Here we are, kids, facing trauma of a sort that hasn’t been seen within our shores until now. It’s a heavy thing, watching night close in, knowing our way of life is more than likely ending in favor of a terrifying unknown. But as the numbness and DENIAL start to wear off a bit our psyches move into other stages of grief, and next up is ANGER. Elizabeth Kübler-Ross taught us that the five primary grief levels are DENIAL, ANGER, BARGAINING, DEPRESSION, and ACCEPTANCE, but also that those levels don’t remain in a nice neat order or follow an easy progression, and let me just say that ANGER feels like it’s setting in for the longterm. I mean, who the hell would I BARGAIN with anyway… I’ve had quite enough of DEPRESSION over the last decade… and ACCEPTANCE? Seriously?
There’s no accepting that my Black and Brown friends’ lives will become infinitely more fraught with danger, my trans friends will be exposed to unspeakable jeopardy, my gay friends and family will have to make decisions about safe places to live, somewhere on the planet, anyone who is different will be subject to scrutiny requiring them to justify their own existence. Lives will be in a state of upheaval for the foreseeable future so I can find no form of acceptance in my heart for the fact that people I once trusted have bowed the knee to a madman filled with hatred for the world and everything in it.
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The people who voted in favor of fascism seem to think we’ve simply had another transition from one political party to another, when what we’ve done is shifted into an entirely new way of being, and we don’t know yet what that will look like. Those same people believe they’re the favored ones and what happens to us won’t happen to them.
They know not what they’ve done.
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Nothing about the next four years and the ones thereafter will be easy, so we’ll all definitely know what we’re made of if we survive intact. There are things to keep in mind as dusk approaches:
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The world we wanted, the one where everybody gets to be who they are, is still a bridge too far and we see that now, don’t we. I’ve unbelieved a lot of things, but I’ll always believe that beautiful world exists… if only we knew how to live in it.
There’s still much to process so it’s really lame that my processor is on the fritz this week. Heart says “address this stuff,” brain says “let’s do another iPad painting.” I would describe myself today as uncomfortably numb.
It’s funny, I almost feel worse for the rest of the civilized world than for the U.S. population. We’ve been busy screwing things up, all the while they’ve continued to think we knew what we were doing. Surprise!
Don’t we all.
Some perspective:
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It only happens to “lesser societies,” right?
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Sometimes communication with people we care about suffers, not because we hate them but because we’ve made each other feel that the other doesn’t really matter, a sorry human trait.
So here we are. What was to have been a healing interval in American history will instead be an unsettling exercise in survival as a nation and as a population. The Reagan-era fascists hung in there like dogs, faithfully passing the torch to each new set of believers and simultaneously tearing away at the foundations of democracy until the Golden Goose of New York City fell into their hands, after which it was simply a matter of time. America won’t have to wait long before the effects start to show up; therefore, I’m leaving this here for posterity so we can all reminisce later:
We’ve either been steamrolled… or we’ve been had. Either way, it seems to be over for democracy-loving citizens, although we gave it a mighty effort, at least in terms of righteous indignation over the possibilities.
Those unthinkable possibilities have arrived on a silver platter, and we can expect events to unfold very quickly, no time wasted in bringing this former proud nation to its knees. So unless you’re solely motivated by hate and revenge, prepare to have your life stripped of everything that makes it meaningful and livable.
This isn’t a drill, it’s all really happening. We woke up this morning to see that we’ve been quietly taken over by patient fascists who were fronted by clowns in order to keep us distracted. Step by determined step they’ve actually done it… brought the mighty United States of America down to their level, and now we’re a captive audience while events play out.
It’s going to be a steep learning curve for his “chosen ones.” At least the rest of us already know how this works.
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I’ll meet you right here as soon as they turn some of the lights back on. Stay safe.
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…
How many times in your life have you hit cycles that required you to wait, and wait… and wait… sometimes for decades. And at no point during the wait did you know how it would all turn out. That’s the trick, being ready no matter what happens. Prepared, if necessary, to leave everything you’ve known and loved, for almost 80 years in my case, trusting that life will go on, as it always does.
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“All of the sudden,” the wait is nearly at an end, and it almost doesn’t seem real that after everything that’s happened over the past nine or ten years we’re within two weeks of knowing our fate as a nation. Less than two weeks to settle the basic question: Will we be a dictator-run oligarchy or a democratic republic?
Every part of who we are as Americans hinges on this election. We can’t erase what has happened, so what we stand up for NOW is who we will be going forward. The world is standing by, watching anxiously to see what will happen here. Will we still represent hope, or be counted among the rubble fascism always leaves in its wake? Just another domino in a succession of fallen nations with lofty ideals. How heartbreaking! Are people really willing to let us end that way?
