Lives in the Balance (Jackson Browne)

Night of Stars by Victor Sparre

Feeling a bit melancholy this morning, in that Garden Day was cancelled, due to (steady earlier this a.m. and now pouring) rain.  In fact, there is a Tropical Storm Warning for South Florida this entire weekend, meaning a few plans I had are now on hold, or at least re-calibrated.  It's okay, though; I've done two short yoga sessions (Adriene released her June 2022 calendar) as well as a Joy Workout (noted below) shared in the New York Times a few weeks ago.  Prior to that, I had my standard two cups of coffee, the second accompanied by an apple fritter my dear husband went up to Dunkin Donuts for.  Yum!  My day bodes an overabundance of reading (is there any such thing?!?), and maybe a hot bath.  No reason to leave this house, so I am burrowing in... ☔

As more details continue to unfold re: the Uvalde school shooting last week, it is obviously apparent that stricter gun controls are needed, and I am appalled that so many resist the need for even the smallest of restrictions (no assault rifles sold to anyone under the age of 21?  Hello, no-brainer!).  In the meantime, we grieve... we mourn... we speak our minds/truth... and we continue to advocate for the children, and for anyone who has been killed or wounded in these senseless acts of violence.  And, while we change the world, we can still count our blessings... 💖

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!

~ Jen Psaki’s legacy? One of the best press secretaries ever:  During her last week at the White House, we look back on her tenure and the integrity she brought to the job.

~ Former White House press secretary Jen Psaki will join MSNBC this fall:

Psaki will also host a show on MSNBC's hub on the Peacock streaming service, which the network said is expected to debut in the first quarter of 2023.

~ In Life’s Last Chapter, What Matters? A Room With a View:  A window overlooking a stand of trees helped revive this writer’s dying mother

~ Emily Dickinson’s Electric Love Letters to Susan Gilbert:  “Susie, will you indeed come home next Saturday, and be my own again, and kiss me as you used to?… I hope for you so much, and feel so eager for you… that the expectation… makes me feel hot and feverish, and my heart beats so fast.”

~ The Joy Workout:  Six researched-backed moves to improve your mood (reach, sway, bounce, shake, jump for joy, and one I named “celebrate” that looks like tossing confetti in the air)

SONG:  Lives in the Balance by Jackson Browne

BOOK:  Children Under Fire: An American Crisis by John Woodrow Cox 

POEM(S):  We Need to Teach the Children the Old Words by Caroline Mellor

“Words are world-makers”

— Robert MacFarlane

We need to teach the children the old words,

words like brabble and grubble,

twitter-light and clinkerbell;

words which dance and trip and slip

and drip like honey off the tongue

Teach them that a hazy halo of cloud

around the moon is called a moonbroch

and that swiftly moving clouds are named cairies;

how a vixen’s wedding is a sunny shower of rain,

and that a single sunbeam breaking through thick cloud

is known as a messenger

Teach them to know the seasons and scents

of queen of the meadow and bride of the sun,

how to tell Jupiter’s staff from fairy fingers

and which roses bloom with the strawberry moon

Teach them to spot pricklebacks in the tottlegrass,

how to recognise a smeuse or a bishop-barnaby,

when to watch the sky for flittermice and yaffles,

and to pay attention to the dumbeldore and mousearnickle

as she graces the lazy leahs of summer

Teach them a few of the old Sussex words for mud,

like gubber and slub and stodge and pug,

so they know that the precious soil beneath their toes

is anything but worthless dirt

Teach them to be users and keepers and makers

of the words which bring the land alive:

a storybook, where everything has its rightful place,

including us;

where the wilds are fearful and filled with magic

and people do noble things, and nothing is impossible

In this world of harsh new words —

words like planetary dysmorphia and solastalgia,

extinction debt and grief mitigation,

megadrought and megafire,

anthropogenic, pyrocene,

words which alarm and get stuck in our throats

describing a world which our hearts cannot grasp —

we need to teach the children the old words,

so that if they should feel lost,

the old words might colour for them

a warm and breathing, living map,

a light to guide them safely home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glossary

brabble — to argue loudly about matters of no importance

grubble — to grope around in the dark for something that you can’t see

clinkerbell — icicle

twitter-light — twilight

queen of the meadow — meadowsweet

bride of the sun — calendula

Jupiter’s staff — mullein

fairy fingers — foxglove

*prickleback — hedgehog

*tottle grass — high grass

smeuse —the gap in the base of a hedge made by the regular passage of a small animal

