Weight of the World (Dar Williams)

Remember our Love in the Time of CoronaVirus journal?  It was Rob's brilliant idea (mid-March 2020, only a few weeks into the pandemic) to start and pass a blank notebook back and forth among family members, to share our thoughts, drawings, poems, songs, etc. during this challenging time.  What a tangible gift this has been to ourselves, and each other.  The book, and the act of rotation, has served to remind us that Family. Is. Everything... and the MossFam6 is indeed a strong and powerful force to Do Good in the world... 💞

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! 

~ Op-Ed: As a doctor in a COVID unit, I’m running out of compassion for the unvaccinated. Get the shot:  In a letter to the unvaccinated, Dr. Anita Sircar writes: If you believe you can ride out the pandemic without getting vaccinated, “you could not be more wrong. This virus will find you.” 

~  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.


~ 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!)


~ 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:  "Here's the thing: If you wait for ‘normal’ to return, if you endlessly torture yourself with the fact that reality refuses to match your expectations, if you complain nonstop about all the surreal shifts and vagaries of the culture, if you halt all deep, inquiry-based practices - spiritual, physical, otherwise - until the mask mandate drops or the virus is cured or all QAnon/anti-vaxxers slither back into the muck and the world somehow rights itself in a way you agree with, well, you will likely be miserable for quite a long time.  We must move. Invoke more life. Seek more truth, ever more skillfully. Smile and sigh through the cotton/Lycra covering part of your face and just. Get. On. With. It. Because the other option is just fatalism and doom and endless whining. And no one wants that." ~ Mark Morford

Brighter Day (Forest Sun)

Feels to me, at least in our family, that the pandemic, despite the fact there is much tragedy surrounding, has provided each of us with many opportunities for personal growth:  mindfulness, compassion, patience, awareness, self-care, gratitude, listening skills, thoughtfulness.  We actually talk about it often, and we are noticing each other's progress.  Sweet.

The poem and quote below appeared on my radar at the same time, albeit from two different sources, and the rest fell into place, all magical gifts from The Universe... 💖

SONG:  Brighter Day by Forest Sun

BOOK:  Make Someone Happy: Favorite Postings by Elizabeth Berg

POEM:  the windows of Liberty, Maine by Maya Stein

for Kate

Which is another way of saying, What will you do when the chips are down,

or How will you make a life that beats the odds, or Where does your mind go

when the enemy recedes, or Have you ever loved a place you haven’t been,

or Who do you think you are…no, really? or, What is it that feels the most

impossible, or Why walk when you can run, or What do you call that moment

when the light changes for good, or Who is holding the stopwatch, or Where

does it say that broken isn’t beautiful, or How many times are you willing

to break, or What do you get when you cross the road without

the f***ing chicken, or Which language is the one you want to be speaking, or

What is the sound of one window opening, and another, and another?

QUOTE:  “Admit it. You aren’t like them. You’re not even close. You may occasionally dress yourself up as one of them, watch the same mindless television shows as they do, maybe even eat the same fast food sometimes. But it seems that the more you try to fit in, the more you feel like an outsider, watching the “normal people” as they go about their automatic existences. For every time you say club passwords like “Have a nice day” and “Weather’s awful today, eh?”, you yearn inside to say forbidden things like “Tell me something that makes you cry” or “What do you think deja vu is for?”. Face it, you even want to talk to that girl in the elevator. But what if that girl in the elevator (and the balding man who walks past your cubicle at work) are thinking the same thing? Who knows what you might learn from taking a chance on conversation with a stranger? Everyone carries a piece of the puzzle. Nobody comes into your life by mere coincidence. Trust your instincts. Do the unexpected. Find the others…” ~ Timothy Leary

Rise (Katy Perry)

An amazingly great week, such that I've posted twice (which hasn't happened in a while).  Busy, too!  

Monday was Zoom with Nancy and Judi, moved from our usual Tuesday because Nance and I headed up to SusanP's for Beach Day on Tuesday (it's been a while, because SP went back to the classroom in January, taught three weeks of summer school, and is just now free again, but only for a few weeks until she starts back teaching on August 9); babysat Colin Monday night; Wednesday morning the aforementioned get-together with Cynthia; Thursday lunch with Eric (his birthday was Wednesday, but he had to work), a library pick-up, and an afternoon phone chat with Michele... 💗

I've volunteered to nanny/governess/Lala this weekend for Colin so Sarah can attend both Dave Matthews' concerts in West Palm Beach (I will go up with her this afternoon to hang with the little guy tonight and Saturday, returning Sunday morning; we're staying with friends of hers who have a pool and, much as I'll miss attending the show, which I used to do with her years ago, it will be a bit of a vacation for me, not to mention a chance to hang with my darling grandbaby!

I haven't watched much of the Olympics, but I'm inspired by what I have seen, and read, and what others have reported back.  Proud of Simone Biles for giving herself time and space from all the pressure.  Very cool that skateboarding is now an Olympic sport.  See article below about Pink and the Norwegian women's handball team.  Our DVRs are full, we're all losing sleep, and "the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat" is a cliche for a reason.  Especially since the Summer Games were cancelled last year because of the pandemic, it's more than a bit heartwarming to escape, even for a few moments, from Delta variants, long COVID, and anti-vaxxers.  

It is indeed Feel Good Friday and, as is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy! 

~ Medals That Were Won Not in Pentathlon or 100 Meters, but in Iambic Pentameter:  But few people today recall that poetry, just like the 100 meters, was an official Olympic competition from 1912 to 1948. Sadly, the names of the medal winners are not listed on the International Olympic Committee’s rosters. (When I read the poem below, I of course had to Google the epigraph and d*mn if it's not true.  Wow!)

~ Jill Biden, Changing the Fashion Game:  Cheering the American Olympians, the first lady broke with recent sartorial customs.

~ Pink offers to pay fines for Norwegian women’s beach handball team:  European Handball Federation fined players €1,500 for wearing shorts instead of bikini bottoms

~ How to Get Things Done When You Don’t Want to Do Anything:  The drive to be your best can be hard to muster right about now. Here are some ways to get your mojo back.

~ Vegan Cinnamon Roll Chair Cinnaholic to Nearly Double in Size with 60 New Locations:  Cinnaholic—which offers an array of customizable vegan cinnamon rolls—has 60 new locations in development across the United States and Canada.  (Um, hello... there's already a Cinnaholic in Coral Springs, and no one thought to tell me?!?  Can you say Road Trip?... 😍 )

SONG:  Rise by Katy Perry

BOOK:  Total Olympics: Every Obscure, Hilarious, Dramatic, and Inspiring Tale Worth Knowing by Jeremy Fuchs

POEM:  Taking Your Olympic Measure by Alberto Ríos

—Poetry was an Olympic event from 1912-1948.

