Vacation Sam

Back in the summer of 2001 (before the world changed), Pete and I took our kids on a Southwest road trip. If you have never visited the Southwest . . . um, seriously? Move it to #1 on your bucket list. Now.

Our trip was amazing and wonderful, and happening a year before Pete died, memorable. Our trip coincided with a return to Sussex County of a couple I knew marginally. Beth and I shared employment in the same school district and had some friends/relatives in common. Beth and her husband and their two young boys were living with Beth's parents until they could find and buy their own home. It was a perfect deal: Beth and her family got a place to live for a month in the summer, and I got caretakers to look after the house and pool.

Beth and Doug quickly named the house "Vacation Sam's," and their boys were thrilled to live in this unique log home filled with trains and baseballs and books, not to mention an Irish Setter named Killian. The name so inspired me, I began writing books about "Vacation Sam" and his dog Killian. No, I never sought publication. I just had fun writing and illustrating the books.

Well, the real "Vacation Sam" is now living in the Southwest, and I spent the last week visiting him, which explains why you have not seen a blog post by me for awhile. Let me just say that there was beer involved. There are a lot of breweries in Fort Collins.

Was I on vacation? It was Thanksgiving, and all three of my kids with their significant others were there. The weather was relatively mild, and there were several activities (aside from a wonderful Thanksgiving, hosted by Sam's girlfriend's parents) like concerts, movies, dining out, hiking, and just generally enjoying one another's company. Sounds like a vacation, right?

It was. But it came with a price. I had to confront the one thing that was missing from this ideal family vacation. The dad. Pete has been gone almost sixteen years, and I have navigated my widowhood relatively well. (And, yes, there is a significant other in my life now, and I love him and the relationship we have.) But here were Pete's adult children: smart, compassionate, focused, hopeful, and on the verge of having all that we hold dear: a home, a career, a family. And why wasn't Pete here to revel in that?

So I had a minor meltdown in a restaurant midway through our time together. Of course, my kids were concerned and comforting. But their partners were equally so. I felt so loved, so honored, so blessed . . . and all of that in contrast to the initial pangs of loneliness and loss and anger at the Universe that Pete was taken from us.

Perhaps the meltdown was cleansing. For all these years, I have controlled my meltdowns. I have not cried much, just wanting to appear "strong" for my children. There was something relieving about letting my emotions out. Kind of like a vacation from the day-to-day.

Vacation Sam. And Jenna. And Katrina. Pete's kids. And mine. We have many more roads to travel. And road trips are my favorite kind of vacation.

Vacation Sam and his mom

Blue Sky with Egrets

The morning was glorious. The sun, having just risen, was coloring the sky with deepening azure hues as I rounded a bend in the path. The lake in front of me was still when I saw them. Dozens of snow-white egrets adorning the trees, stalking the marshy edges, and then, one-by-one, taking to the sky. While there has rarely been a morning when I have not seen an egret at this park, I cannot recall seeing so many at once. I stood there in silence, my eyes skyward, until each and every one of them had flown beyond my sight. It was a long time before the smile left my face and I continued my walk.

Having been in such a funk for so long over political issues, I recognized this gift from the Universe as exactly what I needed. My gratitude at being in this place at this time made me absolutely buoyant. My walk became a run, my eyes rarely leaving the skies in hopes of seeing more of these elegant birds. Rounding the same bend in my path where I'd first viewed the egrets, I scanned the trees and lake for more. But there, just beneath the surface of the water, I saw him. The alligator.

He is not new to this park, but my sightings of him are few and far between. At first, it is even hard to be sure it is an alligator and not a bunched-up collection of leathery water-lily leaves. But the knobby nose (water) bump of body (water) and elongated tail convinced me that this was no water-lily. And although alligators can swim at about 20 miles per hour, this guy was taking his time. Maybe he's old. (Alligators can live to be 50 years old!) I watched him for awhile, became somewhat bored, and resumed my run.

The rest of my time at the park was spent in heady internal discourse about egrets and alligators. Both are wondrous examples of life-forms on this planet. Did you know that alligator teeth are replaced as they wear down? A gator can go through 3000 teeth in its lifetime! Did you know that egrets were endangered in the late nineteenth century due to the fact that they were hunted for the sole purpose of using their plumage to adorn ladies' hats? Did you know that egret offspring commit siblicide? The larger chicks kill their smaller siblings in the nest! But these facts aside, which creature would you want to encounter on a walk in the park?