*bishop-barnaby — ladybird

*yaffle — green woodpecker

*flittermouse — bat

*dumbledore — bumblebee

*mousearnickle — dragonfly

leah — meadow, clearing

*gubber — black mud of rotting organic matter

*pug — a kind of loam, particularly the sticky yellow Wealden clay

*stodge — thick puddingy mud

*slub — thick mud

Author's Note:   I owe the title and first line of this poem to my friend, Jelly Julieda, who has graciously granted me permission to use her words here. I have also been hugely inspired by the work of Robert MacFarlane, and urge you to read his wonderful book Landmarks if you are interested in the relationship between landscape and language.

The words marked with an *asterisk are native to my home in the Sussex Weald.

Poem to Be Read at 3:00 a.m. by Donald Justice

Excepting the diner

On the outskirts

The town of Ladora

At 3 A.M.

Was dark but

For my headlights

And up in

One second-story room

A single light

Where someone

Was sick or

Perhaps reading

As I drove past

At seventy

Not thinking

This poem

Is for whoever

Had the light on

QUOTE(S):  "The world spins. We stumble on. It is enough." ~ Colum McCann

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.” ~ Helen Keller

For a Dancer (Jackson Browne)

Today is the one week anniversary of my mom's passing - I still don't feel much like "talking"... but I will soon enough, and appreciate the patience and understanding of my friends as I navigate the noisy quiet... :-)

In the meantime, you can read mom's obituary and eulogy on her CaringBridge site - I know she would have been proud of us...

SONG: For a Dancer by Jackson Browne

BOOK: Unexpected Blessings: Finding Hope and Healing in the Face of Illness by Roxanne Black

POEM: Miracle of Bubbles by Barbara Goldberg

A woman drives to the video store

to rent a movie. It is Saturday night,

she is thinking of nothing in particular,

perhaps of how later she will pop popcorn

or hold hands with her husband and pretend

they are still in high school. On the way home

a plane drops from the sky, the wing shearing

her roof of her car, killing her instantly.

Here is a death, it could happen to any of us.

Her husband will struggle the rest of his days

to give shape to an event that does not mean

to be understood. Since memory cannot operate

without plot, he chooses the romantic — how young

she was, her lovely waist, or the ironic — if only

she had lost her keys, stopped for pizza.

At the precise moment the plane spiraled

out of control, he was lathering shampoo

into his daughter's hair, blond and fine

as cornsilk, in love with his life, his

daughter, the earth (for "cornsilk" is how

he thought of her hair), in love with the miracle

of bubbles, how they rise in a slow dance,

swell and shimmer in the steamy air, then

dissolve as though they never were.

QUOTE: "The death of someone we know always reminds us that we are still alive - perhaps for some purpose which we ought to re-examine." ~ Mignon McLaughlin

The Rebel Jesus (Jackson Browne)

Today is my son Robby's birthday - he is 23. Rob was born knowing how to draw - when other 4-year-olds were sketching people as "daddy long legs" figures (a circle with arms and legs attached), Rob's characters were so sophisticated such that they had motion lines under their hats (to show they were running!).

We've always said he'd be a lawyer, because he's argumentative... not in a negative, but in a push-the-boundaries, way - he questions everything, which I've always loved, never taking anything for granted. Even as a child, Rob was talkative, wearing his feelings on his sleeve and sharing his deepest thoughts at the least invitation - he continues to be sensitive, kind and smart... and I'm very blessed to have him as my son, my middle child, my heart. Happy Birthday, Rob!

