A Fall Road Trip

 As I start making my lists organizing for Thanksgiving and Christmas I find my thoughts turning back to the memories of the road trip we took in September to see friends in Knoxville and my husband's 50th high school reunion in October. 

I had never been to the southern states and so we decided to drive to Knoxville, taking I40 almost as far as it could go to the east. I passed through Oklahoma, Louisiana, Mississippi, North Carolina, Texas.

Granted my impressions are limited by I40 but it seems to me that things are slowly getting better; they're not 100% perfect, but they seem to be getting better in the small towns we passed through. There is lots of road work, there are fewer empty shops along the main streets. It was festival season and almost every town was celebrating something, whether it was beer, moonshine or bluegrass. 

 COVID-19 vaccine messaging was everywhere.  The rest stops were well stocked with soap, paper towels, hand dryers and reminders to wash your hands for 20 seconds.

It is very clear that rural small towns still need lots of help. They need infrastructure like internet and more "Made in the USA". Yes, there is crime but despite the almost Armageddon portrayed in political ads people are more concerned about being able to keep a roof over their heads, food on the table and figuring out how pay for retirement. 

 I saw that Americans share more common ground than the political parties would have us believe. Different cultures, different generations share the same concerns and dreams for themselves and for the country. Politicians want to win elections and they do that by sowing discord, dividing us and blaming the outsider. 

At my husband's high school reunion I met people still trying to improve the world 50 years after they graduated. They weren't thinking of putting themselves out to pasture.  They are thinking of what might be possible to solve the world's problems. Some are pastors, some are lawyers, some are scientists. One of my husband's greatest friends is working on technology that predicts earthquakes. After a wild fire destroyed his suburban San Diego neighborhood he's also working on improving fire movement predictions & notifications. 

As discouraged as I sometimes feel I remember the people I met this past fall. There is much to be thankful for and much to hope for.

Wait...I thought it was my life, not yours.

 

 

 

Note: I wrote this the week after the Supreme Court ruled in Roe v. Wade. I postponed publishing it because I wasn't sure it said what I wanted to say. It does. 

 

“You can buy a gun but you can’t get an abortion.” – Murphy Jones

 

“I don’t want to do either.” – Emma Moriarity

 

That exchange from 1985’s Murphy’s Romance came to me when the news broke last week.  Murphy’s response came in answer to Emma’s question about what sort of town she had just moved to. His reply perfectly sums up what kind of town we all suddenly have moved to; for most of us, unwillingly.

 

How are we to understand this town in which we now live? Do we even want to understand it? What are we to do? How do we cope with the anxiety? We don’t know what lies ahead and we control very little of the outside world. But I’ve always believed that I can control my actions. At least, I thought I could. But now I don’t know if I do.

 

It seems others want to control what I do; others who think they know what is best for me. They are attempting to force me to obey them. But I did not willingly give them the power to decide for me.  Therein lies my dilemma. I didn’t give them the power. They are not elected by me.  They lied to get into power and now they are imposing their world view and values on to me.

 

It is not for them to decide how I live my life. I have the freedom to worship how I see fit and to believe what I want to believe. Whatever I believe, whatever my code of conduct and value system, I decide not someone else. 

 

Media has made us more aware of the injustices of the world and I think that is a good thing. It also makes people uncomfortable and makes them think. And a lot of people don’t want to think. They are comfortable when others tell them what to do or what to think. But I’m not.

 

 

I don’t want to live in a town where most people are packing.

 

And I don’t want to live in a town that intrudes into my private life.

All We Can Do is All We Can Do

When the kids were little my son had a poster on his bedroom door which helped him figure out how he was feeling each morning. Maybe you know the one I mean.  It had six rows of faces with different expressions and each expression was labeled with an emotion. I always checked the poster when I went by because I never knew how I was feeling from one moment to the next. It stayed on his door until he moved out of the house.

I find myself wishing I had that poster these days. It is so hard to move through all the emotion that is floating everywhere right now.  How do I feel? I continually ask myself.  How do I manage to navigate all the evil that is out there in the world? I feel despair.

 The lack of filters? The lack of manners? The lack of basic communication skills? The manipulation? The lies? How do I feel? I feel frustration.

 I can't even watch live television without wading through the garbage that passes for political discourse. It's ridiculous. I'm resentful. 

Then there's the handwringing on one side and simplistic thinking on the other that finds its' way onto my news feed. I feel resigned.

But even with all the awfulness that is going on in the world there's a robin outside my kitchen window determinedly building her nest in the eaves. The trees are leafing out. The farmer across the road works her fields in the early morning. Spring is arriving despite the tragedies that are besetting us. 

The world keeps on spinning despite us. "Let It Be" sing The Beatles. "Look for the helpers." says Mr. Rogers. Basically this wisdom comes down to this:  all we can do is to make our little corner of the world a better place. In short, do what we can to reflect the world we want to see. I feel hope that it will be enough.

 

 

I should have practiced with Jerry Amerstein

 I've discovered that spitting is one of my major shortcomings. This latest upsurge of COVID-19 has necessitated yours truly having to spit into a tube.

 What the nurse on the other side of the Zoom screen must think of me, I can't imagine.  I'm sure she hopes she doesn't see me again.

I'm a person who lives by the advice of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: Read and understand all instructions before you begin. I had everything laid out and prepared before I logged into the Zoom waiting room. On the advice of my husband, a former baseball player (and expert spitter),  I saved my saliva for the test tube by not swallowing for 30 minutes.  All was going smoothly until the nurse asked if I had any symptoms. I then promptly choked on all the saliva while trying to answer her question.

The amount of saliva needed to fill the tube is  a lot. I mean, a lot. And the first attempt was beyond inadequate.  It was so bad the nurse said to keep trying and she'd check back with me.  She checked back 3 times.  I simply could not get enough saliva in my mouth. And when I did try to spit into the tube it invariably went everywhere except IN the tube.  

That's where Jerry Amerstein comes in.  At 10 years old Jerry could hawk a loogie with impressive speed and distance.  He practiced at recess to an admiring circle of envious third grade boys. We third grade girls had a different reaction; something along the lines of "Ewwwww". 

I remembered Jerry as I struggled to get enough spit out to fill the tube to the wavy black line. He had a definite technique.  He sucked in his cheeks and made a really disgusting rasping sound at the back of his throat before the spit went flying. So, I did my best impression of Billy Crystal as Uncle Saul, and finally, FINALLY, started having some success.  I think it took about 10 tries but I eventually got that tube filled. 

And all I can say is "Ewwww."