Once again a month has passed since I last gave serious thought to writing something here. That seems to be the new default schedule for now, maybe because it takes that long to process the things that happen from one day to the next. In the end, I finally come back here because I can’t do otherwise.
**
The world is a cockamamie place, always was, always will be, and getting more out of hand by the hour. But unless somebody’s gonna stop the planet and let us hop off, there’s nothing to do but survive the best way we can without hurting anybody. Look for the good, look for the love.
**
**
It requires a certain determination every day to take the next step and do the next right thing, often against a soundtrack filled with unlistenable chaos, but the alternative isn’t really an option, so we buck up and do the thing. And then we do it all over again the next day.
And then you realize you might have greater need of them later.
Humans don’t generally do well under constant chaos and uncertainty. That kind of stress brings out the rat in us and we find ourselves hosting thought patterns that shake us awake and make us think straight again, thank goodness for that part.
But is that what enough people even want?
We can be positive thinkers and still admit that the world isn’t an easy place, that relationships are hard, that stress of every kind takes a toll on every human every day. That being alive is a very real dilemma to be faced.
**
I’ll leave us with this bit of hopefulness from a recent B’day “perade”.
Once upon a time, strange as it may sound, Christmas happened in a world that wasn’t ready for it, making things discombobulated and odd from the start of the season. Planet LOOK.AT.US. was out of sorts and feeling aloof from the whole affair. Things were not right in the kingdom and no one knew how to fix it. Such a different holiday it was shaping up to be, with far too much sadness in the mix.
But wait… since the task of Christmas is to lighten hearts and gladden the soul, I must give you, instead, the story of The Four Farmer’s Daughters… have you heard this one? Get another cup of coffee and pull up a chair, it goes like this:
Long ago, in a previous century, four daughters were born. Two sets of sisters, farm girls all. After high school came the usual endeavors that send people their separate ways… college, extensive travel, careers, partners, children, life. Circumstance and the passage of time eventually conspired to bring the four together again some years into this century, hours spent realizing how alike they are in their world view and code of living.
These four women, now mostly past 70, have not lost touch since, and won’t. In the midst of this barren-feeling lonesome Christmas season, everybody listened to their inner angel and they spent hours… again… sharing food and conversation and knowing nothing’s changed. Oh, out there in the world, everything’s changed, but real friends don’t. That’s a supreme gift to open, one that makes everything seem possible. Keep it real in 2025.
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.
**
A sincere Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and wishes for a good and safe year ahead.
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:
**
**
It only happens to “lesser societies,” right?
**
**
**
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:
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.
**
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.
**
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.
**
And in a gesture of solidarity with my reading public…
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.
**
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!!!
**
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?
My abject apologies, boys and girls, I failed to check back after the Big Dark, possibly because our eclipse experience consisted of a few moments of pale gray sky. Did e’erbody make it through, feet still on the ground, life continuing as usual? We are one amazing country, with never a shortage of drama. Who’d a’ thunk a strip of darkness across a fraction of the continent could arouse such inventive theories? Alas, it was simply the universe doing its thing again, some more, without any help from us. That’s good, ’cause we are, generally speaking, dumb as rocks.
Growing up, a farm girl with a big imagination, I’d often have a feeling come over me that said I’d see hard times before I die. Not just hard times but unique events we hadn’t witnessed before. In June of 2015 I realized the “voices” hadn’t lied to me, and we were in it. My heart hasn’t known true peace since because everything I’ve held dear in my life is under threat.
Growing up, I was part of a big family clan. Many of those people are gone, and the ones still here have sorted ourselves into factions according to our personal moral codes. The first casualty of that scenario is trust, followed immediately by communication. And without communication, relationships die.
Growing up is optional, you know, but a dash of maturity along with the years is a good thing. And as age and a seasoned mindset take center stage, we start to understand that throughout our lives, from womb to tomb, nothing is what we think it is at the time. In fact, it takes hindsight to evaluate most of what happens to us in life because we’re too caught up in trying to survive it.
It isn’t just family relationships that suffer, friendships take a big hit, too. Our move to Lawrence ten years ago turned out to be part of a small exodus from our former town. Unfortunately, the enterprise we were part of fell apart not far in, and when it went the friends went with it, something I hadn’t foreseen. Good thing I’m such an introvert.
Maybe the eclipse was a BFD after all… exposing the top of my head to it seems to have given me brain damage, not that anyone would know for sure.
I’ll be glad when the world laughs again, true happy laughter from a deep source. When we rediscover our sense of humor and start looking for the fun twist, the sudden right-hand turn, the laugh line instead of a barb… that’s when we’ll know things are getting better.
