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Posts Tagged ‘election’

Been a bugger of a week. I spent last Tuesday night and the following two days in what I call Election Stupor: On paper I was functional, but in true life was sleepwalking. Worse, I was oddly compelled to keep going, to keep accomplishing things, all while moving through what felt like psychic tapioca pudding.

At the election results my friends and I ranged from shocked to bereft to mad enough to spit ink. Collectively, we were Kubler-Ross’s Six Stages of Grief, whirling round and round like a roulette wheel. The silver ball could land anywhere, at any time. It still can. What a strange, strange situation.

And through it all I learned how much people want to be seen and heard. So many are starved of genuine connection. It’s one of the great paradoxes of our time, isn’t it, that technology can propel humanity’s voice almost anywhere on earth, but that so few people feel heard?

This past week my friends tried to see and hear each other, to comfort, vent, try to find the humor, howl at the moon, and mourn. It felt, for the most part, like we were trying to heal each other along with ourselves. We’re a big-hearted lot.

There are many ways to be fed. And while breakfast, lunch, and dinner fills the belly for a few hours, the human soul craves more, and finds it in connection.

Non-sequitor: I seem to be quite taken with making pie lately. This is bourbon-toasted-pecan pumpkin.

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Had a little fun with the topping. The points look like fangs. I dug it, and I dug INTO it.

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For those readers outside the U.S., the election season here in the colonies has been pretty rife with stress—almost tangibly stressful, as if we’re brushing away ions of hate speech and rhetoric and illogic as we walk through streets and scroll through social media. I’m grateful that my friends are the kind type, and consequently I’ve been able to hamster-ball my way through most of the nonsense. Today I took a walk on the beach as I always do in times of chaos, walking in the wind and sunshine, and I felt safe. The ocean doesn’t care about any of this mishagoss. It’s bigger than all of it, and far older, and will remain nonetheless, let’s hope.

But the negative ions are still out there, and on this, the night before the election, I’m just glad tomorrow we’ll have an answer in stone.

Last night I warmed up a bowl of my homemade chicken stock. As I moved through the kitchen, I felt compelled to move very slowly—not my usual style. I chose a footed bowl, poured the stock into my old copper-bottomed pan that I bought from a sale in a lot a half-block away, and waited to hear the soup hiss as it does when it’s just starting to think about boiling. And I felt warm honey-colored peace flow over and through me. Then I drank down the soup slowly—no seasonings, no spoon even. It was perfect.

I have only felt that kind of peace a couple of times in my life. It’s always unbidden, but it also always seems to surface when I need it most. It didn’t last. But I like that word, surface. Implies it’s always inside. It’ll be back.

E Pluribus Unum, everybody. Remember that, and drink it down to the very bottom. Out of many, ONE.

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