Sunday Morning ~ Thousands More

Culuke-culuke ngwa njuci, tsata yakuluma. ~ There are many bees, just follow the one that stung you.

~ Chewa proverb

August 30, 2021

Hi Everyone,

It’s Monday. I’m a day late. I didn’t write a single word yesterday. I thought a lot, though. I thought how to phrase things and the sentiments I wanted to convey. It was the first time in a long time I wrote nothing on a Sunday. Even the weeks I don’t post until later, I’ve written it mostly on Sunday. But yesterday, no, I gave it up.

I woke later than normal. I’d adjusted to the crowded bed more easily than I’d imagined and slept soundly in my little allotment very near the edge. The morning was hazy, foggy, a bit dark. I sleepily adjusted the pillow dislodged by a flailing arm and went right back to sleep. Amazed at what I can adjust to, the kids woke first and laughed at my grogginess. I’d planned to be up extra early to write and was confused. They thought this was exceptionally funny. James said he’d had a bad dream so decided not to dream again. Then I laughed and he was the one confused. We wrote our daily story then got up and ready for church. It was leaving day. 

When I stripped the bed a little later I thought what a luxury it would be to crawl into it alone that night, sprawl out and put my legs wherever I wanted. But it wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. The sheets were still a little damp when I took them off the line after dark. I’d gotten home from dropping the kids with their mom much later than I imagined. I could have thrown them in the dryer for a bit, but wanted to get the bed made and get into it. I was very tired. But I slept poorly. I tossed and turned and the whole empty bed seemed to be mocking me. At first I placed myself on the edge as if leaving room for the two other bodies I’d accommodated over the past three weeks. The stuffed animals and “blankies” absence made the bed look lonely. I had a flashback to the first few nights after my husband left, then the first few years when I left his spot empty. It took almost ten years for me to sleep past my side. I thought how ridiculous that was, as if he’d somehow find his spot waiting if he ever decided to come back. I thought about this last night as I moved to the middle and stretched my legs as far as I could. I felt the damp edges of the sheets. They’ll dry, I thought sleepily as I hunkered down. But sleep didn’t come. My arm ached a bit, then I thought my foot felt funny. Interesting that I never once thought about any aches or pains while the kids were here. I was too busy. I didn’t think about being too tired to read them a story. It wasn’t an option to be tired. Thinking isn’t always productive and I’m a believer of the Nike slogan. 

One day last week we passed an intersection where a woman was holding a sign asking for help. The sign said she was poor. Amelia read that and as I drove through the intersection she said, “That woman needs help! Meme, you should stop and help her!” The compassion. The urgency. I’d seen that same woman there hours earlier when we passed. I noted she was still there in the hot sun, hours later. It was a busy intersection and I didn’t stop. If I’d had a dollar on the seat instead of inside my wallet, I thought I might have quickly opened the window of the air conditioned car and handed it to her. But stopping there, fishing out a dollar from my purse, and handing it over may have caused an accident. It wasn’t a convenient place to stop when the light wasn’t red. This went though my mind a moment before Amelia made her observation. By then I was in the flow of traffic and driving away. I thought about how desperate she must be to be standing in the hot sun for so long. I considered turning around. I wondered if that would be a good lesson for these kids: to go back and give her something. I didn’t, though. I kept driving. I said it made me sad that so many people were poor and needed help like that. “Then why didn’t you stop to help her?” Amelia asked. Yeah, why didn’t I? I had cash in my wallet. I would not have noticed a few dollars missing. Terrible location, I thought. Then was sad at the thought of what must have brought her to stand there. I wondered if she’d been abused so badly she just couldn’t move? I was moved by the emotion flowing from my granddaughter. I overflowed with love for this compassionate being. It gave me hope for the future. I imagined a world full of Amelias. James said, “Meme, you should help her!” and thought what a good example his sister was setting. What should I say to them? What example should I set as I drove on? They asked why she was there. I talked about poverty and unfairness. 

I’d planned to take a meal to a friend who’d had a terrible accident. I asked the kids if they’d like to make her a card to go with the meal. They eagerly got out the paints and started on the artwork. They asked what color her hair was, wanting to paint a picture of her as accurately as possible. I laughed. Then Amelia looked up before dipping her brush and asked, “Wait, what color is her skin?” as natural as asking what color her eyes were. My heart exploded. This is the future, I thought. Kids who are more inclusive, accepting, compassionate, and loving. 

