Yesterday afternoon, I stood near my dining room table and proclaimed, “I can’t find my Tumblr!”
“You have a Tumblr?!” my husband replied. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not really. I posted, like, one original post there a few years back. I’m trying to find that post.”
Soon afterward, I found that Tumblr, and I found that January 2018 post. “That post” was the last one I shared on Tumblr.
I read it and let its core sink, again, into my bones. And I wondered:
How had I forgotten what had once
lived so deeply in my bones?
Looking at my Twitter profile yesterday, I saw too. many. images of police brutality not hidden under sensitive-content warnings.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad these images are being captured. I’m glad this history is being documented and made accessible. I’m especially glad attorney T. Greg Doucette is aggregating these incidents into one Twitter thread; in one single week of protests against racism and police brutality, his documented incident ticker is up to 334. Continue reading “TO LIFE”
In my neighborhood, more people roam without face masks than with them.
I don’t usually give this too much thought, but one encounter last weekend has lingered in my mind.
My kids and I were finishing a walk around the block. We were, for reasons described in my early April post “A bandana the right direction,” all wearing our face masks.
While my ten-year-old (Li’l D) and I were walking, my six-year-old (Littler J) was pedaling slowly on his hand-me-down Ninja Turtles bike. I saw a couple without facemasks approaching on the sidewalk. Remembering Littler rolling right into a neighbor who’d been standing still just a few days prior, I thought it unlikely he’d be able to skirt around moving targets. I nudged him into the street to enable the couple to pass. Continue reading “on face masks & my sons’ future”
Waiting in line at the bookstore a couple of months ago, I saw copies of Atul Gawande’s Being Mortal.
I’d checked out the audiobook from my local library before, but I’d never listened for more than two or three minutes before falling asleep. I’d later awaken to some random excerpt, think that’s lovely, and then tumble right back to sleep.
Seeing a copy of the book in print in line that day, I thought I might enjoy actually reading it—all the way through, from its beginning to its final word.
Until finishing Being Mortal last week, I’d read three or four pages at a time.
Having spent the years 2016 through 2018 plowing through a couple of non-fiction books a week, I’ve slowed down when reading those books that touch my heart. In a world currently so full of fear and condemnation, I want to touch in frequently with those things—those words, those hearts, those authors, those places—that fill me with the wonder of being deeply, achingly human. Continue reading “there in love”
This morning, I chatted with a friend on the phone for fifteen minutes. I had to fumble for the right words after many days largely homebound, but just hearing her voice was balm for my heart.
After I got off the phone, I realized I
wanted needed more real voice-to-voice connection with people I love. I tried video-calling my sister Rache, but couldn’t reach her.
My family and I scrunched into frame to wish one family friend a belated happy birthday. She was out looking at adopting a puppy, so our call was short, but the loving connection very real. Continue reading “Balm for my heart”