Think of the records you have held:

For one second, you were the world’s youngest person.

It was a long time ago, but still.

At this moment, you are living 

In the farthest thousandth-of-a-second in the history of time.

You have beaten yesterday’s record, again.

You were perhaps the only participant,

But in the race to get from your bedroom to the bathroom, 

You won.

You win so much, all the time in all things.

Your heart simply beats and beats and beats—

It does not lose, although perhaps one day.

Nevertheless, the lists of firsts for you is endless—

Doing what you have not done before,

Tasting sake and mole, smelling bergamot, hearing

Less well than you used to—

Not all records are for the scrapbook, of course—

Sometimes you are the best at being the worst.

Some records are secret—you know which ones.

Some records you’re not even aware of.

In general, however, at the end of a long day, you are—

Unlikely as it may seem—the record holder of note.  

QUOTE:  "Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable." ~ Mary Oliver

Mr. Biden (Bring My Vaccine) (A Randy Rainbow Song Parody)

Went to Costco yesterday.  Very anxiety-inducing, as it was my first "store" outing (other than the library, which has 4 people compared to 400) since the beginning of the pandemic.  I had been putting off my membership renewal (expired end of last month) because it is required to go *in* to do it, as well as getting Chico his own card (he was on the account, but needed to have his picture taken to be official).  Done, and Done.  Zippity... 😍

Zoom with Nancy and Judi this morning, now getting some things done around the house.  Continued Gratitude because, as of this morning, all three of our adult children have been fully vaccinated.  Huge sigh of relief, especially for the boys, since they are both in the restaurant business and have daily exposure to goodness knows what.  Right now we are all looking forward to our next gathering, when we will feel comfortable hugging, maskless.  Oh, Happy Day... 💞

This blog post has been in the works for *months*, back when Chico and I had our first shots in mid-January, and the circuitous and lengthy process we encountered (filling out forms, writing on our windshield at various points:  driver's license checks to make sure we were 65+, as well as waiting 15 minutes after the vaccination, to make sure we didn't have a reaction).  Start to finish, a three-hour experience.  Second time around was half the time, as they had fine-tuned the process.  That was at a public park, in our car, and now availability has expanded to Publix, drugstores, etc.  We've come a long way in three months.

The news is full of variants and herd immunity and "following the science", oh my!  We just have to figure out how to get more people vaccinated more quickly, and convince those with hesitancy, if not for themselves, to do it for others.

SONG:  Mr. Biden (Bring My Vaccine) - A Randy Rainbow Song Parody

BOOK:  Kelly Gets a Vaccine: How We Beat Coronavirus by Lauren D. Block, Adam E. Block, Debby Rahmalia (Illustrator)

POEM:  the delicate arrangement of unavoidable sorrow by Maya Stein

At the clinic, the path to the nurse with the syringe in her hand was festooned with signs.

It took no time to get through the answers - “No,” “No,” “No,” “No,” “No” - before

the clipboard came down and I was pointed toward table number 6. It was, dare I say,

almost cheerful, the processions of new arrivals, the summer-hued short-sleeve shirts

rolled to the tip of bare shoulders, volunteers on circuitous rounds in the waiting area,

spray bottles clipped to their waists. It was only later, midnight, waking to the cry

of my body as it wrestled with the angel serum inside it, that I peered at the edge of what

and who had been sacrificed, and what remainders the disease would scavenge.

In the morning, I drifted between rooms, sipping from my water glass, nested in a limbo

of relief and sadness, my eyes scanning a horizon that kept slipping in and out of view.

Relic by Russell Brakefield

years from now I dislodge a mask

kneeling in a gas station parking lot

to suck crumbs from the consoles

half in and half out the passenger seat

I dislodge a mask from the floormat

flattened and streaked, folded on itself

like a wounded bird but still

retaining its feather-blue tint

ear straps flung aside like broken wings

its sunken breast smudged

where I once pressed my mouth

the downy screen through which

I filtered my life, where my words were

wrung out and carried off as on a soft wind

a dirty plume that held prayers

and songs and desperate transactions

where I said even I love you

in a muffled tone, where I said even

I’m home! standing in the doorway

forgetting, for a brief moment, which

were the safer parts of the world

[Russell Brakefield: “As we encounter positive news about vaccines and look forward to a new administration’s response to the pandemic, I’ve been turning my mind to a post-Covid world, thinking about how we will live and interact with this time in history in the years to come.”]

QUOTE:  "Imagine the action of a vaccine not just in terms of how it affects a single body, but also in terms of how it affects the collective body of a community." ~ Eula Biss

Six Feet Apart (Crys Matthews and Heather Mae)

[thanks to Laurie for this oh-so-relevant as well as brilliant Roz Chast cartoon!]

Whoops, I did it again!  Between retirement and the pandemic (and my almost-non-existent social calendar*), it is difficult for me to keep track of the week, and I once again completely blipped on Feel Good Friday but, like Mighty Mouse, "here I come to save the day!".

Yesterday was delightful, in that I met up with Nancy, Judi, and Suzanne at Wolf Lake Park (something we'd waited to do until all four of us were vaccinated), which turned into four hours of yakking, laughing, and walking (on the gravel path around the lake).  Just what the proverbial doctor ordered:  a beautiful South Florida day, in Nature, with dear women friends... 💖

As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!

~ As we sat and visited with each other, two horse trailers pulled up, and we learned they were from Double Flush Stables, giving guided trail rides along the path and, at the end, the horses (with riders) went swimming *in* the lake.  These horses were gigantic (Percherons and Belgians and Clydesdales, oh my!), and Judi captured one of the moments:

~ Then we started talking about horses, and Judi said something about a blind horse and then, music fanatic that I am, I immediately remembered there was a song or album title, but couldn't quite place it (but I *did* know it was Rod Stewart/Faces), and googling eventually led to this:  A Nod Is As Good As a Wink... to a Blind Horse... 🐴

~ Somehow the conversation led to juggling (which Judi does) and she mentioned keeping these in her car (as a stress reliever), and I immediately dubbed Emergency Juggling Penguins as a perfect band name!

~ Judi also brought a few bags of books for us to have first dibs on before she dropped them off at the library as donations; I chose a meatless pasta cookbook by Mindy Toomay, with a lovely poem about tomatoes as an epigraph, ending with...

