tears and a Hymn - Reposted from 2017

I've always been a person easily moved to tears. 

I'm the girl who cried during an Eric Clapton acapella encore just from the sheer beauty of it all.

I find myself shedding more tears than usual these days - they began the evening of November 8, 2016.

Donald and Harley and I were settled down in a little beach house at Topsail Island watching the returns.

Plans were made to walk down a quiet beach that we love, step into the ocean that soothes my heart and soul and say a silent "Thank You" once we heard the news I was sure we would hear.

When Hillary Clinton would step up on a stage as the President Elect of the United States of America and say her "thank you's" to a country that was smart enough, strong enough, to turn their backs on the likes of Donald Trump.

Instead, we turned off the TV and sat in dumb silence and went to bed.

I didn't cry that night.

I woke up the next morning thinking the story would have somehow changed during the night.

Well, we know that didn't happen.

And I cried.

And I feel like I've been crying ever since.

And the reasons vary from day to day - sometimes from hour to hour.

Sometimes they come because I am so SO angry.

Or I'm unbearably sad.

Or frustrated by the ignorance.

Or, once again, I'm moved to tears by the beauty of someone's words.

Or the strength they possess in order to write them.

Words such as these, written by Sherman Alexie -

Hymn

Why do we measure people's capacity
To love by how well they love their progeny?

That kind of love is easy. Encoded.
Any lion can be devoted

To its cubs. Any insect, be it prey
Or predator, worships its own DNA.

Like the wolf, elephant, bear, and bees,
We humans are programmed to love what we conceive.

That's why it's so shocking when a neighbor
Drives his car into a pond and slaughter–

Drowns his children. And that's why we curse
The mother who leaves her kids—her hearth—

And never returns. That kind of betrayal
Rattles our souls. That shit is biblical.

So, yes, we should grieve an ocean
When we encounter a caretaker so broken.

But I'm not going to send you a card
For being a decent parent. It ain't that hard

To love somebody who resembles you.
If you want an ode then join the endless queue

Of people who are good to their next of kin—
Who somehow love people with the same chin

And skin and religion and accent and eyes.
So you love your sibling? Big fucking surprise.

But how much do you love the strange and stranger?
Hey, Caveman, do you see only danger

When you peer into the night? Are you afraid
Of the country that exists outside of your cave?

Hey, Caveman, when are you going to evolve?
Are you still baffled by the way the earth revolves

Around the sun and not the other way around?
Are you terrified by the ever-shifting ground?

Hey, Trump, I know you weren't loved enough
By your sandpaper father, who roughed and roughed

And roughed the world. I have some empathy
For the boy you were. But, damn, your incivility,

Your volcanic hostility, your lists
Of enemies, your moral apocalypse—

All of it makes you dumb and dangerous.
You are the Antichrist we need to antitrust.

Or maybe you're only a minor league
Dictator—temporary, small, and weak.

You've wounded our country. It might heal.
And yet, I think of what you've revealed

About the millions and millions of people
Who worship beneath your tarnished steeple.

Those folks admire your lack of compassion.
They think it's honest and wonderfully old-fashioned.

They call you traditional and Christian.
LOL! You've given them permission

To be callous. They have been rewarded
For being heavily armed and heavily guarded.

You've convinced them that their deadly sins
(Envy, wrath, greed) have transformed into wins.

Of course, I'm also fragile and finite and flawed.
I have yet to fully atone for the pain I've caused.

I'm an atheist who believes in grace if not in God.
I'm a humanist who thinks that we’re all not

Humane enough. I think of someone who loves me—
A friend I love back—and how he didn't believe

How much I grieved the death of Prince and his paisley.
My friend doubted that anyone could grieve so deeply

The death of any stranger, especially a star.
"It doesn't feel real," he said. If I could play guitar

And sing, I would have turned purple and roared
One hundred Prince songs—every lick and chord—

But I think my friend would have still doubted me.
And now, in the context of this poem, I can see

That my friend’s love was the kind that only burns
In expectation of a fire in return.

