My Baby's Got Me Locked Up in Change

     Those of you who may have read a few of these posts recognize that I try to change them every 7 to 10 days.  But the post before this on voting was gathering more views than I expected, day after day, which gave me hope that people were indeed coming together, realizing that the election may have been the chance to unite, to affect change, and to take on the growing technocrats and elite billionaires and politicians who feel untouchable, at least by "we the people."  So I delayed a bit in taking it down.  But this also gave me a breather, a chance to stockpile a few additional posts so that I could spend more time with my wife and my animals; to sit with my probably-bored dog who can't use his back legs and yet who feels more for me, realizing that he has to be lifted and guided outside to do his business, and frustrated that he now can't fully control his bladder; to take care of our hospice cat who nose has now been more than half-eaten away by his cancer and yet, despite a wheeze now and then, still loves sitting in my lap and sleeping nose-to-nose with my wife (this cat was given 3 months to live so we took him in to give him a comfortable short life...that was over 6 years ago); to watch a movie or chat over dinner with my wife who continues to pour her heart and pocketbook out to feral cat colonies, trapping and fixing and medically caring for as many as she can (already numbering dozens and dozens) before returning home physically and emotionally drained.  Life is life and I see such caring all around me, from those workers arriving at the grocery store at 6AM to those folk waiting tables into the wee hours.  The farmers, the fishermen, the pickers, the mowers.  The ones making life continue as it has done for ages.  We the people.  Each of us doing our part as best we can, and for the most part, still rushing over when someone trips om a sidewalk, or struggles to lift a heavy box.  We the people.      

     As to that title of this post, maybe that pun was a bit too old school, but this is also the season for another change, the fall colors dropping away almost as quickly as they came, as if telling us (warning us?) that change is a coming, and quickly.  Not sure if it's the changes El Niño will bring, or the shuffling of world governments; but something definitely feels out there on the near horizon.  And so what better time than now to start to hunker down and prepare, and to reflect and give thanks for whatever your life is.  Here's how Sean Dietrich (Sean of the South) put down his memories of doing that as a child in the church fellowship halls down south : They are deacons, farmers, millworkers, lawyers, steelworkers, elders, insurance salesmen, janitors, doctors, cooks, bartenders, and carpenters.  Strong men, rural men, dignified men who aren't afraid to lick their fingers when they eat chicken.  In these halls, children chase one another through the maze of folding chairs.  Ladies catch up on gossip, whispering.  Preachers engage in their only permissible vice, refined sugar.  And within this room, you are brought back to the middle again.  You start remembering good things instead of bad.  You glance at that stain on the ceiling, and you recall your Catholic friend whose mother made chicken that tasted like goat pellets.  You close your eyes and see the image of your mother holding a covered dish.  You feel the memory of your father, the most confusing man you never knew, who ruined your life but also made your life what it is.  A tapestry of things both reprehensible and exquisite.  A man who once sat beside you with a necktie flung over his shoulder.  Who loved you... And you are forever haunted by fellowship halls, even when you aren't in them, evidence that life is not against you.  A reminder that eventually, no matter what it seems like, the tables will be set up, folding chairs will be unfolded, tablecloths will be unfurled, cakes will arrive by the thousands.  You will eat the food of your people.  The homemade biscuits, the tea with too much sugar, and the fried chicken.  And it will hit you all at once.  No matter how bad it looks, that blind man was telling the truth.  Everything will be alright. 

     For me it's not the hallways or rooms of churches but the skies and trees and bugs and flies, all of them seeming to diminish in color and number, but then surprising me with an unexpected vitality or finding that they're listening to a stronger force than I can feel or see or sense.  Call it instinct, or nature, or a calling, but almost in unison birds that migrate have gone, flowers have given way to seeds, bugs and bees have burrowed into somewhere, and squirrels have stored away way more nuts than they should have (judging by the number of cans of peanuts we seem to be buying).  The once-cloudless evening skies of summer are now full of color, even if only for a quick 10-minute show.  Pause to finish that news program and they're gone, as if reminding you that you're watching the wrong thing.  Darkness on the edge of town.  It is all a feeling of comfort, as if echoing those words that everything will be all right (and if you're wondering --all right or alright-- here's what the Cambridge online dictionary had to say).