"Dusk paints its blush on my apron.

There are friends in the house

to be fed."

...then googled to find Mindy's (albeit defunct) blog.  The Universe is always looking out for me... 😍

~ During our walk along the path, of course two dragonflies had to make themselves known to us (Hi, Mom!  Hi, Dave!), which Judi immortalized for posterity... 💗

*My daughter Sarah, creative that she is, rather than social events, has been writing joys and gratitudes of the day on her kitchen wall calendar, and I have followed suit.  Nice to see a full page at-a-glance again... 🌅

NR:  Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century by Jessica Bruder

SONG:  Six Feet Apart by Crys Matthews and Heather Mae (lyrics at the link)

BOOK:  Social Distance Sing:  pandemic poems by Steve Potter

POEM:  Paper Visitors by C.P. Bergman

Waiting for the mailman

to bring the visitors.

He’s got many stops

on solo farms like this.

The sky is turning surly,

starts to spit’n’ growl;

hope the mailman makes it

before the first downpour.

The road outside is long,

next house, two miles away;

the property is green and rich,

just right for grazing beef.

Don’t hear from people much:

letters are like gold;

still keep hoping anyhow

for what the mailman brings.

He’s later than usual;

the rain is drenching all.

Perhaps he’s holed up back a-ways

near Pepperstone Pass.

Catalog’d be good right now;

an ad for laundry soap,

or some outlandish sweepstakes offer,

useless toy or such.

It may appear eccentric,

waiting on the post,

but even junk mail has its place

for those who are alone.

[C.P. Bergman: “I love all things artistic and creative. For me, poetry is composed capsules of life. In addition to a variety of day jobs to keep ‘starving artist syndrome’ away, I sing while I write, and mostly this takes place in the Chicago area where I live with an overactive imagination and an understanding dog.”]

QUOTE:  "By your own efforts, waken yourself, watch yourself, and live joyfully." ~ The Dhammapada

March Again (Jimmy Fallon and John Legend)

We interrupt this regularly-scheduled Feel Good Friday to talk about an important milestone, which was highlighted on TV last night:  Jimmy Kimmel Live’s One Year Lockdown Coronaversary Spectacular:  We’re marking the one year anniversary of our worldwide nightmare with a special Coronaversary show and looking back on how much things have changed. Los Angeles is reportedly close to issuing guidelines for certain businesses to reopen, Hallmark has put out a new line of greeting cards to commemorate the year that was, stimulus checks will be in the pockets of Americans as early as this weekend, a group of former Presidents teamed up to make a PSA about getting vaccinated, President Biden addressed the nation in his first primetime speech since taking office, a message from the heroic men and women that have been delivering us food through the pandemic, we give out the first-ever Zoomy Award, and a special edition of “This Corona Year in Unnecessary Censorship.”

President Joe Biden did indeed give his first Presidential Address, marking 50 days in office.  He looked very tired (the Highest Office in the Land certainly has a way of aging people, doesn't it?), but I was heartened by his lovely message.  It just felt so good to finally be hearing the truth, and given hope, and offered some light.  Crazy to think it's been a year.  If all goes according to plan, by May 1, everyone in the country will be *eligible* to receive a vaccination.  Here's where Florida stands (as of today, March 12, 2021):

~ Florida residents (including seasonal residents) ages 65 and older — Florida will lower the age to 60+ on March 15

~ Residents and staff at long-term care facilities

~ Frontline healthcare workers who have direct patient contact

~ Sworn law enforcement officers 50 and older

~ Firefighters ages 50 and older

~ Pre-kindergarten through 12th-grade school employees 50 years of age or older.

~ Florida residents (including seasonal) with notes from their doctor specifying their need to vaccinate and who have preregistered.

Looking back to a year ago (I am reminded of people telling stories of where they remember themselves to be when President Kennedy was assassinated, or when the Challenger exploded), I was headed to St. Augustine FL with my friend Reba to see Dar Williams in concert.  There were enough rumblings about coronavirus such that we called the venue (Cafe Eleven) that morning to make sure the show was still on (because we were driving 4+ hours to attend).  It was, and we did (a very special evening) and, when we got back to our motel room, Reba got on her phone and started reading to me all the life-changing updates:  Broadway CLOSED, Major League Sports CLOSED, Disney Parks CLOSED.  WTF?

On the way back to South Florida the next day (Friday, March 13, 2020), the litany of news stories, closures, recommendations continued.  I dropped Reba off, and went straight home to Shelter in Place for a few weeks, not having a clue as to how far-reaching this virus was.  Here is a link to revisit my nine blog posts in the month of March.

So many things have changed since then, in the last year, the last 12 months, the last 365 days, most tragically more than 532,000,000 (yes, over a half-million) people dead from COVID.  Most people in the US (dare I say the smart ones) wear masks on a regular basis, maintain a physical distance of six feet, and realize that gathering with others is best done outdoors (and we're very lucky to have that option here in South Florida).

The panic of the first few weeks/months subsided and now there is no problem getting toilet paper and hand sanitizer.  Many of us have had both vaccinations, although we still take the precautions listed in the previous paragraph.  I still have all of our groceries delivered via Instacart (joined a year ago):  Costco, Sprouts, Aldi (boycotting Publix, which I will blog about next week).  Also, Whole Foods via Amazon has been a great delivery resource as well, with many vegan options.

Still reading, walking, cooking like crazy (I could probably find a better word!), trying to stay safe, sane, and well.  Still having family gatherings a few times a month (now that our kids are back to work, it's like herding cats to find a day/time that clicks for everyone).  Still passing around our Family Journal (Rob's idea from way back when).  Still enjoying livestreamed concerts (although it's nowhere near the same as live music), as well as livestreamed author events (Anne Lamott, Ross Gay, Patricia Lockwood, among others).  Still enjoying nature, as well as my heated condo pool (ahhh!).  Zoom (whether book club or "visits" with friends) has become a regular part of the rotation, as well as a few two-hour phone conversations a week.

At this point, we are waiting for the next round of $1,400 per person stimulus checks to arrive (hopefully this weekend); we are grateful to be in a fairly-stable financial situation, and we also know this money will save lives, jobs, and housing for others.  Our personal mantras these days are:  First World Problems, All That Is Not Ladder Falls Away, and there but for the grace of god.  And, to quote Hamilton, "that would be enough"... 💞

How are YOU?

