Welcome to this tiny moss piglet’s eyelash’s undetectable speck of dust quantum universe’s teensiest inhabitant’s space on the Internets! If you might find parts 1 (with backstory links), 2, and 3 of interest, please clickity clack on back and take a peek. Or rebound to do a your version of a dive-in here:
Series to E. 4
Oh, weak and selfish I have been!
I who pronounced my conscience clear
But heaped my wrath on other men
Who held no girl’s affection dear!
But no! – no man can say of me
I ever played the cruel part
Of him who voluntarily
Would break a trustful maiden’s heart.
Yet I am guilty! – O strange, strange sin
Which being kind is cruel instead!
And I am the worst heartless of men
Following my heart where it led!
***
Relentless doubt obscures my eyes
And opens my heart with icy pain, -
Till the sweet waters of hope arise
Warming and healing the wounds again.
O cruel doubt! O wavering hope! –
Tossing my reason to and fro-
What can I do but blindly grope
And follow my heart where it would go?
O strange, strange life! – Dear Powers above,
Beyond the moon and the pale starlight,
Fold, Fold me in creation’s love,
And the soft curtain of the night!
End page 4
to be continued…
Oh sweet David Lee! You are one smitten kitten for sure. Or passionate pup? Either way, I am certain you were the bees knees and the goat at wooing beautiful Emily B. in the gorgeous rural countryside of Edgecombe County, North Carolina.
Prior to the 19th century, this area of North Carolina was home to the Tuscarora Native American tribe who began departing once English settlers appropriated lands for their private use. There are local records of: a John Stewart (Stuart/Steward) in 1674 bequeathing a frying pan and other items upon his death, a Richard Bond in 1728 bequeathing assets to Sarah Bond, and in 1752 a Joseph Anderson bequeathing 15£ to a number of people upon his death.
73 years prior to David penning love sonnets, Union General Edward E. Potter entered Edgecombe County, destroying supply chains for the Confederate militia (Potter’s Raid). Many local enslaved people left the area during the Civil War to fight with the Union Armies in all-black regiments. Two years after Potter’s Raid, in 1865, the first all black incorporated town of Princeville was established by former enslaved people in Edgecombe County. In 1936, at the time of David’s love sonnets, Edgecombe County was about 50% white and 50% black, with crops of cotton, tobacco, wheat, peanuts, and corn along with cattle and chickens with a booming population (up 26% from the 1930 census). One year after David’s sonnets, in 1937, the first new-deal electrical cooperative began generating in the area. Today’s Edgecombe County is about 60% African American and remains primarily rural.
We have one page remaining, y’all. Let’s just take a moment to savor that July 4th full moon booming economy optimistic deeply felt passionate pain of love from August 12, 1936. I bet they carefully carved their initials into some tree with a heart around it.
Hello. How are you? Do you wish that your name was Felix Mittermeier or that you could have drinks with someone named Felix Mittermeier? Just me then? Alrighty… makes sense. But if Felix lives in a house with the number ’27’ in it, then we are all in (unless there is a leather sofa of dubious color or colour, like blue).
For catching up, please take a hop, skip, graceful leap over to Meditations part 1, Meditations part 2, and associated links in those post toasties, as your needs must… my current need? Tea. Always tea. And a generous in-ground heated saltwater pool, cabana with composting toilet, and outdoor shower, natch. YES, even in the winterings. (please and thank you) Other stuff too – but, for now, onwards with the things.
Series to E. 3
-Fears I have yielded to a force
My heart but not my reason guides;
and on the sea of life, my course
Is strown with rocks and counter-tides.
-Fears that my heart has grown too fond
Of one whose world is not my own:
Who could not to my soul respond,
Leaving me lonely and alone.
Fear too list when we come to part,
So fondly she has thought of me,
Pain like a sword might pierce her heart,
For what she might have hoped would be.
If I should break her heart, O God,
Let burning shame consume my breast!
