SPITTING INTO THE WIND?

 

July 20

"You cannot walk out your grief, ...or absolve yourself of your survival, or bring anyone back. You are left with the desire only that things not be as they are."

— Colin Thubron, To A Mountain in Tibet

Sigh. No matter my intentions to write, there are always interruptions. Right now, Mouche, the foster kitten I  bottle fed is trying to chew on my iPad cord. Cute, of course, but annoying. He is soon to get neutered and put up for adoption. However, he is ridiculously bonded to me. I hope he can bond with someone else. It will be hard to let him go, but it must be so.

Baby Mouche and Janet

I find myself ... well, not hyper-emotional, but very easily started to tears. It happens most often with music. I don't know that this is anything to be judged, but it did not happen so frequently before. 

Here are a couple that have moved me to spontaneous tears:

Hoyt Axton - Evangelina, Bread and Roses, UC Berkeley, 1977 (gets really good at about 1:20 or so. Wish I knew who was in his back-up band. Also, I was there.)

Joni Mitchell, A Bird That Sings, Chalk Mark in the Rain

Although I think I had picked up this album, I had not given it a good listen. This one showed up on random shuffle; it was instant love.

I stopped at Trader Joe's after Saturday Morning Yoga, which wasn't so much yoga, but stretching and kibitzing. I had just spent an hour after class chatting with SV. For the moment, I felt reasonably well or the denial fog had me covered. After shopping, as I was putting my groceries in the car, I saw a man with his two sons on a median, asking for help. I am always wary of these things, but something about them really moved me. I don't think you bring two little boys, under 6, to sit with you in a parking lot unless you really need to. I nearly sobbed. Knowing that I can have intense reactions to things that I later regret, I refrained from giving him the $50 I had just gotten. I walked over to him with a measly $10. He didn't speak English very well, but was very sweet and appreciative. I then went to buy a thoughtless, expensive café latte. I saw one large snickerdoodle and I bought it for the boys. I also grabbed a bottle of mineral water from my trunk and took them over. Even the boys thanked me.

I suppose I am anticipating being in need of a good deal of support with the erosion of our social safety net ... or is that wanton heartless destruction? ... The thought that this man could not keep his family safe AND that they could easily be picked up and deported knifed me in the heart. Maybe I am a sucker, but at least I tried to manifest some good in the world.

I still don't watch much news, nor read in depth. I had to take a step back to preserve what functionality I actually still have. Again, I try to keep myself from blood-pressure-rising-outrage at SCOTUS decisions, the unilateral evil and cowardice of what is called Congress, and even a thought of the beyond idiotic OrangeShitGibbon. 

The racism of this dictatorship is what strikes me the most often. The other horrors I rather expected. But the vehemence of prejudice, without any pretense to be otherwise, stops me in my tracks and lays me low. 

I am "amused" at the lawsuits coming from the rational people. The rule of law and the Constitution are clearly over. No one in our purported government is going to slow down the destruction. Law suits are useless because SCOTUS will rule for evil every time. But maybe spitting in to the wind is a good thing.

That reminded me of one of my favorite dBs' songs, Spitting in the Wind. Not all of the lyrics track, but suing the dictatorship feels like this to me. 

I can understand why you'd want a better man
But why you wanna make him outta me?
Well, I just muddle along, knowing my right from wrong
Why won't you let me be?

We split apart one cold gray rainy afternoon
And I cried aloud
Now we walk along, apart but strong
Strong enough so that we don't have to stand back in the crowd

Sometimes I feel
I feel like I'm spitting into the wind
Oh I'm spitting into the wind
But I'm learning
Yes I'm learning

My hair stands on end whenever friends mention your name
In pleasant conversation
Well, I don't like to be reminded of what used to be
I don't like the association

Sometimes I feel
I feel like I'm spitting into the wind
Oh I'm spitting into the wind
But I'm learning
Yes I'm learning

— Peter Holsapple

You might want to check out Leah Litman. Here's her recent appearance on The Daily Show. She and two others have a podcast about the Supreme Court, Strict Scrunity.

LOOK WHAT THE CAT DRAGGED IN

 July 13th

I have tried to write this year. I sat down several times after the installment (coronation??) in January, but could neither find coherent thoughts or even words to express the internal and external devastation, the reeling loss of balance, sanity, and hope. I had nothing at all to offer in terms of pleasure, joy, hope, or even interest. Other than dragging myself to teach yoga, I cannot remember anything going on, save for fear and a depression so deep I doubt that there is a word for it in any language ... maybe Eastern Europe coined one when Hitler came into power.

