It’s been a quiet end of winter/beginning of spring season. The warmth, the sun, the first sight of crocuses, have not left my heart giddy and untethered, anxious for more, and joyful being able to walk a block in a tee-shirt and jeans.
With everything going on, my mood has been both somber and blessed. I have less to say than usual, I’m busy trying to make sense of the world and the people making noise in the world. I’m taking note of everything I have to be grateful for; it seems more important these days to appreciate everything I have to be grateful for.
The dogs make me laugh. Chanel is already upstairs waiting for me to join her in bed. Jack just brought me a moccasin he found in the back yard that looks more like part of a eviscerated rabbit than a shoe. Bernadette shimmies her butt every time I walk in the door, but only some of the time. I need to figure out what inspires her. Maybe she knows something we don’t.
There are the crocuses, the brave flowers of early spring. Ours are purple, and they are hidden behind a bush.
I’m not sure what to say to friends; we commiserate, we talk about our kids, how much sleep we’ve been sleeping, what we do when we can’t, a cold front, the temperature for the weekend and make gentle or barbed comments about the people in our lives. Whose husband stopped shaving. What seventeen year old only calls his mom “bro”. Which parent doesn’t want to move to assisted living but can’t remember to turn off the flame on the stove.
We promise to make time for a meal or a follow up call. There are pauses, long drawn out sighs, and things that aren’t really spoken about unless that can of worms opens, in which case we stay on the phone until we find an excuse to hang up.
There is food to be tended or a dog to be walked. Clothes to be thrown in the wash.
Yes, I am somber. But with all this gravity, there is also the weight and the luxury of blessings.
The obvious ones and the tiny graces like clean sheets, the upcoming Easter celebration at a friend’s, a call from Katy that I wasn’t expecting, coming across a poem I wrote a long time ago inside a paperback novel that I can’t decipher at all so it must be brilliant. There is the sliding my toes inside the sneakers that make me want to skip, the occasional amazing hair day, and the unexpected voice of Joe Cocker blaring out of my radio station, from a million years ago, asking if I’m feeling allright.
No, I’m not feelin’ too good myself.
But maybe I am.
I am somber and blessed, and brave, like a crocus. It’s early spring. Maybe giddy will come along, soon, for a while anyway.
I just need to make space.
I hadn’t had time to read the Sunday paper this morning; we got to church late and slipped in the back door. We didn’t even have time to glance at the order of worship when the choir stood up and went to the piano.
Our music director began the first chords of “The Star Spangled Banner” and a soloist soprano sang out the first words- “Oh, say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…”
The choir joined in. The arrangement was slow, and thoughtful. I heard each word of our national anthem liked I had never listened before. There were moments my shoulders shook, and my throat choked- how has our proud nation with our flag, “whose bright stripes and bright stars/Through the perilous fight/O’er the ramparts we watched/Were so gallantly streaming’ come to where we are today, Sunday, October 27th, 2024?
(In case you’re wondering, as I just was, a rampart is defined as the wall of a city or a castle. I’m not sure which in this context, but I’m really not that well versed in history, American or otherwise.)
The Star Spangled Banner is a joyful, victorious, slightly boastful song, of unity, victory, and hope.
We are not there right now. We are fractured.
I hope we are on the way.
I pray Kamala wins and, I believe if that happens, the healing will begin, (after the inevitable whining, recounts, and I don’t even want to go there, here,).
But if she does not, and this is a possibility, we can not simply bow our heads and walk away. If Trump becomes President, we have to fight harder. I know the face of Project 2025 scares the hell out of me, but we are not a nation of people that wrings our hands and gives up. We’ve faltered, as a nation before. We have faced worthy adversaries, internal and external adversaries, and we are still, I believe, contenders, a nation capable of striving towards greatness, and maybe, someday, achieving it.
Either way, we have a lot of work to do. Our country is broken in more ways Democrat versus MAGA Republican. It was built on the blood of native Americans and slavery. I could go on, but I won’t. This is not about looking backwards.
For the past fifty years, some amazing men and women have been working to build a nation where the lyrics of – “This Land Is Your Land, This Land is Our Land” ring true.
We are a country of amazing resources and strength. We are a country that is part of a world in crisis. The biggest thing we have going for our future is us. All of us.
Regardless, of who wins on Election Day, there is a lot of work to be done.
I don’t think Canada has room for us anyway.
julierichmond 