Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday we attended a performance of Puccini's opera "Tosca" and watched while the bad guy, who looked like Brett Kavanaugh, I kid you not, tried to force Tosca to succumb to him in exchange for the life of her lover.  She got a little too upset, and stabbed him to death instead, which was gratifying, except, his promise to free her lover was a lie, and after she saw her beloved shot, she jumped from the precipice and died.  A great reminder that people are pretty much at the mercy of powerful men, even 150 years later.  Oh, well, the voices were terrific, as were the sets, and maybe Tosca had seen the movie "Thelma and Louise".  Now leaping off the tall building is not my idea of liberation, but I can see getting so frustrated it seems a good idea at the time.  Maybe Kavanaugh will see "Tosca" with RBG and have an epiphany.  Anything is possible. 

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

We watched "Little Shop of Horrors" last night, it's funny until Seymour chops up the dentist, then not so funny.  He didn't kill him, but now he is complicit.  And the song about skid row, the filthy alley, it all seems tasteless.  We selected the wrong musical to try to cheer us up, after Kavanaugh being sworn in.  My daughter was trying to potty train her son and I went over there to give her some moral support, but she got upset, our grandson got upset, and she was in tears feeling she'd handled it all wrong.  But everyone feels that way, and frankly, the book she read sounds like nonsense to me.  I'm glad in my day they didn't have this avalanche of advice books to get mired in.  Take it slow, give it time, wait until he's ready:  no one wants to hear it, or our suggestions.  After all, haven't things advanced and improved?  Well.  Not so much.  The idea of progress is a badly written musical.

Returning home and seeing the rest of the movie, I realized, though, that some things are pretty simple still.  If you vote for a misogynist, you don't respect any women:  not your mother, your wife, your daughter, your sister.  You've crossed the line.  You are complicit.  You want your party to support you, you want to win, more than you want to stand up for what is right.  You're all about you.  And Seymour, though he gets the girl and the house in the suburbs, has devalued life and is on the other side from decency and respect for life.  No amount of singing will shine up his tarnished soul.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Early this morning I had a nightmare.  It was the time of the Revolutionary War in Boston, and a family was trying to stay alive.  First the father died, and the mother and five children put on lots of clothes before they went outside, in the ice and snow, and I was afraid they were going to die.  They had nowhere to go, and I had a sense of doom, that I was going to see them die one after the other.  I woke myself up, and realized the dread was the vote today that allowed Kavanaugh to become a member of the Court, and the doom it spells for women and children.  This is the era of bullies, and they seem to win every time.  Frankly, in my day, bullies also got away with most actions, and the rest of us learned to stay out of their way.  I remember a girl, when I was eight, bullying me and then gloating.  I never spoke up against her, though I was furious with her actions.  I was afraid of being ostrasized.  Another bully pushed me off the high slide in the school playground to the side, and my knees and hands were so bloody my parents had to pick me up and take me home.  There were no consequences for the boy who deliberately shoved me off at the top. 
Now our government is allowing bullying and forcing silence upon those who are victims.  This is not what the Constitution was written to do.  We are protecting the rich and powerful and encouraging their immoral deeds.  I'm devastated.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

The Kavanaugh fiasco, the A's losing last night, a darkly cloudy morning without rain:  all are dampening my mood.  Even the trip to the botanical gardens yesterday derailed, because when we arrived, there were no more parking spaces, and after searching everywhere, we headed elsewhere.  I took my friend to a city garden that most people don't know about and neither did she.  It was designed in the 1930s and has delightful rose beds, a lovely pond, a waterfall, benches, overhanging trees, and as it's set in a bowl, stairs leading up to woodsy areas all around.  There were volunteers pruning and a air of quiet sanctuary.  There is a walk with "mother of the year" names from the 1940s on.  Who knew there was a mother of the year award here?  After, we went in an ACE hardware garden shop, where my friend fell in love with a very strange looking, wonderful tree, and she bought small plants and then returned by herself after our outing to buy the tree.  I returned with two more cans of teak oil, and proceeded to coat the patio furniture a second time in preparation for more rain in our future.  A little sadness lingers for my team, a lot of sadness for the now predicted approval of Kavanaugh, and sense of not only having lost the outing to the botanical garden, but something infinitely more important:  my faith in my government's processes.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

In a few minutes I'm going with a friend to the botanical gardens, and, after the rain, it should be especially pleasant to wander among the plants and trees.  The garden is large enough that we cannot see every part, but whatever we do see will be healing.  I like touching plants and grounding myself with them.  This morning I carefully plucked fallen leaves from a huge succulent, tenderly admiring it's hues of blue/gray/pink/purple.  I check for dead flowers on the geraniums, and pick up all the dead camelia blossoms from the ground.  There is a blanket of gold leaves from the birches next door that fall on our patio, and some of our leaves falling too.  The seasons are somewhat confused here, but I like the mixing up of fall and summer and even a hint of spring.  Our persimmon tree's fruit is turning orange as a sunset, though the fruit is overhanging our neighbor's yard instead of our own.  It's always a race between the squirrels, birds and us as to who eats it.  In these days of shorter light and cooler nights, the change is refreshes, and causes unconscious responses in our bodies and minds.  Change is a way of waking us up.

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

It rained last night!  I woke up this morning and told my husband we should rush downstairs and watch it coming down.  Later we walked the neighborhood loving the wetness and smell.  Our plants and trees look better already.  This is our highest fire risk month, and sometimes we don't get any rain until Halloween, so I'm grateful we've had our thirst quenched a bit.  There is no more rain forecast in the near future, but maybe that will change.  I know parts of the country are flooded, but the west is parched.  The animals can drink from this rain, and new growth will spurt. 
And maybe I can take full or partial credit, because yesterday I insisted we rub our patio furniture with teak oil, and we ran out and couldn't do the second coat, as it said to do, before last night.  So the furniture got drenched last night, and I will have to wait until it's dry again, sweep away the leaves and debris, before second and maybe third coat can be applied.  If I hadn't been in the process of protecting my furniture from rain, well, think about it, would it have even rained?!  I doubt it.  Not that I'm superstitious, but I'm already figuring out how to keep any bad karma out of the A's playoff game with the Yankees on Wednesday.  Better not to watch or listen, in case I affect the game.  Go A's!!

Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

Yesterday I went to tea at a friend's house.  She had a serious illness several years ago and was hospitalized for months, and she decided to thank the people who visited, brought meals and generally supported her by having this party.  At each place was a hand written note of gratitude for the guest.  I think we were all very touched by her thoughtfulness and generosity, and I certainly left with warm feelings.  I brought her flowers because I realized I was so grateful she lived.  She had only a 50% chance of surviving, but she did.  Her recouperation has been long and arduous, and she's been mostly cheerful and upbeat about a time she can't even remember.  I was especially inspired by the devotion of her friends and family.  They were there every step of the way, talking to her when she was in a coma and encouraging her.  It was a blessing to be a part of that process and a witness.