Otherwise, craziness abounds in our household as we attempt to get out of town for almost a week - I've wanted to post more personal comments but, with limited time, I've had to prioritize... so just blogging daily has been an accomplishment. Maybe Friday - we shall see... :-)

SONG: The Rebel Jesus by Jackson Browne

BOOK: Jesus in Blue Jeans: A Practical Guide to Everyday Spirituality by Laurie Beth Jones

POEM: Ring Out, Wild Bells by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

QUOTE: "For the spirit of Christmas fulfills the greatest hunger of mankind." ~ Loring A. Schuler

For Everyman (Jackson Browne)

Nice day - went to a party and spent most of the evening in intimate conversation with an old friend a a few new ones. Just what I needed: lots of self-reflection amidst shared revelations... more questions than answers (as it should be) - it's so easy to forget how important true connection really is (else what's the point, right?... :-)

Your Horoscope for NOVEMBER 18, 2007

SUSAN, sometimes it seems impossible to express any feelings that do not come across as contrived, especially when you're seeking some artistic truth. You feel buried under such an unending cascade of pop cliches that sometimes it feels as though you'll drown. Does the Age of Communication herald the End of Creativity? You would find it easier to express authenticity if you reminded yourself just how individual you really are. Your friends can help...

SONG: For Everyman by Jackson Browne

BOOK: If... (Questions for the Game of Life) by James Saywell, Evelyn McFarlane

POEM: Questions In The Mind Of A Poet While She Washes Her Floors by Elena Georgiou

Will obedience leave me unknown to myself, stranded?

Is it enough for me to know where I'm from?

If I do more truth-telling will I be happier with what I say?

If I had three days to live would I still be sensible?

Is the break between my feelings and my memory
the reason I'm unable to sustain rage?

Am I a peninsula slowly turning into an island?

If I grew up gazing at the ocean would I think
life came in waves?

If I were a nomad would I measure time
by the length of a footstep?

If I can see a cup drop to the floor and shatter
why can't I see it gather itself back together?

If a surgeon cut out my mistakes
would the scar be under my heart?

How much time will I spend protecting myself
from what the people I love call love?

Would my desires feel different if I lived forever?

Will my desires destroy my politics?

Is taboo sex the ultimate aphrodisiac?

If I fall in love with the wrong person
How do I learn to un-in love myself?

Can I make my intuition into a divining rod?

Is music the closest I can get to God?

How many of these questions will remain
when I kneel to wash my floors again?

QUOTE: "Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will find them gradually, without noticing it, and live along some distant day into the answer." ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Too Many Angels (Jackson Browne)

SONG: Too Many Angels by Jackson Browne

BOOK: Angel Catcher: A Journal of Loss and Remembrance by Kathy Eldon, Amy Eldon

POEM: Grief Calls Us to the Things of This World by Sherman Alexie

The morning air is all awash with angels . . .
- Richard Wilbur

The eyes open to a blue telephone
In the bathroom of this five-star hotel.

I wonder whom I should call? A plumber,
Proctologist, urologist, or priest?

Who is most among us and most deserves
The first call? I choose my father because

He's astounded by bathroom telephones.
I dial home. My mother answers. "Hey, Ma,

I say, "Can I talk to Poppa?" She gasps,
And then I remember that my father

Has been dead for nearly a year. "Shit, Mom,"
I say. "I forgot he’s dead. I’m sorry—

How did I forget?" "It’s okay," she says.
"I made him a cup of instant coffee

This morning and left it on the table—
Like I have for, what, twenty-seven years—

And I didn't realize my mistake
Until this afternoon." My mother laughs

At the angels who wait for us to pause
During the most ordinary of days

And sing our praise to forgetfulness
Before they slap our souls with their cold wings.

Those angels burden and unbalance us.
Those fucking angels ride us piggyback.

Those angels, forever falling, snare us
And haul us, prey and praying, into dust.

QUOTE: "The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone." ~ George Elliot