An Autumn Gift

Every autumn, I write a story for Douglas, my husband. There's usually an element of supernatural in them. This year, I decided to attempt a poem. I'm not a poet. I really ought to take a class. If it rhymes and is rhythmic, I get it - it's a poem. But I know that a poem doesn't have to rhyme. I love Emily Dickinson, and she doesn't often rhyme. So many poems look like prose that has been scattered about on a page. That's what I've got here. I hope you like my attempt. Happy Autumn!

Autumn comes in stunning death—a burst of beauty before dormancy;

Our world leans into darkness—the seen becomes the unseen.

Late afternoon loses its leisure and imparts urgency, dread.

The cozy buffer of leaves surrenders and exposes us to earth’s canopy, its overstory.

The bareness clicks and ticks in Morse-like rhythm, like giant women knitting.

Nocturnals chitter their restlessness; their time with the day-dwellers unnaturally increases, and when these worlds mix—it gets territorial.

But I won’t relinquish my time, though they claim it in its darkness.

Nor will they sleep through this new abundance.

Onyx ink blots twitch and pitch from branch to branch, from tree to tree, through earth’s breath to the pale moon!

—The restless displaced in nature’s spirit.

Bloodied spiders’ webs hang fat from trees, silently unthreatened, filtering the last glow of sunset.

How the poor, trapped creatures must have suffered . . .

The thought is quelched when the web takes a fearful flight, and its atonal call shreds my nerves.

The blood, not old, nor even fresh, is vibrant, pulsing.

Recalled legends of fanged moths and wicked angels manifest themselves as these ghost bats.

Still the black masks flit, more absent of light than the night,

And the ghosts, absorbing every spectral hue—

All light hidden merely in their being—

Evidence Nature enveloping Nature.

Their caves blown and mined, their trees cast into our homes,

The displaced seek out the illicit dwellings—whether of sticks or of bricks, by the feathered or fleshed—and those that dwell therein.

I, rationed by God, with two eyes, two ears can’t perceive them as they me.

My hands, fearful of these critters whose senses are keener even than my thoughts, don’t help.

Most threats lie within, nestled up against all our fears.

So, make of the Chiroptera what you will with your myths and legends

(flying rodents, their potion-rich wool; their thirst for blood)

What they are is enough.

We haven’t time to fear the shards of their calls.

The hunt is silent; only in the attack do they shriek.

I owe thanks to Rebecca Giggs of The Atlantic. I was inspired by her article Why We're Afraid of Bats (November 2020). Thank you, Ms. Giggs.

What I've Learned from this Administration

 

I promised this blog last month. I wasn't in the mood to write it because it brings me down. But hee it is as promised. Next month will be more fun. I hope.

I will never say Anyone, but . . .

I voted for Barack Obama, but I wasn’t overly concerned about John McCain winning the election. I admired John McCain even if I didn’t agree with him on everything; he was an honorable man. God rest his soul. I might upset a few readers in my next statement, but please stay with me; I have more to say that isn’t so divisive (the next paragraph, for example). Many people were so full of vitriol for Hillary Clinton, they couldn’t see past it to recognize the poisonous character of Donald Trump. I remember reading about the third-party candidates and shuddering at some of their platforms. My point is, while I wouldn’t necessarily vote for a candidate from the, say The Flat Earth Party, I need to at least look at their main platform before dismissing them.

Look at the big picture.

I need to figure out how to keep perspective when leaders let us down and disappoint me. I was one of those screaming at George H.W. Bush for going back on his campaign promise to not raise taxes. He lied to us!!!! He did. He should have never told us he wouldn’t raise taxes. He didn’t know the future. Michael Dukakis chose his words more carefully, that he would look at new taxes as a last resort. While candidates certainly need to choose their words carefully, I need to listen wisely. Just as no one knows how long we’ll be dealing with this corona virus or whether or not everything will be okay, no presidential candidate knows what’s in store for them personally or for the nation when they’re campaigning. So, I need to cut them some slack when they can’t deliver what they promised – what they probably want. George H.W. Bush wound up making one of those unpopular decisions that was probably best for the nation as a whole. Not having a sliding door to another dimension, I don’t know. 

