Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband and I took a walk this morning - backwards. I suggested it, and it's funny how I noticed different plants, houses, trees, just because I was heading up instead of down. Psychologically, I bet my desire was to wind 2020 backward and have a redo: my daughter does a trial and it's successful and the cancer is gone, covid is attacked with all our resources and nipped in the bud, the president resigns having discovered his better nature, we have rain all summer and therefore no wildfires, people realize we need each other so the go-it-alone attitude becomes discredited, we decide women are equal and should be paid accordingly, as a country we agree that all of us deserve health care not tied to our jobs or financial situation or race, and police disarm themselves and try to keep the peace by negotiation skills and services that give hope to races previously targeted and violence against women severely declines as the penalties for abuse are strengthened and women start calling out harassers and abusers and are protected at home and in the workplace. Anyone want to walk backwards with me?

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I had two long conversations yesterday with friends, and it helps. Today we are seeing our younger daughter and two grandsons with masks on outside. It's coldish today, so it won't be great to have our lunch on the patio, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I managed yesterday to find Halloween candy at the store down the street, and tomorrow I will put it out individually zip loked and lined up on my driveway and bench by the sidewalk. Our grandchildren have safe plans and we will enjoy the photos of them in their costumes. We usually only follow one of them around anyway, as they are in different neighborhoods and cities. I've always loved Halloween because of the costuming thing. My husband and I used to go to parties and had great fun coming up with our costumes. I've been in charge of costumes for a few school productions that my kids were in, and some where they were not involved, like the Shakespeare plays at a nearby elementary school. My granddaughter right now has an interest in costume design and a couple of months ago I sent her a few costume design books, which I think she enjoyed. I used to hunt for used costumes for her when she was little, but now that she is twelve she designs her own, and is delighted with the results. I'm sure our grandkids will manage the candy and playfulness, limited though it may be. Our one grandson is at his preschool parading in costume as we speak. It makes me happy to think about them.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I had a great idea the other day, if I do say so myself, that my husband try one of the lego sets instead of his usual jigsaw puzzles. He's done about every jigsaw out there, and as a kid he used to make model airplanes and ships. He couldn't get the kit he wanted, as a lot of the kits are out of stock (due to the desperation of covid no doubt), but he's working on a kind of train engine that gives me a headache just to look at. He had wanted to try a piano that really plays, but it's now on the company wish list. Anyway, he's clearly enjoying the challenge, Next week we are going to our cabin to avoid all the election coverage. Our younger son, his wife, and son are already up there. That's my blow for mental sanity. I feel besieged at home, and I voted two weeks ago. Up there our phones don't work and there is no internet at all. No TV, just a radio. There won't be many people there because the lake is down and no snow yet, so no skiing. Just crisp fall air, a fire in the franklin stove and lots of hot cocoa. Yes, I'm burying my head in the sand, but why not? I'm powerless to do anything more at this point. Retreat is my best strategy.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I write in a small studio that used to be a tool shed. For many years, my Zen teacher did her interviews in it, and I felt good knowing her good dharma and caring was happening in the same space in which I worked. I usually talked to her in my yard at some point as well as interviewing with her myself. Now she has not been here in a few years, and died recently, but I feel her aura. In the time since the covid my daughter-in-law has worked here, as their place is tiny and they have a toddler, whom I babysit a couple of days a week. Now she will be moving, and any work done in the space will be mine. I'm hoping I can get back to work on grandparent poems that I stopped writing when it was clear my older daughter's cancer had returned. And also, to write a reminiscence of her to honor her life. I do have a room of my own. Virginia Woolf would be encouraging, and yet that room is daunting. I have to not have an overview of what might happen, because expectations are my downfall. Then I measure myself against those expectations, disappoint myself, and give up. I have a habit of writing, and I'm hoping that history will keep me going without judgement. We'll see. But my space has been a place of productivity for others and for myself in the past, and I hope it will again.