It's only early November, I remind myself. Not winter, not February, not Iceland, I'm not homeless, the election will be over soon, and the only stuck thing about me is my mind. Get a grip. Time for a retreat.
On This Day
Early November, pre-election time. Some years I'm poised at the edge, days fraught with worry or full of hope. Other years I pass the time with lighthearted endeavors. I don't actually remember - it's what I posted on Facebook.
Making a Life
I could have been a teen mom. Or one who used a coat hanger or Lysol or worse to abort a baby I didn't want. I could be dead. But between Planned Parenthood and Roe v Wade, I had agency over my life, and a choice. I could create the life I wanted.
What Am I Rooting For?
I am too quick to anger, too prone to tears, trigger happy and ready to hate, scorn, and yes, wish ill to those who ascribe to viewpoints I see as harmful to people, to our nation, and the world at large.
The protests in Portland have ebbed and flowed for the past seven weeks, and are now back to peak crowds as baton wielding Federal officers sent by Trump have stepped into the fight, supposedly to protect the U.S. courthouse. I can't think about much else these days. I go to sleep and wake up with it. It has detonated the air with the deafening flashbangs, thick clouds of tear gas, and pepper bullets. Worst of all, protesters are getting dragged into unmarked vehicles - minivans and SUVs for god's sake.
Train Tracks to Nowhere
An old railroad is given new life, and a reminder to mix life's sweetness with the challenges.
I Am Not Jewish, I Am Jewish
It was hard to know what disaster to pay attention to yesterday. And yet we keep on with our small lives, surviving, loving, laughing, singing. I'm privileged to be able to turn away.
...with this march and the discussions, her school is asking Rosa to learn that she is a change-maker, that her actions impact not only her friends and family but her community and the world.
A Swamp, A Refuge
The first time I visited Fernhill Wetlands was in late December of 2016, during the presidential transition period. A thick mist shrouded the ponds and streams, and in hindsight, I should have known that the opaque fog was a portent to the darkly bizarre and disorienting year ahead. The cold seeped in around my insulating layers, … Continue reading A Swamp, A Refuge