Photos | Playing for Time

Coming back to life…

24 Sep 2023 2 Comments

***

It’s Sunday, just halfway through the weekend, and I’d planned to postpone this process until Monday, but my brain is already starting to coax my spirit down out of the pristine hills and back into the ebb and flow of daily living. It simply happens… we stay immersed in the magic for as long as possible but the basic facts intrude in unavoidable ways, and those thoughts we were thinking, those feelings we felt, that peace all-encompassing, start to fade and slip into the ether long before we’re done with them.

I had all sorts of thoughts going last week, following various twists, turns, and alleyways, and it seemed like I might actually be getting somewhere. It’s likely I was, so I’ll be standing by, as quietly as I can, for those same ideas to intrude again.

TURN UP SOUND

Thank you, Jim Creek, for a sweet piece of the Black Hills to bring home with us.

Now it’s time to finish unpacking.

DISCLAIMER: Kim did all of his immediately upon arrival home, so he wins again. He’s a Navy man, besides which our friend Seth surmises he was potty-trained at gunpoint, so he can’t help it. I do better with a couple of days’ decompression before getting all hasty about things like laundry and “what bag did that end up in?” Besides, I did my part while Kim was being a good citizen… I WENT THROUGH THE MAIL. That was always the biggest pain, and let me tell you… we were gone for a week and had exactly five pieces of “mail” awaiting our return. This is what it’s finally come to, the flip side being that it’s all lurking in Gmail, of course, which I’m proud to say I’ve gone a considerable way toward unpacking because I, too, can be a quality citizen.

I have only positive things to say about the concept of getting away from it all, even if it’s simply by closing your door and putting everything on mute for an hour. (Or ten minutes, as life allows.) Progress happens when we get quiet enough to hear ourselves tick.

Welcome, autumn, friend of my heart. Your melancholy echoes my goofy perpetual angst and somehow helps tame the inherent loneliness as winter sets in. I’m hoping for a nice snowy one. Is that an oxymoron?

Image by Judy Smith

What does it all mean?

22 Sep 2023 4 Comments

***

Best definition of the word VACATION: “A period during which activity is stopped for a time.” So we did it right and it was the truest vacation I’ve taken since I was a kid, when family trips mostly meant camping (with parental units doing all the work) and sunbathing. This time, in response to an invitation, we loaded up our little red wagon, bizzling through parts of four states in search of ultimate relaxation, and our destination did not disappoint. Blazing across the great state of South Dakota at a legal 80mph+ was exhilarating and the interstate is straight as a pin except for one remarkable curve somewhere close to Rapid City, so Kim was happily in aircraft-pilot mode through every mile.

We arrived at the cabin in the meadow on Sunday. Kim turned on the TV for Sunday Night Football and that was the only time it was lit up for the duration. See that front porch up there? We could have romped off to Mount Rushmore… or Deadwood… or Sturgis… or stunning caverns… or any number of other worthy activities on offer. What we did for several days and evenings, as was our intention, was sit on that lovely porch, with its perfectly-aged screen door and softly-creaking floor, and look with our eyes, and feel with our molecules. The air and water and atmosphere are pristine beyond imagination… and it was more than gratifying to experience a spot humans haven’t drained of its essence.

Kim walked most of the ranch’s 30-acre property line and followed several of the trails that cross the terrain. He let that sweet Taylor guitar ring out across the meadow… and even wrote a song in his free time. He also cooked all our meals in the cabin’s perfect little kitchen. I read a little… wrote a little… napped a little… and far too soon it was time to pack up and point the car east. Fortunately, home is never the wrong place to be, and we were welcomed back this morning with a sky-blackening, crashing, booming thunderstorm, accompanied by pouring rain. Our place of choice still loves us, and likewise.

Memories for a lifetime:

Dasher cat keeping an eye on things.

Manna and Midnight

Until we meet again…

So home we drove, past hundreds of miles of corn, soy beans, sunflowers, sorghum, and other crops, some ready for the harvesters, much that looks like it will do well to beat the first snow, all of it keeping us conscious of the basics: We’re a nation of highly-independent souls with a general yen to do right by each other. The extremes are out there but they comprise less of the sum total than we might think without benefit of direct exposure. On a cross-country road trip you’ll see it all, and we did. At a mega truck-stop somewhere along the way we were treated to a large white van blocking traffic and plastered from stem to stern with explicit advice for Joe Biden along with abject worship of the former guy. On the flip side, that was the only in-your-face evidence of division in over 1500 miles of travel, and I like those odds.

