This day began in usual fashion. I signed on early to the work laptop and began sorting through e-mails. Andy padded out to the living room, put on his classical music, then turned on the coffee-maker. I went outside for a minute and took these pictures of the sky and the remaining leaves in the early sunlight. They would fall off soon enough. The air was warm – warmer than it should be for November, a little blessing when the mornings have recently been so cold. 

I wondered why it didn’t feel like I was in proper mourning. Maybe when you’ve mourned things that really matter, you no longer feel so affected by world events. Then I realized: I’ve already mourned.

I mourned when Donald Trump got elected the first time.

I mourned when his administration separated children from their families. 

I mourned when he incited an insurrection, his followers trashed our Capitol, and he tried to overthrow an election. 

I mourned when he stole classified documents and got away with it. 

I mourned when he was convicted of sexual assault and didn’t serve jail time.

I mourned when he appointed Supreme Court Justices who promptly took away reproductive freedom from women. 

I mourned when he allowed a pandemic to ravage our people by downplaying it and giving out misinformation. 

I mourned when he embraced racism and homophobia and sexism.

I mourned when the media presented both candidates as relatively equal, and then people who didn’t really follow politics assumed they must be, so any little thing could sway them one way or another rather than presenting the clear and present danger one candidate was. 

I mourned when I saw interviews with young people who said they were voting for Trump and when pressed why didn’t have any answer whatsoever, and didn’t even seem to care. 

I mourned when this country even considered that someone who spoke like that man would be a fit President. 

Mostly, I mourned for the people who suffered the most under his policies and didn’t even realize it until it was too late. 

So for me, I’ve already mourned what has happened, and what is about to happen. I’m not mourning this again. 

Outside, I watch the sun move a little higher in the sky. Feathery seed heads of fountain grass sway gently in the breeze, and every now and then an oak leaf spins slowly to the ground. It truly is a beautiful morning. Our little world, of beauty and love and compassion, is still intact. Find me here. 

We jumped the gun on thinking we had our last swim of the season, as Andy and I both went into the pool yesterday – November 5 – which marks our very latest to be in the water. It was quite a different experience, even more-so than last time. Where the late spring swims were perfumed by lilacs and lilies-of-the-valley, this time the air was seasoned with the earthy scent of fallen leaves – it was the smell of rust and brown and gray, a tinge of rot, a dollop of decay – fall upon the fallen.

There was also a restless wind, a playful wind, that reminded me of Dad, somewhere still watching over me. I wonder what he would make of things now. What would he make of this world, of the world he once knew, so wholly transformed into something likely unrecognizable to him? I shudder in the air, so cool after the warm water. 

The yard about us is changed, leveled by the frosts, laid bare and barren by the onslaught of fall in the nights. Grasses have spilled over the pool ladder, pots of tomato plants have fallen onto their side. This will be the disheveled scene until we clean it all up in the spring. Winter snows will offer some reprieve. The focus turns to the interior. It’s time, but both of us will miss the pool. On that November afternoon, before we know what this country was capable of doing, it offered healing and calm – one last chance at floating away.

PS – Don’t take this as the definitive last swim – perhaps we’ll be in again when snow is in the air. Like it used to cover the roses…

When you’ve grown up in this country as part of a marginalized community, you see and feel enough hate to not have much faith in other Americans. While a small part of me had hope that this country was better than that, deep down I doubted it. And with a media machine that kept people woefully misled and uninformed, electing a black woman was just too difficult for many people to do. So no, I’m not surprised, just profoundly disappointed. Again. 

And I’m sad – mostly for my niece Emi – and all the young girls – because they saw so many of their fellow citizens choose a convicted felon over a capable and competent woman… again. She texted me early this morning, writing, “How awful today is… We can only hope and pray.”

She then followed it up with, “I can vote next election!”

I hope she’s right. 

Saving some daylight, night comes early now, increasing its hold and sway for the next two months. This post concludes our intended day of peace and calm, with a cozy glimpse of candlelight. I used this candle to light a stick of Palo Santo incense, then sat in the early evening doing my daily meditation. 

A very long, slow, deep breath in…

a very long, slow, controlled breath out…

and again… and again… slowly, calmly, deliberately. 

When all else fails, and you feel like you’re been left with nothing, you always have your breath, right up until the day you die. It’s one of the few constants in a world where everything we once thought we could count on has slowly dissolved away. The older I get, the more I realize that. At first it was sad, as most of the changes had to do with loss – of health, of loved ones, of youth – but then it was jubilant, as it meant a certain freedom. Some days, all we have is our breath – and it is enough. When I focus on breathing – when I slow it down and let it occupy my mind – it pushes the silly things out of the way – the grievances, the hurt, the offenses. In their place I can plant swaths of peace and cultivated calm. Weeds will always pop up in the neglected patches of our minds – the trick is to fill the space with mindfulness. 

On this night, of all the nights, I burrow into that mindfulness, and by the light of this candle I begin the deep breathing. 

This day feels large and important, and slightly dangerous too, so to act as counter-programming, I’m going back to the main premise of this blog, to the atmosphere I attempted to create over twenty one years ago. Back then, and for all the ensuing years, I have tried to foster a place where calm and beauty came together for a thoughtful, whimsical, and sometimes trifling exploration of escapism. While it’s also been a diary of sorts, I’ve done my best to make things palatable and engaging, without being too off-putting and challenging. Sarcasm and snakiness often run through my daily existence, but this space has been a reminder to me to be gentle – not only on myself, but on what I present to the world. 

To that end, I am filling this day with hope and light and a little bit of whimsy. We begin with the very first Thanksgiving/Christmas/Easter cactus bloom, just in time for the early start of another holiday season. Just as the outside gardens are finishing up (a few last blooms a little later) this stunner of a color called to me from the guest room in which it quietly resides. I’d noticed the swelling of the buds a couple of weeks ago, and the cuttings that I took of it earlier this year have begun setting buds themselves – the circle of life finds a new generation of epiphytes taking gentle root. 

Yes, I’ve given in and begun the acknowledgment that we are already in holiday season. I’ve started my Christmas shopping, even if it’s too late to start that damn Christmas club everyone was talking about. Come back for a late-season look at some more pink flowers. 

For anyone looking for a bit of escapism this week (hello to the possible end of democracy as we know it) this site may offer you a way out with the online debut of my ‘shades of gray’ project – which marks its 20th anniversary this fall. I’ve been wanting to post it for a while, and since we are two decades into its existence, it felt like the right time at last. There were other things going on this past week, so let’s take a look with at weekly recap – and then you can go back to worrying about whether this country still believes in its original founding principles. PS – Don’t vote a convicted, lying felon.

It began with a charming trip to New York with my person. 

The way Maggie Smith says ‘fork’ in ‘The First Wives Club’.

A detour post.

Mid-life crisis or mid-life meditation?

When a witch turns their back…

Who’s afraid of little old me?

Bewitchery becoming: a witch’s playlist.

Sound the siren.

All-too-brief visit.

Think about this.

A bad and cruel place.

A villain re-emerges.

It’s Ben Cohen calendar time.

A November surprise twenty years in the making.

Midway through life.

Gray ghost.

Summer storm, Part 1.

Dazzlers of the Day included Christopher Sieber and Cooper Koch.