Today’s headlines are doin nothin but causin fear and chaos over disaster and death. A hell-broth of fire storms from coast to coast and if you are like me, you are feeling staggering grief, little beyond grief.
“Trump Again Refuses to Commit to Accepting Election Results” (New York Times).
“Trump Renews Mail Vote Attacks, Again Questions Reliability of Ballots” (Wall Street Journal).
“Florida Supreme Court rules against Parkland families” (FOX News).
“Breonna Taylor shooting: A 190-plus-day timeline shows how her death changed Louisville” (Courier Journal).
“Missouri’s governor has refused to mandate masks. Now he’s tested positive for the coronavirus” (Washington Post).
“California Fire Map & Tracker” (San Fransisco Chronicle).
Thankfully there is an outdoors, away from most of this craziness, away to blue sky and open space. And here one can retreat to a place which acts as a reminder of the before days.
If you know a teacher or have a teacher friend or relative, or your kids are headed back to school, please, please, be extra kind to those in front of the class, virtual or otherwise. Teachers are venturing into unchartered territory, still, even after those long months last Spring and this summer and even now. This year teachers are remote or hybrid or in-person or some combination of all three, and they are training for these scenarios on the go, repairing the plane while they’re flying so to speak. They need your kind words. They need your continuing support. And everyone involved in this educational system, teachers and parents and students, need to foster resilience, in spades. We all have to be ready for everything and anything that might be coming our way. As we know it will crash on us. Wondering how might we survive?
For several years we have lived on this same street, the one I’ve driven mostly at the speed limit. Except for the occasional weekend run up and back down the adjacent dirt road, during this shelter in place time, I’ve been walking this street and all about in my neighborhood, a lot. My new favorite jaunt is a 3.5 mile loop that for a section of that distance I pass by open water. It’s a shallow, in spots reedy and swampy pond, but right now, the sight of the wind rippling across it is heaven. In March, when we first began the stay at home order, the pond was broadly covered by ice but under a cloudy or blue sky this expanse was everything wonderful to see even while frozen and stagnant and filled me with enough joy to navigate another challenging day.