He’s no longer my friend. I mourn that loss.
But, in the Trump aftermath, I've measured the costs

And benefits of loving those who don't love
Strangers. After all, I'm often the odd one—

The strangest stranger—in any field or room.
"He was weird" will be carved into my tomb.

But it’s wrong to measure my family and friends
By where their love for me begins or ends.

It’s too easy to keep a domestic score.
This world demands more love than that. More.

So let me ask demanding questions: Will you be
Eyes for the blind? Will you become the feet

For the wounded? Will you protect the poor?
Will you welcome the lost to your shore?

Will you battle the blood-thieves
And rescue the powerless from their teeth?

Who will you be? Who will I become
As we gather in this terrible kingdom?

My friends, I'm not quite sure what I should do.
I'm as angry and afraid and disillusioned as you.

But I do know this: I will resist hate. I will resist.
I will stand and sing my love. I will use my fist

To drum and drum my love. I will write and read poems
That offer the warmth and shelter of any good home.

I will sing for people who might not sing for me.
I will sing for people who are not my family.

I will sing honor songs for the unfamilar and new.
I will visit a different church and pray in a different pew.

I will silently sit and carefully listen to new stories
About other people’s tragedies and glories.

I will not assume my pain and joy are better.
I will not claim my people invented gravity or weather.

And, oh, I know I will still feel my rage and rage and rage
But I won’t act like I’m the only person onstage.

I am one more citizen marching against hatred.
Alone, we are defenseless. Collected, we are sacred.

We will march by the millions. We will tremble and grieve.
We will praise and weep and laugh. We will believe.

We will be courageous with our love. We will risk danger
As we sing and sing and sing to welcome strangers.

©2017, Sherman Alexie

https://earlybirdbooks.com/hymn-a-new-poem-by-sherman-alexie

Halloween Over the Years

I LOVE Halloween

Always have.

Donald is fun to play Halloween with.

Annabelle, not so much.

Harley was a pretty good sport about it, but reluctantly so.

Halloween Reads

I have a few favorite books that also happen to be terrific books for Halloween reading.

Scary books!

But the fun, old fashioned kind of scary, not the yucky blood & gore stuff that's passing itself off as scary these days.

I just LOVE these books!

and the "Georgetown Trio" by the incomparable Barbara Michaels:

In the spirit of Halloween, what are your favorite scary books?

More Recommended Reading for Halloween

 

Do you love witches?

Do you wish you were a witch?

ARE you a witch?

Whichever . . .

You might love this book as much as I do.  (it is very timely 😊 ).

Description from Amazon:

A witty, spectacular, and timely tale of modern-day witches waging war on the patriarchy, from fan favorite Kirsten Miller, the author of The Change and Lula Dean’s Little Library of Banned Books.

There are places on earth where nature’s powers gather. Girls raised there are bequeathed strange gifts. A few have powers so dark that they fear to use them. Such a place is Wild Hill, on the tip of Long Island. For centuries, the ghost of a witch murdered by colonists claimed the beautiful and fertile Wild Hill…until a young Scottish woman with strange gifts arrived. Sadie Duncan was allowed to stay.

Five generations of Sadie’s descendants called Wild Hill home, each generation more powerful than the last. Then, in the aftermath of a terrible tragedy, the last of the Duncans, once prophesized to be the most powerful of their kind, abandoned their ancestral home.

One of them, Brigid Laguerre moved to California and turned her dark gift into fame and fortune. Her sister, Phoebe, settled on a ranch in Texas, where women visit in secret for her tonics and cures. Phoebe’s daughter, Sybil, has become a famous chef. Seemingly powerless, Sibyl has never been told of the Duncan bloodline.

Now Brigid, Phoebe, and Sibyl have been brought to Wild Hill to discover their family legacy. The Old One, furious at the path mankind has taken, has chosen three powerful witches to turn the tide. The Duncans will fulfill their destinies—but only if they can set aside their grievances and come together as a family.