     So comfort.  I've been using this extra bit of time to comfort myself with good reads and good movies, good stories and good people.  Walking my dog-in-wheels each day has made me realize how many people notice, and talk, and pet, and jabber.  Even construction workers or gardeners who pause what they're doing to tip their safety helmet or make their way over.  The neighbors who call my name, and more often, my dog's name, as if we were all long-time residents of some distant island.  The reinforcing emotions that remind us that life can not only be not that bad, but that life can be good.  That despite the news and the politics, there are a lot of people trying to make the world a better place, even if it's only one tiny bit at a time.  Here's author Dietrich again, from his memoir, Will the Circle Be Unbroken: At my first gig, these fellas lied to the manager of a beer joint and said I was eighteen years old.  The manager looked at my smooth face and smirked.  I'm certain he knew better, but he never said a thing about it.  He let me in, and it was the greatest night of my life.  On that stage, I was somebody, not a dropout who repulsed the opposite gender.  The day of my actual eighteenth birthday, we were playing in that same beer joint, strumming the same music for the same roomful of people.  And I saw that manager again.  He approached me and said, "So today's your eighteenth birthday, huh?"  "Yessir," I said.  He lowered his eyes and said, "I thought you were eighteen a few yeas ago."  Dewey interceded.  He threw his arm around the manager and said, "You know how it is when you're young -- time slows down."   The manager smiled.  He removed a fifty-dollar bill, tucked it into my shirt pocket, and winked.  "Happy eighteenth birthday, Sean."  It is for this reason that establishments like this one are forever special to me.  People in these worldly joints treated me like family, and in many ways there were the only family I ever knew.  They didn't care what my station in life was.  In these walls you could be a tile-layer, a sheetrock man, a thoracic surgeon, or a finance attorney.  Everyone was the same.

     My wife and I try to convey that to people we meet, to encourage them to just get out there, to travel, even if it's just to your local beer joint for a rare night out.  Around the world, you'll run into people who almost become old friends, who don't care who you are or your "station" in life, only that you're here now, talking and laughing and having a good time; and that you have to pee now and then, and go home for the animals, and that you may or may not ever see them again, but let's stay in touch.  Doesn't matter.  You've both chipped away at fake Berlin walls that today's media keep trying to tell you are real; that told you "do not dare cross" a certain line or viewpoint, but it was all false, that there are people out there going through exactly what you are going through.  Those stations in life may be real but not that real.  For a moment or two, you've found a commonality, the same one you found walking the dog, or talking to the neighbor, or chatting with the cashier at the store, or with that person looking at the same section of books at the library.  People are people, some good, some bad, many in-between.  But the actual world is far different once you step outside, and often rather different than the one you may have been expecting.

     Here's what the editor of Scientific American wrote nearly a year ago: In December I was in Stockholm, Sweden, for the Nobel Prize award ceremony, a celebration of science and discovery that feels like a national holiday in that country.  The week leading up to the awards is stacked with lectures, concerts, exhibitions and discussions, and Stockholm is decorated with light displays and video shows.  The whole thing feels like the Oscars.  People line up on the street to catch a glimpse of celebrities as they leave the Stockholm Concert Hall. National public television dedicates more than five hours to a live broadcast of the ceremony and subsequent banquet.  Huge numbers of Swedes tune in not just for the glamour but to hear interviews with researchers, learn about medical breakthroughs, and explore advances in fields such as materials science and quantum physics.  It’s inspiring.  It gives me hope that a general populace can still get excited about science and support it.  That’s a stark contrast to what we’ve seen in the U.S., where science has endured an annus horribilis: research funding slashed, government support dwindling, and growing segments of the population embracing misinformation and rejecting scientific consensus...The Nobel lights in the dark Scandinavian winter tell us we cannot be passive spectators.  We must be active contributors in defending the freedom of research.  If annual science awards can hold the attention of a European nation, then surely we can work to rekindle that same spirit of possibility here at home.   Add to his comments those of Prince William, now entering his 6th year of awarding the Earthshot Prize, another source of global optimism that upscales innovative solutions to help our planet 