Let grief become my chastening-rod –
But give her own heart peace and rest.
O why, why did I ever come
To rest in this quiet country place?
Why not have wandered far from home
And never seen this maiden’s face?
‘Twas but a few short weeks ago
I went in peace where’er I would:
No thoughts like these disturbed me so,
Nor did I mean they ever should!
O God, I trust thee: good thou art,
And only merry thy design:
If there must be a broken heart,
The guilt, the blame, alone is mine.
O let the pain be all my own,
And all the loneliness she must bear!
Let her be happy when I am gone -
This is my hope, and this my prayer.
End page 3
Now we know that David met Emily a few weeks prior to the writing of this sonnet. Maybe they met at a 4th of July celebration! Maybe he wore breezy light linen pants, a short-sleeved white shirt with red, white and blue paisley patterned bow-tie, a seer-sucker jacket, pale blue socks, dusty brown shoes, and a straw bowler with plain blue ribbon. Maybe she wore a sleeveless pale red dress, with tiny blue ribbons on the pockets and scattered on the neckline, with a matching blue ribbon in her hair to hold it up and off of her neck because of the heat. I’m pretty sure she left her shoes somewhere and was barefoot on the porch swing, drinking lemonade she’d secretly slightly spiked for her own amusement. Their initial conversation might have been about the community’s annual 4th of July scavenger hunt, Carole Lombard, William Powell, and My Man Godfrey. Plus phases of the moon, which was an absolutely glorious full moon on Saturday, July 4, 1936. I’m sure that was what happened. Love at first sight by the light of a full moon and dreams of the treasures promised by Lombard and Powell.
"A scavenger hunt is exactly like a treasure hunt, except in a treasure hunt you try to find something you want, and in a scavenger hunt you try to find something that nobody wants."
"I wish I had a sense of humor, but I can never think of the right thing to say until everybody's gone home."
both quotes from Irene Bullock (portrayed by Carole Lombard), My Man Godfrey
"Godfrey: May I be frank?
Molly: Is that your name?
Godfrey: No, my name is Godfrey.
Molly: All right, be Frank. "
Please, please, please watch My Man Godfrey. If you can, as you can. It’s delicious (well, the lovely bits are, but the times were different of course).
If you would like a catch up : Meditations part 1 with lead in links at the top of that post.
To sum up: 85 years ago, DLS wrote EBA a 5-page MEDITATIONS sonnet, found folded inside an EBB book of sonnets.
Series to E. 2
Cold silent orb that from the sky
Hath watched a hundred thousand years,
Hast thou learned wisdom to reply
To one poor doubting mortal’s fears?
For surely since ascendant man
First felt his soul within him burn,
You have found why, in that eon-span,
The hearts of men and maidens yearn?
Yes! Forty thousand years ago
Some fierce barbaric man of yore
Lifted his mute eyes to your glow
As he trod the sands of the ocean shore.
O fierce and mute and savage man
Beating your breast by the Tethys Sea.
Whose blood with fiercest passions ran, -
I am come from you! you are come to me!
All the wild longings in your blood
As you stood on that moonlit shore
Came back again like a mighty flood
And surge – in my breast – once more!
Wan moon! Could but thy beam impart
The answer to my spirits tears,
And lend some solace to a heart
That burns with longings and with fears!
Tethys Sea is lovely to think about imo. Not only is it an ancient salt water sea from hundreds of millions of years ago, but also carries the name of the sister/consort of the Greek G-d Oceanus. Tethys and Oceanus were Titans, children of Gaia (Earth) and Uranus (Heaven). Back in the day when the Earth was thought to be flat, Oceanus was the river flowing around the Earth, separating Earth from the underworld and the land of dreams. Tethys was the Greek G-ddess of all freshwater – rivers, lakes, streams, rain, clouds and could manipulate all water forms at will, natch. Tethys birthed 6,000 children and was the grandmother of the G-ddess of war, Athena. I do NOT have an unusual obsession with Stephen Fry or his books or listening to him read or listening to his podcast appearances or anything like that at all never ever ever… ever… maybe just a teensy passing brainiac admiration.