NR:  Walking with Ghosts by Gabriel Byrne

SONG:  March Again (Beauty and The Beast parody) by Jimmy Fallon and John Legend

BOOK:  When the World Went Quiet by Tia Martina, Kelly Ulrich (Illustrator)

POEM:  In the Time of Pandemic by Kitty O'Meara

And the people stayed home.

And they read books, and listened, and rested, and exercised, and made art, and played games, and learned new ways of being, and were still.

And they listened more deeply. Some meditated, some prayed, some danced. 

Some met their shadows. And the people began to think differently.

And the people healed.

And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless, and heartless ways, the earth began to heal.

And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again, they grieved their losses, and made new choices, and dreamed new images, and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully, as they had been healed.

QUOTE:  “If we do our part, if we do this together, by July the 4th there’s a good chance you, your families, and friends will be able to get together in your backyard or in your neighborhood and have a cookout and a barbecue and celebrate Independence Day.” ~ President Joe Biden

What Are You Doing New Year's Eve? (written by Frank Loesser, so many covers!)

Happy New Year's Eve Day!  Whew, what a year (major understatement... 😝 )

Chico, Rob, and I (Eric has to work) will gather about 7:00 p.m. at Sarah's for sushi delivery, a bit of champagne, and maybe a Disney+ offering (ooh, kinda hoping for Taylor Swift's Folklore:  The Long Pond Studio Sessions documentary/concert?).  Definitely leaving there before the ball drops (Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen!), and crazy traffic and fireworks ensue.  Broward County actually has a 1:00 a.m. curfew.

Much more to say but, for now, I'll just wish you all a day/evening of reflection, gratitude, and anticipation as to what 2021 will bring.  Hoping that the stroke of midnight sees you in the arms of a loved one and, if that's not the case, hug yourself for making it through these difficult times.

Here's/cheers to Better Things... 💞

If you were able to look back at your most brilliant successes, stunning comebacks, amazing catches, and smokin' ideas, Susan, and you were to find that virtually all of them seemed to materialize out of thin air, when you least expected them, and that they had exceeded even your greatest expectations at the time, how excited would you be about the new year and whatever else I've got up my sleeve? 

Hubba, hubba - 

  The Universe

P.S. If I've ever helped you before, Susan, don't you think I can do it again… and again… and again… ad infinitum? Actually, it ought to be even easier next time, with your new saunter.

SONG:  What Are You Doing New Year's Eve (written by Frank Loesser, so many covers!)  Here's one of my favorites, by Mary Margaret O'Hara... 💖

BOOK:  Alchemy 2020: Concoctions of the Quarantine by Cheryl Poepping

POEM:  Twenty Twenty by Lana Hechtman Ayers

This was the year breath became death.

The year the grandparents and great grandparents left us by the thousands, taking their wisdom with them into the great oxygen mask of the heavens. This was the year we covered our mouths and smiled with our eyes if we were able to smile at all.

This year handshakes became passé and hugs a mass hallucination we once had.

This was the year we transformed into a tribe of screens.

The year we finally acknowledged how crucial delivery drivers and supermarket stock clerks are. First responders heroes now more than ever.

This was the year we remembered how to bake bread, learned how to garden.

The year we discovered different species of trees possess distinctive aromas.

This was the year we binge watched and wore out pajamas.

The year we took our pens up and our notebooks seriously.

The year we were speechless.

This was the year we discovered the Zen of handwashing, observed all the delicate shadows the moon tats across night lawns.

This was the year we cancelled weddings, Christmas, died without anyone familiar by our sides.

But this was also the year we took unscheduled strolls in the forest alone, attended the sea’s susurrus lectures, hiked higher than ever before.

The year we feared air and loved air and drove less, thus clearing the air. This was the year we did more fretting, more regretting.

We vowed to vote and kept our promises to ourselves and others.

This was the year we stood up to racial injustice in the myriad ways we could—in the streets, on Facebook, writing to our senators, calling for action against the police, donating to causes, celebrating artists of color, holding our white tongues so the underrepresented could be heard, acknowledged, admired.

This was the year we used our phones to make actual calls, voice to voice, not just for texts and emojis.

The year we cried and shook our heads and wrung our hands at the headlines.

This was the year we lost sleep, lost heart, found hope is action.

This is the year we said I love you over and over.

Sometimes to the person on the other side of the glass.

Sometimes to songbirds.

Sometimes to ourselves.

The year we said I love you to our fragile Earth.

Said I love you, I love you to the universe, and I love my humble place in it, no matter what.

QUOTE:  "If there was a time machine and I could tell my younger self what I'd be doing in 2020, there's no way I'd believe it." ~ Jonny Kim

Merry Something to You (Devo)

Checking in a few days after the holiday to share that we had a lovely get-together at Sarah's on Christmas Day!  One of my favorite family traditions is that we limit our gifts for each other to $25 and, even with a cap, everyone chooses such thoughtful presents.  Something new in the last handful of years is that our three adult children take the time to write heartfelt and inspirational greetings in their cards to us and each other which, we all know, is the best gift of all.  I wept (as I always do) at their words of joy, hope, love, and gratitude.

We are leisurely with opening presents, one at a time, so we can appreciate what everyone is receiving.  About halfway through, Colin started having a meltdown, perfectly understandable as he'd had a looooong day, with a very short nap.  In an attempt to help, Eric said, "I love you, Colin!", and C replied:  "no love me!", and we all cracked up at his two-year-old reaction.  Sarah immediately suggested we still-pause the gift exchange and go outside for a while so he could run around and release some energy, which was totally effective (she's such a good and intuitive mom... 💗 )

Adorable and typical (as any parent can tell you) is that Sarah gave Colin five Santa presents, and attached to each was a Dollar Tree plastic animal (he loves animals of all kinds):  zebra, elephant, giraffe, hippo, and tiger... and of course that was all he wanted to play with the entire day (not the actual presents... :-)

Because we were inside, albeit masked, socially-distanced, and doors and windows open, we ordered Chinese food for dinner; dessert was a ginormous box of Russell Stover chocolates from the two girls' soccer teams that Chico coaches (along with a generous gift card).

Running jokes throughout the course of the day, sure to elicit a smile/guffaw for months to come:  "I got a robe" (Rob shared the hilarious SNL skit with me last week!) and "Colin's fake hot dog has gone MIA".

Yesterday a friend and I were having a text discussion re: Post-Holiday Blahs/Blues/Winter Doldrums, and I followed up with this e-mail:

"I've got 'em too, but not nearly as bad as I thought I would.  For one thing, the only holiday "trappings" I brought out were the front-door wreath and the doormat, and those can easily be tucked away again on the Monday after New Year's (or even the Wednesday as, when we lived in Puerto Rico, Christmas wasn't *really* over until January 6, The Epiphany).

