Try Something Different

Warning: you won’t like this one.

Yesterday was the primary election in Pennsylvania. I am sure I am not the only person who feels overwhelmed and exhausted by the relentless political ads, talking head commentary, social media spats, and the rest of the incessant “My idea is better than your idea” bellowing.

I am not naïve; I understand that people have different ideas about how our country should be run, who is fit to manage our concerns, and what is appropriate to govern. I am losing patience, though, with the team mentality that seems to have gripped a fair portion of the citizenry.

We seem intent on acting out some ridiculous little theater versions of the Hatfields and the McCoys – or the Eagles and the Giants, or the Yangs and the Comms, or Gryffindor and Slytherin – to the point of getting almost nothing of value accomplished. Carrying a banner without understanding the goal has become the norm.

If Scrabble can release a cooperative, not competitive, version of itself, I think we should try to be less combative and more collaborative. Most of us, I believe, want close to the same things: safe water, food, and streets; freedom to speak our minds; respectful and fair treatment; and peace.

We are all prisoners of our own echo chambers and it’s doing none of us any good. I’m not suggesting that we surrender our ethics; I am asking that we try to understand exactly where and why we disagree. That would be one step toward closing the widening chasm between folks who don’t even know each other. Seems to be a reasonable exercise. Be nice.

No Pain . . .

I see a whole lot of “Hang in there,” poems, stories, memes, and signs in my social media feeds. The story, in a nutshell, is “Life is hard. Pain is inevitable. We should be grateful for that, though, because it teaches us enjoy good things.”

Here’s a thought. Let’s not just learn from heartbreaks, setbacks, and disasters. Let’s learn the lessons that a comfortable place, kind and supportive people, and some clear sailing can teach us. Stay alert for the goodness. There are some wonderful easy As in life, too.

I Could Do That!

As a frequent visitor to art and fine craft shows, I have heard that statement uttered more times than I care to recall. It’s meant as an insult to someone’s work. It lands on my ears as a sad comment by an uninformed and jealous person. I would love to tell every one of these smug and snooty (insecure and defensive) folks that it would be terrific if they WOULD make (whatever) that (is) – and not for the reasons I used to wish it.

Truth is, it’s good for people to try their hand at a craft or art medium. It can open up their eyes to a new appreciation of artists and artisans, of course, but it can also open up their world to the possibilities presented by learning to enjoy the process of creativity.

I am a serial medium-lover. I have tried loads of craft and art projects. My first foray was vitreous enamel, for which I have a full studio and have had some outside validation for my abilities.

Not enough for Miss Muse, I have yards and yards of quilting fabric; bins full of felting fiber; a collection of crewel wool, embroidery floss, beads; and, my current flame, sheets of stained glass.

Yes, I display the fruits of my infidelity on my walls, my tables, and in my yard. No it’s not as good as works of the generous instructor-artisans who have helped me learn. Yes, in fact, it has cost me multiples of the amount for which I might have purchased things from those instructor-artisans . . .

What the hell?!

What did I get by following the “I could do that” idea seriously?

I get:

1. The pleasure of hanging out with great artisans who also teach.
2. An increased enjoyment of the works I have purchased because I understand the techniques and skills used to create them.
3. The freedom to feel creative, even when I fail to execute my vision.
4. A feeling of peace in knowing that there is always success in the effort.

Oh, occasionally, I also get something I can be proud to say, “I could do that and I DID!”

Wet Felted Vessel.

Quilted Wall Hanging for a Tuxedo Cat Lover.

Mermaid for me.

Months Have Moods

Let’s forget about the zodiac and talk about the weather. I think the months of the year have some seriously emotional traits. Here’s what I mean:

January is ascetic – demanding that all joy be avoided at all costs.

February is impossible – fewest days and longest time.

March is the dangerous ex – strong-willed, loud, and just too cold to ever be the kind for a comfortable relationship.

(We’ll get to you in a minute, April.)

May is the cute one – not serious at all, sweet, and frilly.

June is THE ONE – perfect, but it can’t last.

July is the hot one – a real firecracker that leaves you sweaty and exhausted.

