosity. We’ve been stellar landlords to this point, sensitive to Bonnie & Clyde’s comings and goings, and taken care not to startle them overly much when we’re on the deck. Kim’s judicious about watering that end of the fern basket, so it’s a bit of a balancing act.
The picture looked a little like this when we finally caught on that the nursery was in business again.
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Kim went out yesterday afternoon and there was just one fat baby in the nest. By evening there were none, so a new generation of Smith-hosted mourning doves has fledged and is likely somewhere in the East Lawrence forest. They looked a lot like this before they left… shockingly “huge,” when we weren’t even sure they existed at all!
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Kim named this year’s inaugural chicks Batman and Robin, may they thrive and prosper. One of the parent doves was still hanging around at dusk yesterday, so we hope there will be eggs in the nest again soon. Que sera sera. Whatever will be will be.
In the interim, some lovely summer blossoms for all that ails our spirits.
Good morning, my fellow round-the-bend players, how’s July shaping up for you? Okay, yeah, kinda what I thought. A lot going on, huh. There’s such a general upheaval in progress at all times now, it’s tricky to keep things sorted out. What’s important? What really matters? How can I be helpful instead of simply in the way? We have an incredible array of life or death issues in the air around us at once, none of which we hold any real sway over, and it’s fairly mindnumbing.
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Having spent the past week on the knife-edge of mortality, in the throes of Martian Death Flu, I’m back better than ever and ready to tear a chunk in the space-time continuum. Today, Monday, in a surprise fierce attack, it’s List-Making Day, and we’re in great shape on that so far, Alex. The determination and sense of purpose fairly leap off the page and the ecclesiastical “we” can’t wait to get started. In fact, we’ve already ticked two things off the list, including one from yesterday just to double up on the endorphins.
In light of what we wake up to every morning, we need all the good endorphins we can get, mainlined into the system. There are strange dichotomies at work that we aren’t used to dealing with, and that turns normally-mundane things very weird. I’m not Catholic, so no dog in the fight, but for the first time in 600 years two popes are alive at the same time. That raises chain-of-command questions I’m not sure anyone really wants to address, so I’ll just leave it here for posterity.
By somewhat the same token, we’ve basically had two presidents simultaneously in the U.S. since 2021, and I do have a big woolly-bear of a dog in that fight. The legitimate president calls the shots and gets things done, the pretender shoots wildly in every direction and keeps his cul… um, base, on fire. His own family, including niece Mary, a Phd in clinical psychology, calls him batshit crazy, but a percentage of people in the country think he’s better than sex, which is worrisome on every level.
At the SAME EXACT TIME we have two hugely influential generations aging out… the Silent Generation and the Boomers. Every day my Facebook feed is sprinkled with stories and cool photos of people from my parents’ generation, all the celebrities I grew up knowing about. The vast majority are in their 90s and past 100, still doing that thing they do, which is generally to make life feel better to the rest of us. They’re leaving a very large void as they slip away one by one. I’ll wake up one of these mornings to find that Willie Nelson is no longer a citizen of this earth and I don’t know if I can bear it.
I remember people saying that as we age time speeds up. Yes and no. Twelve straight hours of daylight can seem like a week, but the weekends arrive and depart in double-time. The Silents and we Boomers are reaping the benefits of better nutrition as it came to us along the way, and it’s showing up not only in longevity but also productivity. A whole lot of us still have all our faculties, strange as that may sound coming from someone out of the 1960s and 70s (if you remember it, you weren’t there), and we’re still a force, but the world has no idea what to do with us. The law writers and hangers-on DO mos def want to get their hands on all the Social Security monies we’ve paid into the system our entire working lives, and let’s just say it, to do that they need us dead. I mean, how else? These and other realities keep me awake for whole seconds at night before I slip into my own “little death” and shuttle my brain over to dreamland. And hoo-boy, there have been some bizarre scenarios lately, what’s up with that.
While I’m rolling, imma say this too: Any way we slice it, however it turns out, the presidential election of 2024 is not simply that. Change is coming regardless, the question now is how much and how fast. Will this be the year America turns its broad backside on our WWII defenders and simply strolls into fascism like it’s a Sunday picnic, or will we wake up in time to take a shot at doing it right? America willingly sauntering into Christian Nationalism, hands behind our backs, sounds ridiculous. I hope we won’t do that, but I don’t draw up the plans. No one ever even asks me, despite dedicated years of opinionated observation. Someone who does know what the plan is, by the name of Kevin Roberts, should be checked out and taken seriously, though. He means it.
