Hail to thee, Ms. Kitty! Too many 2020 goodbyes . . .

Dear you,

This weekend, Ms. Kitty died.  Look  at the ebony, sassy beauty she was:  

My friend Eric buried this precious feline beneath lilacs in Massachusetts.  She had lived twenty or so years with her mistress, Eric’s mother.  Eric said Ms. Kitty kept her cool.  She withdrew under a bed and then . . .  just left.

Just like that.

We are spending a lot of time grieving these days.  Beautiful creatures leaving us behind.  Some leave like Ms. Kitty, letting go after a longish life and a good fight.  Some are taken by violence and stupidity.  In either circumstance, we cry.  I know I have cried cliché rivers in 2020 and I am not a crier by nature. 

But after I cry, I know I must move on and act, like the noble cat described by inspirechange.org:

“The cat shows up for courage to act, and in essence shows up at a time when action needs to be taken.  Those who have the cat as their spirit animal might want to start developing a strong balance between independence and togetherness.  The meanings behind the Cat spirit animal:  patience, independence, curiosity, adventure.”

So, to honor every beautiful creature/person who has left us behind this awful year, I will do my very best to act.  To show up at a time when action needs to be taken.

Rest in peace, vanished beautiful people and wild things.

We say all your names, every day.

XO

Joyce

Silver Lining Sally

Dear you,

Hurricane Sally has meandered her way across the Gulf Coast and continues towards Georgia and the East.  Heavy, heavy rains produced floods; the wind gusts are still fierce.  Some gusts prompt flashbacks of Hurricane Michael, the storm I did not run from.  I got lucky, unharmed and somewhat stunned after that one.  As for Sally, the same applies (for me and Seagrove Beach).  I got lucky, unharmed and somewhat stunned once again.

The “stun” I am experiencing now is not the "glad that's over; that was scary" rush. Today's stun is aesthetic, visceral. (Is that what church is supposed to feel like?)

Now, with the obliterating rain over, I see a gorgeous dove grey sky.  I hear the wind singing.  It is singing!  This, all this, so beautiful. Ah, the silver lining.  That old saying, every cloud has a silver lining?  I don’t know what that means, really, but I get this:  we will find beautiful stuff inside the not so beautiful, or after the not so beautiful event.  For example:

That is the scene at the Bramble Grove beach entrance this afternoon.   Rolling waters, frothy and delicious.  Purity.  Nature.  Rolling in and on . . .

AND NO PEOPLE ON THE BEACH!

Inhale, exhale, and enjoy the reprieve before the next wave of “guests”.

For now, for this fragile moment, there is peace in Seagrove Beach.  Miss Sally's silver lining.  Thank you, sister.

XO

Joyce

Wherever I Go, There I am . . .

Dear you,

An old friend of mine (well, he isn’t that old, but we go back forty years) once told me “wherever you go, there you are.”  I smile remembering the circumstances.  James said this to me in the plaza of Lincoln Center in New York.  I was prepping to move to Chicago to pursue a master’s degree and “new things”.  Yes, I had goals, I had reasons.  But I think his words were meant to caution me about expectations of blissful change.  The geography would change.  However, this would not guarantee an erasure of any existential Joyce thing I was dealing with.  Right.  I am, anywhere and everywhere:

Restless.

A seeker of a not bland utopia.

So, restless me needed a change of geography this past Labor Day weekend.  I journeyed to Tallahassee, our Florida capitol, for that change.  It is, after all, a city with colleges, a diverse population, and green, green, green spaces everywhere.  The hilly landscape surprised me after years of living on the flat coast.  Despite random hotel noise (god, everywhere people are door slammers and stompers), I enjoyed my time in a cat friendly site.

But then there was this on Saturday afternoon:

A caravan of Trump trucks headed into downtown to counter #BLM marchers.

I saw about twenty vehicles with the ubiquitous Trump flags, a few featuring the very special Trump-photoshopped-to-look-muscular-while-holding-machine-gun picture.  I just slowed down and sighed.  This was a scene I had hoped to leave behind for a few days.  Tallahassee is supposed to be a liberal town, right?  Right.  But still not homogenous in terms of political ideology.  Wherever I go, there they are too.  And wherever I go, there I am, accompanied by my current political discomforts.

Back at the hotel, I relaxed with a cold cerveza and cigarette by their little lake, surrounded by oaks draped in Spanish Moss:

After twenty minutes, I got bored with the lake.  I realized it was probably just a man-made retention pond. And I also realized the Trump caravan sighting, while annoying, was stimulating!  I was chasing new geography and the geography was certainly different, but the people weren’t.  And neither was I. 

While my intention was to get away to a green and peaceful place, away from the tourists packing into my condo for the holiday, I could not get away from myself.  I am, anywhere and everywhere, restless and seeking a not bland utopia.

Damn. Drama, drama, drama.

Wherever I go, there I am. 

James, you got that right!

XO

Joyce

Bread & circuses . . .