Our new real

 And it never seems to be for "our" convenience.

How's your day going so far?

Here's mine.

A bill due tomorrow requested payment via QR Code.

No.

OUR money.

 I think we should be able to choose how we make payments.

This is happening more and more and it's annoying.

THIS company wants you to use . . .

This OTHER company wants you to use . . .

So.

I called and requested they do it my way.

You would have thought I asked them to come paint our house.

In this instance, I needed to use our banking institution debit card.

Which was DECLINED.

Because I didn't get permission to spend this much money in one transaction.

So.

I made the phone call, jumped through security hoops and received the needed permission.

Called back to make the payment and now I'm gonna have a gummie.

And for the record - Fuck QR codes and Data Centers

Voted and Justly Rewarded

It is a gorgeous day in our  mountains

We spent part of the day enjoying the beauty of the day and running errands

First thing on the list -

Voting!!

And then rewarded ourselves with a very late lunch/very early dinner at one of our favorite restaurants - Mike's Inland Seafood.

BEST hushpuppies ever (for real)

Onion rings that bring The Varsity to mind (one of the very few places in Atlanta I miss)

Food that you know you're going to enjoy

In a bright, sparkly clean spot

Cooked and served by a group of people who are always fun while doing a great job

We love going to Mike's

After having a meal at a well known chain spot a few days ago, we were practically giddy about the whole experience.

WHAT a difference!!!

(another story for another day)

And now I think I'll spend a little time looking a paint samples for the downstairs

Have you voted?!

Don't forget to reward yourself after!

Yay!

 All the fans and monster dehumidifiers are gone!

I'd post pics, but there's nothing left down there to take pictures of.

So.

Here's some pretty pictures from our yard instead.

Don't you love October?!

Today

Latest in the saga . . .

The walls are still holding an unacceptable level of moisture, hence the fans now added to the monster dehumidifier.

Estimated time of removal?

A minimum of three days.

Check back . . .

Partita by Barbara Kingsolver

Barbara Kingsolver is, in my opinion, an exceptionally brilliant writer.  "Her work often focuses on topics such as social justice, biodiversity, and the interaction between humans and their communities and environments."

From Amazon, "With razor-sharp acuity and deep affection, Kingsolver’s unforgettable new novel reflects on class barriers, the risks of ambition, and the timeless, life-changing power of art."

This is a passage that resonates with me -

"I will say this for country people, or anyway the ones I know: If you call for a party, you’ll have it. On a week’s notice or two days, I don’t care what it is, a family supper or a cornhole game in the backyard. Give people a reason to get together, and they’ll be there with a covered dish. Mickie remarks on this because she knows people in more places, friends she’s kept up with from her UT days. She says they’re forever whining on Facebook how it takes four months for three people to agree on one day to have lunch together. When she speaks of it, I remember that too, from college. That the only answer to How are you? was Too busy! Now I live among people who might have been up before dawn with a sick calf, or have hay to mow before rain gets here; they might work mornings at the dollar store and nights cleaning floors at the hospital and have to pick up their kids from school in between. Or take somebody to a court date. They might like you a lot or very little. No matter. If you run into each other pushing your groceries to your cars in the Kroger parking lot, they’ll stop and talk to you. Busy is not a boastful thing. It might even be taken for a weakness. It’s not our way to make a show of telling friends we have something better to do. We are each other’s better thing."

And . . . yesterday, today, tomorrow

 

The deconstruction crew arrived yesterday, were here again today, and will be back tomorrow.

Leaving us with this

Hopefully, all the deconstruction a/k/a wrecking will be completed tomorrow.

Then we will move on to the next steps of reconstruction.

For those of you who have asked, and those who are wondering, all the crews have communicated well, worked hard and efficiently, been professional and personable, and (so far) everything has gone smoothly.  Very smoothly!

The invoices submitted (so far) have been 100% covered by our insurance.

We have a ways to go, so continue sending all those positive thoughts.  They've been working great so far!  We appreciate them.

And so do our resident house spirits.  ❤