You know… if we hang around long enough in life it’s possible to learn a lot and pick up crucial perspective in the process. Some of the lessons are painfully, embarrassingly slow… some hit us between the eyes and demand immediate remedy. Life isn’t always a supreme challenge, but I admit to being shocked by how consistently it’s the same ol’ stuff over and over ad infinitum. This year has brought a succession of skin cancer surgeries, the most recent of which is still receiving scar therapy from the comforts of home. Other physical taunts, presumably related to the aging structure inside this skin suit, have raised their cheeky cries for attention to such an extent that I’m getting used to them, while not thrilled by their existence.
I’ve recently been reminded that some twenty-five years or more ago I watched my dad’s first cataract surgery on closed-circuit TV in Garden City, Kansas, with pioneer in the field Dr. Luther Fry, whose techniques at the time were cutting edge.
This week it was my turn and the technology has only improved by leaps and bounds since my experience with my dad. One eye down, second next week, followed by weeks of light therapy to fine-tune my vision. Meanwhile, until at least past Christmas, it’s my job to keep sunlight from invading my eyeballs, which in a 4th-floor loft with top-to-bottom east-facing windows is a challenge. The wooden blinds leave lots of leeway for sunshine, so until the sun makes it past the peak of our building every morning I’m schlepping around in here in my Official Old Person Post-Surgical Giant Black Glasses. I know Karma when I see it so I’m sure this is payback for all the times my friends and I giggled about the sweet lil’ oldies in their Double-Secret Agent glasses, but this seems a little excessive since our intentions were pure.
Everything feels slightly discombobulated at present, which will pass. The operative eye is nearly clear 3rd day post-op, but I’m caught between glasses and no glasses, so neither eye is 100% at the moment. Stuff that lands on the floor has to stay there unless I want to do deep-knee bends, which would no doubt benefit my skeleton. There’s laundry waiting to be folded, and my desk is looking very lived-in, but I can’t be bothered. I’ll get to it all when the disorientation fades a little more.
Our eyes and the rest of our senses are too precious for words, as are the brilliant dedicated people who help us keep them for as long as possible, which prompts an astounding realization: Somehow we humans have managed over eons to fashion a world that’s more good than bad, more joy than sorrow, more sweet than sour. Mostly. Sort of. Anyway, all things considered, it’s a place I’m not pining to leave, and I’m looking forward to seeing everything these eyes have been missing along the way lately.
Okay, having reached my max word-count on NICE, here’s this…
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?
It’s officially fall and the weather has been changing for a while now, by which I mean every day into something different from the day before. Apparently we’ve just emerged from a season called False Fall and are now into Second Summer. We’ll see where it goes from here, observing as spectators while Weather does what it will do.
Fall is always a melancholy reflective season, and true to form my thoughts have been a concoction of things heavy and light, happy and sad, profound and sublimely ridiculous. In the midst of all that I started a list the other day of personal do’s and don’ts in life’s third trimester. There’s no place I yearn to return to, so life has just one direction… forward. And I needed a little self-help with that, thus the list. The points are for me, not for advice, but if something resonates with you don’t hesitate to claim it for yourself.
So, in no special order, as they popped into my head:
I’ve stopped going to funerals, for all the reasons. My all-time personal hero oncology nurse showed me I’m not a bad person for skipping out. Do life while it’s here, no regrets, because if you’re not careful the ceremonies will overwhelm actual living.
I don’t give money to politicians unless they’re running at grassroots level and don’t have big resources. The rest start with kajillions and then ask ME for money? And then for MORE, repeatedly??
I try not to schedule morning appointments because they’re an unnecessary assault on my senses. There’s a window between lunch and dinner when I’m fully awake and human, so life outside my door is best if it happens during the afternoon hours. You know, if possible.
I don’t take advice from people whose moral code I can’t respect. People say lots of words, but when they give legs to their coldheartedness I walk away.
I don’t chase people. If you’re my friend you just are, end of story, and we always pick up where we left off.
I don’t argue online or anywhere else except for the shit I give Kim. Arguing is a demeaning process and rarely produces anything positive. People think what they think, me included.
To save misunderstandings and exhausting back & forths, I spare most people my presence most of the time. This Pollyanna has gotten over the delusion that we’re going to land on the same page and feel comfortable together again, if we ever were.
After being around older people forever, and taking care of six of them for twelve years, I had a pretty clear idea what aging would involve. Ha, ya’ think? Every day brings a surprise you weren’t waiting for, every year new challenges, things aren’t static, they change constantly, your body betrays you and so does your head. You can experience these things second-hand without absolutely KNOWING them, so expect the unexpected.
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9. Very little anymore requires my complete and undivided attention. I can still pull it up when necessary and I take it out for the occasional walk to keep it in shape. It’s on reserve, just behind the lala-life I prefer. But since complete and undivided usually denotes a problem of some sort I avoid it every way possible.