Our hosts for this much-needed idyll were Mark & Mary (Wipf) Zimmerman, who have been South Dakota Arts Council artists in residence for 25 years and whose art graces every part of their beautiful homestead ranch.

https://artscouncil.sd.gov/aisc/visual10.aspx

If you’d like to book a stay at the ranch:

The Cabin at Green Mountain

https://grmountain.com/

Endorsements above are unsolicited and 100% sincere. Thank you, Mark & Mary, for everything. And the Vern J. Specials were the pièce de résistance.

Image by Judy Smith

Tales of day-to-day breathing…

27 Aug 2023 2 Comments

Photo Credit: Kim Smith, August 2023

***

Cheers to us, we survived the Great Mid-America Smoke-Out 2023 without becoming cinders! Ten days of ridiculous temps and even sillier heat indexes, such as 127° one day and 130° another. Inconceivable. Now we’re promised a gaggle of days, maybe an entire week, of temps below 100. I remain a skeptic…

But oh, my sweet summer child, yesterday dawned cool and cloudy before delivering an all-too-brief but thoroughly welcome fall of rain, temporarily vanquishing the heat. Today as soon as Kim left for Pickleball I abandoned my lovely mug of coffee, put on my Tevas, and took myself out into the 66° morning for a sweet stroll on Mass Street. It was just past 7am on a Sunday, so the businesses weren’t open yet, allowing me to gawk and stare at my leisure. In the three-block stretch I walked, I discovered several new enterprises, a restaurant that has moved from another location, and merchandise that would have tempted me had the doors been open. So early-morning walking is an excellent idea for many reasons.

After the rain showers yesterday we spent time on the balcony in the company of our little dove family. David and Darleen came back to us to raise yet a third pair of fledglings and they’ve done well without our solicitous attention this time around. It’s like baby books… by the third child, possibly the only things that get recorded are name, birthdate, weight, and length. We’re the world’s worst grandparents, as we haven’t even gotten around to naming the two that will fly on their own any day now. It’s for the best, really, since according to Buddha, “Attachment is the source of all suffering.” Do with that as you will.

While we were enjoying the cool breezes, Kim pointed out a ruptured bag of odds & ends down on the greenway and said he was going to go gather it up in a bit. A “bit” went by and we noticed a couple walking along the sidewalk, she with two dogs on leashes, he pulling a wagon holding a 5-gallon bucket, trash bags, and other things we couldn’t make out. He wore gloves, and as they walked he used a grabber to pick up bits of trash and stow them in the wagon. We waited to see what would transpire when they reached the mess lying next to one of the access-ways, and they did not disappoint. Working together, the two of them sorted and bagged every smidgen of the scattered eyesore and continued down the sidewalk, still tidying as they went. Incredible. We clapped and cheered, but they couldn’t hear us up here. It was such a typical #lfk experience it made us reflect on other reasons we feel at home in this town… so summer balcony convos have been redeemed. Reclaiming my time!

Mass Street by Kim Smith, August 2023

Makes for very Zen strolling from north to south and back, about a 40-minute trip for Kim. By now, at 9am, it will be looking very people-y over there and the coffee and breakfast aromas are taking over. Good to know there’s a ranch omelet in my near future, and the coffee’s pure comfort.

Please stay cool every chance you get, and keep passing the open windows.