Some ties need to be severed.

I’m realizing that there are people with whom I’m close, who had a strong influence in my formative years, who are very different than I thought. These people taught me to be honest, but support Donald Trump, one of the most publicly dishonest people I’ve ever known of. I was encouraged to get a good education, yet these people want another four years of this president who dismisses the science and research into environmental issues and this pandemic because he thinks he knows better. He said he wanted to Make America Great Again, yet he didn’t think enough of us to tell the truth about this pandemic. He said he didn’t want to create panic. These people taught me to believe in God and teachings of the Bible, yet they support this president who incites violence against fellow Americans (at his campaign rallies) and won’t denounce – and even has even complimented and encouraged – hate groups (Charlottesville). I was taught not to call names by these people who support this president who calls anyone who disagrees with him insulting names and publicly makes fun of the disabled. If I were paranoid, I’d say it looks like mass mental illness or mass hypnosis. I’ve heard of people distancing themselves from family and friends during this administration. I understand that. It’s hard to carry on loving, friendly conversations when you know what lies beneath. While I don’t want politics to stand in the way of a good relationship, I see how differing morals can prevent having any good relations with people supporting this amoral behavior. It’s not politics driving some people apart, it’s moral values.

We must learn to dialogue with each other.

I've written this before, but it is something that we all need to keep practicing. I used to be an arguer; I've learned to discuss - listen and share ideas. Unfortunately too many people won't participate in an exchange of ideas that differ. Some, like myself at times, don't have enough to back up their opinions or the truths they know and they are too uncomfortable listening to anything that runs contrary to their thoughts. They must feel like they are up against something rather than exploring. That's sad. That, once again, was me in my 20's. Some people are too bent on insulting someone who sees things differently or who actually knows more than they do. While I never did this to anyone's face, I certainly walked away from exchanges thinking awful thoughts about the other person. I'm still learning to look at the issue rather than the person. Donald Trump challenges me here. I'm hard put to find any redeeming qualities about him because I've not seen him display a single one publicly.

Please comment what you have learned from this administration whether it aligns with my thoughts or goes contrary to them. 

Learning in the Time of the Pandemic

 

During this pandemic I’m asking God to help us all learn what we need to learn from it, on an individual basis and collectively. I want to share with you some things I’ve learned and a few things I feel I need to learn.

1. I can happily live with a lot less. When we were evacuated to Moscow, we had to leave almost everything behind in our townhouse in Vladivostok. Most of my clothes are there. I’m getting pretty tired of wearing the same shirts. Being worn so often, they’re starting to look old. I have to check my look in the mirror in various light to be sure they're not too threadbare. But that only brings me down temporarily – when I’m getting dressed. It has spurred me into pairing things differently just to feel like I’m wearing something different. 

I don’t have my piano; I have my recorders. I’ve made more progress on the recorder in these few months than I did the year and a half I played with the Taizé ensemble in Silver Spring. I do have access to an out-of-tune piano that is in ill repair, so when I go to it I can focus on reading and memory without any concern as to how I sound, since no one could sound good on this instrument. 

Smaller joys have taken the place of day trips, meals out and parties. Every Saturday evening, Douglas and I watch a live concert online. I prepare a special meal or dessert and sometimes even dress up, as much as I can. A friend needed an escort to a nearby mall, so, while he was shopping, I treated myself to a bottle of cologne (L'Occitane Herbae). It lifts my spirits. 

Douglas has been subscribing to a local produce delivery service. Every week we receive several pounds of greens, peppers, tomatoes, broccoli cucumbers, squash, kohlrabi, fennel and herbs. So the question isn’t, “What should we have for dinner?” The question is, “How do I prepare the kale this week?” And I hate kale. The good thing about kale, I must say, is that you burn as many calories chewing it as is contained in it. I’ve always eaten according to cravings. There is nothing in this apartment that I’m craving, except my chocolate stash.