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My husband asked me this morning if there was any good news, and I answered in the negative. I couldn't find one hopeful story on my phone. It's almost a joke. At least sometimes a dog has traveled a thousand miles back to his owner or a bear cub has been saved from a fire. Not today. I then ate breakfast and talked to my therapist. I told her with the pandemic there are so many decisions to be made, and then remade, then re-thought out again that by noon I quit with a headache. Just getting Halloween candy seemed insurmountable today. I have to order it and zip lock bags from InstaCart and have them delivered, put them a foot apart at the foot of my steps and hope for the best. Do I see a friend masked and social distanced? What if it's cold? Do I need to order a patio heater? It's easier to be a hermit. I strolled, masked and distanced with my daughter and her baby today, but we both thought the scary Halloween decorations we strolled past were nothing compared to the state of the nation and the pandemic. Trying to keep up with what's "safe" is exhausting. The numbers are up this week, so should I do anything different? Wrap myself in cling wrap? Steralize all my food in the dishwasher? Like everyone else, I'm frazzled. Completely. All decision making seems relentless and endless. Last night I watched a Hallmark movie about a man who gets hit by a girl on a bike and has amnesia. Lucky guy!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We celebrated our daughter-in-law's birthday last night here. In the past we would have everyone out to dinner, and with eight adults and four kids it would feel like a real party, even though our daughter and granddaughter in another state would not be present. Now that daughter is gone, and our ex son-in-law and granddaughter cannot come because of covid, the expense and the time off. So it was just our younger son, daughter-in-law and grandson, but we tried to make it fun. I pulled out party hats and plastic leis, and we ordered food delivered from a favorite restaurant. The food was delayed, but we got it still warm, and on their way home they dropped off a part of the cake for our younger daughter, her husband and two kids. But everything is so complicated, and enforces the sense of being splintered as a family. The same will hold true for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and from the discussion at my women's group yesterday morning, each of them is torn in the same kinds of ways. Maybe they can see one kid and the grandkids, but not the others. The sense of FAMILY is blurred. So the absence is always with us, even in partial togetherness. I know there are people in our country ignoring safety and gathering in large groups, defying caution. But I could not do that without feeling the risk to myself and some of my kids who have health issues. I'm bound to be torn. And at this moment I'm feeling sadness for all the families in this country, but especially those completely isolated from loved ones or without people who care about them. I hope we do a better job of engaging with them so they don't sink into despair. We should have calls to these people, as we do for voting. I wonder if anyone is doing this.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

The women's group I'm in met this morning, dressed warmly, and we had a lively conversation about our lives in this age of covid. I believe we all felt supported by each other. I told them I realized that after having read three memoirs in a row I realized I wanted to write about my daughter, because she was what I was thinking about. It might be a gift to my granddaughter someday. Since about a year ago I haven't worked on my grandchildren poems or anything other than this blog and my gratitude journal, and I feel a yearning to speak again in a more sustained way. I cannot, of course, capture her complexity or vibrancy, but I am now willing to try. I'm sure others are writing about her as well, and I don't know as much about her adult life after she moved to Hew York, then Spain, then Prague, then Morroco,but I can describe what I do know. I visited her in all those places as well. Writing about my trip to India to visit her would be interesting. I've always imagined she would write about me after I died, so this is a strange, unnatural position to be in, but there it is. She is gone, I am left to tell some of the tale.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I signed up for texting for Moms Rising. It is daring for me and I hope I don't feel uncomfortable when I do it. I just want to make the effort, since I can't do anything face to face. And I don't have to prostlatize because we just encourage people to vote, we don't talk politics. I wouldn't want anyone trying to persuade me to vote a certain way, so I will not inflict that on others. It's a dark and dreary day today, but we're taking care of our 18 month old grandson, so he will entertain us. He's quite a character, and manages to boss us around completely in the most adorable way: he takes our hand and leads us to what he wants to do. Turn on the music, a snack, outside, turn on the hose, take a walk, swing in the hammock. He schedules us beautifully. So today is taken care of, and tonight we will flop in front of the TV for a dose of Jane Austen. Last night we watched Mansfield Park, tonight, perhaps Northanger Abbey.