Do as I Say, Not as I Do

     I was cleaning out some old emails this morning (something I really should do more frequently) when I came across one that still bugs me. It was from a woman I've known for going on fifteen years. She's several years older than I am, a former teacher, and a tireless volunteer. A paragon of virtue. 

     Up until about three months ago, we were members of the same education-slash-service organization.  At the meeting that day, the first one Jane had attended since the beginning of the Covid pandemic in 2020, a few of the ladies were discussing the latest variant. I should probably note that, in all likelihood, not all the information they were exchanging was factual. At some point, Jane told them they were spreading untruths, it was upsetting to her, and she wanted them to stop. They did. However, apparently, not everyone at that table heard her and they carried on. The first I realized anything was amiss was when Jane got out of her chair and started toward where I was presiding at the head of the next table. With bulging eyes and a wild look on her face, she laid a hand on my shoulder and said "I'm sorry, I can't take any more of this. I'm done."

     She followed that up with the email I mentioned, in which she said, in part: "...they started talking what I call "trash politics", and "I firmly believe everyone has a right to their own views, but there is a time and place for voicing them..."

     It made me laugh and raised my hackles, all at the same time. How can one espouse freedom of speech and, in the same breath, censor the places where it can be used? She continued on, telling me she was "saddened that the group has changed its outlook from one of love and civility to angry negativity.  I miss being part of a group that shares common goals and respects each others worth and values no matter if we have differences of opinions." 

     She was completely unaware of the contradiction. After a couple days had passed, and I could read her epistle with neither laughter or tears, I replied that, although I wasn't happy with her decision to leave the club, I supported her right to do so, and wished her the very best life has to offer, going forward.  I even told her if she ever changed her mind, her return to the club would be met with open arms. That is true, by the way.

    But people like that exhaust me and, frankly, I hope she doesn't change her mind.
 

Winter Solstice and a Geo-locator

 
  

  It's quiet here, just now, the morning of our first full day of heading back to the sun. Solstice arrived last night at 10:27 while I lay sleeping. Each new day will bring us a few more seconds of precious sunlight, that promise of Spring on her way.  All the years of my growing up, I remember my dad looking at the calendar and saying, "Today, we head back to the sun." It seemed a silly thing to me at the time, although I smiled at his enthusiasm, but I finally realized, in my adulthood, why it was so important. It was the promise. The anticipation. The concrete realization that Winter, no matter  how bleak it was at the moment, was already doomed. It would be replaced in weeks with softer, warmer air, the greening of the earth, new buds and leaves on the trees. Life would begin anew.

    The quiet feels good. Even Inky is still, napping in his hammock after an arduous morning of keeping me on track in the kitchen while I prepare breakfast (his and mine) and reminding me exactly where  the geographical center of the floor is. This ever-so-important task is accomplished by lying on the spot and, because I have a bad habit of wanting to use that spot at least a dozen times in the course of the morning, it requires a great deal of courage on his part. After all, if a fat woman trips over you and falls on you, well you might say you're risking your life by performing this valuable service!

     With my geo-locator asleep, the outdoors brightening ahead of the sunrise, warm air spilling from the floor register and wrapping around my bare ankles, and a fresh cup of dark, strong, Colombian coffee at hand, it's a lovely, peaceful morning to look forward - to Christmas and the new year, and the certainty of Spring.

The Game's Afoot - Holmes for the Holidays

    

 

 

     Today will be a treat. I purchased my tickets for this months ago and have been looking forward to it ever since.  I enjoy theater and, especially, murderously funny theater, so this should be right up my alley!  According to one blurb:

"The danger and hilarity are non-stop in this glittering whodunit set during the Christmas holidays. Its December 1936 and Broadway star William Gillette, admired the world over for his leading role in the play Sherlock Holmes, has invited his fellow cast members to his Connecticut castle for a weekend of revelry. But when one of the guests is stabbed to death, the festivities in this isolated house of tricks and mirrors quickly turn dangerous. Then its up to Gillette himself, as he assumes the persona of his beloved Holmes, to track down the killer before the next victim appears."

     I'm taking with me a friend who also loves theater but has even less opportunity to go than I do.  It will make the fun even more enjoyable to share it with someone who "gets" it.

     The venue is a small, but lovely, place called Lincoln Park Performing Arts Center, just a few miles from where I live.  I try to attend at least one show a year and, this year, I'll have been twice! The amateur casts are incredibly talented and never fail to pull you straight into the story and keep you there for the duration.  They go all out on their costumes and sets, so you never feel the need to "imagine" the scene. 

     In light of the horror of the past few days, this will be a welcome and needed respite, and I will not allow myself to feel guilty for enjoying these couple of hours.              

Life is Savage

 

 

     I have been blessed in my life, and I'm aware of that.  In fact, I am reminded almost on  a daily basis of how lucky I've been.  How little real loss I have known. That ended yesterday.

 

     My family dynamics, like many these days, are convoluted, to say the least. The short version is this: my granddaughter, my Darling Girl has two older brothers. Technically, they are half brothers but I don't do fractions so, brothers. And therefore, grandsons in my heart.  Yesterday, the oldest boy was killed in a car accident on his way to work. No other vehicles were involved. We may never, probably will never, know what happened, other than his car rolled over and slammed into a tree. Did he fall asleep? Was he maybe texting while driving? Knowing him, how responsible he was, the latter seems unlikely.

 

     The only thing we do know is that a beautiful young boy  lost his life and the world is poorer today because of it. I never saw him angry. I never saw or heard him do anything mean or small. He was a gentle dreamer. He was the perfect big brother to his younger siblings. Loving, kind, protective. 

 

     I've heard people comment how the holiday season, from Thanksgiving through New Years, holds no meaning for them because someone they loved passed away during that time. I understood that in my head but, today, I feel it in my heart.  He was "only" my non-biological grandson and I'm shattered. I cannot, can not, imagine the grief and devastation being suffered by his real family. His grandparents who raised him, the other grandparents who were ever present in his life, his younger brother and sisters who loved him with every fiber of their young hearts. 

 

     I'm not a close part of that family.  I'm not related by blood; I'm the grandma grandma, not the parent grandma. The ranks have closed, as they should, while they process their grief and struggle to come to terms with this awful new reality. I've let them know I am here. I am available if they need me. Knowing that is all I can do doesn't make me feel any less useless and lost.