Image by Judy Smith

Go home, weather, you’re drunk…

18 Jul 2023 Leave a comment

***

Odd summer so far, blowing hot and cold, perpetually cloudy with storm threats, or blazing blue skies hanging in without relief. Which is to say that it’s Kansas in July when all bets are off. It can get very warm here in the summertime, but…

Or Texas, or the Sahara…

Not much shaking here. Still opening a box once in a while and doing the “keep, toss, give” routine. Down to maybe four boxes, so I’m pacing myself now, because you should always keep a little something back for when you feel a need to procrastinate. Things I’ve learned about STUFF:

We’ve already passed the middle of July, so yet another Kansas wheat harvest took place without my notice, which means this farm girl is slipping. Slipping the traces and living the life in front of her. I love how we get to live more than one life as we move from birth to death, each one a complete or unfinished package with lessons attached. The pic below was taken in the late 1990s, maybe twenty-five years ago, when a pair of Roper boots, some faded denim, and a tank top would take me through a fifteen-hour day on “my” combine, day after day until everything was in the bin. There are things about it I miss: the productive solitude, the wildlife in the fields and tree lines, the scent of fresh-turned earth, just-harvested grain, rain in the air, being at the center of something vital and needed. There are things I do NOT miss, and some of those would be fifteen-to- eighteen-hour days that started before dawn, never enough sleep, being cook, field hand, parts runner, laundress, bookkeeper, therapist, and a pile of other seed caps that fit from one hour to the next. A lot of the details would slide from conscious memory without a photo now and then…

While I was revisiting my farming days, another memory came to mind:

I backed out of the garage one morning to go to work, noticed something large to my immediate left, and found myself making eye contact with a good-sized cougar sitting on his haunches next to the driveway. We looked at each other in wide-eyed wonder for a beat or two before he casually turned and sauntered toward the cattle pens north of the house. I called the farmer on the radio, he slipped out the side door and into the car, and we cruised along the road while Mr. Mountain Lion slowly padded next to the fence line, rarely breaking eye contact, before ducking into high weeds and disappearing. He was likely a bold young turk, looking for a mate far from his Colorado stomping grounds, and was the only one of his kind spotted in my 35 years on that farm. There were herds of deer, coyotes, wild turkeys, abundant rattlesnakes, and a mama bobcat who spent two consecutive winters in our old washhouse raising her kits, but that silky cougar was a one-off and I’ll never forget him.

NOTE: With a less than 15% chance of rain in the forecast for this morning, it’s coming down in buckets, with soft hail mixed in, and the temp is 75°. Enjoy your Tuesday, whatever the weather gods have in store!

Image by Judy Smith

Life aboard the Big Blue Marble…

29 Jun 2023 1 Comment

***

In a hyper-conscious moment here and there as we trek through our days, we might happen to remember that we’re on a large intricate rock hurtling through space. But it’s mostly an incomprehensible thing that we take for granted nearly every second of our lives, so I love what astronomer, astrophysicist, cosmologist, astrobiologist, planetary science guy Carl Sagan said…

“Look again at that dot. That’s here. That’s home. That’s us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every ‘superstar,’ every ‘supreme leader,’ every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there — on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.” -Carl Sagan

One of the last known images captured by Japan’s Hakuto-R lander before crashing into the moon shows a stunning ‘Earthrise,’ with the shadow of the moon creeping over Australia during a total solar eclipse. (Image credit: ispace)

In light of the facts…

Simply an observation agreed with.

We live in a world where unimaginable things happen, are quickly dispensed with, and are rarely spoken of again. A significant for-instance:

The daily shootings, immigrants drowning by the boatload, concerted efforts globally to stamp out any and all differences — racially, sexually, politically, philosophically, artistically, or in terms of values and relationships, ALL difference, as it presents itself. The whack-a-mole approach to control.

Thus, for all the reasons…

And we think it’s our fault somehow, which only tends to illuminate the fact that we’ve been trained to see ourselves as a super-race, immune to death and failure. What I know after the dust has settled is this:

If calm hasn’t traditionally been your first response to life, it feels magical when it comes to you.

We could all likely benefit from supporting Teri in her pursuit of self-fulfillment…

Your beverage of choice, but fight.

Image by Judy Smith

Tales of rain, sunshine and life…

31 May 2023 Leave a comment

***

Thunderstorms have been moving through on the regular, whether they’re in the forecast or not, and we’re metaphorically soaking up every drop because soon enough our days will follow THIS pattern:

After that, rain’s supposed to move in again, so I’m thinking the Dove family will be getting their affairs fully in order in the coming week. The rains have no doubt delayed flight training to some extent, but we see little chicky-heads bobbing around in the nest, and small wings stretching to the limit, so preparations are underway. I turned around and snapped this shot of David and Darleen yesterday while they were talking about the babies, the day’s agenda, and no doubt their undying love for one another. Pretty sure I heard him murmur, “Time to kick these kids out and reclaim our bed, schweetheart.”

