Fight

I am haunted by photos of doctors and nurses sobbing with scars from the plastic masks digging into their skin.  I am haunted by mass graves and wooden boxes filled with bodies of the victims.  I am haunted by images of death and destruction across our cities, by protestors fighting for their freedom with guns and pride, by protestors fighting for racial equity and recognition after witnessing a viral video of man take his last breath beneath the knee of a police officer. 

I awake in the night, my heart hammering in my chest, worried, angry, scared and so filled with love for my family, for humanity, for this world that I am overtaken by my inability to fix things.   I seek sleep, alcohol, food, writing, shopping online and social media to take me away from it all.

The enemy isn’t politics here.  The enemy isn’t racism.  The enemy isn’t the disease.  The enemy is fear. The news tells a story.  What we believe is all on us – we see the truth we want to see, triggered by the beliefs we choose – how the fear steers us. 

That police officer knelt on George Floyd’s neck because he was afraid.  It wasn’t fear from the black man, it was a fear instilled at the age of 2 or 4 or 17, something triggered by something else – an abusive parent, a broken friendship, a brokenness of the soul.

We witness that fear in our leader.  He isn’t driven by compassion or love for humanity.  He doesn’t know the meaning of it.  He is driven by fear – fear they won’t like me, fear I won’t get re-elected, fear that I am the failure I saw reflected from my mother or father’s eyes.

Why do people hate him?  Why do people support him? 

Fear. 

The republicans don’t want to lose power.  The democrats don’t want to lose power.  All these beliefs come from fear.

Is the Corona Virus hyped so that the liberals can sabotage Donald Trump’s re-election?  Ask anyone who couldn’t be by their loved one’s side as they took their last breath.  Ask the person looking into the eyes of a nurse with a visceral fear before he is intubated. Ask the mother who lost her child due to the child’s overactive immune system.  Ask the Navajo and Hopi Nation in America and the remote Amazonian tribe members in Brazil who are suffering from it. They don’t care about Donald Trump.  To give him that much power is ignorant, and it portends a greater demise for our country, for this world.

It takes bravery to recognize the fear and turn it around.

It takes bravery to step outside and look up – to notice the blue sky, the awakening horizon, the sleepy night sky.  It takes bravery to fight for something greater than the fear.

Fight for Humanity

Fight for Health

Fight for Freedom

Fight for Beauty

Fight for Truth

Fight for Equality

Fight for Love

Do this in defiance of the fear.

Never a Dull Moment

Creative Non-Fiction - a story written by Paige Peterson for her Uncle Jeff and his best friend, Popple.  :-)

Never a Dull Moment

Jeff grew up in the small town of North Collins, New York. He was the second youngest in a family of eight. His mom, Lynda, and his dad, John - whom everybody referred to as Fuzzy – built their home on a blank strip of road at the top of Shirley Hill. 

In a huge family, life was never boring. Jeff shared a room with his brother Jim, just as John and Cliff, and Carrie and Corinne had to. Their four-bed, three-bath home was teeming with love and life.

When Jeff was forced to read, The Great Gatsby his junior year, he refused to write his essay on dreams. He simply didn’t like the book. The only loving character was Gatsby, and Gatsby’s dreams led to his downfall. Jeff refused to believe that would happen in real life. 

Therefore, he asked Carrie to write the essay for him, even though she was two years younger. 

“Carrie, you gotta do it for me, dad will get pissed if I fail. You don’t want to see me fail, do you?” he said.

“Well, no… but why can’t you just do it?” she asked. Carrie was always the sweet one in the family, the goodie-two-shoes. Jeff hated taking advantage of her kindness, but he also hated getting yelled at by his parents.

“You’re the nerd. I mean, your name’s a verb. But if you help me out, I’ll sneak dad's wine and we can drink it with Popple this weekend. Deal?” He knew she’d say yes. 

“Fine.” Carrie agreed, sitting at the kitchen table and getting started.