Please avail yourself of a copy of Project 2025 to see what the end of democratic rule and beginning of religious oppression looks like.There’s also a documentary called “Bad Faith.”But let’s focus on Project 2024 so we don’t have to worry about 2025!
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One thing we’ve discovered is that Joseph Heller was a prophet:
“It was miraculous. It was almost no trick at all, he saw, to turn vice into virtue and slander into truth, impotence into abstinence, arrogance into humility, plunder into philanthropy, thievery into honor, blasphemy into wisdom, brutality into patriotism, and sadism into justice. Anybody could do it; it required no brains at all. It merely required no character.”
A note of hope writ large today: England and France, both leaning seriously right for a worrisome time, managed to rein it in and lean the other way in their recent elections, both putting left-ish moderates in office. That’s two first-world nations bucking the global trend toward Christian Nationalism, let’s make it three and start a wildfire. And since I’m likely already at max friend-loss on the day, here’s this. She did everything she could to warn us about every bit of this.
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It’s a lot. I haven’t written much lately because I can’t do it without getting into the truth. Turns out I can hoard my thoughts for only so long, however, so take ’em as they’re meant. And survive the long hot summer.
This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.
Good news! A second egg showed up in the nest over the weekend and Dave and Dar are faithfully incubating their first brood of 2024. According to the interwebs, David Dove is the one who dozes in the nest during the day while Darlene hangs out with her girlfriends at their favorite watering hole having chips and salsa. Then she returns home while David goes out with the boys, eating and drinking all night. Not sayin’ a thing, it works for THEM. And they’ve made quite a decent nest this time – we’re proud of them. It looks like they found a piece of dental floss somewhere… but whatever floats your nest.
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Since spring is all about change and renewal we’re now surrounded by it, beyond the daily enjoyment the Dove family provides. Not all change is wonderful and positive, but stagnation runs counter to human desire, so since change for its own sake is an exercise in futility, maybe pick the things that bring light and life in greater quantities. A forward trajectory, if you will. That was a note to self.
Several of the lofts in our building have changed hands recently, so the sounds of construction have been a daily presence for a while as everyone revamps according to personal taste. I don’t mind… I just slip my hearing aids out ’til the racket stops… and a full building is a happy building. Or some such. A lot of people are under the impression that this is a retirement community, probably because of all the danged OLD people around. It’s true that likely everyone currently living here is over 50 but I don’t think there’s a requirement in the covenants & restrictions.
There are enough people from the Hill here, either retired or still employed, to give us a reputation as “The KU Faculty Dorm,” and that makes for an interesting environment with fascinating people who’ve lived full and challenging lives. We have neighbors who are moving to assisted living this month, a reality of life… change and lots of it.
So that’s the view from four stories up on a blue-sky sunshiny April morning. The News of the World this morning is as cockamamie crazy as our most cryptic bad dreams, so I’ll just stick around here where somebody knows me.
Oh, and there’s an eclipse happening pretty soon here, something that occurs around the world every little whipstitch. For some reason this one’s causing a stir and I understand there may be select individuals “raptured out” at some point. One governor has even declared a 3-day state of emergency, advising people to lock their doors and gather in prayer circles to stop the evil effects of the eclipse. It may be helpful to consider the following:
Hello, and how’s your year going so far? Does it still feel “new” to you, or have the same-ol’ same-ol’s set in? I hope your intentions for 2024 are holding and that you’re encouraged. I boldly set five Intentions this year, not to be confused with Resolutions. Broke one before the holiday weekend was over, but I swear it wasn’t entirely my fault and the other four are maintaining… so far. The little oops still teeters precipitously, but don’t we all need that one thing that kicks us in the butt and keeps us on our toes? Motivated? Moving forward? Okay… so on we go.