I have let so many things go this season, when the former me might have had a few more meltdowns along the way.   Both Sarah's *and* Rob's presents to me were slowed down in the mail system (as was my friend Judi's!), and my new Delayed Gratification/F*ck It self just thinks, "well, I will enjoy them when they *do* arrive!".  My mantra these days seems to be "Who am I and what have I done with Susan?!?"  I am trying so hard to be Kinder, Gentler, Softer, More Patient, More Forgiving, More Understanding, More Aware... <3

I am also working very hard on my communication skills, with family as well as friends.  Attempting to "say what I mean, mean what I say, and do what I say I'm going to do"... which I learned in a parenting seminar when Sarah was in middle school (25 years ago).  Hey, if the foo sh*ts, right?

Had a great talk with L last week, and we discussed that, during this challenging time, we are both going to focus on meaning and purpose in the New Year.  I greatly miss having a true sense of both.

So, yeah... I have the blues/blahs/mullygrubs but I seem, so far, to have shaken off the need to wallow.  I do possess:  family (however flawed, as am I... except for Colin, who is perfect!), books (so many books!), music (beautiful songs!), friends (so very dear), healthy food choices, a dependable body that allows me to take it out for hour-long walks (almost) every day, boundless sunshine, hot cocoa and Kahlua (just a splash!), FakeUggs, comforting and colorful scarves, enough earrings to sink a battleship, intelligence, kindness, humor, integrity, gratitude, an appropriate balance of joy and sorrow.  And just like that... counting my blessings has moved my blues, if not off the table completely, at least to a back burner (mixed metaphor, anyone?... :-)

I am going to hit Send before this turns into War and Peace.  Whoops, too late!"

And... Nothing Says Christmas like Parlour Vegan's Non-Binary Gingerbread Person... 💖

NR:  Between the World and Me by by Ta-Nehisi Coates

SONG:  Merry Something to You by Devo

BOOK:  December Holidays from around the World by Baby Professor

POEM:  December 26 by Kenn Nesbitt

A BB gun.

A model plane.

A basketball.

A ’lectric train.

A bicycle.

A cowboy hat.

A comic book.

A baseball bat.

A deck of cards.

A science kit.

A racing car.

A catcher’s mitt.

So that’s my list

of everything

that Santa Claus

forgot to bring.

 

QUOTE:  “Have you ever held a three-year-old by the hand on the way home from preschool?” “No.” “You’re never more important than you are then.” ~ Fredrik Bachman, Anxious People

The Lights and Buzz (Jack's Mannequin)

[click photo to "biggen", as my friend Pat used to say! ]

Well, obviously... these 2020 holidays have wreaked havoc with tradition, ritual, and get-togethers.  We can invoke the time-honored cliches of "lemonade from lemons", "make the best of it", "Plan Q"... but there's going to be a wrench in our hearts when we remember what was, and what could have been, and what won't happen this year.

I think I'm a funny person anyway (some of you may not agree), and I seem to be invoking humor a *lot* these last 9 1/2 months, trying not to be snarky but, at the same time, making it real.  The pandemic has forced us to be more creative in how we celebrate and how we gather, and my catch phrase has become "Nothing says Christmas like...", which is now a game:

~ Nothing says Christmas like... Jurassic Quest in the BB&T parking lot which, crazy as it sounds, was a super-fun outing Sarah invited me to share with her and Colin... and about 50 animatronic dinosaurs, complete with roars, squeaks, and an audio narration as you drive along at bumper-to-bumper speed, much slower than the 5-miles-per-hour they discourage you from exceeding!

~ Nothing says Christmas like... Disney princesses, Mickey Mouse, Ninja Turtles, and Olaf, right?  There is (pictured above) a house in our old Pembroke Lakes neighborhood that has been overdecorating for twenty years, adding new features along the way and, this year, making the path one-way in an attempt to keep things safer for all.  Just when you think you've seen it all, you haven't.  They even featured the leg lamp from A Christmas Story.  Fra-gee-lay... 😍

Nothing says Christmas like... seeing Santa at Bass Pro Shops, two concepts you'd never think to hear in the same sentence.  There was plexiglass involved... sigh, and hooray... 💞

Nothing says Christmas like... watching Holidate, a hilarious and irreverent film (on Netflix) that is surely the anti-Hallmark (and that's a good thing for me, Martha!), which you realize in the first seven minutes when one of the characters has a line of dialogue that's not repeatable here, but make sure you're not eating or drinking anything so as to avoid a spit-take.  I loved it, but your mileage may vary (which won't keep me from loving it!).

The non-snarky events of these last few weeks:

~ Listening to the Hipster Holidays Pandora station on my phone while I'm out on my walk

~ Surprising Rob for his birthday at his job in Pembroke Gardens 

~ Enjoying an Extended Family (the MossFam6 plus my sister, her husband, daughter and daughter's roomie; my brother couldn't make it) Zoom call.  How lovely to see everyone, even virtually, as it had been much too long... and we've vowed to do them regularly!

"It's good to be alive!" indeed... 💖

NR:  The Caregiver by Samuel Park

SONG:  The Lights and Buzz by Jack's Mannequin

BOOK:  Share Some Kindness, Bring Some Light by Apryl Stott (Author, Illustrator)

POEM:  Yellow Glove by Naomi Shihab Nye

What can a yellow glove mean in a world of motorcars and governments?

I was small, like everyone. Life was a string of precautions: Don't kiss the squirrel before you bury him, don't suck candy, pop balloons, drop watermelons, watch TV. When the new gloves appeared one Christmas, tucked in soft tissue, I heard it trailing me: Don't lose the yellow gloves.

I was small, there was too much to remember. One day, waving at a stream — the ice had cracked, winter chipping down, soon we would sail boats and roll into ditches — I let a glove go. Into the stream, sucked under the street. Since when did streets have mouths? I walked home on a desperate road. Gloves cost money. We didn't have much. I would tell no one. I would wear the yellow glove that was left and keep the other hand in a pocket. I knew my mother's eyes had tears they had not cried yet, I didn't want to be the one to make them flow. It was the prayer I spoke secretly, folding socks, lining up donkeys in windowsills. To be good, a promise made to the roaches who scouted my closet at night. If you don't get in my bed, I will be good. And they listened. I had a lot to fulfill.

