Chani Nicholas wrote this in a horoscope post she wrote about the New Moon moving into Aries today, and it couldn’t be more suited to the mom I remember:
Aries … ushers in a call to life. It rallies the spirit. It is the original spark of intuition, initiation, and inspiration. If any sign knows how to embody an almost delusional amount of confidence, it’s this one.
Miss you Mom.
The world shifted on its axis this weekend as the impact of coronavirus on the human race came into focus. I felt the zeitgeist slip a notch, in contrast to its usual slow turning – borders of all sorts closing, new leaders emerging as previous leaders are shown – in a flash -to be ineffective, new concerns moving front and center and old priorities – once held dear – suddenly not even relevant. March 2020. Something new has been born into this world.
The Second Coming by W. B. Yeats
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Last week I took my elderly father to the hospital for a medical test (a test that turned out to be completely unnecessary, but that’s another story). I waited for 90 minutes in the waiting room, during which time I counted eight other women who looked to be my age, and to whom I either spoke directly or overheard discussing, the eldercare they are presently involved with. Seven of the women were dealing with their mothers, one said she had just buried her mom. Three told me they have no children of their own.
Nothing will help you understand the terrifying immensity of our country’s health care crisis like 90 minutes with a few of the unpaid and under-appreciated army of people caring for their parents. A crisis that is just beginning.
Because the second one – the second cookie, the second cup, the second scoop – can never be as good as that first one.
I am realizing that living life to the fullest doesn’t mean that you will be able to live the perfect magazine life you were dreaming of, or make up the life you want … it just means that it is possible to live fully within the set of circumstances life throws at you.
If we really cared about what can only be called an epidemic of obesity – and the resulting health care costs – we would appoint a cabinet level seat to look holistically at the impact of:
- Easy to acquire, highly refined carbohydrates distributed as “food”
- Huge government subsidies for the corn industry
- Junk food marketed to children
- The use of corn in factory farming to lower the price of red meat
- Decreasing emphasis on cooking at home
- Decreasing emphasis on movement
- Food companies engineering addiction into taste
- Lack of nutritional training for medical professionals
Data from: https://stateofchildhoodobesity.org/data/
When I think of northern Michigan, my first thought is of the trees. The smell of pine needles on a hot still summer afternoon, the incredible riot of autumn color, skinny sentinels standing guard all winter, the moment of spring giddiness when the first buds emerge. Michigan’s trees are stressed now – since the great logging era ended 100 years ago, age, disease, and climate change have decimated millions more trees, and recent trends of not re-planting what is “harvested,” have already changed the northern Michigan my niece and nephew’s children will see. Ash, Beech, Oak, Spruce and Fir are all under threat or dying from insects, fungus, or disease. Hemlock could be next.
Michigan still has 19.3 million acres of forest – that’s more than 50% of the state’s land – so these trees are critical to our identity. The diversity and mix of trees are also critical to the wildlife we have here.
When the trees are gone, the birds and the birdsong will be gone too. The silence will be deafening.
I’ve become obsessed with a plastic bag caught in a tree near where we live. It’s a common enough sight in urban areas but I don’t think I have seen one here. Every time I drive past it, I think about how long that bag will endure.
Even if I could get my hands on it, there is no real way to get rid of that bag. It will be in a landfill, or in the lake or an ocean for enough years that it may as well be forever. My understanding from a cursory look at the research is that bags last 450 to 1,000 or more years. Burning them releases enough harmful dioxins that experts say it is better to put it into a landfill. Of course, they can be recycled. Another way of existing forever.
The people I know now live in rural America. They aren’t who you think they are.
The people I know now think it self-evident that everyone’s water should be clean. It is obvious to them that everyone who needs medical attention should have access to it. They accept that mental balance and self esteem can be hard to come by, and those who will say the truth out loud are precious. They fight against the big foreign company stealing water at a bottling plant, and against the small fracking company that dumped chemicals on a road near their well. They have old cars, or none at all. They call the bus and wait. They are often between jobs, and always needing a higher-paying one. They seek dignity as they learn to live in the world after an addiction or time in prison. If they can, they grow their own food, and eat healthier than most in America. They don’t write a check for $50 or $100 easily, if at all. They don’t shop on-line as a hobby, and their clothes might be worn. The internet coverage out here is slow or non-existent. Few have big screen televisions and they still play their music off CD’s. I haven’t seen many new iPhones out here.
The people I know now inspire me as they matter-of-factly go about daily challenges that cause me to whine about life’s unfairness. I think about the inner resilience my privilege has earned for me (or not). I compare them to the corporate ghosts I knew in my past life: executives living on chemical-cesspool golf courses, drinking their way through long trips away from home; sales people making piles of money but filled with self loathing; leaders wanting to win, more than wanting to do right. Everyone striving for bigger cars and more stuff. No one willing, or able, to name a principle they believed in, much less take a stand for it.
The people I know now read, draw, cook, sculpt, think, listen for the owls and the coyotes at night, and talk quietly among friends. They protest, march, and speak up. They take care of their land, their animals, and one another as the earth slips slowly from solstice to equinox.
I came to this rural life a cynic. The people I know now are slowly turning me optimistic.