we don't make leprechaun traps

 

           March 16 . 2021

1. I saw Keith Richards in the Ralph's Market the other day. It's hard with the masks and everything, and it probably wasn't him because he lives in London or somewhere else, but there were his eyes, the hair wildly sticking up above the bandana around his head, the craggy face. Thin legs. Keith was carrying a red basket. Keith wouldn't push a cart around. He doesn't eat enough for a cart. I saw a flash of yellow before he headed to the register. I couldn't really see what was in the basket, maybe bananas. 

I'm no portrait artist but you can kind of see it, right?

__________________________________________________________________________

2. My friend, Monica sent a picture of her daughter's leprechaun trap. 

Claire said, I never made one of those when I was a kid. 

I said, That's because we don't catch leprechauns.

Claire said, Oh, my 70's Mom!

Because people who grew up in the 70's left leprechauns alone to live their lives.

Anyway, I said, I'm pretty sure my Dad was one.

Two things. 

BIG LOVE.

XO

B

DON'T PANIC

                             

Wednesday, was the day I planned to write here. Wednesday is my designated day to post since this new year started. Once a week. Be consistent. Even if it's a little something to share with the lovelies. Write something. If you're not sure - today is Thursday.

But yesterday slipped by watching the SECOND IMPEACHMENT hearings of the current inciter/insurrectionist in the Oval Office, taking a walk, rearranging my potted plants like a Queen's Gambit chess board, making rice and beans for dinner. I never made it here.

Last Wednesday, five people died, a police officer's head bashed in by a fire extinguisher, windows smashed, the rioters were looking to hang someone. Mike Pence? Nancy Pelosi? 

Maybe a trial and execution on the Senate floor by Q-Anoners? some have been voted into Congress

The rioters stormed (and meandered) through the Capitol Building as if on a self-tour. Trashing things, peeing on carpets, taking selfies, some with Capitol Hill police! It's now appearing that people working inside the halls of Congress, maybe Republican Senators/Congresspeople might have aided in this domestic terrorist attack. AOC was in hiding with Republicans during the attack. She was terrified they might "give up her location." 

Not a take-your-daughter to work kind of day in the good, old USA.

After all the violence, 

147 Republicans STILL challenged the counting of the electoral votes. 

After all the violence, Still, Ted Cruz and Josh Hawley pushed The Big Lie. They should be expelled from the Senate. Even after a SECOND IMPEACHMENT for inciting violent insurrection, Trump still sits in the Oval Office, blowing kisses to his violent marauding militia, with his finger on the nuclear codes? 

But hey, 

Our free and fair election was finally certified in the small hours of the morning.

All kinds of investigations are underway. People have been arrested. Black and brown people spend years in jail for a couple of joints in their glove box, for taking a right-on-red in the wrong place. Sometimes they get shot. And killed. Everyone knows if this had been people of color in a peaceful protest, buckets of blood would have been shed. 

So,What about these treasonous fuckers, their ugly, bulging, sometimes smiling faces burned into our psyches? What about the people who left the riot, flew home, refusing to mask up, chanting on the planes? These people must be jailed for a very long time. Feed them gruel for all I care. Unlike the born-again Republicans who want to put this behind them, feel it's best for us to move on and heal the country, I want to see the head of the beast and the rest of it, chopped into a gazillion tiny pieces. My cup of anger is refilling daily, like the Professor's bottle of port in the Cary Grant/Loretta Young classic, The Bishop's Wife.

This is going to reverberate for a very long time. The desecration and violence on video for all of us to watch, threats of more to come as we prepare for the inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris + there's still Covid, thousands of people dying a day. 

But hey, 

There are thousands of National Guard troops sleeping on the marble floors of the Capitol. An ordinary day. All is well in America. None of this surprises me. It does, however, sicken me. I've had a painful sciatica that seems to have come out of nowhere, you think? That morning anxiety/panic in my chest upon waking, which plagued me for years, is back. 

The behavior of Trump and all these other crazy, delusional people is that of an abuser. 

Let me scare you, dominate you, gaslight you until you shiver like a mouse.Watch me smash windows, carry Confederate flags 

Do you quiver when the assholes in their trucks with all the flags flying drive by? 

The abuser loves that the best. None of this is normal. 

No. But I do feel vomit in my mouth.