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today we drove in separate cars to a pumpkin patch on a dairy farm about an hour away. We all wore masks, except the baby, but our three year old grandson kept his on and his distance, bless his heart. The farm was well structured for social distancing and everyone was masked. Our grandson loved the hay maze and the pyramids of hay to climb, and there were cows and calves and goats. We took a long leisurely time to choose pumpkins in the field, and were pleased with our selections. I bought homemade ice cream for our grandson and my husband, and the baby tried to eat handfuls of hay. The cows were very sweet and friendly, and a huge black one, almost the size of an elephant, named Bruno delighted me. We packed up our pumpkins and said goodbye to each other, relieved we had managed to have a fun outing full of Halloween cheer despite the covid. I was so happy for our grandson. He knew he was supposed to pick pumpkins, and we succeeded in doing so. He kept his tiny white pumpkin in his hands, proud and pleased. And he picked out one for daddy too.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I picked up some new books today, ordered a birthday cake, sent two books to a friend and shopped for a few necessities at my local grocery seven houses away. Then I opened one of my new books and plunged in. It is a memoir, as were the last two books I read: Memorial Drive and Miracle Country, both riveting and terrific language. All three have as part of the story the death of a parent, and I'm grieving so they hit home. I also called my former son-in-law's mother, whom I adore, since it is her birthday today. We always laugh a lot, and spend time admiring our mutual granddaughter. Tomorrow we're caravaning to a pumpkin patch to witness our three year old grandson pick out punkins. Masks on, social distance, separate cars, but we'll do our best. My street has a plan to have a distanced parade at five pm then have treats individually bagged at the bottom of the steps so kids don't have to touch anything. I'm hoping it all goes well. The trying is the important part. We don't want this pandemic to defeat us, though it sets us back.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

All our 18 month old grandson wants to do is water. We partially fill a watering can, he lumberingly carries it to some plants and pours it on the plants and himself. He would do this a hundred times if we would let him. Afterward I change his shirt, and try to entice him to do something else. He wants to be outside all day. We swing in the hammock, look for bugs under rocks and flowerpots, he "climbs" a tree (bush) and rings the bells I have scattered around the yard. What I will do when it's cold out I have no idea. Today he took our hands, led us down the path to the sidewalk, pointed at the garage door and we knew he wanted a stroll. We got out the umbrella stroller and off we went right after breakfast, and found it was less crowded on the sidewalks and cool and comfortable. He keeps us fit. Since he's always on the move, we are too. It beats the gym, that's for sure.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I've been talking to my therapist weekly and today she gave me a pep talk that helped focus me. What's happening is that all my old traumas have aroused themselves to fold into my grief over my daughter: my mother's cancer when I was fourteen, our move across country to a new high school where I knew no one, my elopement at nineteen, my first husband's abuse,my brother's alcoholism, my best friend's suicide, my brother's suicide, and now my daughter's death. I need to be getting out more with friends, making plans, not being so passive about Facetiming my grandkids, just making the effort not to slide into depression. I had a great talk with a friend two days ago, and last night with my daughter's childhood best friend, and today my best pal here and I walked then radically stopped in to get diet cokes and sit outside, with masks whenever we weren't sipping. It was the first diet coke either of us had had since the lockdown. It tasted mighty delicious. I told her yesterday when my husband and I were strolling our grandson, since it was trash day, I noticed everyone had a box of diet coke or diet pepsi to recycle. In hard times, a little vice helps. It sure perked up my morning!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