Apropos of nothing related to this, I welcome you to pizza Friday with 85% potential screaming sonnets on tonight’s set list.
I feel the need to all cap MEDITATIONS, to honor a man of certain distinction: Mr. D.L. Stewart
Series to E.
Wednesday, Aug. 12, 1936, 1:00 A.M. -
In the Country
MEDITATIONS
Rise, golden orb of the midnight skies,
And show me with your mellow beams
The window where a maiden lies
Dreaming sweetly - pleasant dreams.
'Tis one o'clock: your golden rim
Reflects its final-quarter glow
And lends a mystic radiance dim
To the tired sleeping world below.
Sleep, tired world, both beast and man!
The hands of yesterday need rest:
And sleep your tired bodies can,
But, not the struggle in my breast.
Thou silent orb - whence comes the power
Inherent in your mystic glow?
And why do you, in this dim hour,
Disturb my throbbing spirit so?
Is it because in former tide
Beneath your full-resplendent charm
She walked, so meekly, by my side
So soft her hand within my arm?
End page one, y’all. Sheesh to the woosh. Mr. DL gots the pinings of the heart loves something fierce for Miss EB. At 1 am.
to be continued… but first I must digest page one.
ps I KNOW that I just lost any librarian credibility by using a few (out of approximately bazillion) rocks from SonHerisme’s rock collection to gently hold the papers open. I know. I know. I know. I also know that most likely I will continue to make sketch decisions like this, so if this image burns your librarian curator conservationist historian sensitive eyeball brains (which I ADORE but blatantly disregarding consideration for atm), then now you know to avert your eyes on at least the next four MEDITATIONS posts. Fair warning and you’re welcome.
Emily was 22 that year and her David was 34. Census records show Emily Bond Anderson born 23 October 1914 in Edgecombe County, North Carolina, and David Lee Stewart born 14 February, 1902 in Edgecombe County, North Carolina. Our prose prone Carolina gentleman was born on Valentine’s Day!
On Wednesday, August 12, 1936 at 1:00am, when David wrote his 5-page sonnet for Emily, he had already celebrated his birthday in February, and his Emily was waiting to turn 22 that upcoming October. David Lee was 12 years and 8 months older than Emily Bond.
On page 14 of the book’s introduction, Mr. David Stewart has underlined in red:
“There is, of course, no Portuguese original for them.”
“had called her his ‘little Portuguese.’ It has been suggested that this may have been the origin of the purposely misleading title.”
“the finest Sonnets written in any language since Shakespeare’s.”
The book was given by David Stewart to Emily Bond Anderson with “Best Wishes for Valentine’s Day.” This might suggest that Dave, Davey, David, Dada diddle cheeks is underlining these phrases in red to emphasize his admiration for Emily, Em, Emsters, Eba darling’s talents as well as his devoted love for her. Perhaps like Robert Browning’s for Elizabeth Bennett.
Then again, he did only send “Best Wishes,” and not, “all my love,” or some other gooey sentiment.
Using red pen might be due to Valentine’s Day, or might also be an emphasis on 1930’s mansplaining to settle a point or disagreement.
Either way, I think that Mr. Stewart went to a lot of trouble to get attention from Miss Bond Anderson. I prefer to think that our pal David was nervously attempting to express his deep regard for beautiful Emily.
He uses full names in the inscription:
TO Emily Bond Anderson
FROM David Stewart
WITH Best Wishes for Valentine's Day
He uses red pen on Valentine’s Day for “TO,” “FROM,” and “WITH.” His writing is very straight, cursive, neat and precise. His cursive capital letters at the beginning of the proper nouns are just textbook lovely.