And that’s life, the cycle goes on. Speaking of which, sorting boxes and bins held over from previous eras can be hazardous to your mental health. In emptying six households belonging to loved ones, I’ve come across a few items that have creeped me out, one of which is old driver’s licenses. There’s something about that stark moment set in the amber of time. I always want to let go of it NOW and not look at it again. That is NOT the person I knew and loved, but there they are, captured forever at their near-worst for all to see. During my recent closet purge I found one of MY old licenses, thus the evidence of trauma you may be sensing as you read. I sliced it right through the numbers, cut the strangely-hued awful portrait into Xs, and buried it. There. Not that girl anymore, moving on.

Please enjoy a luscious day.

Image by Judy Smith

Life aboard the Big Blue Marble…

29 Apr 2023 Leave a comment

***

Big doin’s on a sunshiny Saturday. Last weekend a crew descended on our parking lot and ground it to a nubbin. This morning they were back at 7am to rough it up and lay asphalt, which so far is a much quieter process than the first round, and it should look pretty fine by evening. They’ll stripe it again tomorrow and we’ll be off and running for a few more years. A bit of distraction, along with Farmers Market down the block, where there’s been a steady line for the Slow Rise Sourdough Donuts. Their Nutella version just might get me over there next Saturday.

It’s our little corner on this beautiful planet hurtling through space, an incomprehensible thing that we take for granted nearly every second of our lives. I love what astronomer, astrophysicist, cosmologist, astrobiologist, planetary science guy Carl Sagan said…

In our personal micro-worlds we make much of our hurts and slights, the slings and arrows of identifying as human, but life is both more and less than that. I stole the following from a friend years ago and its truth hasn’t faded in the interim…

Happy spring. Thank you for being here…

Image by Judy Smith

Ta-da!

16 Nov 2022 4 Comments

Drumroll and some horns, please, it’s a breakthrough morning.

Someone asked me years ago what I saw myself doing at age 65. If I recall correctly, my answer was “Whatever I want to,” and then we were off and running again, trying to keep up, losing contact with dreams…

Now, ten years past 65, I sit here at my desk thinking about goals… options… open doors… roadblocks… the stuff of everyday living, and it’s beyond exhausting. Not DOING it, THINKing about it. All this year, on reasonably nice days, I walked and walked and walked. But for a farm girl I’m a big sissy and when the weather turns cold, so do I. And then I sit inside feeling guilty and under a cloud of self-reproach that’s entirely unnecessary and unproductive BECAUSE…

… we determined a few posts back that I DON’T DO MORNINGS, so why do I continue to torment my psyche about it? Here’s what I know, suddenly, having just typed those words… IT’S A COP-OUT my brain employs. By which I mean, “Well, I didn’t make it out to SPL for YET ANOTHER MORNING, so the day’s pretty much shot for that. I mean, it gets dark around 2pm now, so… ” Another approach occurs to me… I could utilize experience and intuition to figure this out and make something work. Not a problem, just a challenge.

GOAL: To walk five days a week. Or, you know… three.

REALITY: When it’s cold and miserable outside, any excuse is legit. Nope, sorry, not today, no can do, blah, blah, blah…

FACT #1: Sports Pavilion Lawrence is, under most circumstances, open to Douglas County residents every weekday from early to late, and they have a snazzy walking track that’s safe, if inevitably boring. But did I mention that if you live in the county, the facility is FREE to use?

FACT #2: It’s been established that mornings are not my personal jam; however, afternoons exist and will have to be taken into the equation if I hope to come out a winner on this.

The track encompasses the interior of the building, on two levels. It’s cozy inside and there are people there. A TODDLER would have shed their inherent laziness long before now, faced facts (see above) and been ON it. Accountability is tedious, but so is DISability, so…

Somebody do what you can to keep me responsible… thx. It’s 15 or 20 minutes’ driving time each way, so it’s not like walking a block down to The Summit to work out. Which I never did even one time when they were open, so there’s that…

But let’s not make this all about me, she said, turning for a profile shot… if you’re a Boomer, you’re sort of an Old, and moving is your ticket to the future. Not as in “Let’s pack the truck and get outta here,” but as in legs, arms, booty, everything well-oiled and grooving to the beat in your head. We can give ourselves a genuine advantage for the crazy golden years, and it’s worth getting totally serious about. Totally. Positive resolutions to us all.