It’s cliche to repeat the bit about learning from the children, but it’s what I thought. Their inquisitiveness is a model. They are continually trying to extract more details; they are trying to understand. I wonder when we lose that? We so often jump to judgement and abandon understanding. We’re satisfied with a few facts at hand whether they make sense or not. From our air-conditioned perches, safe within our homes, technology at our fingertips, we’re convinced we know how to do it right. We claim to know how so many others get it wrong. 

Slight pivot here, but I’ve spent a lot of time over the past three weeks talking about insects and spiders and how they protect themselves and help us. I watched and marveled at the transformation from fear to fascination to protection with eagerness to learn and understand. They may sting, but that one that hurt us is only protecting itself while thousands of others continue to make our world thrive. 

Love to all,

Linda 

Sunday Morning ~ The Beginning

Kuongola mtengo ndi poyamba. ~ To straighten a tree you must start at the beginning.

~ Chewa proverb

August 22, 2021

Hi Everyone,

It gets easier. You start with a little stick and the hole you dig is rather small. It doesn’t have to go deep. Pretty soon, if the soil is wet and the temperature right, a few leaves start to appear. It’s exciting to see the stick alive. You must have planted it correctly. A shoot pokes out from the top and the sapling starts bending toward the sunlight. It’s such a hopeful act to plant a tree. Thirty years ago I did this, planted trees. They were just sticks really, and I stuck them in spots near the house we were building. I thought I wouldn’t live to see them flourish. Now, Amelia, James, and I are picking fruit from those trees. It’s the fantasy I had when I planted them. I’m so happy. So grateful.

I hear there is a hurricane heading our way. A notification on my phone warned me while  camping this week at Rangeley State Park. I hadn’t listened to the news in two weeks so looked to see what was happening, not sure how worried I should be with two young kids in a tent. I discovered a whole group of people who can’t find Afghanistan on a map are now experts on that country, and a hurricane may or may not hit us. I realize how easy it is to tune out reality. I should stop wondering how this can be. It’s a relief, actually, not that I’d want to make a lifestyle out of it. Tuning out and being completely present with these two young beings is good for my soul. And the time is short. I’ve missed them. I slip in and out of the pool of how I’ll miss them again. 

We had a rough start with a sleepless first night of their stay. James was scared out here on the porch and decidedly announced this fact throughout the night no matter how many reassurances and tight hugs I provided. As the sky got a little light Amelia tapped me on the arm and whispered, “Meme, have we literally been awake all night?” I whispered back depressingly, “Just about.”  It was hot. It’s rarely hot here during the night, especially outside, but it was that night. We were all sweaty and piled together like we were on an airplane. In fact, that’s sort of what it was like: trying to sleep on an airplane. I got up with a sore back and cranky attitude. There was no way I could do that for three weeks. We had several discussions that day about what would make him feel safe with the understanding that the option of sleeping inside for three whole weeks of my summer was not on the table. He helped me move a statue I had on the porch to the garden on the other side of the house. He said it scared him. We talked about the night noises and who makes them. We got out Zack’s old Zoobooks and found ones written about spiders. We read about how they catch their prey and weave beautiful webs. We learned they mostly don’t hurt us and how good they are for the garden. We rearranged the sleeping configuration so he felt more secure. Mostly he heard the definitive tone of my words. This was my summer bedroom and if he wanted to be near me, this is where we sleep. He can reach out if he needs reassurance, but this is where I feel safe and happy. I told him he could feel that way, too. It didn’t take long for the nights to become sweet again. In fact, he was fine the very next night. Now we all take our places, I read a chapter to them from the Little House books, we snuggle in, and in the morning, I sit with my tea at the table nearby, and write. I promised I’d stay close until they wake each morning and when I see the little heads pop out of the piles of quilts, I get back in to snuggle. We write a short story about the day, one that captures the essence of what was vivid to them. The whole world for me is right here.