Like the eloquent guest on the news said, "These people are Vanilla Isis." ☑️

_________________________________________________________________

Things blew up. WE have blown up. I'm feeling the anger that my black and brown brothers and sisters have always felt. It's not new to me. The painful, racist, crushing, big lie world has always pained me, especially as a little girl. Sometimes, anger is healing. Sometimes, fighting back is the only way forward. I don't know what to do. Be extra kind to my cashier friends @ the market dealing with the crazies who bitch and argue about everything (including masks), speak my truth, speak up when this kind of evil has become normalized. What a four years, five years, 400 hundred years.

Speak up. 

Speak up. 

Speak up. 

Be kind. 

Be kind. 

Be kind.

How to end this Thursday check-in? Like last week, I was all about updating you on The Vivies. Maybe sharing something on planting bulbs and writing. You know, self-care and sending peace, and being the peace you send. I'm still for these things. I still need to plant my bulbs, and plan for my upcoming classes and send more New Year's cards. Regular stuff. 

But wow.

I'll end with this message found among my email this morning:

Noticing that everything is interconnected,

that love and light exist amid the 

darkness, and that not all is lost can

nourish us on our paths.

- Rose Zonetti

love and peace from The Vivies 

+ me. xoxo

My Cup of Anger

January 6 . 2021

I'd planned to report on Big and Little Vivie and their amazing growth spurt over the past week. Today's check-in had nothing to do with Trump, the villain who will not go away, inciting his delusional minions to storm the Capitol Building during what should have been, AND WILL BE, the final fucking certification of this presidential election. The final certification of the already certified electoral votes from each of our United States. 

My cup of anger runneth over right now.

I woke to Michael telling me the good news about Georgia, I just feel better, he said, and I did too until the news took a turn. A very bad turn. There seemed to be little urgency to keep the mobs from storming the Capitol steps, and then breaching the building. Raging thugs pushed their way into the Senate chambers, rooted around in desks, took pictures of themselves. All I could think of as this unfolded (and continues still) was the innocent people, families with children, peacefully protesting in Lafayette Square back in June when out of nowhere they were being chased by police on horses, tear-gassed, run down so Trump could have his picture taken in front of St. John's, holding a bible?

Ludicrous. 

Nauseating. 

So Sad.

Deeply Disturbing.

Racist.

Bizarre...

Voices everywhere are rightfully asking as this day has unfolded: What if these "protesters" (see rioters/looters/inciters of violence) were people of color? What do you think the pictures on the news would be then? What do you think the response from law enforcement would have looked like? 

If this was a Black Lives Matter rally, 

people would have been 

tased, 

pepper sprayed, 

shot.

As I write this, darkness has fallen on the east coast. The mob remains. 

Trump said, "We love you" to these rioters. He called them "very special people." Remember "there were fine people on both sides." Trump needs to be taken out. Now. He is a clear and present danger. The news is saying the Senate will reconvene at 8pm. Let's trust the process will be completed. But this is a day that will go down in infamy. The people who voted for Trump and follow his cult and came to riot at our Capitol have shown themselves to be dangerous to our country. There is no mincing words any longer. The Republicans in the House and Senate who still believe this was a fraudulent election are complicit in this day of sedition and violence. 

Oh my. I am not a political writer. 

And yet, we are all here together. 

And this barely scratches what's going on.

We can't hide from any of this.

My heart is breaking, again.

and, thank you Georgia. 💙

________________________________________

Let me leave you with this photo of Big Vivie opening her arms to the morning light.

                                                             sending peace and love.

                                                                          xo b

 

Renaissance • Mr. Darcy + other things

December 30 • 2020

 I woke thinking it's Saturday - okay, it's Wednesday, close enough - and splashed water on my face with my glasses still on. I was daydreaming about things -mostly my plants and writing and taking the dog for a walk. And the word, renaissance which popped into my head on Monday (2 days ago). It feels good to say ~

renaissance 

After drying my glasses, I dug in the junk drawer for the measuring tape to see how much Big Vivie and Little Vivie have grown from a week ago. Big Vivie is now 22.5 inches tall. Little Vivie is 18.5" They're going to burst open into blossom sooner than I expected. 

                                                         

RENAISSANCE is a French word meaning rebirth. The Merriam-Webster Dictionary offered the word's history and etymology (in brief): French, from Middle French, rebirth from Old French, renaistre to be born again, from Latin renasci, from re + nasci to be born

So, yes, I'm thinking a kind of rebirth would be lovely as we leave this year behind. And it's always funny to me because the whole-end-of-year/new year moment is simply one day to the next, yet it has such a hold on us - I go to sleep, usually before midnight, or maybe bang some pots and pans @ midnight on the porch before crawling into my cozy bed. Sleep, dream, lose track of the days, and then wake up and it's a new day - I'm still me, nothing noticeably miraculous happened at the strike of midnight, yet most of us feel the metaphorical turning of a new page. 