I bet David wore a tie, matching vest, and pleated ballooned out in the frontage area pants when he delivered the book. I bet she had on a well-appointed dressed-for-work outfit of matching untucked belted blouse/skirt when she answered the door. I bet they had a lot of fun and trying times figuring each other out but never reaching the thankfully elusive I-know-everything-about-you times of boredom. I bet they had days they wished could last forever and days they wished they could forget. I hope that they mostly had ultimately satisfactory lives full of love.
Let’s choose mischievous green eyes for both. Darker brown hair for our David and reddish brown hair for our Emily.
Census records show both David and Emily coming from farming families with neighbors like Hill, Crickmore, Pittman, Bryan, Pope, Gavin, Price, and the Hunters. The Hunters are listed as a black family with a grandmother and granddaughter (6 years younger than David) named “Nellie.”
I tear up every time I look at this inscription. Is it tear worthy? Is it the intention or mandala-type impermanence that hits me? Fleeting feelings? Teeny tiny moments of a sparkle of life? Most likely my imagination gone rogue once again.
Also, today is MotherHerisme’s birthday! She is 77!
Today we are safe
Today we are healthy
Today we know love
Today we have access to clean water
Today we have access to good food
Today we have a comfortable home
Today we have access to health care
Today we have reliable transportation
Today our bills are paid
Today we have access to education
Today we have access to the internets
Today we have plans with friends
We are okay. Luck/Blessings are abundant. We are okay today.
Yesterday SonHerisme got punched in the face at school. No lingering physical effects – redness on his cheek without bruising because he was turning his head away towards something else, when the kid jumped up and punched him. He is hurt, angry and confused.
Attending a small Montessori school, and SonHerisme being who he is, this is unexpected. He says he hasn’t felt safe around this other kid for a while because he has seen him punch and knock people to the ground at school this year, and then the kid lies about it. The other kid has been suspended at least once already this year. The other kid’s older brother was a menace when he was at the school and the dad has massive creeper vibes. Pre-COVID, I saw the dad trying to take covert upskirt photos at the grocery store cafe until I pushed my cart over, stood in front of him, blocking the rest of the cafe. He left. Man, my heart hurts for whatever abusive machismo environment those boys have been raised in and for any of their future partners.
My heart hurts more for my SonHerisme.
He is constantly being asked to rise above it all, to be resilient, to be brave, to be better than… I want him to have more moments of not building resilience, bravery, maturity above and beyond crappy adults. He is worn out y’all. At 13 my baby is wearing out and building a skin so thick I’m not sure anyone will ever be able to break through and he will not be able to break out of it.
He has always been big for his age which brings the expectation that he behave more maturely than his peers with harsher consequences when he developmentally appropriately did not. “You’re bigger, you should’ve known you would hurt them when you pushed them out of the way or beat them every time in the race or jumped higher and got all of the monopoly money…” Guilty here as I probably have said those things too in context of, “I know it isn’t fair buddy, but you will be blamed when something goes wrong with the physical play because you are a boy and you are the biggest boy.”
I did tell him about MrexHbeing moved to a facility. MrexH is going to a place where he will not have access to electronics for some undetermined amount of time. This means that SonHerisme is not required to try and meet his father on RoBlox, or plan on any parenting coordinator psychologist facilitated phone calls, until further notice. I was told, but did not share with SonHerisme, that MrexH expressed concern that he will ever receive access to his electronics. My friend believes that MrexH will not be going home from this place, whatever it is. If I think about the situation MrexH is in, I am going to break down into a spiral I’m not sure I can get back out of. I’m hoping by popping it out here, I can get it out of me enough to avoid that.
I do not know what kind of “treatment facility,” MrexH is going to. I do know that the facility is closer to us than where he has been living and makes us accessible by bus/car where before he would have needed to board an airplane.
I suspect it is not voluntary, based on the electronic access issue.
It’s it all too much and I am having to type almost every single word 2-to-3 times because my brain-to-finger function is not operating correctly. Everything everywhere is hitting everyone so very hard.
My forehead is numb.
