Month: June 2020

I think we’re in week 14 of riding the Covidcoaster (not my term), but I’m not sure. The one thing I do know about the COVID-19 pandemic is that it is filled with highs and lows. One minute you’re enjoying relaxing on your patio, and the next minute you’re filled with panic because you realize that all you can do is relax on your patio. Concerts? Festivals? What are those?

            Anyway, this week started out pretty rough for me, but thanks to Sweet Baby Grace (see My Magic Wand, June 23), a great idea from my son, and a muddy hike with my soul sister and our kids, I’m arriving at Friday feeling good, great actually. 

            So if our world and all of its warts has got you down, let yourself feel all of that, but don’t linger in those feelings. I know that it’s easy to wallow in them because I’m really good at it, but we just can’t. We can’t! We have to keep looking for goodness. We have to! Notice how I’m repeating statements for emphasis. I hope it’s working because goodness is there amid all the turmoil and sadness. It is always there. That said, here are this week’s Weekly Winks. 

            Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — John and I took The Tots out on the boat for an evening picnic. Mr. and Mrs. Mallard decided to join us. It’s not often that we get to dine with ducks. 

Sunday — Father’s Day. Even though this day was laced with thorns (it marked one year since mom had been at our house and 10 months since we lost her), we managed to have a successful Father’s Day with our fathers. Dad and I are both struggling with our grief, as it is its own roller coaster, but we keep going because mom would be furious with us if we didn’t. 

Monday — I enjoyed a good talk with my husband. As parents of 10 year olds, a good talk is about as rare as a trip to Paris. 

Tuesday — I had a wonderful conversation with my neighbors’ future son-in-law and his beautiful baby (see My Magic Wand, June 23). We have to talk with each other, folks, but most importantly, we have to listen. 

Wednesday — Graydon suggested that we go on a bike ride, so off we went to Jetton Park. As The Tots and I rode up and down the hills at the park, I felt like I was on a nature rollercoaster. It was glorious!

Thursday — My soul sister invited us to hike South Mountain with her family. We had a great hike to the top. As we were enjoying the waterfall at the summit, a thunderstorm crept up. Suddenly, we were booking it down the mountain in pouring rain and mudslides. Even though it was scary, it was more liberating than anything else. My soul sister always knows what I need. So grateful!

Friday — I heard a construction worker blaring NPR as he worked on a house during my run this morning. As an NPR nerd, that made my heart happy. 

            Get outside this weekend and take in all Mother Nature has to offer. She will save your soul in these dark times. Happy weekend!

I don’t think I’m the only who wishes they had a magic wand these days. For years, I carried a small one in my purse to remind myself that magical moments do indeed happen. I think that it’s time to put another one in my purse, as I’ve found myself spiraling into the pity pit lately. 

            Sure I try to be positive, but the negative vibes spewing out of our world and our country are getting the best of me. Add to that the fact that Father’s Day marked a year since mom was in our house and ten months since her death, and you can imagine how much fun I am to be around right now. 

            My parents, especially my dad, always told me growing up that “your problems are your problems.” They weren’t trying to belittle whatever I was going through. They just wanted me to understand that yes, there are people who have far worse problems and there are others who don’t have that many troubles, so whatever is bugging you is your own particular set of difficulties. It was more of a recognition exercise that let me know it was okay to be sad, but not too sad. 

            Well, here I am at 47 years old squeezing that bit of advice for all that it’s worth. Everything seems to be a complete mess right now, and it’s so easy to start taking up residence in the pity pit. That’s where I was setting up shop until a Wink of Goodness walked by my house this morning. 

            I had just finished working out on our sidewalk (wouldn’t you like to have tickets to that?), when a man carrying his baby walked by. As the mother of grown-up 10 year olds, I jump at any chance to make goo-goo eyes at a baby, so off I went to say “hello.” This man was visiting his future-in-laws, who live in our neighborhood. I spoke to him a few weeks ago when he walking, so I could get yet another baby fix. (I really can’t get enough of little people.)

            This time we talked more, and our conversation quickly jumped from pleasantries to real dialog when he told me that he lived in Brooklyn. I talked about how bad things must be up there because of COVID-19, and he said that they were getting better. Then our talk morphed into race relations and what’s all going on in our country right now.             