We long for the new-ness. I know I do. (and still, I hold onto the familiar)

Like a good Jane Austen story (Claire and I have been deep into them on these winter nights) -Newness and familiar comforts are a marriage, a dance - take Ms. Austen's characters...the dancers barely touch, gaze into each other's eyes as they pass, hands skimming over hands, a gentle skip up the center of the dance floor, circling back under a canopy of lifted arms and hands. A constant give and take. Oh the sexual tension, dear Jane! The unrequited love, words unspoken until a bursting forth usually on the coastal cliffs, wind blowing loose hair, and someone finally speaks their truth! 

Speak up! Share your heart!

(See The Dashwood sisters, Charlotte Heywood...thank you, PBS/Netflix~ )

                   Is it any wonder I wash my face with glasses on? 

                                                                               Oh what a good laugh I had! 

This wandering mind. So many wonders to think on: plants, birds, pink clouds, dogs, children riding bikes, the lone seal swimming at the beach, love, peanut butter and honey on toast, the world of Jane Austen or James Bond? (we watched one the other night)

and then... there are the horrible things. 2020 has been full of tragic, crushing moments. This global pandemic, George Floyd, Brianna Taylor, so many names/say their names, the final days of Trump, conspiracy theories, daily horror and madness and loss. You may have suffered great loss and unwanted changes this year. 

It's so easy to lose hope. But we mustn't. Ever.

Some comfort, some Mr. Darcy, see Pride and Prejudice, who does come around to love Elizabeth but what a tough, weird nut to crack - (even if it is handsome Colin Firth) - and a glass of red wine is perhaps an answer, at least for an evening.  🍷

Comfort is necessary more than ever these days - offer it up to yourself daily.

_______________________

Here's to a renaissance when the clock strikes 12:00.

                 

                     (tomorrow night, Thursday it is!)

For you, 

for me,

for everyone, 

+ for this sweet beautiful old earth.

love always,

b xo

My Kind of Math

This morning I was writing about growing things and overall how much better it makes me feel when I'm doing it. This reminded me of my life as Ms.J, second grade teacher. It made me think about how I spent five days a week in a room full of seven year olds, no aide, no extra help, sometimes parents would come in for a craft, or party, but for the majority of the time, it was me and my kittens. It was a lot of energy in that room with the big windows and wide sills. The cubbies spilling out with folders and pencil cases and snacks. And other stuff the kids would bring to play with at recess. 

They were the most creative,energizing,and exhausting years of my life. 

I loved those kittens. (still do, wherever you are - xo)

Every Christmas my mother gave me a bag of paper white bulbs (oh I miss her) and from that tradition I gave them to my students in the New Year. Each kid got a bulb - well you can read the scratchings in my journal entry (above), written in a flush of memory this morning. A wonderful memory of that big sunny room with all the window sills filled with pots of paper whites. The scent was overwhelmingly sweet once all of them bloomed. In pre-No-Child-Left-Behind and other craziness put in place, I taught math and science using journals and rulers and crayons and plants and other stuff like that. I'm sure we had math workbooks,  good for straight up computation practice, but getting out our science/math journals and documenting the growth of our paper-white bulbs - that was my kind of math. 

It was only 7:30 am

Life is so much more charming and simpler than we humans make it. Especially in the world of education. It's not that f*cking complicated to engage little kids (and ourselves) in life-long learning. For the paper-white project, all we needed was our notebooks and simple tools: 

Kids could be out of their seats at the window measuring, comparing their bulb's growth to a friend's, or going down the row sniffing each one while looking out the window. I was big on bar graphs because visually they're the easiest to understand and you can have a lot of fun doing it in different ways. I'm not sure where I was headed this morning with this one, see below attempting to illustrate my amaryllis, now split into two - Big Vivie + Little Vivie. The proportions are way off, I mean, the pot isn't that big compared to the flowering bulb, and honestly, I shouldn't point this out since I'm writing about second graders, but amaryllis's, at least until the flower blooms, bring to mind a penis, or two - come on, they're totally phallic! Plus I grew up in a house full of naked brothers and to this day, I see us squished in the bath tub together, laughing and carrying on, bubbles for beards and big white hair, plastic soldier's bayonets poking me in my chubby thigh.

not sure what happened with this graph?

You don't need to be a green thumb to grow a bulb. This amaryllis came in a pot with the disk of compacted soil - all I had to do was add water, fluff up the soil, and plant the bulb. Then, find a lovely spot, not too hot, not too cold, for your bulb to follow the light. 