Image by Judy Smith

Things… they happen

20 Oct 2022 2 Comments

Couldn’t find it on my bucket list when I went to cross it off, but I finally earned a decent shiner in my lifetime, and it was so easy to do! Almost made it home from my walk Monday afternoon when I stubbed my toe in the driveway to our building and went down. I don’t remember the fall, just the solid impact and the aftermath. Once my senses returned I was trying to see where all my stuff was… little shoulder bag with essentials, my glasses, my walking pole, the tiny hearing aid that flew across the pavement… when a svelte young businesswoman drove slowly out the drive, looking at me turtled up while deciding to do nothing. It felt precisely like somebody was looking but not seeing. I was a bug on the sidewalk. Fortunately, a woman likely in her 60s hopped out of her car and tried to help me get my feet under me. Due to my suddenly messed up right side we were having no success, when a man in his 50s strode over and carefully lifted me under my arms so I could stand up, gathered my detritus for me, and saw me to the door. Those two people have obviously lived long enough to know everybody’s gonna need a hand sometime, and they made all the difference. I actually feel kinda bad for that lovely young woman… Karma never forgets and this mama’s heart wonders what the cost might be. Oh well.

So yeah, that’s how that was. My cheek swelled about 3″ beyond its limits, with the outline of my ruined glasses showing like a roadmap, and now we get to marvel over the beautifully changing fall colors on this canvas of a face, starting with livid purple. It’s been necessary to show myself in medical offices, making sure everything still checks out, and I have a disclaimer: Be advised that if you indicate Kim and say “I’ll bet HE did that, right?” I will look you in the eye and ask why you’d say that. “Do you hit YOUR wife?” It strikes me as an old-white-man thing to say and I’ll call you out. An old white man with Dr. in front of his name asked me that question on Tuesday, but the right words hadn’t yet formed in my frontal cortex where expressive language resides. Come at me again, you old fart, with your not-humor, I’ve got your answer right here.

Here’s the truth: if you’re a woman and you ask me that same question you’ll do it tentatively, softly, with eyes downcast, and you either know me really well or not at all. If you know me enough to trust me, you’re asking for yourself, things have happened, and you need someone to tell. And you know Kim would never hit me, but you need an in. If you don’t actually know me, you don’t know my husband either or you’d have the answer already. If you’re a man and ask me, something in you is damn proud of him for supposedly asserting his rightful authority over a clearly insubordinate wife. I’m not having it, Mr. Cellophane, sit down. And don’t speak to me again without authorization.

Okay… all better now.

Anyway, if you’re either brave or a masochist, here’s what it looked like Tuesday morning:

By evening, gravity was carrying it all south down to my real wrinkles and I have a kind of wondrous scary pirate vibe going now. No more pics, and I know you’re thanking me. My medical-everything friend Regina told us to go to a Mexican grocery and get arnica gel for the bruises. She broke her orbital socket last summer so she knows… and she’s right. It works. Not fast enough that I won’t shock my hairdresser out of her boots today… but I can see a difference already.

I have a love/hate attitude toward the new boots I was wearing when I fell, but I’ll put something on and get back on the horse today, walking to my haircut and home again, before an excess of caution puts me back in my comfy chair to stay. Cannot, will not, have that.

You know why I write about getting older?

Barring circumstances, everyone goes there.
There’s no cure for it.
It gets realer and realer.
If I can scout ahead and warn you of some of the pitfalls, well… one is glad to be of service.
This is a part of life to be enjoyed, if possible, rather than discounted as “just getting old.”

Don’t fear life, it goes on. Never let the bastards wear you down, compadres. Your horse is waiting…

Image by Judy Smith

I can work with that…

07 Aug 2022 2 Comments

Oh hey, my Muse, I didn’t see you there when I sat down! I was lost in thought about HABIT… what it is, how it happens, what it means to humans for good or ill. Glad you’re here on a Sunday morning, you can help me with this.