Popple was Jeff’s best friend. He was born deaf because his mom had the measles when she was pregnant with him. Popple learned to speak and read people’s lips, which Jeff thought of as a superpower. He was bullied though, and Jeff hated it. He just wished Popple would always laugh because he had the best laugh you’d ever hear. Carrie was close friends with Popple too, but the two boys usually didn’t let her hang out when they were drinking dad’s wine. 

Fuzzy’s wine was homemade, and as potent as vodka. He grew the grapes in their backyard, and it was so strong that one glass would make someone quite inebriated. It was the most fun to get drunk from and the least fun to be hungover from.

That weekend, Carrie, Popple, and Jeff had a chugging contest. They were outside blaring Bruce Springsteen (who Jeff thought was the perfect dreamer), and taking turns gulping down the jar. Time began to speed up, and they got tipsy, then drunk, then drunker. 

At one point, Jeff heard Popple crying. Earlier that week, Popple was riding his bike through the town park, and two potheads smoking in a tree dropped the joint on his head. When he looked up, he saw them laughing and climbing down the tree, so he took off. But they caught up to him, beat him to the ground, and stole his bike.

Jeff remembers looking up at the stars, quoting Springsteen: “This town is full of losers, and we’re pulling outta here to win. Those guys are the losers, Pop.” He patted his friend's back and pointed at the sky. “The two bright ones could be Earth’s nipples.” 

Carrie chuckled and Popple laughed, and Popple’s laugh was so grand that it caused Jeff to start laughing, and then they all sat laughing at each other until Popple was crying tears of joy instead of sadness. 

The next morning, Jeff woke up in the basement with his face covered in ruby red nail polish. Carrie was asleep next to him with her hands painted. Popple was asleep on the stairs with the bottle.

Break Out

I must flee from this quarantine funk. I’ve spent the last three weeks making impressions on my sofa… and the impressions are likely getting bigger.  I wake, turn on the news – cry in sympathy or empathy or fear or pride in others for an hour or so as I sip coffee.  Then I move to browsing Netflix or Prime or HBO or Sling or Hulu trying to find something that will remove me from the funk.  Then I cook.  Then I eat.  Then I sit back down on the sofa and play the rounds, while trying to find or offer sunshine on Facebook.

I did take a couple walks this week – a couple miles at a time.  But then I got sick and stopped walking because I didn’t want to inadvertently cough or sneeze and get my germs on a bench or tree branch or something else that might cause sickness.  Plus, I was out of breath for a couple days, which just made me cough more.

But now I’m better. So tomorrow, I’m breaking out of the quarantine funk.  I’ll stay home or stay six feet from others, but I’m going to do it with my sneakers on and the sun on my face.  And I am going to eat reasonably.  I love to cook, but I’m done cooking for eighteen people when there are only two or three of us spending time together.

I started the year walking 5+ miles a day, and my brain was clearer, my emotions intact and my drive at an all-time high.

So tomorrow, I break out.  I write more, I sleep more at night and less during the day, I eat better, I walk, I whistle, I continue to find the sunshine.

Who’s coming with me?

Abundance

Spent the past 9-10 days fighting sickness.  I couldn't get tested for Covid-19 but I suspect that is what it was - a mild case comparatively.  I didn't get the fever or the chills, just the body aches, coughing and the fatigue.  I've never been so tired in my life.  And that's good.  My body was fighting the virus while I slept.  My body is strong. I am fortunate.

I spent a lot of time on the sofa, scanning channels, scrolling Facebook, laughing a lot.  Even sick, I laughed a lot because I have siblings and cousins and friends that are so funny.  My friendships are lovely.  I am lucky.

The kids and I went for a walk today – just around the pond that sits behind my house.  The weather was nice, the mood light.  Once we finished our walk, we donned our masks and put on gloves and went to the grocery store to get more eggs, produce, chicken and birthday cake mix for Paige. (She’ll be 17 on April 8^th).  While we waited in line, I glanced up at one of the cashiers.  She was about the same age as Paige.  She was wearing a mask.  She was spraying disinfectant around the area.  Our eyes locked and she smiled. I couldn’t see her actual mouth, just her eyes.  Tears came quickly because amid all the stress and anxiety surrounding us, I saw something really beautiful in those smiling eyes.