Throughout the day I will remind myself
Today we are safe
Today we are healthy
Today we know love
Today we have access to clean water
Today we have access to good food
Today we have a comfortable home
Today we have access to health care
Today we have reliable transportation
Today our bills are paid
Today we have access to education
Today we have access to the internets
Today we have plans with friends
We are okay. Luck/Blessings are abundant. We are okay today. I hope that you are okay as well. {{{hug}}} your loved ones if you can as you can.
ps I had the most vivid lucid dream last night with a person in it that I do not personally know and they were really struggling with themselves. I tried to change the dream, and was able to switch around some of the things so that I was less impacted by the person, but they continued to struggle. I hope that is not their case in real life, and I send them peace and comfort. It just occurs to me that maybe this was my dream life trying to make sense of my life… I don’t want to do this anymore.
bookswap at the park this afternoon and a day of laundry/helping MotherHerisme/all the things of being me
In September of 1846 after honeymooning in Paris and being disowned by Elizabeth’s father, Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning moved to Florence, Italy.
late 1840's Florence, Italy saw:
itself being a part of the Hapsburg- Lorraine Dynasty
continued recovery from the 1844 floods
tourism as a significant industry
premiere of Verde's opera MacBeth
Plato-Florence railway opens
As a late 20th century middle-schooler tourist girl, I fell in love with Florence. I loved walking the streets with the fanciest storefronts littered with tacky tourist dangling spots too. I loved being offered drinks because I looked much older than I was, and sneaking bits of wine. I loved the heavy humid smells of fragrant food, overheated people, and fishy water. I saw my own David (Michelangelo)! I learned about the Medici, Alighieri, Machiavelli, da Vinci, Dante*, Botticelli, the Ponte Vecchio, Fountain of Neptune, the Duomo, Raphael… and so much more. I used my own pocket money to purchase a gilded leather bookmark and snazzy baby blue ankle boots. The boots are long gone back to dust, but the bookmark is still in my keepsakes drawer, as pristine as ever. I was so proud of being able to buy beautiful things from Italy. I loved having this experience, and remember spots and images to this burgeoning old-lady-times day.
I did not know about the history of the Barrett-Brownings (or a shit ton of other stuff, which I still do not know anything much about anything much and the more I think I am about to know, the less I see that I actually know – you know?). If I had known, I would have been one even more day-dreamy love moony middle school girl meandering the streets of Florence with whispers in my (then) curly blonde head of:
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
(E.B.B. Sonnets From the Portuguese #43)
By then I had felt the full force of my first major crush. An older boy, natch, with thick wavy dark hair and happy eye smiles. He said I’d grown up a lot over the summer and looked fantastic. I think I melted to the floor because I was not aware he even knew my name. Which is a ridiculous thing for me to think since there were probably a total of 150 kids from middle through high school and we all shared the same classrooms and teachers. Then again, I probably only spoke to a handful of people because that’s how I roll(ed). I was (am) of the awkwards.
I miss the clear fond voices, which, being drawn and reconciled into the music of Heaven's undefiled, call me no longer.