These pictures show a typical assortment of the produce we receive each week. The couple next door also receives it. They share it with another woman because, they say, it's too much for the two of them to eat in a week. I agree.

My takeaway from this, I hope, will be finding more fulfillment in my own life in my own home as it is, rather than feeding desires to have something else, the company of someone else or another opportunity. While I hope I will continue to seek and have new experiences, I want to find more of those within myself. (People ask me how I like Moscow. I tell them I don’t know, but the Embassy grounds are nice. I’d rather be healthy than out risking that nasty virus to see sights that will still be there after this virus is – hopefully – gone.)

And I’m hoping to hold onto some of these eating practices. As Douglas and I watch our parents age, we see habits we need to instill now, before it’s too late.

2. I need to know when to put my own desires aside for the good of society. I’d rather be part of the solution, rather than part of the problem. I’d rather contribute to order rather than chaos. I’m basically a rule-abider, but there are occasions that, when facing a nonsensical rule, I’ll scoff it. Example: There was a little-traveled side road in St. Paul I took occasionally. At one point, there was a stop sign for the west-bound lane. There was no cross road, just a parking lot on the north side. Traffic heading east had no stop sign. This made no sense, so I regularly blew through the sign when there was no one around. No harm done. The problem with that is inconsistency, picking and choosing which traffic signs I’ll obey and when. The other problem is my unwillingness to stop and sit for a second to honor the law. For the most part, I’m obeying pandemic rules. There has been one exception, however. When we enter the Embassy compound, we are supposed to use hand sanitizer. The problem with this, in my mind, was the waste. Have it available for those who need it, but don’t mandate it for those who might not need it at that moment. When I leave my apartment with clean hands to shop, wear gloves while shopping and wash my hands (hand sanitizers can be drying) when I get back home, I saw no reason for the sanitizer. (The doors don't need to be touched with hands when entering the compound, you can push them with your forearm.) The guards, however, would remind me to use it and not unlock the door until I did. I was actually juvenile enough that I'd pretend to use it. Okay, whatever, but the problem with that is the door I touched on my way out of the compound, fumbling my gloves off and on in the store because I couldn’t use my phone to access the translator or pull out my credit card to pay. The real problem with that is my making a bigger deal out of using the consarned sanitizer than is called for. They aren’t asking for a cell sample for genetic engineering. And, for crying out loud, Laura, you’ve got lotion. Use it. Lastly, the problem with that is my frustration with people for not wearing masks and keeping their distance in public. Glass house. Stones.

The takeaway from this will be my examining myself in other areas. What else do I wrongly rationalize? Keeping in mind what I'm capable of is what has helped me curb my judgement of others over the years. There's always room for improvement there.

3. I need to take the counsel of those who know more than I do. And I need to be forgiving and understanding as they, too, are humans who are still learning. People love to reject all pandemic limitations by citing how we were originally told that masks didn't make you safer. This reminds me of how upset my older sister (by five years) got when she saw how differently my parents treated me than they treated her. My mom said in response to her complaints, "Don't you think we learned anything from raising you?" Well said, Mom. Unfortunately, those who are in charge are proverbially damned. If they had told us from the start to wear masks, a certain group of people would have still complained about their rights. If they had not admitted their earlier mistake, they'd have been accused of keeping things from the public. Having fessed up, they are ridiculed.

Sigh. Tune in next month for what I'm learning from this administration.

If one news source tells me to do something uncomfortable and another tells me to maintain the status quo, it's easy to reject the former. I need to learn to look at it objectively. If this pandemic had happened when I was in my twenties, I'd probably be sprawled out naked and diapered, in the throes of live nightmares on a hospital bed with a tube down my throat never to sing well again. But I've matured since then. For such a long time I was so foolish and self-centered, that I always assumed others were smarter and more composed than I could ever hope to be. Then I started keeping the company of smarter people and wised up. This might sound judgmental, but, trust me, it's not. When I see mass foolishness, like refusal to wear a mask and keep distant in public, I don't understand how they can still be stuck in that juvenile place. I emerged from it, what's the problem? This is not a holier-than-thou observation. It's an if I can choke down kale, you can put on a mask observation. (I sure hope that makes as much sense to you, dear reader, as it does to me.)