Over a lifetime, I’ve unconsciously built a wide range of habits into my daily existence, some of them a real bitch to get rid of. What I’m after at this point are GOOD habits, BETTER habits, BENEFICIAL habits, since there really isn’t time left for detrimental processes. I’ve been happy to discover that I’m still equipped for growth, that I can add a new module to the operating system and make everything sync.

I’m talkin’ ’bout my new drug… walking, something I took for granted until in my 20s but never after. Farm Girl ran for acres on sturdy little legs, mostly barefoot. Tripped her way through grade school, danced through high school, went to college in the almost-70s so remembers only pieces/parts. All of that was very real and vital and life-shaping, and it’s mine. I own the ensuing years, after my life-altering accident, and all they held. This morning it feels like I owe tribute to the NOW and the gift of walking out the door and going ’til I feel like heading home. Unless the weather is dire, I can’t sit here much past sunrise without my butt twitching to go outside. I have to latch the Tevas to my feet, get out there, and offer up my daily measure of thanks. By the time I get home there are aches going on… but nothing hurts. It’s an excellent morning when I’ve been out and about, back home and iced by 8am, and this was one of them, go me. Now I have the entire rest of the day to fart around.

A sweet secret muse is Mr. Kurt Vonnegut, and I love this story:

Kurt Vonnegut tells his wife he’s going out to buy an envelope:

“Oh, she says, well, you’re not a poor man. You know, why don’t you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I’m going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope.

I meet a lot of people. And see some great looking babies. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And I’ll ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don’t know. The moral of the story is – we’re here on Earth to fart around.

And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And what the computer people don’t realize, or they don’t care, is we’re dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And it’s like we’re not supposed to dance at all anymore.“

Let’s all get up and move around a bit right now… or at least dance.

***

**What’s my motivation? To keep dancing.**

***

It was a sweet week, highlighted by having this guy hang out with us for a few hours, play our piano, jam on guitars with Kim, sing, harmonize, fill the house with joy. If you haunt the music-underground in Lawrence in any of its iterations, the swell of talent that’s always just behind the curtain here, you likely know this gifted young man… lucky you.

***

Image by Judy Smith

Helpful, honest, happy family = amazing…

27 Jul 2022 1 Comment

I’m sitting in my 4th-floor perch on a rainy Wednesday morning, observing the dog-walkers and the drizzled foliage while I savor the events of the past week. John booked a spur-of-the-moment flight to check in with the parental units, and his timing couldn’t have been more spot-on… we needed to see and celebrate with him. When he was here about this same time last year, life was feeling markedly unsettled for all of us including Auntie Rita… and much positive resolution has transpired since, so we toasted to every bit of it. On Sunday he treated us to a wonderful 18th wedding anniversary celebration at Basil Leaf… Italian food, wine, exquisite desserts, and the best company we could ever want, while we counted our blessings. Life remains good.

***

Between the weather and timing, we managed a handful of walks… and the remainder of our waking hours were spent talking and eating, a true Midwest sojourn for Atlanta man. Tomorrow he’ll return to his oncology unit and we’ll resume our exercise routines in earnest, possibly skip a meal once in a while… and life will go on until we see each other again. The days since last Friday will keep my heart fed for some time to come…

***

***

The world delivers a load of stress to our doors every day. I’m glad real family, however we manage to come by those people, is there to help us handle it all and move on. I fiercely love and need my people.

***

Image by Judy Smith

Stormy Sunday…

15 May 2022 Leave a comment

When I got up this morning, a huge mothership of a storm was hovering overhead, rapidly snuffing all hint of light from the sky. Then came the lightning, rain, and wind, and full dark returned. Perfect! The Sunday omelet never tasted better, and Kim’s fresh coffee will get me through the day, big grateful sigh. Inside I weep for the world and its brokenness, so all the beauty and sweetness has to be gathered up and held close.