(E.B.B. Sonnets From the Portuguese #33)
(Photo by Ku00fcflu00fc u00c7u0131ku0131n on Pexels.com)
(or listen here)
It is believed that sometime between 1845-1846 Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote a collection of 44 sonnets. These sonnets eventually came to be published in 1850 under the title Sonnets From the Portuguese at the encouragement of her husband, the poet playwright Robert Browning. Elizabeth is known for wanting to keep these love sonnets private, since they were written only for her husband’s eyes. Robert claimed her sonnets comparable to Shakespeare and pushed Elizabeth into publishing them. Elizabeth agreed as long as they were published with the deceptive title Sonnets From the Portuguese, which were never written by a Portuguese person or translated from Portuguese. “My little Portuguese,” is a pet name Bobby used for Ba, or Bette (pronounced bet-TEA for reasons). Or so the story of the Barrett Browning couple goes…
A Taurus born 6 March 1806, Elizabeth's world saw:
Anglo-Spanish and Napoleonic Wars
transatlantic slave trade about to be outlawed from anywhere in the British Empire
Lewis and Clark on their journey home after reaching the Pacific Ocean
Georgiana Cavendish, Duchess of Devonshire's death
the Holy Roman Empire collapse after almost a millennium
Webster publish his first dictionary
the birth of the man who was later to create the concord grape (Ephraim Wales Bull)
and George III (yes, THAT George III) as king
At age 39/40, Elizabeth's world saw:
her first meeting with Robert Browning
Edgar Allen Poe publishes The Raven
the United States annexes Texas
cholera pandemic
the Great famine in Ireland
Wagner's Tannhäuser opera debut
first Anglo-Sikh war
the saxophone is patented by Adolphe Sax
Victoria is queen
Elizabeth and Robert marry on September 12, 1846
At age 44, Elizabeth's world saw:
the Britannia Bridge open across the Menai Straights in Wales
a hippopotamus arrive to the London Zoo (not seen in England since Roman times)
Taiping Rebellion
Rudolf Clausius publishes the basic ideas of second law of thermodynamics
Great Famine in Ireland begins to subside
British Raj transfer monies to Persian Shia Islamic holy cities
historic Pacific Highway begins development in Washington State
Cesár Ritz born
William Wordsworth's death
her little boy, Pen, turn 1-year-old
Sonnets from the Portuguese published
82 years later, in 1932, Grosset & Dunlap (now part of Penguin Random House) of New York City published a Cameo Classics edition of Sonnets from the Portuguese. The Cameo Classics books, according to an unattributed faculty blog from Ohio Weslyan University, this series of books started out being sold for $.69 each (about $14 value today). The Cameo Classics edition measures 8.5×5.5inches, 110 pages with silhouette illustrations. The book is hard-bound in blue fabric with gold gilt lettering on the spine and a Guttenberg medal inset on the front cover. The black slipcase for the book has a blue printed graphic glued to the front showcasing an illustration from the book, with an alligator skin treatment to the back of the case.
Sometime between 1932 and 1936, David Stewart purchased this book and gifted it to Emily Bond Anderson with “Best Wishes for Valentine’s Day.”
On Wednesday, August 12, 1936 at 1:00am, “In the Country,” David penned a “Series to E.” titled: Meditations. This took David 5 pages to write in precise 30 paragraphed flowing handwriting, finishing with the word, “END.” David has used some red pen for emphasis on the words, “TO,” “FROM,” “WITH,” and underlining a few phrases on page 14 of the book.
85 years later, on a sweet Montessori Mafia at the park playground afternoon, I picked up the Cameo Classics 1932 edition of Sonnets from The Portuguese at our little community bookswap on the worn picnic table underneath the green topped timber-pitched shelter. I found this copy from David to Emily with David’s 5 page note tucked inside. Nobody at the park knows who David or Emily are.
What I know so far is that the book looks to have been moved about multiple times with wearing on the spine and book case as if it’s been pulled on and off of many shelves many, many times with a careless coffee/teacup stain on the case illustration. But the book inside appears to have hardly been opened or read at all. There are no creases. The gluing and spine are intact like a new book. The 5 page note from David to E. also appears to have never been opened or read.
Legality does not define morality.