Good morning, friends. Less than a week in, how is 2024 spooling out for you? Lots of gray days here, a little snow in the air, and next Friday starts a run of cold (to us) days and nights. Daytime highs in the low 20s, with single-digit nights. It’s winter, so…
After reading a Facebook post ABOUT Facebook by a friend this morning, I’ve been sitting here thinking about what the platform means in my own life. My son made me aware of its existence shortly after his dad, my first husband, died, and against all odds (in my mind) it turned out to be my kinda place. Took me a while to navigate it to my benefit, but I was ready because until that point in my life I’d been laser-focused on pleasing the people around me, a tricky habit since it’s different strokes for different folks and somebody always gets shortchanged.
After the first couple of years on The Fakest of Books, the novelty of connecting with everyone I’d ever known was wearing thin, disagreements were becoming a regular thing, and I lacked the interest and energy for dealing with it. I thought about dropping out (which has happened a couple of times since) but decided to take a shot at making it what I thought it would be in the first place. I filtered my friends list big-time (you’re welcome, those who got a pink slip, I saved you the trouble), unfollowed, unfriended, blocked, cut sites I didn’t want to follow, locked things down like a ship in a storm and plowed ahead. The atmosphere changed immediately. It’s time for another big cull because now Facebook puts “things of interest” in our feeds and if we “like” them we’ve thereby adopted them. Cagey.
So, to do what I’m known for, I’ll make a long story longer…
We have to remember at the outset that nothing’s perfect. No environment will 100% nurture and support us, we’re imperfect, the friends we make are imperfect, life is not only imperfect but entirely unpredictable.
It therefore follows that if we were to discover a magically-perfect environment, we would automatically render it imperfect by our presence, so forget that. The only way to fly: try before you “buy,” check the temperature of a few places, set boundaries, and do what works for you. With Twitter now a “maybe” day-to-day I’ve checked into a handful of similar platforms, but the incentive to start over just isn’t there. That’s fine, the whole phenomenon, as we know it, may be reaching its expiration date anyway. Meanwhile…
“What Facebook Means to Me”
It gave me a voice in my 50s when I most needed one
It helped me build a network of support and friendship at a critical time
It opened doors and windows for me, insight into a rapidly-shifting political landscape and avenues for open discussion about all of it
It renews my appreciation every day for the people I meet there, the ones I read about, the creativity of humans, and often the kindness, which means the most
It lets me share this blog, which is far less expensive than a lifetime of therapy
Speaking of therapy, sometimes oversharing is underrated if someone is helped thereby
I’m suddenly uber-conscious that I’m closer to 80 than 70 at this point, and despite all my naive vows before the age of 50, I’m not loving the process. I like the age part and I hope to add a bunch more years to that, but the price of getting there is highly disrespectful and insulting. Facebook, because it’s what’s there, helps mitigate a few aspects of the aging process, including isolation, the blue lonesomes, the need to keep sharpening your wits by engaging with interesting people, the desire to see the world and its wonders because you know you ain’t gettin’ there in this lifetime. The Book of Fakes does nothing for wrinkles except advertise incessantly to us (how on earth do they KNOW??), but the people who remain on my friends list make the cut for being REAL, and they make life a better place to be than it would be without them.
We woke up to a dusting of snow everywhere except streets and sidewalks, and now (9am) the flakes are falling thick and fast. A few hours late for a white Christmas, but welcome anyway, soothing, and predicted to last into the wee hours on Wednesday. We MAY see some accumulation out of all that, but so far it’s settling like rain.
The Day After any major human observance usually provides for a bit of downtime, thanks to the inevitable sudden stop, when my thoughts turn to years past, other times, things seen, lessons learned, memories made. This Christmas Day was beyond sweet, other than the ignominious losses by all our football teams, but ce la vie. Rita suggested the menu, Kim cooked it all to perfection, and it was so stellar as to temporarily wipe the taste of defeat from our mouths.
Grilled Salmon Filets
Pasta in Creamed Pesto Sauce
Roasted Asparagus
Crostini
After dinner and between football heartbreaks, we played a hilarious game of Ransom Notes, which Rita won. We had two lifelong reader/journalers and a songwriter vying for best/funniest/grossest/most offbeat phrase, and it worked like it was scripted. Our reward, both winner and losers, was the VERY SPECIAL ICE CREAM, of which my baby sister became an instant fan.
A sweet time. We knew other family members were spending the day scattered but happy and cozy, which makes everything all the better. I hope your holiday was and is what you need it to be, here at the close of 2023. And I hope 2024 will be very good to you and yours. Keep it simple.
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.
How was your Thanksgiving, or is it still ongoing? Was there pumpkin pie for breakfast this morning? It was a sweet time here, just Kim, me, and Rita, all the good food you could want, and a deep spirit of gratefulness.
