BITTERSWEET

You know how they say that at the moment of your death, your life flashes before your eyes? Well, it seems to me that as we get older this begins to happen on a smaller scale. Now that much more of my life is behind me than ahead of me, I often find memories of the past intruding on my days. 

I will be taking a walk or pruning roses, when I will suddenly have an image of my teenaged self heading to the movies with my best friend to see A Hard Day's Night; or my 20-year-old self, sitting under a tree with a boy; or my 30-something self, composing a short story on a typewriter; or my 40-something self, hugging a young daughter; or my 50-something self, admiring my husband, with his dress-shirt sleeves rolled up.  Or I am sitting in a college classroom, bursting with the love of literature, imagining my life as a writer; or celebrating the birth of a daughter; or hunched over my computer, rushing to meet a deadline at work.

You get the idea.

The memory will be sharp, as if it were a photo lit by a flash. Like a sunset, it will linger for a few moments, and then it will be gone, leaving me with whatever it was I was doing before the memory filled my inner eye.**

This didn’t happen in my early and middle years, when the present crowded out most of the past, most of the time. But, now, memories are everywhere.  I will spend time with a granddaughter, and suddenly have an image of that granddaughter's mother as a baby.  I will start to read a book and remember another book.  

 

And, often, these days, I will see a face - on TV or on the street, anywhere, really - and be reminded of another face. I guess this makes sense.  There can only be so many variations on faces. The most startling moment of this sort occurred last week when I saw a picture of our new Congresswoman, Marie Gluesenkamp Perez, on the front page of our paper, and did a double take. Viewing her face in profile, I thought it was a picture of me. Let me hasten to add that Marie is 34. I am not 34, but I saw a young me in the photo.  I sent the picture to a few people who knew me when, and found that my reaction was shared. It was very unsettling.  (The photo, not their reaction. Sometimes I will watch a TV show or movie from years or decades ago and wonder what it is like for the actors to see themselves moving about in their younger incarnations.) 

 

And then there are the times when memories or faces don't intrude, when I actually invite them, as when I’m trying to fall asleep at night and I do what I call watching home movies. I will pick a moment in my life and call up scenes from that time and just hang out there for a while. 

 

And sometimes my memories feel like a deck of tarot cards that I can spread out on a table, picking up a few and pondering what they have to tell me. Was that a good decision?  Would I make that choice again?  How much would I give to relive that day? How does a particular memory inform a decision I must make today?

 

At times, memories bring me great joy and, at times, they bring regret or longing. Not too much regret though.  Of, course, there are things I profoundly wish I hadn’t done or had done differently, but if I were to undo any decision from my past, everything that followed would collapse.  Most importantly, I would not have the family and friends that surround me.  There would be a different family and group of friends, but this is inconceivable. And, so, I have learned to, mostly, accept my past.

 

Finally, there is this.  The older I get, the more the past and present seem to overlap and unspool at the same time. I am grateful to have lived long enough to have such a wealth of memories weaving through my present. 

 

And you, who read this post, may your regrets be few, and may your memories, however fleeting, bring you joy and peace. 

 

 ** Yes, I have written before about the intrusion of memories. https://woacanotes.blogspot.com/2019/09/fire-and-rain-on-time-travel-and.html   I guess I had more to say on the subject. 

 

 

 

ON KINDLY UNCLES AND BREAKING GLASS CEILINGS

Ok, I'll admit it.  Biden wasn't my first choice.  And yet I have spent the last 24 hours awash with joy and relief.  Here's the thing.  I have come to believe that Joe Biden is just the kindly uncle we need right now. Sure, he knows his way around the White House and has lots of experience working across the aisle and, sure, he will work on the issues that matter to me - addressing climate change, striving to make  the American dream available to those who have been left out and left behind, getting everyone health care, conquering the virus.  But, really, the best thing about him might just be his avuncular manner.  

Yes, that comes with him telling long-winded stories about his youth and, well, being old.  But, so what?  He isn't unhinged.  He won't be throwing tantrums in the White House.  He won't be calling women pigs.  He won't be calling Mexicans rapists.  He won't be whining and poor-me-ing when he doesn't get his way.  