                      

     And I get that it's not easy in today's world, the contrast of people watching some board a plane in first class while they head to the cramped seats in back, the people working behind a fast food counter yet driving by a packed parking lot at the expensive restaurant, the people injured or somehow disabled seeing crowded classes at the rec center.  Life is a disparity, and in many ways.  And yet sometimes it is adversity that forces us out of our slump, forces us to think differently or creatively, forces us to decide whether we want to change or stay the course.  At a friend's dinner recently, she asked each of her guests what a defining or life-altering moment was in their lives.  The answers were varied, some from childhood, some from much later: a job that forced one to talk and stopped her stuttering, a father who gave a no-nonsense talk to move out and find their own place by the next day, a counselor who changed the entire direction of a person's goals.  The commonality seemed to be that it took someone or something to shake each person loose from a comfort, to snap them out of complacency and make them see that the world --good or bad-- awaited, but that they had to go figure it our for themselves.  

     It reminded me of a book I had read some 25 years ago on "how everyday Americans are changing the world."  Author Michael L. Glauser opened with this story: Henri Landwirth was taken to a concentration camp when he was thirteen years old.  On numerous occasions he was supposed to die, but he didn't.  His parents were not so fortunate.  His father was killed when the war began, his mother, several months before it ended.  After the war, Henri came to America with $20 in his pocket.  He got a job in the hotel industry and worked his way up from night clerk to hotel owner.  One day a "wish foundation" asked Henri if he would donate a room to the family of a child who was dying of cancer.  Henri was delighted to help.  The day the family was to arrive, Henri went to the hotel to meet the young girl.  He was shocked to learn that Amy had died before making the trip -- it had taken too long to arrange all the free services.  That day, Henri made a promise he would keep   -- no more children would die in America before their last wish was fulfilled.  With business savvy and remarkable passion, Henri rallied together a host of big-hearted corporations to provide funding, services, and volunteers for his new organization.  What emerged was Give Kids the World, an organization which (so far) "has welcomed more than 205,000 families from all 50 states and 77 countries."  Then there was Nancy Brinker, whose sister died at age 33 of (at the time) a little-studied disease, breast cancer.  With just $200 and a list of friends, she started a fund-raiser by hosting an outdoor event.  It got rained out.  With tears only increasing her determination, she persisted at what her sister said: When I get well, Nancy, will you help me do something about this," a cry for support groups and faster treatment programs.  Her sister was Susan G. Komen, and the foundation has now raised over $1 billion for research and financially-assisted over 220,000 women.  

     The names and stories continue, but his point was this, even back then: Our grand design in freedom is being tested again today, ever so subtly.  Our nation is much larger, society is more complex, and we are being bombarded with more information than ever before in our history.  And yet in the midst of this information explosion, many of us are lonely and isolated...Unfortunately, along with the growth and increasing complexity of society, we've delegated many of our problems to the government [but] ultimately, the solution to our problems is the same as it has always been: "We the People."  We need to resuscitate the "township" spirit observed by Tocqueville.*  We need to revive our tradition of a single society working for the good of all.  We need to reclaim for ourselves the role in public live we have forfeited to the government through our own inaction... America is a grand experiment in freedom.  No loftier document has ever been written about a people's desire for self-government than the Declaration of Independence.  It boldly proclaims that all people have certain unalienable rights that cannot be taken from them, and that government exists to protect these rights...As the Declaration was circulated, its majestic language sent the hearts of the American people soaring.  Conditions could not have been better for the experiment in self-government to take hold: the colonists were aflame with passion, committed to one another, and facing a common enemy.  Its not too surprising that this little band of freedom lovers was able to take on the British Empire and win...I hope to illuminate needs, stir hearts, and stimulate action.  If we never see the suffering, we'll never feel the compassion: if we never feel the compassion, we'll never join hands to solve our problems.

