Investing in Beauty

"I believe words matter. I believe images matter. I believe music matters. I believe all of these things frame opinion and thought in mysterious ways we can barely explain. Because in this 21st century, the Media really does carry The Message.”  Sunday Salon, Modern Creative Life, July 4, 2016

Oh, that Message. 

It’s been really something, hasn’t it? For the past six months The Message has been increasingly virulent, hateful, and divisive. Ugly words are said out loud and broadcast across the world. Angry messages are hurled into cyberspace. People are “unfriended” - online and in real life too. 

I don’t know about you, but this Presidential election is really wearing me out. My head hurts, my heart is sore. I alternately tremble with anger and fear. Neither The Message we are getting nor The Message we are sending aligns with my true nature or my beliefs about the people of this country.

Change in the Weather

While we slept, autumn arrived.

Summer has been lingering for weeks, stubbornly hanging on with hazy humidity and disconcerting warmth. Deep inside me was a yearning for the cool air and sharp azure skies that only autumn can bring, the perfect backdrop against which to etch crimson and gold leaves just beginning to appear.

Overnight, my yearning was satisfied. I dug long pants and sweaters out of storage, pulled on a new pair of soft gray socks, laced up my walking shoes, and set out with Magic and Molly to take full advantage. As we walked into the brisk morning air, it was clear that my two little dogs had felt a similar longing. Magic took of flying down the street, entirely forgetting his 14 years and the occasional arthritis in his hindquarters. Molly, often a reluctant walker, gamely kept pace. When we reached our usual turning point, Magic adamantly refused to go back, digging in his heels and urging me to take the long way home.

We did. 

Giving Love Away

There’s not much left in my mother’s house this morning. One sofa, a table and lamp in the living room. One lonely more sofa in the long rectangular family room. My grandmother’s bedroom set, my teenage bedroom furniture. A big old desk in the basement and some empty storage cabinets. The new owner was happy for me to leave those things behind. And I, suddenly extremely weary of this process, was only too happy to comply.

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the process of giving away my mother’s belongings. There have been many hands involved, much word of mouth, and finally most everything she owned has found its way to new homes, new owners, new uses.