I haven’t written on this blog all year because I was busy living.  We booked our flight to Italy, we booked our Airbnb for a weekend away, we booked a week at the writing retreat in North Carolina.  I was losing weight, working out, enjoying work and staying busy.  In my free time, I was writing the novel.  The novel that I will publish soon.

Yet, while I was sick all I wanted to do was post to this blog.  And I couldn’t think of where to start, what to say, how I’d feel if I let go of all these feelings inside.  When I saw the cashier’s smile, one word came to me:  ABUNDANCE.  And then I knew what I’d write.

As I sit at my kitchen table and scan the room, there is fruit in a bowl, a loaf of Italian bread still in its whole form, bottles of wine waiting for consumption.  The fridge is full.  The freezer is packed.  The pantry is plentiful.  The kids and I will not perish even if we were not allowed to leave until all of this is over. I am blessed.

The news is scary.  The politics horrendous. The fear and concern for our doctors and nurses, hospital administration, cleaning crews, military, friends, family, the unemployed and the world can be crippling to the psyche.

But when I put it aside for a few moments, I see goodness.  An abundance of laughter, kindness, and love.   I see smiling eyes, and my heart is full of gratitude for all this beauty.

10 Things I [wanted to] Accomplish in 2020

Life. . .  been a heck of a year so far.  2020.  The year we all stayed home.  I had plenty in mind for this year, and though it's not over yet, it's certainly different.  So, I'm editing my 2020 accomplishments. . .

Instead of my list of resolutions/goals/wishes for 2020, I thought I would share a list of everything I accomplished in 2020.  It's been an amazing year! I ended 2019 with many hopeful aspirations, and I accomplished all of them!

1) Wrote, edited, rewrote and published a book - working on it!

2) Won a short story contest and was published in a magazine - didn't win my first submission, but I'm still working on it!

3) Traveled to Italy to see Valentino Rossi make the podium in Mugello for MotoGP - canceled, this will happen in 2021, but Valentino will likely retire so. . .

4) Took writing classes with Paige and we impressed everyone with our creativity - did it.  We attended four classes, then all was canceled.  We'll go back in the Fall.

5) Walked and went to the gym religiously and now I fit in my favorite pair of Levi's - um, yeah, quarantine happened and food/drink/lounging (not lunging) has ruled.  There is still plenty of time, so I'm working on it!

6) I saw so many live musical performances, I cannot even list them all - streaming live counts, so I'm still working on it!

7) I volunteered for public speaking events and did a great job - 2021 here I come!

8) I stayed in constant contact with my sister through writing letters, texts and phone calls

9) I started each day doing something that served my soul --- prayed, jumped, walked, laughed. . .

10)  I won the lottery!

How was your 2020?

Papa Day

It's my Dad's birthday today.  He would be 82.  I can imagine him at 82.  Still sharp, still funny, but maybe a little slower, maybe a little less inclined to cook for 30 people.

It's been 10 years since he died.  I was mad at him on the day he died. I lived with the guilt of that for some time, yet despite my anger at him --- not even sure why I was angry --- I didn't discount the love we had for each other.

Oddly, I've grown closer to him in the past 10 years --- as I've grown and matured, I've been able to see what a good Dad he was, how he gave and gave and gave. 

I think of the song Forever by Rascall Flatts every once in a while.  I feel it was written to my dad from me --- It wasn't long enough, we were just getting started.  But it was long enough to last forever.

My kids tell stories about my dad that I've told them, or that they've heard from their Aunt and Uncles.  He lives on.

