Sure, we all think that if we post the perfect post maybe all eyes will turn to us and after a full night’s sleep we will wake to thousands, no hundreds of thousands, of followers, but seriously, ever since Cinderella, who wouldn’t? Not exactly raised on Disney, but pretty close, I thought Instagram a dream platform for every selfie I might snap. Not that I wanted to be something that you couldn’t; I just thought that if I could, than anyone might. As in, if I imagined it, then you would too. That we might all be a bit more than we thought possible. A bit more flashy, more colorful, more ourselves. You know? Like what you dream about as you lay around in the tub on a Saturday night just might make a difference. That’s what I attempted on an afternoon. #instagrammodel Continue reading
You say all your holiday lights and decorations are repacked and tucked away in the attic, and you add, you have returned to life as normal, but I’m still lingering over the gifts that keep me feeling like life is a wonderful celebration and not just a twisted complicated set of lies (or half truths or mostly falsehoods or what ever you call the untruths we have become accustomed to) told by Trump. This week, while the border wall lies mount higher than the proposed wall itself, I especially need to count my gifts, stay focused on what I can control, look up and say thank you to a pretty sunset spied on an afternoon run, and trust, yes trust that the goodness of the good will prevail over those aging white suits frantic to return to a world where their privilege was a propped up principal granted regardless of their bad bad behavior, their criminal behavior, that passed as acceptable for centuries. Ignore them and their willingness to surrender truth I tell myself, and trust that the newbies in Congress will put aside this old order and “impeach the motherfucker.”
Hopefully, everyone is reducing, reusing, and recycling. I’m on board, but not just with my cardboard. I’m all about keeping my clothing, season after season, opting not to buy into each new trend that surfaces. When I look back through my photo stream, I’ve noticed I’m often wearing the same dress, from Venice, Italy, to Venice, California, for over a decade. So I ask you, why hop on the shopping train, why not instead, keep your garments wearing longer? This year, as floral once again flooded the racks, I included an old floral favorite, worn first on a Kentucky waterfront a decade ago, then on a spring night two years ago, and resurfaced this year during my trip to France. Packable, light, and totally worth rewearing. Before you purchase a new wardrobe this Fall, consider how you might reduce your footprint, by reusing, at the very least, much of what you already own, or shopping at vintage or recycle shops. Let’s think through this global issue of waste.
Driving into New York via tunnel we ascended from the darkness to spy the old and new spires welded into something spectacular as the holiday heat launched us into hot hot hotness and we thought oh my how can we meander from west to east and north to south to survey all that makes up this vibrant sea of sweeping rainbow faces along the continuum that makes the 7.6 + billion on our planet all coursing from there to here? We were halted, remembering we are all on this same revolving Earth. As we hold children in cages. As we demand a wall. As we tear down freedom for those with none. As we argue between generations. As we forget love matters. Let’s hold that.
One can’t force seasons to materialize, but in the meantime, one can lean on poetry, and dare to don pink hair, if only to bring Spring closer in spirit if not in reality. Imagine, with a feisty me, and the genius of Miss Emily Dickinson, that perhaps, this March will dissolve quickly into April. Soon.
A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period –
When March is scarcely here
After a blue sky day, when the sun drops behind the ridge and our mini-fire-pit reaches a heated pitch, we glimpse heaven on earth as snowy yard goes from blue to pink to purple. We stand witness and declare, weekends are the best! Afternoons outdoors, chatting about nothing, sitting silent for a few fleeting moments. Living beyond the work week is all we’re really after, right? Fire and sky, feet on the earth, with time on our side, now that’s a Saturday worth remembering.
As much as mistakes are heralded and lauded in each commencement speech from Harvard to Stanford, they seldom feel that way while you are free-falling out of control. Like when you lose your home. Or job. Or mother. Or marriage. Or health. The sensation of spinning is never a welcome sensation. Instead, we flail about trying to latch on to anything to prevent the inevitable broken bones we receive on impact; desperate to cling to every hope, false or otherwise, that eases us down.
But the truth is, as you lay for some time in the dust, you realize, you must rise again. You simply must. And eventually we do. We don our finest and face the disaster head on. Probably not at first, but if we survive the catastrophe, or for some, multiple catastrophes, we simply must stand. Personally, I am buoyed by Vince Lambardi’s words, “It does not matter how many times you get knocked down, but how many times you get up.” I guess you could say this has been my motto, and one that keeps me looking up and out, smiling, as I get my feet under me once again.