We all have a crazy uncle or grandfather or friend.  The one who comes to Thanksgiving dinner and won't shut up about every divisive or embarrassing topic he can come up with.  Or the one that comes to the White House and stays for four years.  

We have traded in that crazy uncle for a sane one, one who will at least try to calm things down and bring us together.  And that would have been enough for me today.

But there's more.  He has invited a woman, a Black and Asian woman, for Thanksgiving dinner.  And to the White House.  

People - I am a nearly-71-year-old woman who did not think she would live to see this day.  Women's suffrage was not quite 30 years old the year I was born.  The idea of a woman in the White House was not even on my radar during my childhood.  Men were Presidents.  Women were homemakers.

It took second-wave feminism to make the idea seem plausible, although it soon became clear that there would be many obstacles thrown in the path of female candidates.  I watched Shirley Chisholm run in 1970 and cheered for Geraldine Ferraro in 1984.  But, after Hillary's defeat in 2016, and listening to Trump and Pence express their troglodyte views of women in front of cheering crowds, I figured we wouldn't be seeing a woman in the White House any time soon.  

So, today, I celebrate not just the repudiation of mean-spiritedness and purposeful divisiveness, I celebrate the first female Vice President. The first woman of color to serve in that role. 

Last night, I had tears in eyes as I listened to Kamala Harris.  Women my age have waited a very long time for this day.  Today, my daughters and granddaughters have a role model. And little black and brown girls can look at the White House and see someone who looks like them.  

The 1950s called and we said, uh uh, we aren't going back.

So, tomorrow we can resume the hard work of making this an America for all Americans.  Today, let's pause to rejoice. 

                        Gif by Kaho Yoshida

JOY IN DARK TIMES

         My parents were married during a world war, a war where bombs were dropped on their city.  With WWII now a matter for the history books, it is easy to forget that in 1943, my parents did not know how the war would end.  They married anyway.  I trust that they felt joy on their wedding day.     

         I am thinking about this now because on November 8, a quarter of my fellow citizens elected a president who, for me, represents the opposite of all that this country stands for, signaling for me a dark, uncertain, and frightening time, and on November 23, my daughter Anne married her sweetheart in my living room.  Her father (my former husband) and I performed the ceremony.  Her sister and a cousin and their husbands, as well as my current husband, were in attendance.  It was a joyous occasion.

         In the aftermath of these two events, I have struggled to hold my joy and fear at the same time.  I have wondered if it is fair for me to feel such joy when others are so afraid.  And I have concluded that it is not only fair, it is necessary. 

         Here I pause to make a distinction between seeking escape from what is real and embracing moments of joy.  Me binge-watching House is escape.  Me playing with granddaughters is joy.  The distinction may seem obscure, so I will attempt to illuminate the distinction by borrowing these words from the poet, William Stafford:

         Your life you live by the light you find

         and follow it on as well as you can,

         carrying through darkness wherever you go

         your one little fire that will start again.

         Moments of joy—my daughter’s wedding, watching a granddaughter twirl around in her new tutu—remind me of what is important, remind me of what is worth fighting for, of what is at stake.  They energize me.  In Stafford’s words, they restart my fire.      

         My attempts at escape, on the other hand, are engaging in the moment, but ultimately leave me feeling heavy and lethargic. They do nothing to help me to feel empowered.  I do not pretend that I will cease to look for escape, but I am trying to keep from giving it a central place in my life.    

           My parents did what they could during WWII.  My father built ships for the war effort; my mother joined the Women’s Forestry Service.  And it feels important for me to do what I can now, to pay attention to what is happening in Washington D.C. (or, for the moment, New York).  It feels important to figure out how to make my voice heard when rights are threatened, and to be present for those who are rightly afraid for their personal safety now that certain portions of our population feel free to express their hatred through ugly words or violence.    

         So, I will continue to give money to organizations that safeguard civil and human rights.  I will keep my Senators and Congresswoman on speed dial.  I will be alert for opportunities to reassure those who feel threatened. 

         I will try not to let fear still my voice. 

         And I will remember that WWII ended, that my parents went on to raise three children, one born during the war.  We do not know for certain what the next four years will bring, but we can vow to resist those who would endanger our future, and we can use our moments of joy to feed the flame of our resistance.

         May it be so.