How’s your weather? I ask because we’re part of Operation Deep Freeze 2024 here, and it’s exactly what we requested … a true winter. The reality is, of course, that after a certain number of single-digit days and subzero nights the cold permeates our concrete, steel, brick, and glass building, giving it an ill-tempered vibe that isn’t present any other time of year. This month’s electric bill will leave a mark because even with the fireplace switched on during all waking hours, the furnace can’t keep up and my little under-desk heater has no effect unless it’s close enough to set my socks on fire. Not complaining. Let me say that again, I’M NOT COMPLAINING. I have the sweet option of NOT GOING OUT THERE, but whatsoever gods there may be, those entities need to protect all living creatures whose home is open-air right now, s’all I’m sayin’. Wind chills in the -30 range are the real deal, and #lfk’s homeless population is in no way prepared for this. AND, sometimes I see a bundled-up citizen walking a dog that has no protection on its feet from the frozen sidewalks. I worry, I fret…
… and it’s snowing again. I love it. Try not to use those words against me, thx. It’s very cold out there. I went with Kim on a dead-battery mercy mission after lunch, and then to the grocery store, and was instantly reminded how we dress around here in the winter, and why. Layers, you need layers, insulated layers, because the shocking cold penetrates very quickly, all the way to the bone. There are too many human beings right around us without adequate clothing or shelter for this kind of weather. I worry, I fret.
New year, who dis? Waking up to the seventy-sixth New Year’s Day I’ve witnessed so far, and feeling good about it. 2024 is my Now or Never Year, not that I think I’m running out of chances, but it’s simply time. Time to stop saying “I need to” and just do it. To stop with the “I shoulds” and do it. Stop waiting for… whatever… and do it NOW. I have a list.
I hope you’ll pat yourself on the back for the prep you did in 2023 to get ready for today and what follows. Indeed everything that happened last year was groundwork for this one, good or bad. I’m congratulating myself for finally sticking to the script and transferring small truckloads of idle goods into needier hands. I’ll never have to deal with any of it again, and hopefully somebody’s benefitting. As I knew it would, the process has freed up my mind for other, more satisfying things, making me actually feel younger rather than older with this changing of the guard.
This morning I’m taking time to acknowledge, appreciate, and finish processing the things in 2023 that tested me to my limits. There were pitfalls and lessons and plenty of reminders of fallibility in every direction, which have only emboldened me to pay better attention going forward, establish my boundaries with the greater world, and keep moving. I’m feeling grateful to my grandmothers, all of them, for the grit and bravery they transmitted to an entire family line. In great part they’re why I’m still here today after a tough set of years now behind us, so I’ll be continuing to implement their strengths wherever possible. You be strong, too, in the year ahead, and spellbound by peace.
You’re familiar with the vow “As soon as things slow down / return to normal / smooth out / health returns / depression lifts / your choice,” I’m going to… do all the things. For most of us through most of life that magical moment never arrives because life doesn’t stop for us. And then all at once it does and just like that you’re past the age when much is expected of you, so now what? The observant reader will notice my repeated return to this subject because until I got here I couldn’t possibly have registered what this phase of living would look like, so I’m full of questions. If I stumble upon any answers I promise to run right back here and tell you. And if you have insights, please share!
Unless our parents are gazillionaires, most of us are born into the concept of responsibility, which follows, or dogs, us throughout our productive lives. And then at some point we become less than able, or ill, or start aging out of the system. That’s when the sense of being the generation “in charge,” the ones who know a thing or two from experience, starts to fade and drop away, leaving mostly a blank slate out front to deal with, requiring far more than I knew, day by day by day.
According to an article I just speed-read, firstborn children can be goal-oriented, outspoken, stubborn, independent, and perfectionistic, mostly because our parents were practicing on us, trying to get it right for the next one. I identify with all of the above, along with a sense of never quite being enough in any situation, which also goes with the territory. After my mom died I spent the next ten years trying to keep her place warm in our big extended family, be the go-to for our branch, the communicator of information. It didn’t work out because I wasn’t her, and you can’t communicate information you don’t have. For far longer than a decade, until about yesterday, I gave it a go at keeping in touch with as many cousins as possible, mostly out of desire, but also from a sense of responsibility. That hasn’t been a success either. One cousin is my age, the rest are younger by enough to make communication optional, they’re busy, scattered around the world, and have little incentive to stay in contact with me. It would horrify me to know that my fleeting efforts to hang onto a sense of family are seen as not only unnecessary but annoying, so if you’re in my family tree and under 65 expect to see my name a lot less. And apologies for irrelevant posts and likes, it was just me being all interested and stuff.