4. I want to learn to be the one who sets a good example. There is power and influence in that, and influence - much more influence than in judging or chastising. Part of setting a good example is admitting our shortcomings while we tow the line. I also want to point out people who set the good example, tell them how its appreciated, build them up. 

On my mind today has been the title of a book of photographs that I bought for my grandmother when her eyesight began to fail. It's called In Spite of Everything, Yes edited by Caroline and Ralph Steiner. I like the title as much as the photographs. In spite of this pandemic, yes we can live as fully as we are able. In spite of many limitations, we have many freedoms. 

I'll leave you with some pictures I took when Douglas and I walked to Novodevichy.

The above statue of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson is on a sidewalk that runs along a road paralleling the Moscow River. It sits below the British Embassy. Very fitting.

I really wish I took better pictures. Sorry everybody. The wall of the British Embassy has dozens of verses on it alternately in Russian and English. Here's the full text of this one that I cut off:

I would to heaven that I were so much clay

As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -

Because at least the past were pass'd away -

And the future - (but I write this reeling,

Having got exceedingly drunk to-day,

So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling)

I say - the future is a serious matter -

And so - for God's sake - hock and soda-water.

- George Gordon, Lord Byron 1788 - 1824

Novodevichy Cemetery

Douglas and I got out to take our first long walk since restrictions were lifted. We walked about three miles to the convent Novodevichy, where there is a famous cemetery. 

This is me with the convent in the background.

It was a perfect day to wander through a cemetery - cool, overcast, occasionally it drizzled. I've always loved roaming cemeteries. I think I got that from my mother, who, to my dad's disgust, always wanted to stop to walk through cemeteries to read the headstones. Aloud. When Douglas and I lived in Falls Church, there was a cemetery abutting the parking lot of our apartment that I frequently strolled through. I got good character names from those old tombstones. 

Here's Douglas standing near one of the sprawling, beautiful trees on the property.

I had to chuckle to myself  at the choice to place this reclining nude over the deceased. As for me, I just want to be cremated and sprinkled into the ocean or over the Grand Canyon. I do, however, like the optimism in this luxurious, lounging lady. 

The body of Boris Yeltsin rests under this Russian flag marker.

Nikita Khruschev lies beneath this interesting structure. Ernst Neizvestny (whose name means not well-known in Russian) was the scuptor. His artwork was not liked by Khruschev. He publicly asked why he "disfigured the faces of Soviet people" and saw his work as "degenerate." It was Mr. Khruschev's family who approached Mr. Neizvestny to sculpt the marker for his grave site. If there are any cracks in it, I suppose they could be blamed on Nikita turning over and over.

If I were to have a plot in a cemetery for my body, I'd want this adorning it. As I approached it, I thought someone had draped a cloth over the stone, but it's sculpted. Delicate and beautiful. I stood for quite a while admiring it.

I'll close with a short, spooky cemetery story for you. A true story. When Douglas and I were living in Falls Church, it was over the winder of 2010, otherwise known as Snowmaggedon. We were stuck in our apartment surrounded by thirty inches of snow. I couldn't stand being inside any longer, so I decided to try and walk through the cemetery. In the center was a small brick structure, where, I assumed, groundskeepers kept their tools and equipment. There were footprints leading to (or from, it was difficult to tell) the door to the building. They led to one of the plots and stopped. I looked around for more prints. None. I looked up in the tree near the plot half expecting to see some kid smiling at me. Empty. Hmm. I stood and tried to reason this sight. All I could come up with was that ghosts leave footprints.