August is oppressive – holds you down, sucks all the air out of the room.

September is the preppie – perfect air, perfect sky, perfect light and totally self-absorbed.

October is just plain scary.

November is a little plump –always ready to offer comfort food to offset the outward chill.*

December is drunk.

*There is a once-in-four-year chance that November will just lose it and be unbearably ugly.

And now to April. Oh, April, you are the whiny one. You are tearful, bedraggled, unlovable, and sad. You live between the powerful March and the pretty May and you just can’t win. It’s tough to be April.

But, April, oh, April, you must remember that you are the reason we escaped that toxic relationship that was March and you are the one who will show May how truly beautiful she is. You are the catalyst, the conduit, the cause for our giddy anticipation. Sure, we complain about your gray complexion and your weepiness, but we really do appreciate you.

Now, if you could just stop crying . . .  there are birds bathing in my driveway.

Back to School

It’s been a long time since kindergarten, but I remember one of the basic lessons was “Use your words.” When did so many of us forget that?

Oh, it’s undeniable that there are people saying lots of words all the time about everything, whether or not they are knowledgeable or if it’s any of their business or if it’s true. That’s not what the phrase “Use your words” really means, though, now is it?!

Use your words.

I think it means words are the tools by which we (should) share our thoughts, needs, fears, and joys.

Using our words also requires us to listen to words spoken to us. We need to hear and comprehend what others are saying.

Which leads me to the thorny problem of disagreement.

Right now, I feel like I am living on the line of scrimmage in a championship football game where the refs have all been locked out of the stadium, the teams have thrown off their helmets, and the fans are throwing beer cans at the players. All that matters is whether your team is “winning,” even though no one can really tell what constitutes a score.

Disagreement is a natural part of life when there are two or more people within communication distance, so I would like us to try harder to use our words to try to understand each other. Even if we can never come to agreement on an issue, to acknowledge the humanity of others instead of pigeonholing them into broad categories that remove the need for us to actually talk with each other before we decide whether they might have something good to offer us is the adult thing to do.

Do we really need to repeat kindergarten? Well, I could use a nap.

My boyfriend, Mr. Hershey, never barked a cross word. I miss him.

She’s Like the Wind

It’s a beautifully sunny afternoon. I am watching the bare branches on my trees flail helplessly against March’s furious wind.

I remember – suddenly and vividly, as if it were last week – playing outside in the chill sting of such a -March day. I was about ten years old. Mom had carefully tied a scarf on my head to tame my hair and keep my ears from freezing. I can see the deep turquoise of the border of that scarf, the creamy pale gold center of it. I can feel the soft knot under my chin. I can feel the coldness, in spite of the sun, on my cheeks.

I miss my mom.

I miss her every day, but today, listening to the wind, it is visceral. She was THE person who, every day of my childhood, and, to tell the truth, up until I was well into my adulthood, protected me as fiercely as the wind is howling today.

What a gift she was, my wild and fierce March mother.

I miss you, Mom.

1948

2018

Hitting the Snooze Button

Spring is not here, yet, in my little central Pennsylvania hamlet, but it sure feels like it today. The sun’s shining and it’s seventy degrees and my yard is taunting me with its dead perennial stalks, trees and shrubs begging to be pruned, and what seems to be every leaf from every tree in the neighborhood blanketing my flower beds.

Because I promised the little creatures who call my yard home and surely are not ready to awaken fully, I did not pick up those nasty leaves. I did not cut down my ornamental grasses. I could not, however, resist the siren song of my Felco No. 2s, so I headed for my rugosa rose bush. I got down on my knees and began the delicate operation of not getting shredded by my thug princess rugosa’s serious thorns, only to stop almost as soon as I’d started.

Shhhh.

No housekeeping service today, please.

Sleepy ladybug in the leaves at the base of the rosebush.

Okay, Mother Nature, I will wait a few more weeks, until after the vernal equinox and until warmer temperatures are more reliable. I’ll find other things to occupy my hands and my brain until after check-out time in my back yard

. . .

and one of those things is standing on my head with my D90 and my macro lens to take photos of one of my early blooming favorites. Thank goodness for flowers in March!