My immediate family had a sweet zoom meeting to remember our daughter, and it was lovely hearing people's stories, and her daughter was there listening most of the time so she learned more about her mother. Right before the call, I was anxious and dreading it, but probably that was because each day her death feels more final, and now she has missed her birthday, and such an important one. Fifty. When I approached my fiftieth, I rented a hall, hired a band, a caterer, decorated with friends and had a blast. The band had a soul singer and I was crazy about the music. I was on the dance floor all night long and neighbors sent the police, even though it was before ten, as the party had to be over by then. My kids, my best friends, and all their kids were there. I had cut my hair to an inch, and though that turned out to not be a good look for me, that's just how I was feeling: anything goes now, ego be gone, I'm gonna grow old wildly and have lots of fun. And I have. I deeply wish my daughter could have done the same. She was a butterfly, I'm a tortoise. She did pack it in, though, and last nights reminescences proved it.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today would have been our daughter's fiftieth birthday. She was beautiful, intelligent, creative, moody, judgemental, loving, thoughtful, passionate, risktaking, a glue sticking our family together. We were all a little afraid of her intensity, but being in her presence was a gift. She adored her daughter and thought about her future, her college, her safety, her support. Since our granddaughter is so very much like her mother, we know she will be fine in the long run, though her grief right now is immerserable. My daughter rushed out of my body twenty nine minutes after we drove quickly to the nearby hospital. She didn't need any doctor. When my father was coming to pick us up from the hospital after a couple of days, I had a panic because the nurses we not bringing her back in to me. I thought something was wrong. But there she was, a tiny tiger ready for battle with the world. She rode a pony we leased by five, had martial arts lessons at six, listened to Tillie Olsen and Lucille Clifton as a toddler, and burned her way through her life, impressing everyone with her skills, her tenacity and capacity for love. She loved art and traveling and ideas and books and friends and family that elevated all of us. She did not want to die, but she never complained as she fought for her life and motherhood, never got angry at us, she battled on. She took her daughter on amazing trips, reconnected with her Fiji relatives, stockpiled memories for her to be comforted after she was gone. There is no way to describe how much we all miss her. I walk stunned in a world without her. She is my child, my baby girl, my best self, my freed bird who soars somewhere above, now free from the pain and indignities of cancer. I love you with all my heart.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

In the paper this morning was a photo of a five year old boy pointing his finger at where he had spotted a ring tailed lemur. This lemur had been stolen from the zoo and had been let go in a nearby park, after the thief realized he was in big trouble (he was caught later). What I love about the photo is that the magic of seeing a lemur is blurred in a five year old, because their books tell them amazing wonderful things happen. He saw what others did not because of his openness to everything real or imagined. When my kids were children, we were driving in Rocky Mountain Park and our older son insisted he saw a flamingo. We whizzed by and my husband and I were delighted by his imagination. We told the story many times. But recently, our son said he researched and it was plausible and rational that there really was a flamingo there, on a migratory pathway and temporarily halted for a touch down. We will never know for sure, but his world was bigger and more open to whatever comes than his parents' world. We have eyes but do not see.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

High temperatures and winds all day. Our power was out this morning. We visited our two grandsons social distancing in their back yard. I've been really depressed, perhaps as a lead up to our daughter's birthday Sunday. Too many losses and too much bravery for too long. I've been crying and this afternoon I lay on my bed and just dozed. I'm exhausted mentally. Everything seems scattered and chaotic. If I glancee at the news on my phone there are so many crises and contractions and predictions that my head hurts. I hope to have a quiet weekend and then do the zoom with family on the birthday. I can think of a million stories to tell about her, but have settled on one where my husband and I met her in Madrid and traveled to Toledo. Her idea, a great idea, and it was a magical weekend. It completely changed my assessment of El Greco and marzipan. When we strolled the streets it was as if it was the fourteenth century. A parador luncheon on the adjacent hillside the last morning was maybe the best meal ever. She had that fearlessness and passion that made you trust her. You knew you were in for an adventure. She made me braver and stronger. I had so many adventures with her that I would not have planned on my own. And some of it rubbed off on me. Now she's resting, and the world feels bereft of it's beating heart.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