The months rolled down like towels out of a machine. I sang and drew and fattened the cat. Don't scream, don't lie, don't cheat, don't fight — you could hear it anywhere. A pebble could show you how to be smooth, tell the truth. A field could show how to sleep without walls. A stream could remember how to drift and change — next June I was stirring the stream like a soup, telling my brother dinner would be ready if he'd only hurry up with the bread when I saw it. The yellow glove draped on a twig. A muddy survivor. A quiet flag.

Where had it been in the three gone months? I could wash it, fold it in my winter drawer with its sister, no one in that world would ever know. There were miracles on Harvey Street. Children walked home in yellow light. Trees were reborn and gloves traveled far, but returned. A thousand miles later, what can a yellow glove mean in a world of bankbooks and stereos?

Part of the difference between floating and going down.

QUOTE:  "After church on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, my family would go chop down our Christmas tree. Once it was home and placed in its stand, Mom and I would painstakingly decorate our tree. It took hours to place the tinsel, string the lights, find the perfect spot for my favorite macaroni and felt ornaments from kindergarten." ~ Molly O'Keefe

That Was the Worst Christmas Ever! (Sufjan Stevens)

I just sent out the following e-mail to select family and friends.  Feel free to count yourself in that Circle, although I may not have had your e-address.  Enjoy (or, to quote The Princess Bride:  I do not think that word means what you think it means"... :-)

Happy Holidays!

Many/Most/All (?) of you have received a tape-segued-to-CD mix from me over the years.  I consider it a SuperPower and love finding, compiling, and sharing songs of joy, inspiration, relevance, all of the above.  I've been making *holiday* mixes since the late-90s, and kept up the tradition through 2016.  Then Life with a Capital L seemed to get in the way and I allowed myself to get off track (a hard drive crash, a grandbaby, retirement, now the pandemic, insert excuse-of-choice here).  This is the time of year I drag them all out and listen, chronologically, to the message my Ghost of Christmas Past was trying to impart along the way.

I can't even remember why 2012 was so sh*tty, but I re-discovered this playlist I made just for myself that year, never sharing it with anyone! Being that 2020's pandemic has turned all holidays and traditions upside-down, it seemed a good time to finally get this out into the world. I invite you to feel all the feelings, look in the rearview mirror, and then... Let. It. Go.  But, two songs with mournful banjos?  Be still, my melancholy heart!

On the flip side, I realize we all have *so* much to be grateful for:  loving family (immediate and extended), dear friends (locally and across state lines), health, happiness, peace... and don't even get me started on what happens January 20, 2021... :-)

Wishing everyone a satisfying wrap-up to 2020, and a New Year filled with continued coping mechanisms, growth opportunities, and the ability to differentiate between the things we can control and the things we can't.  Oh, and love, Love, and MORE LOVE... <3

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/22VpETOxXclALhwENUkmVZ?si=4aQKyzGBS-i_tZJ9T5CRuw

[I joined Spotify years ago, but this is my first time making a Playlist via their service.  I signed up for a three-month Premium trial (meaning ad-free) but not sure if that will translate for your listening pleasure through my link.  If there are commercials, I apologize.  Hoping you have this service already; if not, the tracklist is below so you can find the songs on YouTube or elsewhere.]

1.   Just Because It’s Christmas ~ Skiffle and the Piffles
2.   Christmas Eve Can Kill You ~ Everly Brothers
3.   Christmas in a Chinese Restaurant ~ Diamond Rugs
4.   Christmas Day (Time to Let You Go) ~ Russell
5.   It Doesn’t Feel Like Christmas ~ Sam Phillips
6.   Merry Christmas Anyway ~ Scotland Barr and the Slow Drags
7.   Christmas Morning ~ Lyle Lovett
8.   Like the Snow ~ Kristin Andreassen
9.   Listening to Otis Redding at Home During Christmas ~ Okkervil River
10.  Angel Hair ~ Sam Baker
11.  A Holiday Song ~ Lisa Loeb
12.  So Much Wine ~ The Handsome Family
13.  Still Drunk, Still Crazy, Still Silent Night ~ Scott H. Biram
14.  Merry Xmas (Thanks for the Roses) ~ Winterbloom (featuring Antje Duvekot)
15.  Christmas Eve, Driving Home ~ Frontier Ruckus
16.  Carry Me Home ~ Hey Rosetta!
17.  All I Ever Get for Christmas is Blue ~ Over the Rhine
18.  Let Me Sleep (Christmas Time) ~ Pearl Jam
19.  That Was the Worst Christmas Ever! ~ Sufjan Stevens

NR:  Anxious People by Fredrik Backman (sooooo good!)

SONG:  That Was the Worst Christmas Ever! by Sufjan Stevens (worth the 5-minute story/introduction!).

BOOK:  Grumpy Cat's First Worst Christmas by Golden Books, Steph Laberis (Illustrator)

POEM:  Down in the Valley by Joshua Mehigan

It was her first time coming home from college.

She headed downtown for a drink or two.

Her girlfriend went home early. That was Christmas.

Now, under sapling pine trees in the clearing,

snowdrops are coming back to their old places.

They had been gone a lifetime. Now they stand,

poised like a choir on the verge of singing:

Nature is just. There’s nothing left to fear.

The worst thing that can happen happened here.

QUOTE:  "My worst Christmas ever was in 1987 when Santa brought me and my sister a dose of chicken-pox. And my worst present ever was a Dirt Devil vacuum cleaner! I don't like to sound ungrateful, but I do find vacuuming difficult to get excited about." ~ Sophia Di Martino

Thankful (The Juicebox Jukebox)

A bazillion years ago, when my then-boyfriend-now-husband and I were at West Georgia College, he went on a road trip to Florida with his two roommates and one of the roommates' girlfriend Jana (pronounced Yanna; she was Scandanivian, of course).  On the way home, the guys were tired, it was 3 a.m., there were very few cars on the highway, and they decided to let Jana drive.  A short while later, they felt a series of jolting bumps, and woke up to find that she had driven them off the road, narrowly missing a culvert, which could have meant damage to the car, not to mention injuries to its occupants.  When questioned as to what happened, Jana replied:  "I lost my concentration".  What?!?... 👀

Whenever I use the above excuse/justification, not often but sometimes, I conjure the backstory, which I am doing right now, envisioning Jana's beautiful face, her eyes wide and unapologetic.  Hey, it happens.  And that's how I feel about the last eleven days; all is fine here and there are no undercurrents nor real reasons I haven't posted.  I just lost my concentration... 😥