Now is not much better. I find myself unfocused, not just out of my usual struggles with ADHD, and concomitant disorganization, but purposely turning off higher functions out of self-protection. A spiritual and intellectual keeping my head down. Sometimes, it feels heady like those moments before passing out where things spiral and fade out of view. I prolong that mind-evacuation in self-protection.

I am not sticking my head in the sand. I stay aware of the hailstorm of devolution and calamity, I just can't inhale it. I scan The NYT, The New Yorker, The Guardian, etc., but the lead bullets of detail I dodge. I already feel so heavy, I need to keep my ability to do some movement.

On a good day my depression slows me down. The despair has a rather dissociating effect. I can see something need to be attended to, but I have to get through the veil of "why bother" to be productive. I often need to pay a motivational game such as "Do ten dishes and then eat a popsicle." Sometimes the right music, an absorbing audiobook or podcast, or an in-depth telephone chat might mask enough of despair for me to be able to function to do multi-task into productivity. Sometimes I just watch clips of how to restore old wedding dresses or house renovations. 

All that said, I am finding it harder to talk, to think ... even to read. Writing helps me focus, connect, and keep my thinking skills somewhere in working order, hence I plan to make more effort to keep this blog alive.

The Kermit Place Readers (Brooklyn book group of many many years now) is reading Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South, which I read many years ago. Such is the beauty of re-reading very good books that one finds more and different nuances and meanings in them. As always, there are books piled high around my bed. I have read or listened to some good things in the past six months, some of them just "lit lite." Among the noteworthy:

A Well-Trained Wife: My Escape from Christian Patriarchy - Tia Levings

Just interesting to see again what we are up against. Not great but good.

A Calling for Charlie Barnes - Joshua Ferris

A good look at male ambition, re-invention, and family dynamics

Still Born - Guadalupe Nettei

About two friends and their choices about having children, and the consequences. This one was longlisted for The Booker Prize if you care about such things.

The Dream Hotel - Laila Lalami

Stuck in bureaucratic limbo, and authoritarian prison (is there another kind?) Also a nominee for several awards this year.

The Frozen River - Ariel Lawson

Would not have read this if not for my friend Kaye who passed it along. A surprisingly compelling story/mystery that takes place in 17th Century New England. I ate it right up and have been recommending ever since. And everyone has loved it. 

Currently watching Ten Pour Cent (Call My Agent) before it leaves Netflix. Great for French practice.

Musically, I am in my usual "all over the place" mode. My friend Martha and I were talking about music we listened to as teenagers. Martha mentioned John Mayall's Blues from Laurel Canyon. I have listened to Mayall's Turning Point for decades but had not looked elsewhere much. I picked up a copy of Blues from Laurel Canyon and listened to it four times straight through. Mick Taylor is the guitarist so how could you go wrong? This one also fed into my '60s British blues fascination. 

I've also been spending time with Andrew Hickey's The History of Rock and Roll in 500 Songs podcast. This is like heroin and whipped cream for me. Nice place to get lost in  and/or comforted by.

And so off to dishes and popsicles and feeding the hungry cats.

CALM BONES OF THE BEE

4 January 2025

It must be observed that notwithstanding the comfort and glory of cats sleeping on your bed while you read or work, they deter bed-making and generally being productive. Case in point.

Vera is my oldest cat and the clear alpha of the smattering of cats. I am already worried about losing her, although her last vet visit last year said she is fine.

7 December

Having merely perused the NYT front page this morning has sent me into deep depression and alarm. Trump is acting like he is a child playing War, either a board game or with his friends on the street. Since we were post WWII kids, that game was likely passed down from actual WWII kids. I don't know if neighborhood kids play this on the streets anymore, but then again I don't know if kids play on the streets anymore at all. We only have one family that has smaller children, as opposed to my growing up days when pretty much everyone had children. 

8 December

Yesterday did not go well. Some of the things were the little annoyances on the order of not finding parking easily, but, you know those things add up. I had a conversation with a dear friend that devastated me emotionally. I felt as if I had been punched in the solar plexus and the wind knocked out of me, We have a mutual friend, to whom she had introduced me. They have been estranged for many months, but I thought there had been a warming up. 

Having seen Friend 2 recently, I began updating Friend 1, F1 became very angry and vehement, and saying that she had decided to permanently excommunicate F2. The level of fury, rejection, and judgment was so intense, I was very nearly speechless. I had to get my mom to her dominoes game, so we hung up for the moment, intending to connect after my mom was settled. The intensity of disdain felt like hatred to me. She could have simply said that she didn't want me to speak to her about F2 again. 

Admittedly, I have been really frustrated about F2 and have considered dropping her as a friend. But given her horrible childhood, I do cut her slack when I think her versions of how things happen are probably very much skewed. F2 has childhood PTSD, truly. Her parents

We will sail on the calm bones of the bee.