I told a Twitter friend a bit ago, “I’m sick at heart. This nation should be a safe place for lovers and babies and other vital parts of society… for ALL of us.” We’re statistically a pro-life culture in our ideology, but what does that even MEAN when a white supremacist guns down a dozen or more Black people, broadcasts it live on the internet, and is carefully brought before a judge, physically unscathed. His 18-year-old white hide is sacred, therefore safe, and the only thing I see in America that can beat white pigment for power… is a gun. The right of white American men to be armed matters more than any law, moral or otherwise… it’s more precious than our children in school… its significance outweighs every issue other than money, and the two are inextricably linked. We’re all adults, we can acknowledge a fallacy when we see it, and it isn’t hard to recognize this lie for what it is. The vacuous statement that “All Lives Matter” is tragically laughable, along with its various iterations… Black… Blue… old… animal… veteran… redneck… fat… unborn.

**Thought I made that one up, didn’t you?**

The unborn are the easiest demographic to advocate for… they’re silent, appealing in the way of kittens, and once they pop out of that sacred womb they’re on their own! Win-win!! The sentiment that every human fetus is the loftiest, most precious form of life on earth just doesn’t play to the cheap seats. We watch how reality ends up for the loudest voices and deepest pockets, and there’s no way to miss the various dichotomies. If you’re part of the Citizens United mindset, you absorb the obvious lies and ignore the inequality in every direction, mouthing platitudes on the way to your bank. If you’re a member of the real world you refute the lies and fight the inequality… and that’s how that is.

**A few spears of sunlight briefly reached the intersection.**

**A Shark headed to the next rumble**. **No Jets in sight…**

**Kim brought these home from Farmers Market yesterday. Have a Sunday as happy as these poppies!**

Image by Judy Smith

What matters…

01 May 2022 Leave a comment

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, full of sunshine and hardly a drop of wind yet. SoCal Man’s already been out cleaning the balcony glass and will probably plant the rest of his current nursery purchases today. Music cranked, hands in the soil, he’s a happy guy. Then he’ll count the pots in the storage room and set off to find fillage for them, which makes me as glad as it does him. Nurturers gotta nurtch, and since I need less intensive TLC these days, blooming surrogates help fill the blank spots. His eye for color and personality makes it an upper every time I step outside, with my sole contribution being to dead-head and maaaybe water once in a while.

I have to think that if it weren’t for lack of wisdom and maturity, relationships could be this simple from the get-go. Kim loves to cook, grow things, play his guitars, play PickleBall and ride his bike, and be The Guy for people who need one. I like to read… write… savor long silences… organize stuff… and now that I can sit there again, play my piano. We know these things about each other and if we just “let it be,” everything else works out, all that trivia we’d otherwise bicker about. I’m glad we caught this train in our 50s, with gas in the tank, plenty of earned wisdom, and a certain form of maturity, the key to which is to never actually grow up… otherwise, we’re both such intense people we’d likely have maimed each other by now.

**Easter Sunday, with Rita Jo as my loving and forgiving audience. Little rusty…**

Kim received a gift last fall, the opportunity to be The Guy in a situation where everybody wins. Three gals in their 70s and 80s asked if he’d be willing to help them improve their PickleBall skills so they wouldn’t be intimidated in open play, and nearly every weekday morning since, the four of them, and often others, have played at 7am, with the result that everybody’s game is getting better, including Kim’s, of course. Last week he drove Nancy, Susan, and Mary to North Kansas City for lunch at Chicken n Pickle, followed by two hours of play on a reserved court… and rumor has it that everyone had a fabulous time. They’re so good for him, and vice versa I just know it. Life is often too sucky to talk about, so the good things really stand out. The bonus is that they’re all cooks and they bring treats to share with each other, which I sometimes benefit from if I get to Kim’s backpack quick enough. The relationship reminds us of his seven aunties in Minnesota and their mutual admiration society. Good stuff.

**Life stays good if you don’t give in to it.**

Life has never felt this angst-filled, but on the flipside, it’s never felt this exquisitely precious, either. Remember two things in the name of peace and sanity:

Life is all about change. Accept that fact, and live it as it comes.
We have zero control over what happens on the planet, and indeed in our individual lives. Don’t try.

******

**For all the empaths I know and love…**

Image by Judy Smith

The wind… it blows!