A reminder that at one time
it was legal to enslave people, but it was never moral
it was legal to deny women the right to vote, but it was never moral
it was legal to rape your wife, but it was never moral
it was legal to torture people out of their love interests, but it was never moral
it was legal to rape children, but it was never moral
Denying people basic food/water/housing/clothing/comprehensive healthcare/humane dignity is amoral in any and every situation
imaho
In other news, I reinvigorated clean-out mode and dropped off more things to the peoples and the Goodwill. I know there are controversial feelings about the Goodwill, but that is where I went to bequeath the things to their new life elsewhere. As I waited my turn for drop off, I started the Instagram search scroll. Bad choices. I cried – not full-on, just the trickling kind. As I was scrolling, I thought about why I was doing that instead of just waiting the few minutes for my turn. And why is it that suddenly I was able to load things into the car and drop them off after they had been sitting around for probably a year? Then it hit me. I am back into we-might-be-murdered mode. Clean up and out so there isn’t too much of a mess for everyone else, just in case. Which is nonsense because who even knows what the situation really is? I certainly do not.
then the loneliness sinks in
then I have to get to school to wait in carline for SonHerisme. I have not told him about his father’s move. I cannot do it. Yet, I know this is a “yet.”
I gathered up my sweet tiny newborn giant baby bear teenager person. I completed the pumpkin carving and storm preparations for today. We had more vege chili and sushi (because we did the awkward combo dinner). We watched Glee. I explained “happy ending,” “celibacy,” “under-the-shirt-over-the-bra,” “premature ejaculation,” Salt ‘n Pepa’s “Push It,” and, as always, wrapping up with a generous dose of what “consent,” means… again. An evening of single mommy to teen boy conversations. I hope SonHerisme has a hefty therapy budget for his adult times and pre-apologies to his future partners for anything I may be or have been completely screwing up.
Tonight is Monopoly, pizza, movie (SonHerisme’s choice) night. One time a sweet friend asked me if I could choose any movie to watch just for myself, what that movie might be. I couldn’t answer. There are a million and none. None because I think if I had the wherewithal to choose my own thing to do for two plus hours, I am not sure that I would choose a movie. Or perhaps I would – I have no idea. How about you?
I send out comfort to all of you struggling parents and struggling humans. I also send some to non-strugglers to bank for as needed.
some of my favorite movies are Philadelphia Story, Mindwalk, His Girl Friday, Holiday Inn, Bringing Up Baby, Best in Show, Princess Bride, Much Ado About Nothing, Sense & Sensibility, and a zillion others I cannot think of at the moment. For a long time I would only watch films in other languages so that I could just enjoy the cinematography and sounds without the verbal nuances of the storytelling. That’s how I roll tootsie roll.
(Photo by Nicolette Leonie Villavicencio on Pexels.com)
(“While greasy Joan doth keel the pot” Love’s Labour’s Lost, ActV/ Scene2, Winter)
(or listen here)
The night before I was notified about MrexH’simpending move, I was sitting by the fire outside listening to the great horned owl hooting up a storm, and wake-dreaming about fires, smoke, fuel, and oxygen. I was wondering if it might be possible for me to stoke my own life spark into a flame. I still do not know and am afraid to have any hope of that since I am not sure I can survive another heartbreak chisel when my wishes billow into smoke as the flame dies again.
There comes a point in the leaves turning time, where I can stand outside of my back door in the evening, whistle across the side of the rocky woodsy hill I live on, and get an echo back. I love it so much – I think everyone loves a good echo moment like that – no? The silly whistle echo fills my heart with joy for a brief moment. That night I was able to whistle to my echo a little bit too.
If you ever have a chance to go on a mid-late October woodsy night hike in the Mid-Atlantic American States, I encourage you to do it! Owls are so magnificently super stealthy, you won’t even know they are flying overhead until you feel the top-down breeze from their gloriously expansive wings as they swoop past post inspection because while you smell tasty, you are too big for them.
It is the tiniest moments like sitting by a good fire with my little vegan marshmallows and unsweetened chocolately dipped gf cookies (s’mores shout-out y’all), hot lavender chamomile tea, listening to the last of the cricket season chirping and the hooting owl, whistling to my echo, seeing the waning moon plus sparkle stars, hearing SonHerisme giggling inside at some television nonsense, that I feel closest to okay. I begin to think that in this moment perhaps the universe is helping me hold the burdens. Just for a few stolen breaths.