10. Mail is the bane of my existence. Doesn’t matter, snail mail or online, I can’t stick to my resolve to open every piece of information every single day, so I’m left with bulk mail that means nothing to anybody… except for THAT ONE PIECE that can’t be discarded on penalty of law!!!
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11. I have no energy for trying to convert people to a life outlook that begins with kindness. Those are the people who will talk their hair down trying to convince me how Christian they’ve always been, while fearing and despising everyone and everything not like them.
12. I’ve loved people all my life who have silently hated everything I care about while also finding me an entertaining source of gossip. That’s okay, Karma knows. The true challenges come when people I care about hate people I love. Simply a bridge too far, so adjustments have to be made.
13. If everyone suddenly liked learning new things and putting new ideas to work, the world would look shinier overnight.
There. A baker’s dozen, take or leave.
And one more: Everyone who doesn’t want fascism to replace democracy on American soil should have a current passport at the ready because we can’t see the immediate nor long-term future. The German population, right about now, thought everything was going to be okay. It wasn’t. Things are changing rapidly across our nation, which has been instantly reflected on social media, but all optimism has to be tempered with the memory of past horrifying October surprises and other killing disappointments.
The United States may continue as an intact entity or it may not. Either way, the election will be over someday, we must assume, and I’ll revert to Ms. Nice Person Who Doesn’t Talk About Things We Simply Don’t Talk About. And if the good guys win I’ll be a more accessible, less irritated old girl, more inclined to entertain the lighter side of living. What I will never be able to do is forget what so many people showed me and the rest of the world about themselves, people we once thought we knew and identified with.
It’s been an unnerving era, with ugliness abounding and hate winning out a lot of the time. I’ll open the door to my 80s in three years… how many of the wounds, how much of the heartbreak, do you think we could heal in that time frame, just for starters? I so hope the world won’t feel as cold and lonesome as it has over the past ten years and more. I’ve learned this much: being a nice person doesn’t cut it anymore, the world has changed. I’ve changed too… but I was raised to be nice and it feels okay as long as I don’t forget what truth looks like. Does America remember?
Favorite kind of Saturday. Soft, quiet… rain showers moving through. Muted conversations below us as people go back and forth to Farmers Market all morning. We sat on the balcony with our coffee at 6:30, counting the seconds between spectacular lightning flashes and their answering thunder, guessing how close we were to getting fried. I mean, if you’re not livin’ on the edge you’re takin’ up too much space, amirite?
Kim went over to the Market at the crack of 7:30, which is opening time, so he could be first in line for the flowers. So competitive this man, which is reassuring. He’d save me from any oncoming threat, no hesitation, so I’ll take it. He said the lady hadn’t unpacked yet because of the rain, but out of three or four crates of flowers there was only one bouquet with a sunflower in it, which of course had his name on it. Mission accomplished, home to make breakfast. It’s been twenty years of the same old Saturday morning breakfast, same old incredible flavors, same blessed comfort food, every single week, thank you Universe! I’ve signed up for another twenty, with option to renew at any point in time.
This week was the “time to pay the piper” kind. Had my sixth MOHS procedure yesterday and am waiting to get a look at my surgeon’s handiwork after enough hours have passed. They’re all the result of childhood sunburns and each is a unique challenge. This one will likely leave a decent pirate-slash scar, but it’s where I’d have to call someone’s attention to it or they’ll never notice it. Likely. Hopefully. Doesn’t matter. Slings and arrows are proof that we’ve lived. Stickin’ to that story.
Since most of life involves zigzagging between the whizzing arrows and tossing off the slings, I’m sending kudos, hugs, love, and respect to all the brave women of every age, wherever you are, who are doing just that. Don’t stop, girls, we’re earning our stripes with this one.
A lot of things have taken place over the past couple of weeks, one of which is that smiling and laughing are suddenly de rigueur again, praise be! For someone who was unceremoniously told, decades ago, that she laughs like a chicken, it’s like being let out of the henhouse to roam free! Be YOU, you crazy lil’ bandy-legged chick, nobody CARES!
So while our Sister in Joy and Laughter was busy making history, this girl here turned double 7s, which I believe is highly lucky. If you know otherwise, please don’t spoil my illusions, thx. I love the fact that I’ve made it this far, but already being within binocular range of 80 is messing with my head a little, so adjustments must be made and you know what THAT means… she’s thinking again.
I started blogging some 15 years ago on another platform in response to my son’s suggestion that it might be therapeutic. He was right, I loved it immediately, and when the original site folded I found Word Press and kept cranking out whatever was on my mind on any given day. Obviously, over that many years changes have taken place… and age has joined the chat. Profound shock. There is absolutely nothing other than being old on the inside (a tragedy) that could truly prepare a girl for her third trimester of living, nothing. But I’ve been here sharing insights for a bunch of years now, and been painfully honest with you in what I’ve said, and that won’t change… so buckle up.