The sky is blue, the egret is white. It cruises effortlessly at about 25 miles an hour. Its wingspan is about five feet while its long legs lengthen the bird to about three feet.

The depths of water are murky, the alligator is lumpy. Its three visible humps float along unremarkably, despite the ten feet of body propelling it forward.

It would be way too easy to veer off into a contemplation of good and evil and the tendency we have to perceive light and darkness as manifest metaphors. But I do find it disturbing that this tendency is so ingrained in us that we fail to consider the opposite. Pity the poor alligator. He, like the rest of us, is just trying to survive. Why do we fail to find the beauty in his existence? But, hey, he'd make a nice handbag, yes?

Singer/songwriter Michael Peter Smith has a beautiful song, "We Become Birds," in which he posits that we all become birds when we die. It's a lovely thought. Think of the choices: cardinal, heron, hawk, house wren, crane, scarlet tanager . . . What bird do you want to be?

But . . . what if we become alligators?

U-turn

In the spring and summer, I reside in a Northeastern state that bears no love for U-turns. I think "No U-Turn" is the 11th Commandment, and one will burn in hell if one defies the many signs that forbid you from making one. You could end up paying $15 to cross the George Washington Bridge against your will because you had no chance to turn around. But being the Girl Scout that I still am, I obey the signs.

So imagine my surprise and delight when Florida became my winter home, and I discovered that U-turns were not only legal, they were prevalent! You can U-turn almost everywhere! Missed your destination? No problem! Make a U-turn here! Then make another one! Oh, life became so much easier!

No U-turns were necessary when I made my way to my favorite park at sunrise this morning. I like to get there early when it's just me and the birds. The park is full of herons and egrets and hawks and parakeets. Although I haven't seen my beloved sandhill cranes yet, today I did spot the anhinga that dries out his wings on a branch of a tree that I pass.

When I got back home, the first thing I saw on social media was a post of my daughter's. Jenna is a birder, among other things, and she is quite passionate about her love for avian critters. She posted a link to an April 13 article in the Washington Post: "The Trump administration has officially clipped the wings of the Migratory Bird Treaty Act." So if a U-turn can be defined as "a change of plan, especially a reversal of political policy," you could say that this environmentally-deaf administration has made a U-turn on protecting birds. Are you surprised?

The Migratory Bird Treaty Act, designed to protect birds from extinction, is celebrating its 100th birthday this year! And how wonderful to celebrate its century-old existence by killing it! Under scandal-ridden Secretary of the Interior Ryan Zinke, the MBTA will no longer protect birds from things like oil spills. According to Zinke's administration, if your activity isn't intended to kill birds, it's okay. Remember the Exxon Valdez (1989)? Remember Deepwater Horizon (2010)? Under Zinke's new definition, those oil companies would bear no responsibility or pay no penalty for the deaths of vast numbers of migratory birds. Score one for Big Oil.

By the time you read this, Zinke could be counted among the not-so-dearly departed members of the Trump cabinet. Rumor has it that he is in talks with Fox News (surprise?) as well as energy corporations as he hedges his bets in regard to Trump's efforts to drain his own friggin' swamp. If so, he leaves behind a legacy of scandal, irresponsibility, waste of taxpayer money, and damage to the environment. Good job, Ryan.

"The MBTA sparked 100 years of conservation leadership in this country. It was one of the first conservation laws as a nation we passed and implemented. And now after 100 years, to be walking backwards, to start a century this way, does not align with the vast majority of Americans who care and value birds and wildlife."
      ~ Sarah Greenberger, Vice President for the Audubon Society

Not all U-turns are good. Some send us backwards. But a U-turn on this nightmare administration would allow us to move forward again. On the wings of eagles.

T.A.D.

That's "Trump Anxiety Disorder," and I am not the only one suffering from it. It's really a thing. And it's getting worse. I try to treat it with music, poetry, chocolate, and alcohol. None of that is working. Maybe if I write about it, I can purge some of it?