Quarantine Bloglette: Change

I have this recurring dream about finding coins. They're in plain sight, but no one else seems to notice them but me. It begins with me seeing one, then another, then another and on and on until I'm filling my palms and pockets with coins. I shared this dream with an acquaintance of mine (Jerry, the instrument repairman at the music store where I worked in Charlotte). I told him that I didn't know what it meant. He suggested that rather than seeing the coins as coins, I might see them as change. Very insightful. I don't dream it as often any more, there are other dreams that visit me more often, but it still comes to me from time to time.

They say this pandemic with its isolation will change us. I sure hope so.

Pre-pandemic, I was very much an eater of what I craved. Then we were evacuated to Moscow and, for fear of my life, I began to eat whatever I could get my hands on. Douglas signed us up for home delivery of locally grown produce. We've been eating things like Mizuna, Spiky and Stinging Nettle. These things are supposedly good for you. (I did, by the way, discover why Stinging Nettle is so named. Fortunately, when you cook it, it no longer stings.) We receive about five pounds of greens plus a few herbs and other vegetables like broccolini and golden beets (the only thing I actually like). It's all we can do to eat it all in a week. My body doesn't know what to think with all these greens. Now that I know I'm capable of eating like this, perhaps I'll continue it post-pandemic. (I've doubled down on the chocolate just to show my body that I'm still in some control of my faculties.)

Speaking of which, Douglas was in charge of grocery shopping a few weeks ago when my allergies were so bad. (He went once. It took him about five days to psych himself into it.) In effort to eat less chocolate, I told him not to buy me any. My chocolate stash was dwindling and he knew it. And do you know what? He didn't buy me any chocolate! A few days before he went shopping, I went to the freezer to grab an ice cream bar, but there were none. My face fell. Douglas saw this face. How can he see that face and think I actually meant it when I say to buy me no chocolate? Maybe post-pandemic, he’ll know when to ignore my admonitions.

On a more serious note, a definite change I've notice in myself is my level of patience. I had already become a much more patient person being married to Douglas. He sets a good example. He's become more patient while married to me for, um, other reasons. Not knowing when we can get back to our home in Vladivostok has left me remarkable tolerant of this day-after-day existence. When life returns to normal, or the new normal, I will either be one of the most tolerant, patient people around or I will put up with nothing. I am hoping for, even anticipating, the former, but  bracing for the latter.

Part of our Fourth of July celebration is sidewalk chalk art. I've picked some of my favorites to share with you. (It might look like this guy is smoking. He's not. He's blowing a party noise-maker.)

This, I think, is in honor of those who adopted garden plots and are growing vegetables and flowers on the compound. I might add some more pictures as the exhibition grows. I want to get this posted on time.

Ranting and Raving

I was recently accused of always being on a rampage. This accusation came to me by someone whom I'm quite close to, someone whom I talk to regularly. We have gone our separate ways ideologically over the years. (She voted for Donald Trump and is quite pleased about it; I'm disgusted and heartsick. That's just one example of our differences.) I don't like going on rampages, but I don't like what's going on in our country either. And I'd rather rant about it than stick my head in the ground and pretend that everything's fine, just fine. Because if my head is in the ground, that means my bahookie is up in the air for all to see and it's either sending a message or issuing an invitation, neither of which I want to do.

Rampage is an exaggeration of what I have done; rant is a better word. Here's a rant for you:

I'm tired of . . .

. . . people hearing the name "Keesha" over the phone, and assume they know exactly what sort of person they're talking to.

. . . customer service representatives (male or female) hearing my female voice on the phone, rejecting my legitimate request only to grant it when I put my husband on the phone.

. . . people seeing a white male and assuming privilege.

. . .  people automatically blaming graffiti, litter and such crimes on teens and children.

. . .people seeing an 'R' or 'D' behind a name on a ballot and assuming what they stand for.

. . . people saying that people with public platforms are "talking to hear themselves talk" when  they have something to say that the listener didn't know or understand.