It's very hot here but I took two long walks, first in the morning with my friend where we stopped for iced lattes, then with my daughter and grandbaby in the afternoon trying to stay in the shade and keep cool. I actually love hot weather, or used to, before drought and fire added the dread element. I did well adjusting to living in Fiji, better than my husband who was born and raised there. I love the Southwest, especially New Mexico and Northern Arizona. But I don't like air conditioning, which I suppose I'd succumb to if I lived there. It's better to visit. I no longer like cold weather at all, except to visit it. Our treks to the cabin in winter have tapered off, as the charm of snow and ice has long ago melted. I don't like to be bundled up and fumbling in gloves and hat and boots. So today I tried to ignore the wind, not think of flames bursting and grasses burning, and enjoyed the "summer". We only get it occasionally, for brief periods, and sometimes in strange months, like February. But then, right now, EVERYTHING is strange.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I got up early this morning to send some flowers and organize myself before my wee grandson arrives. I love getting up at dawn, but am married to a husband who likes to sleep in. He also has this habit of sleeping badly after he does his zoom choruses Monday and Tuesday nights. He reves him up and leaves him restless. Singing is powerful, and yet I know it brings up loss for him. They cannot hear each other sing, and the last thing that will be resumed after the pandemic winds down is hundreds of older people in a chorus. But he loves it so. Like puzzles, suduku and walking, the singing calms and eases him. Now it's more about talking to others on zoom and listening to lectures and all the prerifery. In his heart he wants to stand with his frends and open his chest and heart and sing freely in a huge room. So at night he wrestles out of all the contrictions of the pandemic and attempts to run and soar and fly.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I'm stocking up on books my Buddhist teacher has written that I've not read yet. Insurance against despair, I guess. I finished the new mystery by Val McDermid last night, and she cleverly wove the pandemic into the plot, in that there is a warning to the detective to stock up on masks, etc., by her friend who is a doctor, and by the end the main characters are settled into lockdown. What she will write next is sure be interesting. How do you solve a case from home? I guess that is what police and others are doing as we speak, or are they? They are first responders and are taking risks with our russian roulette health situation. With the last couple of new books I've read, the pandemic hasn't appeared and I did ponder how relevant they were to NOW. I suppose the best thing is to read history, then there is less sense of unreality to the plots. It is, however, delicious to escape into these recently published clueless books about a world now gone. Will it return? Not unchanged it won't. This pandemic shift is too huge, and we will be selfconscious about our actions when and if we, say, go to a baseball game or a movie theater or stand and watch a parade. It will be strange, just as now everything is strange. Dr. Strangelove, or How I Began to Normalize the Pandemic. Weird days.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We mailed in our ballots yesterday, and I listened to a dharma talk about courage in these times, and this morning woke up to a lovely, supportive message from a dear friend from grad school, who is many states away, and I feel I can do this thing: this no pod, frustrating and crazy making situation I'll soon be in. It also helped yesterday that I got two texts from friends who want to distance walk this week, both of whom I can pour my heart out to, and that, silly as it sounds, it was sunny. We are going to have a heat spell this week, which normally I would love, but given the fires and possibility of wind, well, you know. Apocolyptic scenario. I feel RAW, but I know damn well I'm not alone, just lonely, and we're all in this boat together. Let's see what we're made of - who knows - I might even learn to be courageous.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I did a lot of crying last night, after our younger son told us they were moving to Seattle at the beginning of December. I knew they were going to move to Oregon, but this is even farther, and we will not be able to see them because they will be in a pod with our daughter-in-law's two brothers, their wives and their four children. All the children will do day care together. It's a great situation for them, and we said so, but it leaves us with no pod. No babysitting, no face to face with another human being. The babysitting has given me structure and purpose, and delight while I've been grieving about my daughter. Now we cannot see any of our kids or grandkids. I know many others are in this same boat, but we are talking about another year or two, and we are getting older by the minute. Part of me feels I will never see any of them again. It's terrifying. The worst is if we somehow get sick and we have no family to help us at all. No siblings or aunts or uncles or cousins. We will die alone, a fate that horrified me when we were taking care of our daughter, and that thankfully she didn't have to experience. I'm listening to my dharma teacher, will keep my walking and talking on the phone, but now I need to find a pod, because I am the opposite of a "loner". I'm sure I'll figure this out, but right now a river of grief is moving me down river, helpless and no knowing where the water will take me. The essence of being human, but so painful.