“Based on the evidence, why was I given this day?”- John O’Donohue
That is from John O’Donohue’s book of blessings, To Bless the Space Between Us. I think about it every morning. I wonder why I am here. What can I do? He spends a lot of time in the book discussing liminal spaces, those thresholds between new and old, here and gone, one day or one moment even, to the next. The nice thing is that the rhythm of his words, the blessings, is slower than the whiplash of the news. The thresholds of the daily horror show feel a lot more like walking a tight rope across the Grand Canyon ( I have bad balance and am scared of heights) than a doorway from a cozy cabin out onto a misty shore. Am I only the one losing my mind? I’m barely hanging onto my heart.
What to do? This is the question.
I send emails and make calls to the Alaska legislative delegation. I’m on a library board and this week am filling out our annual grant application for 7,000 dollars to the Institute of Museum and Library Sciences. That’s the federal agency Trump closed. We have to try, have to hope. With a budget of about 20,000 dollars the Tenakee Springs library needs those funds to stay open. I still can’t believe libraries and museums are no longer something we care for and support. Maybe that decision will be reversed too. There’s more real wealth in libraries and museums than in the stock market.
Here’s the thing O’Donohue comes back to over and over : that “quiet light that shines in every heart” and illuminates our way, helps us to see beauty, and most importantly– to love life.
Well, maybe that light doesn’t shine in the gilt-crusted heart of the current occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, but damned if Jesus doesn’t say we have to love and forgive him anyway. And you wonder why I’m reciting the Stations of the Cross as we head into Holy Week in these un-holy times?
So here is some light and beauty and what I love right now:
The rain, spring buds, wet dogs on the wool rug. The swept porch and neatly stacked firewood. I did that yesterday. Walking over the cliffs and trails of a lesser traveled route with my friend Beth because her puppy is in heat, and she wants to keep her safe. The science here is that going through heat makes dogs healthier in the long run. The hope is that she won’t get pregnant before her spay appointment in May. It’s a real pain. Still, it gave us a nice change of scenery. Last night Chip and I and a lot of people sang sea shanties in the Chilkat Center with Canadian musician Sean Dagher, yelling back our parts in Leave Her Johnny, Rio Grande, Come Roll Me Over, Stormalong. It was so much fun to shout and sing. There were kids dressed as pirates. Near us, two more reserved elder ladies on a date without their husbands also chimed in, much to their delight, and mine. I know one of them doesn’t vote the way I do. But we sing together. It’s a thread of hope that I’ll cling to.
On Sunday, I returned from visiting Grandma Joanne in Florida ( she’s almost 94 and thriving.) We saw a giant confederate flag flying on the side of a major interstate that made me want Chip to drive faster, if he could have, but the speed limit was 70 and we were going 80, and trucks were passing us.
We drove a lot slower over the hill to a memorial potluck for a musician, artist (he made our weather vane ) and plumber Gene Kennedy. His wife thought it would be small, and relatively private. She didn’t put a sign on the post office. Well, about 200 people showed up. It really was a celebration of life, friendship, the end of winter, community, deep roots and real appreciation for the neighbors we have all more or less grown up with. When did we all go gray? Over and over again we heard how Gene would come in the middle night and fix a pipe, and jokes about water leaks being a lot better than sewer ones. His weekly music parties, the puppet shows, and his generosity.
Tomorrow there’s a 70-something birthday party for another old friend. We will ride a school bus to the 33-Mile Road House for burgers– on her! Throw your own party while you can.
The other thing I want to tell you, is that a recent study concluded that hospital patients whose room had a view of trees got better quicker than those who had no window or whose view was a brick wall. So I will give you a view of spring from here. I will post a picture, find a suitable verse, and share a little news, or at least keep you company (and visa -versa), most days. Let’s figure out, together, why we are given these days.
