Tag: life

My Picture in the News!

https://www.thebulwark.com/p/ten-years-of-trump-with-a-bit-of-light-ahead-no-kings-resistance-military-iran-israel (Photo from The Bulwark William Kristol, Andrew Egger, Will Selber, and Jim Swift Jun 16, 2025)

Since November 2024 …I descended into hopeless despair—negative, alone, bothered, burned, depressed, stuck, furious, cynical, listless, suffering from malaise. I banned the news in any form, left for Canada—a frozen hide-e-hole full of generous people who patted us on the head and said, “We are so sorry.” It didn’t help.

On our return, I buried myself in Swedish Death Cleaning, writing about death, scribbling angst in notebooks, scrubbing out the dreary washing machine. I attended boring, useless meetings with friends suffering the same as I. No spark, no hope to fix it. I assembled three enormous jigsaw puzzles. I plugged my ears when others brought up my banned topics, read only ancient literature about far-off lands and books about fictitious detectives with chips on their shoulders.

Nothing, nothing could alleviate this, I thought. Impossible to change it, we were doomed, my grandchildren were unwitting victims of a devil. The workman tnext door shouted, “Es un demonio! Es el diablo! Que vamos a hacer?” I told him that I had no idea what to do, that perhaps we are destined for ruin and should just accept it.

But just the other day—I sensed a glimmer of a long-dormant sensation—a childish twinge of excitement. Before, I’d felt worried maybe, apprehensive, yes, but excited—not in the least. Yet here I was, actually bursting.

Why? I am embarrassed to admit…

In a rash moment, when no one else did, I volunteered to help carry the banner that led the  No King’s demonstration. Me, way to long in the tooth, carrying the banner, right in front!

How ridiculous, I thought, I’ll probably be the one who is blown to bits!

 Of course I’ll fall and take everyone down with me—

I’ll be too slow and the younger banner bearers will get annoyed!

I fervently regretted it the moment I volunteered. But . . .

We arrived early at the march’s launching point so we could set up and be ready promptly. My companions went off to various activities. At the stage, as the program of speakers started I walked around in my volunteer vest feeling important, answering questions. I even officially blocked the men’s room so the women’s line would be eased. Nothing like a vest and no authority to make a person heady with power..

I thought maybe a few thousand die-hards would show up, the old guard—all of us who got tear gassed in the 60’s—with our gray hair, walkers, and our new hips.

I looked up and stood in stunned awe. The arriving crowd! Thousands and thousands of people headed my way down into Waterfront Park. They were young, old, brown, black, white, gray-haired, bald, blonde, and tattooed. They had on funny costumes, t-shirts that expressed their views. Angry, hilarious, artistic and slapped-together signs. Hundreds, thousands—Hand-Maid’s Tale women, monarch butterflies—the only monarch’s allowed—polite signs in Spanish, rude signs in Spanish. There were Pride banners, and signs that cried “No to Kings but Yes to Queens!”   60,000 plus of them.

And there I arrived in the very front. Sage smoke drifted over me as the Kumeyaay people did their prayers for our march. I felt joy, a rush of it, a shower of joy, a gall darned-rainbow-colored wash of happiness like I haven’t felt in months. We yelled, chanted, wiggled the banner; we clapped, laughed, cheered and danced.

And this a lesson I need to learn and relearn and remind myself of the rest of my life . . . that joy and the best of us are always just around the corner when you least expect it.

Loneliness Stalking

When Loneliness Comes Stalking

It happens at odd times, unexpected, vaporous, a loneliness combined with longing. A stabbing, hollow loneliness, a perpetual one.

All those babies, I miss them everyone, miscarriages, only a few weeks, but real nonetheless. They never got to see the light of day, nor feel the thump of a heartbeat.

But the worst is my loneliness for a baby boy named Joseph, a perfect child, his name came to me after he perished and I held him in my arms. That was after I pushed him out too early. A boy whose life was sacrificed to save my own.

He is a secret I’ve kept, or at least only whispered about. But now the need is great for the world to  know about the loneliness that stalks me, many women, the knowledge that I could have been . . . would have been . . . one of those new Georgia statistics, that I live, but that meant he would die.

That choice, I don’t wish on anyone and it is not done frivolously, only through desperate moments of terror, pain, tears, screams, confusion, dread and no escape. Worst of all that moment, that decision never dissolves or fades, no matter how it ends. The loneliness stalks even when you least expect it, when you are suddenly feeling happiness, or hope, or joy, that’s when the loneliness comes in stealth and can surround and choke me until I am robed in the cloth of grief and yearning and loneliness for that little Joseph whose hand I held, who I apologized to, who I apologize to every day when loneliness comes stalking.

And why loneliness? Because a decision like that was made by me, I had to make the call, alone, in my fright, alone and lonely, looking for anyone, anything besides me to blame.

Yet I will always be grateful for my few moments with my baby boy, and forever grateful that the choice was mine with the compassionate honesty of a trusted physician and not a stranger in his leather government chair passing his draconian judgement from afar.