We quietly watch a hummingbird sip nectar from the flowers next to our bed each morning. The humming sound alerts us and we take a break from our story. We watch it dart from blossom to blossom before floating away. As it leaves I feel a pang of sadness, reluctantly letting it go. It’s so quick. So beautiful. I have to relish the moment it gives us and be glad for it, even as I mourn it’s departure. We turn back to our story, and somehow the hummingbird never makes it onto the page. 

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ Letting Go, Letting In

Citsime cakale ciphetsa ndi ludzu. ~ An old well kills you with thirst.

~ Chewa proverb

August 8, 2021

Hi Everyone,

I just finished listening to a podcast about American imperialism, the history of all the lands we’ve colonized while billing ourselves as the defender of freedom and independence. I’ve known this, especially after living in Samoa. It doesn’t take long in Hawaii, either, to see what we’ve done there. The right to self-rule has been a clever ruse, working our way in, allowing access to resources. It’s fairly blatant like racism, and the history lessons are important, necessary. It tangles everything in my life to do this learning. I glibly went along, traveling, searching, wondering if there were exciting lands where I may offer some skill, feeling secure I was doing the right thing. Now it’s all complicated. How much of humanitarian work is about making ourselves feel better? But then, isn’t helping others a good thing? The question is, what is help? What’s the long term impact? And therein lies the problem. None of us know. So often we do more harm than good in the long haul. This may be self-preservation, but I still believe Peace Corps has the right idea, whether or not it’s inception was pure. I was so idealistic when I joined at twenty-two. My family made fun of my idealism. “Yea, yea, yea, you need to save the world.” my father would say, as if that was something to be mocked. It was always confusing to me. I’d respond, “That’s good, right? Wanting to save the world?” Even if Peace Corps was founded in response to Soviet’s idea of young people traveling to foreign lands, the goal of understanding and sharing is something I believe in. I’ve met so many professionals in my travels who’ve told me they are where they are because of a Peace Corps volunteer. Those words have always been affirming to me. So, for now, I’ll cling to that little tidbit of goodness while I sort through what to do with my next life chapter. Thank God the grandkids are coming so I can stop all this navel gazing.

In a few hours I’ll be distracted with grandchildren and put all the philosophical pondering to the side. They give me perspective and consume me completely. It’s such a treat and one I do not take for granted. I get to have three weeks with these bundles of love and am excited about every minute of it. I haven’t gone overboard with planning as they are old enough now to participate and I look forward to seeing what they come up with. It’s such a different world from my childhood and I think about the privilege of creating new norms over these two generations; compared with our ancestors, much less of our lives is focused on survival. 

Not having had a grandmother I was close to, I’ve envied that relationship. I never felt listened to, or interested in as a kid. Most of my childhood memories of my mother are of her back, the apron knot at her waist while she stood at the sink or ironing board. Her life was much harder than mine. It seemed anything I said was an annoyance. In book group this week, women my age entertained the younger ones with childhood memories of what would now be considered abuse. Par for the course back then, we wouldn’t have dared complain. We described the torture of mercurochrome, a treatment worse than the injury. Nothing invoked terror like that little bottle coming out of the medicine cabinet. I described limping home crying after my foot got caught in the spokes of my brother’s bicycle and being scolded for ruining my shoe. An X-ray was never considered. The mangled foot healed eventually and I had to wear my old shoes the rest of the year. The comedian Bob Marley was in town last evening and he had the audience in hysterics describing childhood road trips of smoke filled cars, no seatbelt, and multi hour drives with no stops. He hilariously mimicked a contemporary parent packing snacks and entertainment for a twelve minute drive. As a kid, road trips for me were spent trying not to throw up. I wonder how many of these stories my own little audience will want to hear over the next few weeks. I could listen to them talk forever, and maybe, cuddled under our sleeping net, I can let them know what my life was like at their age and what I dreams I had of foreign lands.

Nothing makes me stay present like being with these two. Until September, purpose in life is very clear.

Love to all,

Linda

Sunday Morning ~ Saving the Stick

Adaocha cicidi ca ukonde. ~ He burnt the stick which held up the net.

