Moving on in History

We're just past the election, enough that the results seem clear.  I had been reading old novels from a previous century, just to settle my mind.  Now I'm reading speculative fiction about the future.  Even reading a Reader's Digest can seem overwhelming, because it is about the current times.  The future is well out of my reach, and the past can be chewed over and evaluated for hits of what our species (OK, I'm actually talking about myself) can do to take some measure of control out of the maelstrom.

Some people feel compelled to make public demonstrations in large groups.  Some people are looking into leaving the country for a few years.  Some people think they are bound to do better under a new leader, others fear the future.

Reading history is very instructive, even when it is in a novel, and one thing that surfaces with regularity is that we are not seeing anything new right now.  People are constantly thinking they are more advanced than their deceased predecessors, and thusly will not make the subtle but defining mistakes made in the past.

Wherever you go, people will find things to fight over.
People will find ways to take power from others.
People fall in and out of love.
People will claim a spiritual being (benign or evil) compelled their behavior.

Being old enough to inspire a little awe in my teen child (You lived through the cold war and Vietnam? ) as a balance for standard teen derision of all things extant does not make me wise.  It makes me cautious and willing to give humanity a fighting chance to be humane.

What I can do as an individual is make an effort to be kind, spend what money I have where it supports the society in which I want to keep living, and find spots of joy every day to share.

It is not much, but in this current environment, now that I can get my head out of a novel, it is what I can handle.

What can you do?

Walk Like an Italian 1

passeggiata

ˌpasəˈjädə/

Walk Like an Italian

Our friends tell us they walk after dinner, and dinner ends with chocolate.  They walk slowly, strolling, and talking, sometimes not even talking.  Their kids are either in bed or reading quietly, and the walk takes them just around their block.  

It is part of a way of living which includes some changes in food and exercise, but isn't a "diet" or "exercise" program.  

Beguiled by the image of my two driven friends holding themselves back to a pedestrian pace, my husband and I have taken a few after-dinner strolls through the neighborhood, frequently reminding one another to stroll, not stride.  At a stroll, the scenery seems sharper, the flowers more full, and the opportunity to greet neighbors is more than a nod one gives to a jogger sporting earbuds.

 We noticed a pair of ducks dabbling on Sunday, slipping in and out of the roots on the creek banks, nosing upstream for dinner.  A drake seem to stay behind the duck, keeping her in his watchful gaze.  Just past the ducks, the neighbor who hosts my chorus rehearsals greets us with his new puppy, and we chat about the concert coming up and how the soloists sounded.  He's just retired, and is as happy as a person might wish to be.  The puppy leans agains my ankle and keeps guard on the action across the creek.  His fur is as soft as baby's hair, and I can't help but adore his childish joy.    

We stop at the middle of the bridge over the creek to watch for fish and for swallows which swoop in arcs under the bridge as they hunt for insects.  How the world must look to their eyes!  They move so fast it is hard to track their actions, and I've never seen one crash.  The water shifts the long green strands that anchor in the creek bed, but the surface is smooth.  I know the lake that empties into this stream, and have seen its waters roaring at the underside of the bridge, and seen stranded fish dead in muddy holes in the dry years.  Sometimes the nearby houses are sandbagged to keep the flood at bay, and sometimes we can walk across the parched sands.  Every year is different, and every walk shows something new. 

The stroll takes us by several Free Little Libraries, a bit of joy in the city.  These little boxes share books all around the neighborhoods, and we stop at each one, sometimes just looking, sometimes leaving a book we're ready to send along, and sometimes taking one home.  The rules are simple:  Be kind, share. Take a book you like, leave one if you wish.  There is a story somewhere about the originator of the idea, but the boxes are legion now, and well past the first wave of the initiator's plan.  

We get home, and sip a bit of wine, our choice in place of chocolate.  A smile, a squeeze of our hands, and we're ready to close the day.  It is good. 

Ciao