I walk with him every day.  This morning was no exception.  I put in my headphones and walked, noticing the stars, then the opening of the day, the birds, the dogs, the leaves. . .  sometimes Sinatra belts a song to me and I hear his voice and see him dancing; sometimes I see an errant dandelion in the winter grass; sometimes the smell of his sauce wakes me up at night, and my stomach growls.

He lives on.  He lives on in my brother's eyes, in my sister's laughter, in my mother's gaze.

I think that if he could make a wish today, he would wish goodness for all of us.  He would wish that we let go of the things we cannot control, that we stay in the present moment, and that we are grateful for what we have.  He would want us to take a big breath, and blow out all 82 candles --- blowing away the things that do not serve us in this lifetime.  He would want us to know his love in our hearts, and lead our days with it.

I miss you Dad, but I'm also pretty amazed at how you are still so present in my life.  Thank you.

Mind, Body & Spirit

It's been a long time since I contemplated the relationship between the mind, body and spirit.  I suppose it's because I got caught up in the web of the mind for quite awhile, and simply forgot about the spirit and disregarded the body.  Believe me, it's an evident fact.

This morning, I rolled myself out of bed, sleepy but determined to throw on a scarf, hat, gloves and heavy jacket for my morning walk.  And I did.  I got about a quarter of a mile and realized I never put Tony's clothes in the dryer, and without dry clothes he would 1) go to school in shorts or 2) rationalize that it was a reason to skip school.  I sighed and turned back home.  Women multi-task.  That's the point of that paragraph.

Back outside, I started to walk.  I thought about the characters in my book --- where I want them to start and where I want them to end up.  The voices, the stories, the looks, the laughs and the music played inside my head, weaving in and out of each other.  When I finally came back into reality, I had already walked a mile.

It got me thinking.  I can say that my mind took me on that journey through the characters, and that because I was using my body at the same time, I was able to fully engage in the process.  Yet, and this is the important part, I wasn't fully engaged in the process.  Something else took over.

I think that anyone who writes, plays a sport that requires focus, draws or builds plans can relate.  There is a period of time where your mind is not conscious of its actions or thoughts, it just does things, and next thing you know, an hour has passed and you're so excited that a product came out of it.

I am addicted to that part of things --- when my conscious mind turns off and I just exist in the area where I can float.  Sadly, when the mind, spirit and body are not connected, that area where I float is often occupied by an escape mechanism --- doing puzzles, playing games on my phone, scanning the web, drinking. . .

Today I recognized myself inside that mix of mind, body and spirit, and realized that when all three are connected in a healthy way, it's an amazing experience.

I always believed in "gut instinct" and listening to that voice inside of you, but I never put it all together.  Now, I believe that my "gut instinct" is really my fundamental self speaking to me --- the one that cautions me, kindly, against doing something I might regret later; the one that tells me to turn down a different road because the car on the side of the road looks suspicious, the one that checks in on my daughter and finds that she needed me to call her in that moment.

I realized that I am so lucky because that little voice --- that little me --- is my best friend.  It's like meeting someone who knows your entire past, your entire present, all the people you know, all the memories that made or broke you, all your fears, and all your thoughts.  She can then move between the good things, the important things, and advise you on where to go and what to say.   She's that spirit part of me.  My voice.  The one that gives me words. My brain gives me the ability to put them in order, but my voice tells me what to say, what emotion is tied to whatever I am thinking, and then we move and float until it's there.  I imagine it's a lot like putting a symphony together.

That's addictive.

The floating sensation inside is what is truly real --- the actual truth.  Here's an example:  There is a small house cat that that stops in front of you, stares directly in your eyes and hisses.
Your brain:  Fuck, that cat's possessed.  Your body:  tense, ready to run.  Your spirit:  it's a scared cat.

I know that's basic, but it's how I see it.  Your brain creates a story or a belief or a lie in order to rationalize the actions of the cat.

I don't know if any of this makes sense.  I really don't care either, if I'm honest.

Just feels good to physically sit here, let my brain work the keyboard, and write whatever comes to me.