He’s a black man, and he told me that he had been raised to love people for who they are, regardless of skin color. I told him that I used to tell my kids that we don’t see color but that I had learned a couple of years ago, that that’s not the thing to do. Not seeing color is not seeing what black people have been through and are still going through. It’s not seeing who they are. 

            While we talked, his little girl (just about one, I think) shied away from looking at me, preferring to play with her father’s necklaces instead. Regardless, we kept talking about how we think things are going to get better and how we’re going to have to work at it, take baby steps (both black and white people, together). And then he said something that stopped my post-workout sweat. He said, “We spend so much time focusing on God that we forget to be Godly.” Boom!

            If you get anything from this entry, please take that gem with you and put it in a safe place. Being Godly, whether or not you’re a believer, means loving each other and taking care of each other, living your life with grace, which happens to be his daughter’s name. I stood there frozen as I absorbed his perfectly powerful statement. I’ll never forget it. 

            Love is the most powerful tool that we have, and it’s what we need most in this world, which is obviously not happy with any of us right now. We are all humans. We’re all made with feelings. We’re all given talents. And we are all capable of love. What would happen if we used our superpowers for good?  I think we’d be acting pretty Godly. 

            Before he left, Grace began smiling at me, and I slowly started climbing out of the pity pit. Even though she can’t talk yet, she is a force of optimism. That’s what I love about babies; they’re such beautiful capsules of hope. 

            As they walked away, I felt the comforting zing of possibility. No, things aren’t great right now, but they will get better. And with that, I knew I had found my magic wand.  

            Happy Friday, everyone! I know we’ve all been reading some heavy stuff lately, which is a good thing, so here’s some not-so-heavy stuff to give your brain a tiny break. 

            Every Friday I share the Winks of Goodness I experienced throughout the week because I’ve found that writing down and formally acknowledging these suckers gives them more power. I encourage you to share your own Weekly Winks on my site or on social media. Look around and write it down — share the goodness.   

Saturday — We had a Zoom call with John’s family. It was so wonderful catching up with everyone (on three continents and four states)! Zoom isn’t so bad after all. 

Sunday — I spent at least three hours reading on our back stoop (by myself)! And, of course, there was a nice breeze. I’m not sure I could read without one. 

Monday — I completed a major work project, and I am so, so proud of it. This feeling of accomplishment is right up there with finding a sweet pair of shoes on sale!

Tuesday — Hamilton, one of our tabby cats, joined me for yoga in the playroom. I think I got more out of it than he did, but he’s much cuter.  

Wednesday — I worked out on our front sidewalk in a drizzling rain. It was like having my own personal misting system. 

Thursday — Dinner outside with two wonderful friends has never been more fun. I’m so grateful for these glimpses of normal. 

Friday — I discovered the 1^st Wave Workout channel on Sirius XM, so this morning I did bicep curls to REM, The Smiths and The Cure, the holy trinity of Gen X music. (I’m always the last to know about these things.) 

            Get outside this weekend and celebrate the fathers in your life. I’m lucky that I’m married to a wonderful father and that I have an awesome father and father-in-law. To my friends who have lost their dads, you are in my heart. Happy weekend!

I rearranged my home office in January. I didn’t do anything too exciting, but I did turn my desk so that I could see out of the window. If you’ve been following the View from My Window Facebook page, which I highly recommend, you’ll see what people from all over the world see from their windows as they quarantine. While my view is not as glamorous as the Sea of Galilee, the Colorado Rockies or a Parisian street, I do have a first-rate view of lush cedars, as well as a tree I have yet been able to identify. (If any of my plant friends read this, please help me out.)   

            This particular tree sprang from a weed at the edge of our patio at least ten years ago. John and I liked the weed, so we never cut it. Now it’s a tree that reaches beyond our roofline with branches punctuated by waxy leaves and tiny lime-colored blossoms. I love watching it sway in the breeze (big surprise), but I love spying on its visitors even more. Cardinals and blue jays stop by occasionally, but its most frequent guests are bumblebees. 

            These physics-defying creatures dart in and out of our tree’s branches all day long, gathering nectar and pollen from its bushy buds. A second on one flower and a second on the next, then off they go back into the world. It’s a fabulous nature show, and I’m grateful to have a front-row seat. 