                                                        I measured the two Vivies this morning. 

As illustrated from my scientific, mathematical calculations and life-like drawing - Big Vivie is ten inches + Little Vivie is seven. How many inches taller is Big Vivie to Little Vivie? 

Do the math, people.

As we enter the final week of this year, may your holidays be blessed + safe + healthy. Scott Peck opened his book, "The Road Less Traveled" with this sentence: Life is difficult. We all get that. Yet, we don't have to add (+) to the difficulties. Why not grow something instead?

An idea

A deeper love

(A deeper love for)Yourself

Gratitude

...or a simple bulb in a pot of soil. Maybe start there. 

It's too tiring at this time of year (especially this year) to take on more, don't you think? 

                           

Grow something.

  love b

  XO

 

Tiny Bells 🌠

 

Last week I shared how each semester concludes with students writing letters to me. This is their final. I ask them to include the quote de jour as a touchstone to write about. This year's quote was by Ralph Waldo Emerson (see 12/9/20). I invited them to reflect on all life as an experiment, timidity, getting fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice, and Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble? 

What do you think of this? How does it relate to your own life? Letter writing for me has always been personal, revelatory, and inspiring for writer and reader. 

Tell me what you think.I'll write back. 

I do, to each and every student - with pleasure. 

_______________________________

It's our final exchange of ideas. 

Here's a few gems among many:

My attitude about life is I do not take life seriously; I take serious moments in life seriously. I try things, I make mistakes, and I take action because I feel life truly is an experiment and I want it to be the biggest, fun, and exciting experiment I could have ever lived so that later in life I can look back and say I am glad I did. Emerson is right because you cannot know in advance what will happen through your actions. You can only plan and then take action. - Meghan 

🌀

Failure has never been part of the plan...That being said, I am working on seeing life as an “experiment”. I am trying each day to come to terms with the fact that I may have to be a little lenient with the paths I take to have this dream life of mine. Failure was a negative thing in my household, when in reality, failure just means you have tried. - Morgan 

🌀

And this, from Ann. Returning student, thirty-nine year old mother of four children, a woman who as a first-grader had to translate at parent-teacher conferences for her Spanish-speaking mother. "I always translated the truth," she said. This semester Ann was inducted into the Honor Society on campus:

I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed. I failed and I kept failing until I got tired of failing; then I wanted to win, win for my children, win for my husband, win to glorify God and win for the first-grade kid who had to figure it out on her own. This is my academic redemption story. 

So now, after years of giving up on myself, I decided to wear my F with pride because it was how I started and I can’t forget it. I won’t forget it and I definitely wear my children down with my story. I lived it; they don’t have to. I failed at it, they cannot. I know English. I know how sweet success is and I’m hooked. The old mindset is gone, it was toxic. I’m healed. I’m ready. - Ann 

🌀

Morgan concluded that Failure just means you have tried. 

                                                                                        

And with that, I heard tiny bells ringing in my head.

xo b

Moon and Sun by Claire Collins

Up Again!

Do not be too timid and squeamish about your actions. 

All life is an experiment.

The more experiments you make, the better. 

What if they are a little coarse, and you may get your coat

soiled or torn? What if you do fail, or get fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice?

Up again, you shall never be so afraid of a tumble.

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

__________________________________________________

At the end of each semester, I ask my college students to write me a letter. This is their final. The lost art of letter writing. In the letter, among other things, I ask them to share what they think about Ralph's questions ~ Are you timid about your actions? How do you feel about getting fairly rolled in the dirt once or twice? Do you agree with the idea that life is a series of experiments? The more, the better? What about tumbling? Their letters always amaze and surprise. I know the students surprise themselves.

                                                                                🌀

When I'm holding back, fretting about outcomes, or what people will think (even about this blog) I say out loud: ALL LIFE IS AN EXPERIMENT. Period. 🌠

There is much fear these days, and rightfully so. It's easy to scare yourself into a corner. It's easy to Not try new things. It's a global pandemic, for goodness sake, and the crazy man has yet to leave office and...it does seems best to hunker down. A good book, warm, soft blanket, a cup of hot tea or good glass of Cabernet - I'm happily hunkered. But as this year kinda sorta winds down, and some hope is in the air in spite of all the nuttiness and real frightful things, I want to play, dream of new things, take action.

                     We may be down, but we are still here. 

                      Experimenting can be tiny, a simple-stay-at-home thing. 

                            I started with my used to be white front door. 

                                                                      Up again!

                                                 xo b