. . . people hearing a foreign language and complaining, "They come here; they need to learn English!"

. . . people who lack the words and composure to deal with wrongs without guns (and those who support their 'right' to do so)

. . . people using the race of someone almost exclusively when someone of a color other than white has done something rude or criminal.

. . .  an occasional occurrence of someone of color not signaling, cutting into line, shorting someone change turning into an accusation of "They all-" never signal, cut into line, shortchange people.

If all I did was rant, it would serve little purpose. I do write letters to congressmen and women and I vote and I usually obey the law. (I've been known to exceed the speed limit.) We all need someone to whom we can rant on occasion. Dear readers, please share your rants with me (even if they're about me). Let me know if I can share them in a future post. I will not use your name.

To What End?

I feel so sorry for people who are so scared that they don't know what to do, other than scare others. But I don't think they want my pity. I can't speak for them, but I think they want to be able to live their lives without fear of abuse from those they're supposed to be able to depend on and turn to when they're scared.

I don't understand people who are angry - justly or otherwise - at one person or entity and take it out on another. I hold bitterness against them. But it's bitterness that festers in them and drives them to justify their atrocities. It seems like those who are judged so shallowly have learned by the example of society to judge others with a mere glance.

I'm sick with worry and anxious with excitement (an odd dichotomy to have within myself) for those who act out of ignorance, who are so intimidated by the knowledge of others that they scorn and mock it rather than learn more themselves.The sickness comes, in part, from wondering where I'd be had I not come to try to emulate a society of people who constantly seek knowledge, people who are comfortable enough to admit areas of ignorance and look to the hard work of others to fill those voids. The worry comes from seeing a society more comfortable in acting on ignorance rather than using the expertise of the learned. The excitement? That's hope. I hope they, like me, come into the company of those who can accept them as they are in anticipation of their turning toward knowledge. What a thrill it is to be both ignorant and respected among such knowledgeable people. (Their feelings for me were/are probably quite a dichotomy for them.) Remember: ignorance is innocent; chosen ignorance is dangerous.

I said above that I don't understand how people lash out at random businesses when they're outraged at the police (or whoever). But maybe I do. I started writing letters to my congressmen and women and representatives years ago. I know my vote doesn't make any difference, mathematically, so perhaps my perspective and opinions will. Not one member of congress has ever written me back. I have received several form letters (after specifically requesting that they not do that).  But no one has ever responded to any idea or question I've presented to them. The NFL players who took to their knees in peaceful protest during the national anthem only received criticism for their harmless protest. We have too many people in charge who don't know how to tend to the needs of society. They're in over their heads, and it might not be their fault. We might be overpopulated and, consequently, needy. I don't know, which is why I'm not in charge. (One of the many reasons.) Too many people - whether children at home or in school, or adults in the work force or homeless and jobless - don't get listened to when they have a need or something vital to contribute. When they go about it rationally - voting, writing letters, legally protesting - and they're ignored, they're choices are to give up or find another way.

It's not my place to speak for others. I know this. It is my place to live as compassionate a life as I'm able. I haven't always had the empathy to do this. I suspect there might be someone reading this blog who lacks the empathy needed when we see a public killing by one of our peacekeepers and the resulting rioting. The people who are scared in the riots of Minneapolis could just as easily be the same people who are objecting to some of their freedoms taken from them by a virus during this pandemic, for reasons they don't understand. They could be the same people who are, in their bitterness toward those who refuse protection against the virus, forget that they, too, lack understanding sometimes.  I'm not trying to speak for any certain group of people, I'm merely trying (clumsily, I'm afraid) to offer the perspective I've come to.

If we are able, I think it will help all of us to sort through our emotional responses. I feel angry, am I really sad? I feel scared, am I really confused? I look at the riot videos and see all this energy going into destruction, rather than an beginnings of a solution. And I believe that every one of those individuals who are burning, breaking and stealing the property of others could contribute to the solution, if those in charge would only give them the chance.