Back in focus now, mainly because Thanksgiving is tomorrow and, despite the crazy pandemic times we are in, we do have much to be thankful for.  For the last several years, I have participated in the 30-Day Gratitude Challenge but, since I'm not on Facebook (nor Instagram) anymore, it's fallen by the proverbial wayside, at least on social media, although not in my head and heart.  Counting my blessings remains a coping mechanism, and not just for the month of November... 💞

We normally have a houseful of people for the always-my-favorite-since-there-is-no-actual-*agenda* holiday, and we'll be missing our usual cast of characters immensely... but this year it's just the MossFam6.  Our family has brainstormed an all-vegan, finger-food brunch:  vegan cheese ball rolled in nuts and parsley with crackers; sliders with Gardein stuffed turk'y on mini-rolls with cranberry mayo (vegan); stuffin' muffins; phyllo cups with vegan sausage, pears, and walnuts; spinach/cheeZe/"egg" bites; roast potatoes; green bean casserole and, for dessert: avocado chocolate mousse, apple palm pies, pumpkin pie bites, homemade vegan cookies mailed across county lines from Melanie and Nick... plus champagne with cider... served outdoor picnic-style in our grassy area downstairs.  

In the meantime, I have issued the following challenge, discussed in last Friday's New York Times Daily Briefing, to my family and friends and hoping some of you might chime in below with your own.  Happy Thanksgiving, already looking forward to when we can have a face-to-face again, and here's my six-word gratitude contribution: 

"Around the table in spirit.  Cheers!"

"At a Thanksgiving dinner more than a decade ago, a magazine editor named Larry Smith made a suggestion to his relatives seated at the table: They should each tell a story about themselves — in only six words. It was a twist on a challenge that somebody apparently once issued to Ernest Hemingway.

For Thanksgiving, I want to invite the readers of this newsletter to do a version of the exercise. In this year of pandemic, politics and so much else, tell us what makes you grateful, in just six words.

“The constraint of the six-word form helps us get to the essence of what matters most,” Smith says, “and I can’t think of a time when expressing gratitude has been more important.” 

P.S.  I love Love LOVE the poem below, written by one of my favorite poets and people.  When I was still working, I kept my car radio on WLRN, the local NPR station, where I received my news as well as my culture (book and music reviews).  On the way home one afternoon, an interview with Ross Gay aired (about his just-published volume of essays, The Book of Delights) and I could not wait to get home and order it.  Imagine my pleasure when he was on a panel at the 2019 Miami Book Fair, and my validation that he was just as delightful in person.  I brought my book from home, which he autographed for me:  "To Susan - In Joy Together!".  I will never forget his open face, and his warm demeanor.  

" and you, again you, for hanging tight, dear friend.

I know I can be long-winded sometimes.

I want so badly to rub the sponge of gratitude

over every last thing"... 💓

NR:  The Girl with the Louding Voice by Abi Dare'

SONG:  Thankful by The Juicebox Jukebox

BOOK:  Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay

POEM:  Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude by Ross Gay

Friends, will you bear with me today,

for I have awakened

from a dream in which a robin

made with its shabby wings a kind of veil

behind which it shimmied and stomped something from the south

of Spain, its breast aflare,

looking me dead in the eye

from the branch that grew into my window,

coochie-cooing my chin,

the bird shuffling its little talons left, then right,

while the leaves bristled

against the plaster wall, two of them drifting

onto my blanket while the bird

opened and closed its wings like a matador

giving up on murder,

jutting its beak, turning a circle,

and flashing, again,

the ruddy bombast of its breast 

by which I knew upon waking

it was telling me

in no uncertain terms

to bellow forth the tubas and sousaphones,

the whole rusty brass band of gratitude

not quite dormant in my belly—

it said so in a human voice,

“Bellow forth”—

and who among us could ignore such odd

and precise counsel?

Hear ye! hear ye! I am here

to holler that I have hauled tons—by which I don’t mean lots,

I mean tons — of cowshit

and stood ankle deep in swales of maggots

swirling the spent beer grains

the brewery man was good enough to dump off

holding his nose, for they smell very bad,

but make the compost writhe giddy and lick its lips,

twirling dung with my pitchfork

again and again

with hundreds and hundreds of other people,

we dreamt an orchard this way,

furrowing our brows,

and hauling our wheelbarrows,

and sweating through our shirts,

and two years later there was a party

at which trees were sunk into the well-fed earth,

one of which, a liberty apple, after being watered in

was tamped by a baby barefoot

with a bow hanging in her hair

biting her lip in her joyous work

and friends this is the realest place I know,

it makes me squirm like a worm I am so grateful,

you could ride your bike there

or roller skate or catch the bus

there is a fence and a gate twisted by hand,

there is a fig tree taller than you in Indiana,

it will make you gasp.

It might make you want to stay alive even, thank you;

and thank you

for not taking my pal when the engine

of his mind dragged him

to swig fistfuls of Xanax and a bottle or two of booze,

and thank you for taking my father

a few years after his own father went down thank you

mercy, mercy, thank you

for not smoking meth with your mother

oh thank you thank you

for leaving and for coming back,

and thank you for what inside my friends’

love bursts like a throng of roadside goldenrod

gleaming into the world,

likely hauling a shovel with her

like one named Aralee ought,

with hands big as a horse’s,

and who, like one named Aralee ought,

will laugh time to time til the juice

runs from her nose; oh

thank you

for the way a small thing’s wail makes

the milk or what once was milk

in us gather into horses

huckle-buckling across a field;

and thank you, friends, when last spring

the hyacinth bells rang

and the crocuses flaunted

their upturned skirts, and a quiet roved

the beehive which when I entered

were snugged two or three dead

fist-sized clutches of bees between the frames,

almost clinging to one another,

this one’s tiny head pushed

into another’s tiny wing,

one’s forelegs resting on another’s face,

the translucent paper of their wings fluttering

beneath my breath and when

a few dropped to the frames beneath:

honey; and after falling down to cry,

everything’s glacial shine.

And thank you, too. And thanks

for the corduroy couch I have put you on.

Put your feet up. Here’s a light blanket,

a pillow, dear one,

for I can feel this is going to be long.

I can’t stop

my gratitude, which includes, dear reader,

you, for staying here with me,

for moving your lips just so as I speak.

Here is a cup of tea. I have spooned honey into it.

And thank you the tiny bee’s shadow

perusing these words as I write them.