            Whenever I grow sad and scared about the state of our world — and let’s be honest, we’re in the Olympics of tumultuous times right now — I look at the bees. They’re completely focused on the task at hand, and though they can’t smile, their whimsical flight patterns let me know how content they are — happy even. 

            It’s a little thing in our big world, but it’s important to cling and collect these little things in our minds. That’s always been the intention of Winks of Goodness. Though I often write about big things like my mother’s death, COVID-19 or race relations, it’s the little things that bring me out of the darkness. It’s the little things that have all the power. 

            My daughter is picking up on this, and it’s so fun to watch her find her own Winks of Goodness. The other day she came inside to get some beach towels. “We’re going to sit in the yard and look at the clouds,” she said as she walked out the front door. I just smiled thinking about the conversations she and her friends might have about the clouds. Would they discuss their shape? How fast they were moving? What kinds of clouds they were? The possibilities were endless. 

            A little later, these socially distanced little girls sat on their beach towels licking popsicles, a quintessential summer activity. Though they couldn’t do a lot of the things they normally would have been doing during the summer, they found simple pleasures on our front lawn. There’s magic in that.

            These days I keep my eyes peeled for magical moments like these more than ever. Maybe that’s why I’m so enamored by our bumblebees. I admire their determination in getting the job done no matter what — and having a good time while doing it. Every day their arrival renews my hope that somehow everything is going to be okay. As we try to find our footing in a world that’s changing by the minute, we can all take comfort in knowing that the bees are going to keep on buzzing. We should follow suit.

“No person is your friend who demands your silence, or denies your right to grow.” Alice Walker

            This quote popped up on my daily calendar the other day, and though it hit smack dab in the middle of home, I had no idea who Alice Walker was. A quick Google search revealed that Alice Malsenior Tallulah-Kate Walker wrote The Color Purple and is also a poet and social activist. What timing! Her quote presented a Eureka moment for me because we’re in such a time of imperative social change, but it also gave me yet another moment to bow my head in a shadow of shame. 

            I know about The Color Purple. Oprah Winfrey is in it. So is Whoopi. And I think it won an Academy Award (let me check, no it didn’t after being nominated for 11 Oscars). Regardless, I’ve never seen it. The tiny snippet I did see of the film years ago scared me, so I turned away, not realizing what a privilege it was to simply turn my head and do something else. I never even tried to read the book — or see the musical. 

            I can’t turn my head anymore. I can’t. I don’t want to, and I hope that you don’t either. As I wrote a couple of weeks ago, my eyes were opened to the institutionalized and systemic racism in this country a couple of years ago when I took a class at my children’s school. And though the lessons I learned were shoved in the back of my head when family illness took the forefront, I made sure they were stored. Now as I pull out the books and articles from the class, I want to dig deeper and try to navigate my part and my family’s part in making things better for people of color. 

            My challenge is roots. Yes, there’s the movie of the same name, and I watched that movie in horror during my high school U.S. History class, but the roots I’m talking about run deep in the South, entangled in casseroles, crocheted quilts and a litany of “bless your hearts.” 

            I grew up in the country, where people have good hearts and will do anything for you. That’s not an easy thing to come by these days, and I’m grateful that I grew up in that environment. However, within that web of goodness, there are pockets of ideals and beliefs with which I don’t agree, especially among the older generations. 

            For years, I’ve remained silent when someone made a racist or offensive comment in my presence. When I was in sixth grade, my late uncle scoffed at me when I told him I was a feminist. “You don’t believe that junk, Lori,” he said. 

            As a 47-year-old white southern woman of extreme privilege, I struggle with how to reconcile the world I grew up in with the world I inhabit now, the world where we’re raising our children to do better than past generations. I was taught that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all, but I think that’s just another way of putting Baby in the corner. I’m tired of being in the corner. 

            I’m tired of seeing people suffer. I’m tired of preconceived notions and stereotypes. I’m tired for my black friends who have to think about every little thing they say and do. On a much, much lighter level, I know what that’s like. It’s maddening to stand there and listen to something so far out of your belief system that you need a telescope to see it, and then say nothing because you don’t want to lose your job, your friends, your kids’ friends — your roots. 

            But here in this moment, not speaking up feels criminal. Not doing something feels irresponsible. We have to listen. We have to learn. And then we have to work together and follow through. We have to do better, and I think that we can. At least, I hope that we can. So Alice, thank you for this quote. It’s time for me to break my silence and grow.