It became obvious a few days ago that the journal had gone MIA; indeed, no one had written in it since mid-April (the culprits were discovered, and we are back in busy-ness). Then again, four months ago, the pandemic seemed to be less threatening, since most people took advantage of the free vaccines and there were fewer COVID outbreaks, and certainly of less severity.
Unfortunately, there is a segment of the population who have *refused* to get vaccinated which, because of the new Delta variant, has now fostered additional illness, as well as death. Are you f*cking kidding me?!? The first poem below says it all.
It is indeed Feel Good Friday and, as is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten/enlighten your day/weekend/week. Enjoy!
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How Walking (Just Walking!) Changed My Life:
When I was in college, my roommate, Kristi, convinced me to go to the gym with her. I remember feeling intimidated. I was slight, pale and Goth-leaning with oxblood lipstick and zero muscle tone. I was certain everyone could tell I was an imposter in borrowed Lycra.~
Lorde’s Work Here Is Done. Now, She Vibes.:
She was a teen phenom who followed her hit “Royals” with a critically acclaimed album. But now 24, the New Zealand musician isn’t chasing hits. She’s following the sun.
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Modern Mrs Darcy:
Modern Mrs Darcy, which derives its name from a Jane Austen book, is a lifestyle blog for nerds who appreciate Anne’s modus operandi of approaching old, familiar ideas from new and fresh angles. While Modern Mrs. Darcy isn’t strictly a book blog, Anne writes frequently about books and reading. (thanks to Michele for the heads-up!)
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MUST HAVE (2): A Friend With An “Oh Sh*t Kit” (scroll about halfway down):
In my circle, I am that friend, the one who comes prepared. But I'm an amateur compared to my friend, S. She’s got Hermione Granger-level wizardry happening in her bag, which she calls her “oh sh*t kit.”
SONG: Weight of the World by Dar Williams
BOOK: Miracle in the Mundane: Poems, Prompts, and Inspiration to Unlock Your Creativity and Unfiltered Joy by Tyler Knott Gregson
POEM(S): Delta by Rachel Mallalieu
You remember what it was like
in the early days—
when restaurants sent food
and churches dropped off
care packages
Everyone said thank you
& sometimes clapped
and even when the waves
of patients crashed
into your emergency room,
you were able to breathe
Now, you’re so weary,
that when it begins again,
you can hardly muster
energy to care as
your vaccine antibodies
engage in combat with
the squadron of medications
you consume in order to control
your autoimmune disease &
you hope the antibodies win
because you’re placing
breathing tubes
into eager airways again &
when your friends
don’t get vaccinated,
you take it personally & you
know this isn’t about you,
but you’re spent, nothing’s
left & you don’t think
you can watch
people die alone again
while you hold their iPhones as
they gasp goodbye
You stop kissing your children
for a little while & you also
update your will
But on your days off,
you take long hikes and
walk the ridge
where butterflies flit
among the milkweed blossoms
You kneel beside a monarch
& pray that your vaccine holds
as you rest in the shadow
of its stained glass wings
[Rachel Mallalieu: “I am an emergency physician who’s been on the front lines of the Covid battle for 18 months. I also developed an autoimmune illness this year, which makes every Covid encounter feel even more dangerous. As spring gave way to summer, it felt like we had turned a corner. I went weeks without seeing cases in my ER. My teen children were vaccinated, and my younger kids went to camp. Suddenly, my ER has multiple Covid patients every shift again. They’re younger, sicker, and some are dying. It is exhausting to be in this battle; we finally have the weapon with which to fight, and some refuse that weapon. These days, I just try to do right by my patients and take care of myself and my family when I’m off.”]
Moss-Gathering by Theodore Roethke
To loosen with all ten fingers held wide and limber
And lift up a patch, dark-green, the kind for lining cemetery baskets,
Thick and cushiony, like an old-fashioned doormat,
The crumbling small hollow sticks on the underside mixed with roots,
And wintergreen berries and leaves still stuck to the top, —
That was moss-gathering.
But something always went out of me when I dug loose those carpets
Of green, or plunged to my elbows in the spongy yellowish moss of the marshes:
And afterwards I always felt mean, jogging back over the logging road,
As if I had broken the natural order of things in that swampland;
Disturbed some rhythm, old and of vast importance,
By pulling off flesh from the living planet;
As if I had committed, against the whole scheme of life, a desecration.
[Susan's note: with that title, how could I resist?!?]
QUOTE: "