And the way my love talks quietly

when in the hive,

so quietly, in fact, you cannot hear her

but only notice barely her lips moving

in conversation. Thank you what does not scare her

in me, but makes her reach my way. Thank you the love

she is which hurts sometimes. And the time

she misremembered elephants

in one of my poems which, oh, here

they come, garlanded with morning glory and wisteria

blooms, trombones all the way down to the river.

Thank you the quiet

in which the river bends around the elephant’s

solemn trunk, polishing stones, floating

on its gentle back

the flock of geese flying overhead.

And to the quick and gentle flocking

of men to the old lady falling down

on the corner of Fairmount and 18th, holding patiently

with the softest parts of their hands

her cane and purple hat,

gathering for her the contents of her purse

and touching her shoulder and elbow;

thank you the cockeyed court

on which in a half-court 3 vs. 3 we oldheads

made of some runny-nosed kids

a shambles, and the 61-year-old

after flipping a reverse lay-up off a back door cut

from my no-look pass to seal the game

ripped off his shirt and threw punches at the gods

and hollered at the kids to admire the pacemaker’s scar

grinning across his chest; thank you

the glad accordion’s wheeze

in the chest; thank you the bagpipes.

Thank you to the woman barefoot in a gaudy dress

for stopping her car in the middle of the road

and the tractor trailer behind her, and the van behind it,

whisking a turtle off the road.

Thank you god of gaudy.

Thank you paisley panties.

Thank you the organ up my dress.

Thank you the sheer dress you wore kneeling in my dream

at the creek’s edge and the light

swimming through it. The koi kissing

halos into the glassy air.

The room in my mind with the blinds drawn

where we nearly injure each other

crawling into the shawl of the other’s body.

Thank you for saying it plain:

fuck each other dumb.

And you, again, you, for the true kindness

it has been for you to remain awake

with me like this, nodding time to time

and making that noise which I take to mean

yes, or, I understand, or, please go on

but not too long, or, why are you spitting

so much, or, easy Tiger

hands to yourself. I am excitable.

I am sorry. I am grateful.

I just want us to be friends now, forever.

Take this bowl of blackberries from the garden.

The sun has made them warm.

I picked them just for you. I promise

I will try to stay on my side of the couch.

And thank you the baggie of dreadlocks I found in a drawer

while washing and folding the clothes of our murdered friend;

the photo in which his arm slung

around the sign to “the trail of silences”; thank you

the way before he died he held

his hands open to us; for coming back

in a waft of incense or in the shape of a boy

in another city looking

from between his mother’s legs,

or disappearing into the stacks after brushing by;

for moseying back in dreams where,

seeing us lost and scared

he put his hand on our shoulders

and pointed us to the temple across town;

and thank you to the man all night long

hosing a mist on his early-bloomed

peach tree so that the hard frost

not waste the crop, the ice

in his beard and the ghosts

lifting from him when the warming sun

told him sleep now; thank you

the ancestor who loved you

before she knew you

by smuggling seeds into her braid for the long

journey, who loved you

before he knew you by putting

a walnut tree in the ground, who loved you

before she knew you by not slaughtering

the land; thank you

who did not bulldoze the ancient grove

of dates and olives,

who sailed his keys into the ocean

and walked softly home; who did not fire, who did not

plunge the head into the toilet, who said stop,

don’t do that; who lifted some broken

someone up; who volunteered

the way a plant birthed of the reseeding plant

is called a volunteer, like the plum tree

that marched beside the raised bed

in my garden, like the arugula that marched

itself between the blueberries,

nary a bayonet, nary an army, nary a nation,

which usage of the word volunteer

familiar to gardeners the wide world

made my pal shout “Oh!” and dance

and plunge his knuckles

into the lush soil before gobbling two strawberries

and digging a song from his guitar

made of wood from a tree someone planted, thank you;

thank you zinnia, and gooseberry, rudbeckia

and pawpaw, Ashmead’s kernel, cockscomb

and scarlet runner, feverfew and lemonbalm;

thank you knitbone and sweetgrass and sunchoke

and false indigo whose petals stammered apart

by bumblebees good lord please give me a minute...

and moonglow and catkin and crookneck

and painted tongue and seedpod and johnny jump-up;

thank you what in us rackets glad

what gladrackets us;

and thank you, too, this knuckleheaded heart, this pelican heart,

this gap-toothed heart flinging open its gaudy maw

to the sky, oh clumsy, oh bumblefucked,

oh giddy, oh dumbstruck,

oh rickshaw, oh goat twisting

its head at me from my peach tree’s highest branch,

balanced impossibly gobbling the last fruit,

its tongue working like an engine,

a lone sweet drop tumbling by some miracle

into my mouth like the smell of someone I’ve loved;

heart like an elephant screaming

at the bones of its dead;

heart like the lady on the bus

dressed head to toe in gold, the sun

shivering her shiny boots, singing

Erykah Badu to herself

leaning her head against the window;

and thank you the way my father one time came back in a dream

by plucking the two cables beneath my chin

like a bass fiddle’s strings

and played me until I woke singing,

no kidding, singing, smiling,

thank you, thank you,

stumbling into the garden where

the Juneberry’s flowers had burst open

like the bells of French horns, the lily

my mother and I planted oozed into the air,

the bazillion ants labored in their earthen workshops

below, the collard greens waved in the wind

like the sails of ships, and the wasps

swam in the mint bloom’s viscous swill;

and you, again you, for hanging tight, dear friend.

I know I can be long-winded sometimes.

I want so badly to rub the sponge of gratitude

over every last thing, including you, which, yes, awkward,

the suds in your ear and armpit, the little sparkling gems

slipping into your eye. Soon it will be over,

which is precisely what the child in my dream said,

holding my hand, pointing at the roiling sea and the sky

hurtling our way like so many buffalo,

who said it’s much worse than we think,

and sooner; to whom I said

no duh child in my dreams, what do you think

this singing and shuddering is,

what this screaming and reaching and dancing

and crying is, other than loving

what every second goes away?

Goodbye, I mean to say.

And thank you. Every day.

QUOTE:  "Make the invisible dark force beautiful. Create a song out of your moans.  Brag about your wounds. Dance reverently on the graves of your enemies.  Sneak a gift to your bad self. Dissolve the ties that bind you to hollow intelligence.  Train yourself in the art of unpredictability. Play forever in time's blessing. Lift up your heart unto the wild sun. Distribute your favors to the little ones who can never pay you back. Fall out of love with fear. Make beautiful messes in the midst of ugly messes." ~ Rob Brezsny