“These are the days of miracle and wonder
This is the long distance call.” P. Simon
These are the days of the medical Rolodex, the recurring appointments with doctors and their teams, keeping the vehicle running. These, if you’re lucky and spoiled, are the days of pedis and haircuts and massages that truly do extend life by making it better.
These are the days of steroid shots in the joints, extra attention to the chompers, and various other things which, much like the Spanish Inquisition, NO ONE EVER EXPECTS.
These are the days when your optometrist skips most of the preliminaries and says “Let’s talk about your cataracts.”
These are the days of skin cancer paybacks for those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer. The ones we thought would never end.
What gets your attention is the acceleration. One day you’re like “Well, not too bad so far. Doin’ what I can,” and the next you wake up to major mayhem that apparently occurred while you were sleeping. This spiral of crepe here when I turn my arm… when did that start? And these bingo arms! There are jowls in progress? How rude! The supreme sense of languid laziness every single morning when I’d planned to be a ball o’ fire for a change… it’s ubiquitous, as is the faint whiff of guilt that attends my daily existence. Welp, girl, that’s the way it is, walk it off.
After an incredible nine years of turmoil and division as a people, combined with the introspection it has sparked, this is a true statement:
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Kids, here are the facts this morning as I know them. Our world is getting better not worse. Joy and laughter are not buried forever under the rubble of political correctness and planet-wide catastrophe. We’re still HERE! That means hope is alive and well. I’m catching this bus.
To be perfectly legit about it, fall doesn’t start for another couple of weeks, but it’s already making its imminent arrival known. I haven’t checked the record books, but August seemed more fall than summer this year, with cooler days and nights outpacing the hot ones.
It was a summer of change in myriad ways, many of which I’m still processing. Things I know for sure at this point: I like joy more than doom, happiness more than rage, hope more than despair, and WE ARE NOT GOING BACK.
A harbinger. This tree was the first on our street to turn orange last year, but only precisely half the tree. Today it’s already in full-on fall mode, so here we go.
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What we did this summer in lieu of a vacation was take day trips. I’ll tell you a little about those, complete with Kim’s photos, in a future post, hopefully soon. The thing I want most to do these days is write, but it mostly isn’t happening. Too much still hangs in the balance and I can’t focus. But HOPE is holding its spot in the universe and life is still the place to be.
Back with “travel” pics ASAP. Meanwhile, I don’t like to lose touch with you…
If you’ve been following the Dove Tales, I need to update you a little. Let’s see, where were we…
The couple renting our balcony condo this summer, Bonnie and Clyde, have birthed and dispatched two sets of fledglings so far, the most recent being Orville and Wilbur, the Flight brothers. We left town for the day last Friday and when we checked the nest there was just one baby parked in it. Orville had clearly flown the coop earlier, but there sat Wilbur, stubborn as a post and seemingly disinclined to make any drastic change in his status. We told each other that was okay, he’d figure it out by the time we got home.
We get home and Wilbur’s still solidly ensconced in the familial nest, but now Bonnie and Clyde are using every trick at their disposal to try to dislodge him. They called repeatedly from the opposite railing. They stood and berated him from the sidelines. Finally they resorted to taking turns trying to literally shove him out, pushing mightily under his fat bottom but making no headway. Such was the state of things when we went to bed. Next morning the nest was empty and we’ll never know how the story really ended, as is the case with all wildlife attachments. We choose to picture fat little Wilbur out there in the East Lawrence forest, loving all the seeds available to him and eventually finding a round little wife with whom to raise a family. THE END.
As it turns out there was a bit of an emergency underway, which became clear as things progressed. B&C had obviously let Wilbur stay past his welcome and by the time they sent him on his way it was time for Round Three. The two of them disappeared for the afternoon in order to fill their bellies to sustain them for the required hours, then were back in the evening, literally billing and cooing on the railing before disappearing into the middle of the ferns where they can’t be seen with the naked eye. There are likely two eggs in the nest by now. When we’re afforded a glimpse I’ll let you know.
Delicious morning. It rained in the night, with increasing darkness after 8am and rain continuing for a few more hours. Southwest of us Emporia got 5″ of rain this morning, flooding their downtown and other areas, so an extra hour or two of early darkness for us is nothing. As a farm girl and incurable melancholic, rain is a lifetime friend and my happy place. It’s been summertime only every other week or so, days in the 90s and 100s interspersed with cooling, nourishing rain, to the point that in midAugust everything in sight is still green and glowing.
The lush tapestry outside my windows only adds to the sense of hope that’s been let loose in the world over the past month. Joy feels so much better than gloom and doom, and it suddenly feels okay to hope… to cautiously believe things will improve instead of digging deeper into hell. So yeah, rain, happiness, hope, love, it’s all cool, and the coffee tastes extra rich this morning.
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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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