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Our younger daughter, her husband and two boys drove to the cabin last night and this morning they found the canoe high and dry on the lake bed. What a relief. Because at this point in my life I wouldn't buy a new one, as my husband and I are too old and wobbly to lug it back up to the parking lot, then up the hill to the cabin, then struggle with it to store it under the cabin deck. I felt great that I'd made it their responsibility to get it put away, and great that they didn't have the guilt of having it stolen because they didn't come up last week. And this weekend that area is sunnier and with good quality air and not even colder. Though swimming time is over. They will have fun bungling around, and with very few people around no danger of covid. I have this motherly impulse to feel responsible for everything, and I mean everything, but I'm letting go. My kids are way grown, and my job is over. Spoiling grandkids is about all I have to do these days. I'm trying to relax into it, and trust that the world will revolve without me, as I rationally know it does. But FEELING it, well, what can I say? That's another story.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I talked to my two best friends today and it was so comforting. We didn't really dip into politics. We've got our mail in ballots and will send them in the next couple of days. We talked about what we're doing, and how we're feeling and this sense of letting go of so much we used to carry. Getting older lightens the load, as, sometimes without thinking, responsibilities and worries just slip off like a silken wrap. We pare down to what matters: love and compassion, and those little moments that make up our joy or insight or sadness. Be here now, as they said in the sixties, but it gets easier. I don't want to shop and accumulate, even without the covid, I want to see and walk in nature, smile at faces, pet a dog or cat, talk to a bird. There are two crows who live in the parkway across from my house, and when I come down the stairs to the garage or sidewalk, they barely move. I say hello and they know I'm their neighbor, and caw or look up or waddle around me. We coexist. I like that. There is the cat who comes in our yard, the gray fox that visits, the owl and birds boucing on tree branches, the frentic bouncing around of the squirrels, the dogs bemoaning being left in the house by their owners. It's POPULATED here. All sentient beings, all the time. I'm one among many.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today we babysat our one year old grandson, and we had fun. My husband picked persimmons from our tree, lined them up on the fence, and then the three of us carried them into the house. The grandson carried his carefully and didn't drop it once. He likes the deck off my studio to be swept clean, and had my husband and I taking turns sweeping up. He would point if we missed a leaf or acorn. Late in the day our other apple tree, which hasn't produced any apples in a decade, had one big green apple hanging, and my husband picked it before the squirrels could steal it, and for the hour we strolled our grandson he held it carefully in his hands like a golden treasure. The wonders of fruit are a miracle, but I doubt I'd notice much if wasn't for my grandchildren. The earth itself has splendors no human construction can match. I'm grateful I have little ones to remind me of those blessings.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Today I took two walks. There is so much electricity in the air from anxiety, the headlines and the toll isolation takes on us that physical exercise is the balance that keeps me sane. If I am. I know I'm saner than Trump. I received such a lovely missive today from my Zen teacher's daughter, and it provided great support for my own grieving. She enclosed the obituary, which was full and lovely and captured her spirit. I take comfort in the Weather Reports the teacher made us email weekly about our practice - many years of them - so much of my life the last few years has been described in them, and I can hold and read them when I miss her or need guidance. She gave me my foundation, and my current Tibetan teacher gently moves me along my path. I don't actually think I had a real mentor until my Zen teacher. I moved around too much, even as a child, and I was raised to be "independent" which meant I never bared my soul to anyone. Now I try to keep my heart open and responsive in every moment, to make up for all those years of not trusting others. Now I trust myself, and that is the key to connecting with others.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