Dear you,

Bread and Circuses:  a diet of entertainment or political policies on which the masses are fed to keep them happy and docile.

I applaud the NBA players who refuse to be a part of the strategic circus. They are resisting, speaking, and fueling for a fight. Meanwhile, the current administration is pushing to get citizens back into a cycle of watching, ingesting, embracing distraction.  I recycle the cycle myself now and then, escaping into entire weekends of Sex and the City reruns. But while I am sleeping in distraction cycle, more literal shit is going down.  The latest:

Jacob Blake was shot in the back by law enforcement.  He may be paralyzed for life.

His name has not been mentioned during the circus called the Republican National Convention.  I hear clips from speakers describing a world that does not exist, a Camelot-like fabulousness that Donald has created.  And if we do not reelect this man?  No one will be safe.

Really?

We aren’t all “safe” now.  Those of us who have the luxury of interacting with law enforcement without getting shot in the back need to be resisting, speaking, and fueling for a fight.  The watching, ingesting, and distraction days are done.

We aren’t playing.

Love,

Joyce

Q who?

Dear you:

“Where we go one we go all.”

This is the QAnon motto.  The syntax is awkward as hell.  But it does have that fifth grade-secret-society kind of ring to it.  Donald Trump likes it because they like him.  Yes, it has come to this.  Another bad motto and another misinterpretation of V for Vendetta. 

But what does this motto mean????

Does it justify the Qs lust for attending packed rallies, even during a pandemic?

Does it mean the blob is all and the individual must be absorbed? 

Does it mean the Qs are like lemmings running off a cliff? What if “one” decides to drink the disinfectant Donald was talking about months ago?  Does that mean they all then belly up to the “We Go Lysol Cocktail Bar”?

My Q research to answer those questions revealed that these morons are embracing a contradiction.  And not the good kind associated with complexity or depth. Consider one of Q's merch-shirts and that motto again:

Think.  Who needs to think if “where we go one we go all”? Follow the Q.  Well, you know the cliché, liberals fall in love, but conservatives fall in line.  And they are falling in line, I hear, by the millions.  Apparently, I am no longer just a terrorist, I am now a cannibal who eats and/or sells children.   They know this to be true, I guess, because Q says it is.  They don’t need to think.  They just need to “we go all” in for the titillating mystery of Q. 

But who is Q?  I think it's this guy:

Where he goes, I am NOT going at all.   Because I actually do think instead of wearing the word on a t-shirt.

And I would so much rather fall in love than fall in line.

Come on Qs.  Think.  If you dare.

XO

Joyce

Lost Things . . .

Dear you,

Saint Anthony is the Catholic Saint of lost things.  Perhaps you know the common people’s prayer to him:

Dear St. Anthony, please come around.  Something is lost and it cannot be found.

Very 2020 relevant.

What have we lost?

What cannot be found?

What will never come back, no matter how much we pray?

Someone lost their mask in the Publix parking lot this week:

This is a new form of litter/garbage we see on the streets these days, and the lost (or abandoned) mask reminds me how often we dispose of good, helpful things . . .  and people.  I like the photo, my shadow self looming over the heroic little accessory.

What have we lost?

What cannot be found?

What will never come back, no matter how much we pray?

What we have found, if lucky, is resilience and possibly revolution.  And even a parking lot phone-photo can be viewed through an interpretive lens of the new, things as they are, the way we never expected them to be.

I hope you are seeing what is new.  And I hope you are finding things too, things you did not expect to discover.  It can only get better.

Love,

Joyce

Defiance?

Dear you,

Stop the spread.  Well, this won’t help:

The student who snapped the picture, Ms. Waters, was suspended by the Georgia school in question.  Later, she was un-suspended.  Thank you, goddess of justice.  However, the image is still ridiculous and alarming.  What are these young people thinking?  What are they not thinking?  I do see one teen in a mask. I am sure he was not alone. But why not require masks for all, especially when crowded together in hallways or gyms?  Is it that hard? 

The superintendent for that school thinks it is hard.  His words, as published by CNN.com:

“There is no question that the photo does not look good . . . Wearing a mask is a personal choice, and there is no practical way to enforce a mandate to wear them.”

Really?  How about PANTS.  I promise you, if a student showed up for class pants-less, he/she would be forced to don the britches or exit the facility.

How about BELLY SHIRTS?  The requirement to wear a full shirt is probably enforceable.

How about SHOES?  Barefoot in Art History 101 may look cool, but I am pretty sure that is forbidden too.  And enforceable.

I am so tired of these weaklings backing down about masking.

In closed public spaces, put one on.  Data shows they help limit the spread. So, why reject easy masking?

I keep hearing it is all about defiance.  “Don’t tell me what to do!”  I also know the science about young, undeveloped brains tending to embrace risk.  But why place others at risk?

Such cowardly defiance, darling.  “I have a right to spread the virus.  I have a right to kill you.”

That is what they are saying.  And as Trump would say, “it is what it is.”  And what it is, is bloody cruel.

Happy Friday to all, and good luck.

Love,

Joyce