30 Apr 2022 Leave a comment

For three or four days running, the weather service threatened us with rainstorms, potentially severe… with no results to show… until my overriding thought became “Either do something or stop blowing about it, ‘k?” We finally got our rain last night, and a suburb of Wichita was hit by a big ugly tornado, so the weather people weren’t wrong, merely premature. The Andover storm, despite its fierce strength, did far less damage than a record-breaking tornado in the same town thirty years ago, which caused massive damage, as well as loss of life. It’s early in the news cycle, but what’s known is that close to a thousand buildings were damaged or destroyed and there are injuries, but no reports of fatalities so far.

In the country’s bread basket we take wind for granted… it’s part of the scenery. I’ve escaped to a corner of Kansas where it generally blows just enough to keep the air pristine… but it will always be part of living here. Wind is crazy-making, whereas rain opens the doors and windows to the subtle force that guides me… the germanic melancholy, the weltschmerz, imbedded in my DNA. We love rain, my muse and I, so empty promises in that regard are grudge-worthy, and since thunder, lightning, and rain give me something to write home about, I hope there’s a lot of it scheduled. No more tornadoes, though, thanks. Like my wise old UncaPhil, I hates me them tornadoes.

It’s a beautiful morning, cool with light breezes. Gonna savor it because guess what, our old friend Wind will arrive soon to blow us through the day. Looks like the grace period ends in approximately 5… 4… 3… so I’m appreciating it all in double-time!

The weekend’s here. Treat yourself to something fun, and remember…

Image by Judy Smith

THEY DID IT!!!

05 Apr 2022 Leave a comment

Our beloved boys of fallwinterspring grabbed the brass ring and brought it home!! The joy, exuberant spirit, and sheer relief are palpable through the walls and it’s healing to wallow in all of it while it lasts.

Kim and I walked Mass Street around 4pm yesterday and with traffic blocked it was all people, all the time, with hours left until tip-off. The air was full of happy anticipation, with long lines outside venues offering watch parties. We came home, made pizza, as one does in these situations, and watched the game in the relative quiet of our own place, hearts in our throats ’til the final seconds. Simultaneous with the closing buzzer a roar went up from the streets, we tied our tennies on our feet, grabbed sweatshirts, and romped one block west to see it all for ourselves. I’d hedged about doing that since I’m just 3mo post-op after my back surgery, but when it might well be a once-in-a-lifetime thing… no regrets. I took a hiking pole, hung onto Kim, and celebrated. Put my spine in the shelter of a parking meter, held on, and watched the sea of happy humanity parade south, likely only to snake its way back north at some point. It was an exquisite sight.

It was stunning to see how quickly Lawrence converged on downtown, with thousands of students streaming down from The Hill after watching the game in Allen Fieldhouse, and other people hoofing it in from all directions. I sensed no bent toward celebratory destruction, just a happy, thankful, somewhat inebriated vibe. There was a low-key, benevolent police presence, with extra personnel brought in from the KC area for the party, and they seemed part and parcel of the night. They were appropriately industrial-size and sober-faced but friendly and helpful, and registered no concern over the myriad open containers passing under their noses, nor the sweet scent of weed permeating the atmosphere. A very mellow kind of noisy happiness was going on and I’m so glad we didn’t miss it. Neither of us thought to take a selfie to prove we were there… but neither will we ever forget it.

Eighth Street was a party all day, from early to late, and when we walked back home it looked like a brewery had exploded, but I’d put money on the street having been swept and scrubbed before the sun came up this morning, along with Mass and all its tributaries. Lawrence loves to party and knows how, so we get to keep doing it.

The scene on our corner, with our building in the background, while the outcome of the game was still in question…

In the nine years since we moved here, the Royals have won the World Series, the Chiefs the Super Bowl, and now the Jayhawks the National Championship… such a richness of human spirit in a world that could use a bigger share of the wealth. In hard times that won’t quit, there’s something about a group of individuals melding themselves into a team and winning the big prize that takes us out of ourselves. And we love them for it… with their gifts and talents and achingly-perfect forms, they’ve briefly rescued us from the pall of failure, death, weakness, and discouragement. We desperately need our heroes… kudos to the parents who bear and raise them, these beautiful young men and women who are our future.

ROCK CHALK!!

Image by Judy Smith

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