Since slipping into the rarified air of a new age level this year, with 80 only four years down the road, I’ve been more acutely aware of some of the changes that accompany the process. One is that holidays, more than ever, show up as opportunities for reflection, whether we like it or not. From the Kids’ Table, to supreme kitchen duties, to the chair where the eldest in the family sits, everything… absolutely everything… changes. By this point everything that matters has made itself known, choices are clear and obvious, and life just IS.
**
**
My 76th year has been supremely challenging in ways I couldn’t have foreseen, causing me to rethink this “getting older” idea. The sudden realization that after you finally get all the stuff stowed and redistributed from your last move ten years ago, along with other pending projects, there’s really not that much to do… has been a shock to my system. It left me berating myself for not having planned better for my “Golden Years,” because NOW WHAT? Little challenges handled, life okay for my loved ones, who am I NOW?
Thursday’s laid-back comfort and coziness brought a much-needed revelation sinking into my conscious mind: I did indeed plan wisely by cultivating the things I really love… reading, writing, solitude, my people. Those are the things that will never leave me, nor will I lose my need of them. The closest I ever came to being an athlete was six years as a cheerleader, but I do like to walk, and now I can, thanks to my beloved young neurologist. I live with a beautiful soul who loves me, feeds me, and tries to understand me. So it appears that life is good, I just need to ditch the guilt over no longer being very productive, and enjoy it. Steep hill for an anxiety-ridden eldest child with impossible personal standards, but here we go ’cause I’m not done yet.
**
My friend Barlow is a beast at dealing with what life throws at him. And he’s right.
**
**
As we open the door to the Christmas season and its various meanings around the world…
It’s another HumpDay, boys and girls, and we all know what that means: GET OVER IT ASAP! In truth, it feels like a very laid-back pre-Thanksgiving Wednesday, no big deal, which is the way I like my holidays. We’re creatures of habit in this house, rather than tradition, and a nice habit to cultivate is good food with great people, so tomorrow will follow… um… tradition. Rita will be here and each of the three of us chose a favorite dish to make, plus a few other goodies. It’ll be fire and we’ll congratulate ourselves on pulling off yet another cozy half-assed national holiday on our own template. Meanwhile, our middle sister should be on her way home today after major surgery, which is another tradition we dislike but adhere to in this family on a far too regular basis. And John will be working the holiday, as is his usual tradition.
This morning has sounded industrious and preparatory outside my doors. The yard crew arrived early to finish putting all the landscaping to bed for the season, at decibel level. There were fire trucks running north and south while city police cars screamed east and west, in response to what, I won’t even contemplate. The #lfk street sweepers have been out in force. Cars and people are roaming to and fro on errands unique to them. Kim’s home from PickleBall and is in the kitchen chopping a new load of fresh pepper and onion mix, his not-so-secret ingredient in most everything but desserts. The sun’s shining. The wind isn’t blowing. The day stands ready, holding out possibility. Might have to check it out… after one more cup of coffee.
A happy and grateful observance to all who celebrate. It’s never a bad time to stop and give thanks.
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.
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.
I’ve been off on sabbatical again, is everybody still okay? This is the summer of figuring out WhatTheHell, and it’s going swimmingly, starting with the weather. Weirdly for August in Kansas, nearly every morning starts with a hint of sunshine before morphing into yet another grayish overcast day with all the heat held firmly in place. This week the forecast says we’ll get a break, with temps in the lower 80s… but also with the humidity in those same numbers if not higher. It’s summertime, it’s da vey dey do, and I’m merely adding (unnecessary) commentary.
**
**
Life is, in fact, quite good of course. We have family in town visiting, and more to arrive today, people we haven’t seen in ten years, so that’s a very sweet thing. The food and drink at this establishment (Kim’s kitchen) continues in its customary stellar fashion; we’re maintaining a facsimile of robust health; and we sleep safe every night. I communicate with someone who lives in Ukraine, and I know that for her, her husband, and their country the idea of sleeping in comfort and security is the stuff of dreams now. It’s impossible to put down in words sometimes how precious and unbelievable life is, because it’s so very relative. What it looks like to each of us depends on where we find ourselves on the planet, which patch of earth is “ours,” so we build the dream according to what seems almost possible and then reach beyond it.
As dreams go, I saved this one for Kim. It looks like something he would actually build and enjoy living in, provided there were drop-down window coverings for coziness.
**
If there’s something that would make today better for you, DO THAT. There’s no rule that we get only one of those a week, or even just one a day, so don’t think you’re being selfish by claiming the good stuff. It’s nice when you can pay it forward, though.
PLAYING FOR TIME claims no credit for any images posted on this site unless otherwise noted. Images on this blog are the property of their respective owners. If there is an image on this blog that belongs to you and you do not wish for it to appear on this site, please E-mail me with a link to said image and it will be promptly removed. Thank you.
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.
Playing for Time 
Join the conversation …