I recently read the following in a Time article written by Abby Vesoulis, titled, “Why Literally Millions of Americans are Quitting Their Jobs.” Economists describing the situation of American workers as having a, “grab bag of diffused burdens,” to explain why they are quitting their jobs. As opposed to a compact bag…? What the actual f. Generationally speaking, I can say with certainty that it is not a grab bag – it is an overfilled bag of burdens forced upon us by a previous generation who refused to acknowledge their own personal responsibility to basic humanity plus their own mortality. And now we have to sit in the middle and watch our children have to resolve the burdens we have been too few and are too weary to deal with anymore because we’ve never been able to catch our footing from carrying all of what has been piled upon us. Unlike the meme of the burdens people born in 1900-1920 faced throughout their lifetimes, with information dissemination and consumption, it seems that we are globally hell-bent on self destruction.
I suppose a compact bag might be more convenient for everyone. We have tried our best to compact it all for the rest of humanity, pull up our big girl panties and bootstraps, carry on and all of that. Especially women. Especially minority women. We cannot be convenient anymore.
In return for carrying the burdens, we have a rapidly deteriorating climate, no paid family leave, ridiculous maternal mortality rates, diminishing rights to women’s healthcare/control of our bodies, highest medical bankruptcy rates in the world, fascism/nationalism/authoritarianism on the rise, fucked up arbitrary bureaucratic educational system, and basic infrastructure decline with rising global debt. Most of this stuff is just made up crap to keep lining pockets of people who are already so wealthy that none of these rules or consequences affect them or their families. Except for climate change, which of course affects every aspect of any life. In the zero sum game, the players cannot see their own complicit behaviors or certain mortality(accelerated by hubris).
A recent conversation with a woman I have known and worked with for over seven years revolved around her unwillingness to vaccinate herself or anyone in her family because in her view, the unproven vaccines are killing more people than they are saving. She asserts that if people were healthy and took better care of themselves, COVID would not be an issue. W T actualF. I just cannot engage with that other than to say to her, “it sounds like you are right to explore other options for connection for your family if COVID precaution requirements aren’t going to work for you.” Her family have had COVID twice and are, in her words, “just fine.”
If you are serving her family, playing sports with her family, going to worship with her family, unmasked at school during lunchtime or recess with her family… and, G-d forbid, you or someone in your family have cancer/heart issues/Lyme/Lupus/organ transplant recipient/MS or any other illness which either prevents you from being able to receive the vaccine or your body to build up enough COVID immunity, or you have a young child who has yet to be vaccinated – or a young child with any illness which prevents them from being vaccinated or able to build up enough COVID immunity even with the vaccine, then this family of four (among SO many others) are out there spreading this until it kills themselves or someone else. Perhaps they already have. Our current local infection rate is at 5% and rising again. Our little county hospital is bursting at the seams, last I looked, with 36 COVID patients, 12 in ICU. BTW, both this women (regardless of her ability to absorb and acknowledge information or to let go of her privileged attachment to drama) and myself know people and children with these conditions in our mutual community.
So, yes, we carry an overflowing bag of burdens in our working-aged generations in this country. We cannot carry them anymore. A diffusion is necessary to lay them all out on the table, acknowledge them, put accountability in place, THEN we can carry on. #carryonpeacewarriors
In the meantime, I will concentrate on giving myself permission for stolen moments. Where are you going for your moments? If you, like me, are without a support partner, I send you oodles of burden-easing wishes.
ps please stop equating troubles and tragedy with measures of morality. thank you.
pps also, boundary setting with accountability is critical for recovery
CRITICAL (for the peeps in the back)
ppss I recognize and acknowledge my privilege in being able to carry and articulate burdens plus dream of solutions
pppss Laughing is helpful so I look forward to when I can watch more than clips of The Cleaner bc, y’all, that guy is hilAIRious. In the meantime, it’s a brief binge of What We Do in the Shadows (if I can force myself to watch something when I cannot sleep at night which is… another topic for another day)
HERISME 