I’m not patient, but I WILL wait. I am sure my non-people tenants will appreciate it. They’re worth it.

WokeDisneyWorld

This is the last night of my sister’s and my few days in Disney World, so I thought I’d give you her take on the situation in the land of misconceptions.

It’s important to know that I am a (very center) Democrat and my sister is a (very center) Repubican, so while we agree on many things, we do hear our news spun sligtly differently. She asked me to share her observations here because she thinks it’s important to folks who might travel in some of the same information circles as she, so here goes:

We spent four days in three parks and stayed at a Disney property and we saw:

1. People of all sizes, shapes, and colors enjoying the place and working for the place.
2. People who spoke dozens of languages unfamiliar to us but the smiles and laughter required no translation.
3. People with tattoos, piercings, mouse ears (a LOT of mouse ears), headscarves, halter tops, jorts, t-shirts, and every other body adornment and mode of dress imaginable and everyone was enjoying themselves.

We DID NOT see:

1. Drag queens trying to abduct children.
2. Employees policing the (gendered) restrooms.
3. Trans people offering kids info on reassignment surgery.
4. Evangelicals offering to pray away the gay.

What we deduced from our time:

DisneyWorld is woke in the best meaning of the word. There were mountains of differences amongst the thousands of people, but every one of us was here to feel the wonder that the folks at WDW work so hard to provide. We were able to relax, not in spite of our differences, but because we stopped “feeling” the differences as we were all sharing the awe-inspiring experience that Disney offers.

Phyll and I talked about how important it is for us to carry that feeling of shared experience into everyday life, to remember that other people are not “other.” Actively thinking about our shared needs, hopes, laughs, and fears might start to heal some of the ginned up divisions between us and our neighbors. I think it’s worth a try.

Happy Wednesday from Phyllis and me – and Tigger.

Februar-whee!

Kids, I am in vacation mode. Tomorrow, it’s sister road trip time.

My sweet husband is sending us for some grand silliness at Walt Disney World for my seventieth birthday (January) and Christmas gift, . We’ll mosey south to visit a dear friend in North Carolina, then cruise on to Savannah, arriving at WDW in a few days. I’m ready!

Here’s a photo of us from the trip my mom treated us to five years ago. We’re just a little older but absolutely no more mature. I’m lucky to have a sister who’s an interesting, smart woman who (still) loves me.

My gas tank’s full, the suitcase is packed, and there are snacks in the car. Look out, Orlando!

New (Not the) News

Disclaimer:  I have stayed away from politics, but, after hearing about former Representative George Santos’s lawsuit against late night host Jimmy Kimmel, ABC, and parent Disney for “deceiving” him . . .

Welcome to the inaugural (and possibly final) issue of PAULITICO, the e-pub that dares to dive into the rabbit-hole of all things U.S. government-adjacent.

(OVER THE) TOP NEWS

By Ima Nutt, Staff Reporter

After George Santos’s brave salvo, the lawsuit against Jimmy Kimmel, ABC, and Disney, accusing Kimmel and company with some shady shenanigans regarding Santos’s professional acting work with Cameo, we’ve unearthed several other issues that might lead to more suits filed by Mr. Santos, among them are:

Santos v Belichick – Personal Injury stemming from improperly deflated imaginary volleyball  when Bill Belichick (as we all remember) was head coach at Baruch College.

Santos v Rue Paul – Discrimination from that time when he wasn’t allowed to appear on Drag Race just because he has no talent.

Santos v Luxury Retailers – Fraudulent Misrepresentation because his Prada was really Pravda, Hermes was Herpes, and Gucci was Cuchi (and Charo’s now suing him!)

Santos v Congress – Unequal Treatment Under the Law because “They kicked me out for lying to them but  who hasn’t lied to congress?”

We’re not sure when or if any of these potential lawsuits will be filed, but we’ll keep you updated as the year progresses. Heaven knows there’s nothing else happening on the political stage worth “reporting.”

This image of the reclusive Santos was shot with an extreme telephoto lens at great risk to the photographer. PAULITICO takes pride in our ability to professionally invade everyone’s privacy.