     Yes, there's the contrast of people watching some board a plane in first class while they head to the cramped seats in back, the people working behind a fast food counter yet driving by the packed parking lot at the expensive restaurant, the people injured or somehow disabled seeing the crowded workout classes at the rec center.  Life is a disparity, and yet I think that sometimes adversity forces us out of our slump, forces us to think differently or creatively, forces us to decide whether we want to change or stay the course.  As said in the Bible: We are hard-pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. (2 Corintians 4: 8-9)  And not only the Bible, but many others.  We must be willing to let go of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us (Joseph Campbell);  There is no education like adversity (Benjamin Disraeli); The human capacity for burden is like bamboo -- far more flexible than you'd ever believe at first glance (author Jodi Picoult); I am out with lanterns, looking for myself (Emily Dickinson); There is not one big cosmic meaning for all; there is only the meaning we each give to our own life (Anais Nin); Always remember that you are absolutely unique.  Just like everyone else (Margaret Mead); When you feel the need to apologize or explain who you are, it means the voice in your head is telling you the wrong story.  Wipe the slate clean.  And rewrite it (television producer Shanda Rhimes).  And this final piece of advice: You may not realize it when it happens, but a kick in the teeth may be the best thing in the world for you.  That came from Walt Disney...

     At a friend's dinner recently, she asked each of her guests what their defining, or life-altering, moment was in their lives.  The answers were varied, some from childhood, some from much later: a job that forced one to talk and stopped her stuttering, a father who gave a no-nonsense talk to find their own place by the next day, a counselor who changed the entire direction of a person's goals.  The commonality seemed to be that it took someone or something to shake each person loose from a comfort, to snap them out of complacency and make them see that the world --good or bad-- awaited, but that they had to go figure it our for themselves.  This election seemed to be that push, that time of decision of how much more do "we the people" endure.  Gold-plating statues (another no-bid contract) while cutting health care?   Allowing more drilling while oil companies just reported that their profits had nearly tripled (tripled!).  Political parties spending close to $190 million on AI-generated ads (80% of that spent by the GOP, wrote USA Today) during these midterms (and that was not counting what was spent on "regular" advertising...as of the day before the midterm elections, total spending had reached $11 billion)

    This changing of the seasons, or the guards, may be a defining moment for our country, a push out of its own complacency and a wake-up call at how quickly a polished image of ourselves can tarnish.  It may be a time to call old friends --whatever their views-- and just talk with them.  Conversation is strong, and healing, whether it's because you're struggling or just needing to catch up.  As a piece in AARP wrote: If someone in your life might be of help, the first step is to let go of any shame or taboo you feel...  It's that play on words from the song by Woody Guthrie: So long, it's been good to know you so long... So to you readers, thank you for being patient, thank you for reading, thank you for continuing to make it through these difficult times.  And thank you for voting, and for getting out there, and for continuing to see that compassion and caring still exist, and for somehow knowing that everything will be all right...

One of my favorite pictures of the changing seasons, from a hike taken a few years ago...

*Here he was referring to Alexis de Tocqueville, a French philosopher who wrote about what he observed in this new America in 1831: When an American needs the assistance of his fellows, it is very rare for that to be refused, and I have often seen it given spontaneously and eagerly.  When there is an accident on the public road, people hurry from all sides to help the victim.  When some unexpected disaster strikes a family, a thousand strangers willingly open their purses, and small but very numerous gifts relieve their distress.  It often happens in the civilized countries of the world that a man in misfortune is almost as isolated in the crowd as a savage in woods.  This is hardly ever seen in the United States.