Perhaps #1 on my list of favorite songs is Jackson Browne's "The Pretender." And of all the amazing lyrics of that song, there is this one: "I want to be a happy idiot . . . " Seriously, I envy those people who go about their lives, paying no attention to the politics of the day. And maybe there was a time when I was busy birthing babies and paid little attention myself. Somewhere between Watergate and Trumpism, there was a seemingly safe time to avoid the political rancor and watch soap operas instead. Now, I know it wasn't really "safe." There were those endless wars, a failing economy, environmental threats, terrorism, climate change, hanging chads, and politicians' dalliances that were akin to the juiciest soap operas. But somehow, as much as I shook my head in consternation over these external events, I was able to live my busy life without losing my shit over any of it.

Those days are gone. T.A.D. has impacted every aspect of my life. My dreams, although not political, are disturbing. I don't sleep well. I wake up feeling defeated. I struggle all my waking hours to NOT turn on the TV. Distraction is my best friend, but too often, distraction becomes distracted and abandons me. In other words, I am in a major funk.

If you are not suffering from T.A.D., you may wonder why so many of us are afflicted. I'd say it's mostly fear-based. We are afraid of what this unhinged narcissist might do (as if caging babies at the border weren't bad enough). We are afraid that our system of checks and balances may be undermined by a complicit Republican party. We are afraid that Mueller's investigation might be sabotaged. We are afraid that our beloved country is becoming an oligarchy. We are afraid of more wars. And more mass shootings. We are afraid of the enabling of white nationalism, anti-semitism, and voter suppression. We are afraid of the overturn of Roe v. Wade, the abandonment of the separation of church and state, a continued dumbing down of public education, and significant damage to our environment.

We are afraid that our First Amendment Rights are being systematically dismantled. Freedom of the Press has never been more important . . . or more threatened.

And we are afraid that truth is no longer a requirement in government.

These fears are real. And never in my lifetime have I been this afraid.

Yes, turning the House blue again was encouraging. Did it humble the administration in charge? Not at all. The divisiveness continues, fueled by a scared and arrogant president who continues his lies, his abuse of the Constitution, and his egomaniac fantasy of being "the only one" who can fix things, democracy be damned.

Okay, do I feel better now? No. Where's my chocolate?

Lib'ralicks

No, we didn't get all we wanted. But we got something, something big. We took the House back! While I mourn the missed opportunity to add Abrams and O'Rourke and Gillum to our leadership, I don't think we've seen the last of them.

I'm allowing myself to be propelled by our big victory, an event to lift the spirits, lose the depression, and lighten up. And in that spirit, I offer you my Morning After Limericks:

If I lived in Georgia, I'd attempt
To buy me a bushel of hemp
To Stone Mountain I'd get
Where I'd try to forget
That I'd be living under Governor Kemp

Oh, Florida, why are you so willin'
To bow down to the Big Orange Villain?
You blew it big time
I'd call it a crime
That you failed to elect Andrew Gillum

Hey, Texas, I know Cruz was your thing
But Beto showed you how he could sing
You had your big chance
To lead in the dance
But you could not figure out Texas Swing!

Woo-hoo! The House has turned Blue!
Now there's so much more we can do
To plug up the drip
Who's been sinking our ship
Hey, Bob Mueller, we're counting on you!

I feel better now. I hope you do, too!

Election Introspection

Damn! Tonight is like Christmas Eve and the night before a colonoscopy combined.
     ~ Viral meme, November 5, 2018

I don't know about you, but I'm a mess. I can't wait for Wednesday, but I'm afraid of Wednesday. I want to geek out on politics today, but I want to avoid any and all media. I want to get the hangover over before I even open the bottle of wine. I want to go back to 2016, and I want to jump ahead to 2020. Help!

We've been talking about this midterm election for two years. And now it seems that those two years flew by, even while they took forever. Is there anything more to do today other than VOTE? Should I pray? Use mental telepathy? Cross my fingers? Make a deal with the devil? Make a deal with the angels? No, I don't do any of those things. And other than my vote, I have no control over the results of this election.

But I know this: this election is about more than winning the House and/or the Senate. This election is about who we are as Americans. It's about what kind of country we want our children and grandchildren to inherit. It's about morals and ethics and compassion and empathy and hope and truth. And I will never understand how anyone can champion these things and still support this administration, led by a narcissistic, dishonest, self-serving, and stupid man.

Want to know how I really feel?

I'm scared; I'm hopeful. I'm angry; I'm calm. I'm tired; I'm woke. I'm a liberal; I'm a liberal.

I'm a proud liberal.