In the middle of the night last night I woke up wide awake and worrying about our canoe at our cabin. We left it down by the lake for our younger daughter and her family, but they decided not to go up this weekend. We realized last weekend up there that we were too old and decrepit to carry it all the way from the lowered level of the lake to the parking lot, where we had planned to slide it in the back of our car and drive it up hill, then take it out and lug it up and put in the underside of the deck. Our daughter insisted they wanted to use it, but I had a premonition. Now, either the canoe will be stolen (easy enough to put in the back of a pickup) or tagged by rangers or lost somehow. We can't do it ourselves, and there is no one up there to call and help. I worried over various scenarios, but couldn't find a solution. I had lots of REGRET. We should have done it while we were there, but now going up again risks our backs, hips and knees or a bad fall. I called and left a message for our daughter, but she is trapped as well by having a baby and 3 year old, and her husband works intensely from home and doesn't get days off. Finally, I said my prayers and fell asleep, and this morning realized the canoe is a proxy for all the ways in which I feel helpless right now. I'm too old, too isolated, too afraid of politics, covid and fires. I'm back to telling myself if the canoe disappears, it's not a tragedy. We've had it for 30 plus years and have many happy memories. Last weekend we took it out for a two hour canoe ride and it was exhilarating. In other words, this morning I was sane again.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We are driving up to celebrate our grandson's fifth birthday. The air is okay up there and supposed to clear further. Ours is unhealthy for sensitive groups but clearing hopefully this afternoon. There will be cupcakes involved and we're bringing up a game from the cabin that he likes to play. His presents from us are hidden away in their garage already. No other cousins, friends or schoolmates will be there. Such is covid normal. He will get zoom calls but these little guys are fed up with all that. Actually, some of us big guys as well. Trump's covid sends a chill to the rest of us: he was tested and monitored constantly, but still he got it. I hope the lack of a mask is the reason, but I can't help being a bit more paranoid than I was. I have a target painted on my back because of age and I know I'm in the most vulnerable group of all. I pray someone gets a handle on how to proceed with protocols and we can protect our citizens, but it may very well be past the tipping point, as is climate change. We had a chance and we blew it. We did not rise to our better natures. And reading Isabel Wilkerson's book "Caste", I see we seldom did. Our country was the inspiration for Nazi racist laws, and we need to disavow our ugly history and mend our country. The time is now. The time for everything to change is now. In the midst of turmoil and chaos. Now.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

The air was bad today, but we managed to have a good time. We got some groceries at our local market, and I went to a pharmacy and filled a prescription from several weeks ago. Then I wrote all the birthday cards and Halloween cards I'd just bought, and they are all set to go in the mail, along with my 100 postcards to voters. our younger son brought our grandson over in the afternoon and we Facetimed with our younger daughter and her two boys, then I made us early dinner, and our grandson was so distracted the whole time he barely noticed we hadn't let him outside in the back yard. Now I'm hoping for better air tomorrow, no wind and a cooling off of temperatures they've predicted. Life is good, especially if you have made gluten free brownies with walnuts for dessert.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I finished writing my 100 postcards to encourage women to vote. I hope it helps. At least I'm doing something and not just complaining. Our sky is again weird today, and the air quality not great, but much worse other places. We're all holding our breath here that these next couple of days with red flag warnings don't trigger new fires or exaserbate the the existing ones. I avoided the debate, and from what I hear I'm lucky. I'm reading Isabel Wilkerson's "Caste", a phenomenally well written book about race in America, that brings our history into clear focus in a powerful and refreshing way. She speaks truth, the way James Baldwin so eloquently did. I hope we can work on these issues and have a form of truth and reconciliation in our country. We need to acknowledge our past and energize ourselves to repair and heal. And attack the inequities and restructure our society. We can do it if we are brave and have the will to change. Every country has ugly history, we just need to "gut up" as Brad Pitt's character says in World War Z and fix this. Let's fix this. We can.