~ Chewa proverb

August 1, 2021

Hi Everyone,

This past Tuesday I agreed to drive to Brunswick for a meeting. It felt a little odd, meeting in the flesh, and I considered the practicality of it. The summer traffic, carbon impact, wear on my car, all things I wouldn’t have thought twice about before the pandemic. But one of the participants was old school and not comfortable with zoom. I was very interested in being considered as a board member for this organization so didn’t think long about consenting to the trip. It seemed downright nostalgic, and ultimately was worth it both for the meeting outcome and the gripping story on the radio during the three hour drive. 

On January 6, 2021 I was puttering around my kitchen when I looked at my phone and saw a text that said, “They are in the capitol!” I had purposely not listened to the news that morning to keep my anxiety manageable. I’d spent the previous four years feeling like I was being chased on the edge of a cliff and had decided to preserve what was left of my rational faculties. I figured I’d tune in later and hear how the election certification had unfolded, never questioning whether it would happen. I knew there’d be drama and pontificating, however, and didn’t mind missing that. I thought I’d finally go to sleep that night with a sense of stability in the world. But the text changed my plans and sent me scrambling to open my laptop and live-stream the hell-scape that was the capitol building. I watched with horror and started having a panic attack. I was having a hard time breathing. I had chest pain. I ran to the liquor cabinet knowing I needed to calm myself and deep breathing wasn’t cutting it. From two in the afternoon until well into the evening I sat glued to the screen, sipping amaro. The liquor definitely slowed my heart rate as I absorbed how far we had fallen. I texted back and forth with family and friends, all of us commenting on what we were watching in real time. “They are just letting them through!” We were outraged with what we thought was the complicity of the capitol police. From the camera angles in our view it seemed these people were just allowed in to disgrace the place once the barriers were breached. I thought, if those rioters were black they would have shot them on sight. I thought I knew because I was watching it. 

For the past three weeks I have had houseguests and have not had the news on as much as I usually do. I knew the House of Representatives had formed a committee to investigate January 6th but did not know the hearings were starting last week. I have been rising in the morning assuming our president is working for the country not against it and therefore have not anxiously built my day around shocking news stories. It’s been glorious. On Tuesday morning, I made tea in my travel mug, dressed in business casual, and got in my car thinking I’d listen to my latest book-group read. The radio came on and I reached to turn it off when I realized it sounded like a live broadcast of something in congress. I left it on as I backed down the driveway wondering what was going on. For the next three hours I choked back sobs as I listened to the first-hand account of what happened to those policemen on January 6th. It’s Sunday and I am still disturbed and shaken.

So many of my assumptions were wrong. They had a reason for not shooting, though they described considering it. Information had circulated that the rioters (terrorists) were armed. They’d heard explosives were discovered and had no idea what the plan was for detonating them. Under attack, with weapons being used against them, they had to calculate whether shooting an attacker would detonate an explosive. The strength and skill of these men are breathtaking. I listened, trying to keep the tears from obstructing my view as I drove and thought they are the absolute definition of the word hero. I am so humbled. I’ve read and re-read The Art of War, by Sun Tzu. It states if we are outnumbered in every way, we should flee from the enemy. On January 6th the terrorists outnumbered the police by sixty to one and reinforcements were not coming. These men stood their ground as long as they could to give others a chance to flee to safety. Then some of those whose lives they saved slander them as liars. This is so much deeper and more sordid than I realized.   

The Watergate hearings lasted over thirteen months. I was a senior in high school and current events barely registered. I think back and wonder how I could have existed in that dark cave of senior photos, college applications, and last dances without a thought for the danger to our democracy? I guess I just thought the adults who knew about these things would work it out. I had a blind faith that justice would play out eventually, and figured there was someone who got paid to fix it. It wasn’t my job. Tuesday, I listened to Liz Cheney and thought, this is just the beginning. I’m grateful to her and think about how pathetic it is to be so grateful for someone to just tell the truth. But I am. I’m grateful for her and for all those in leadership who are committed to truth and justice. Amazing how expectations vary. I heard all their concern, maybe even fear, for the future of our country and what is at stake. I take a breath and listen to the stories of those who were there. I hope everyone does the same. I’ve been worried our impatience would be the equivalent of burning the stick holding up our fragile democracy. Those voices, while painful to hear, gave me hope. We need to hear it all.

Love to all,

Linda