It’s sort of a habit with me to start tying up loose ends before another year is upon us, so just takin’ care a’ business this morning.
Facts absorbed, lessons learned:
Learning doesn’t stop unless we end it and refuse to absorb any more.
Life goes by too quickly to prevent us from being too soon old, too late schmart.
No amount of security is enough to save us from others, ourselves, or circumstance.
So our security has to be found in love and kindness, however long they keep company with us.
No amount of money is enough, unless you’re a gazillionaire, to prevent worry when politics aka the world we live in, turns nasty… so yeah, love and kindness.
The KIMN8R and I are gradually returning to routine after having son John here long enough to absorb him a little. He spotted a 4-day stretch in his schedule with no work and no meetings, grabbed a flight to KC, and a good time was enjoyed by all, including Auntie Rita. Relative to our status age-wise, the three of us plied him with medical questions and got back better than we asked for, as it’s information you can take to the (blood)bank. In nearly twenty years as an oncology RN and hospice nurse he’s sort of seen it all, and possesses an innate depth of spirit that makes me listen carefully to his words, which are generally very sparing. He also gives amazing hugs.
So. A happy-surprise weekend that included KU home games in both football and basketball, much wonderful food from Kim’s kitchen, best company, and excellent conversation. John and I share a love of peace, quiet, independence, sarcasm, music, good food, and sensory deprivation, not necessarily in that order, and he’s a very soothing person to spend time with, so I’m feeling renewed and energized for a deep dive into winter hibernation. Sounds like an oxymoron… but isn’t. Ready for my cave and whatever sources of inspiration it might contain.
Fall and winter are big-deal sports seasons, mostly, I surmise, to save us from ourselves during The Time of Cold and Dark. My first go-to is always reading, but healthy competition runs a close second… entirely as a voyeur unless I’m playing Scrabble with Kim, or WordsWithFriends with my sisters. My justice-based mindset likes the fact that there are actual rules in sports, agreed upon by all parties and swiftly enforced when violated, with due penalties attached. Life out there in the rough isn’t like that, which troubles the anxious mind. Teamwork is a cool concept, and I play favorites, don’t you? My teams tend to be the good guys, rather than the bad boys of the sport. Competition shouldn’t equate to meanness. But I think that beyond the personalities and skills involved, the key aspect is the time frame. A contest is initiated, fought, won, and declared. Over. Next game, move on! In real life, nothing is ever really over. Highly frustrating to a neurotic, let me just say.
Which somehow brings to mind a social media trend that’s become increasingly obvious this year… memories, clips, photo montages, and tributes to my generation’s musicians. It goes without saying why this is happening, but we may as well acknowledge that they’re leaving us and the progression will continue. I’m loving the retrospectives on The Beatles, The Stones, Freddie Mercury, and the others who helped shape my youth, even knowing why I’m seeing them again on a daily basis. It’s both stunning and deeply comforting to understand that inside this 76-year-old shell beats the heart of the girl who first heard those voices, harmonies, impossible notes, unforgettable beats, and identifies with every part of it. Those memories don’t leave us, because they stay current. They grow with us. In some ways they define us. And so, when the last of the Fab Four have taken their leave, and Mick and the boys are no longer rocking (as far as we know), none of it will change for us. It’s all interwoven, part of our DNA. Thanks to technology, I’ll be over here with Roy Orbison, Tom Petty, Leon Russell, David Crosby, Tina Turner, and a long list of other friends, grateful to still have access. I remember the girl-slash-young mom who “grew up” with most of them, and it’s painful to lose their presence in the world.
It’s all simply part of feeling anything at all. The tragedy would be if we couldn’t feel what matters, so it isn’t really a choice, it’s just life. I choose that.
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Welcome to my weekly blog on life's happiness. We are all human and we all deserve to smile. Click a blog title or scroll down. Thanks for stopping by.
Creative humour, satire and other bad ideas by Ross Murray, an author living in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, Canada. Is it truth or fiction? Only his hairdresser knows for sure.
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