Slouching Towards Peshawar...

Dear Maria,

Go figure, only two weeks since I explained away commenting on current events, but I can’t avoid reacting to the massacre in the school at Peshawar. Not that in this particular case my words matter. Maybe a global collective of words might spur someday an end to such evil.

I know that is an old-fashioned word, evil. The violence traded between the factions grinds on for all its historical and cultural and political reasons, but I do wish that those who would commit such heinous acts would just cloak themselves under the banner of evil rather than some dogmatic creed or political party or nationalistic tribalism.

Am I naïve? You know better.

To what end? Even if there are people who freely want—irony duly noted—to live under the Taliban’s regime, millions do not. Millions. It seems to me a foolishly and tragically ghoulish errand.

Of course, to a less violent extent, those that hate under any banner other than hatred—oh, just once to have them own their hatred. Just claim out loud, “We hate because we hate”. Hatred in their own names. Bigotry in their own names. Racism in their own names.

Comes from within, that choice. And therein some form of hope that pushback may come from those who would not harm neighbors, who would not slaughter children, who would not destroy themselves and the world. But, violence only begets more violence it seems.

Mourn the loss of lives unfulfilled, pity those left behind in the wake of the carnage.

Yes, I am more than usually agitated—detachment only goes so far. Better to concern myself with friends and family, to celebrate the holiday season, to look forward to what joys the approaching year may bring.

The birds continue to be, if not festive, at least entertaining. Sparrows were swarming the feeder yesterday morning until a mockingbird swooped in and drove them off. After lording over the scene for several minutes from on top of the crook that holds the feeder, off he flew. This morning, the bluebird couple checked out the condo, and that they will return early spring to start a new generation gives hope—along with all the babies that have come into the world among my acquaintances, and the babies that will join us next year and the years to follow.

Hope, the thing wrapped in a baby blanket. Amen.

Be well this season, and savor it all.

Yours, srk

 

A Grand Unified Pick-up Sticks Theory of Everything

Dear Maria,

Watching a Red-bellied woodpecker clinging to the birdfeeder this chilly morning. He does not feed like all the other birds but is deliberately pecking at whatever it is that interests him that is above the feed line. And now a cat is easing through the garden towards the feeder. Max? Oh, he is sleeping a couple of feet from the sliding glass door.

This cat is the same one that once upon a time would sometimes come over the fence and nap in the garden between the japonica and the tea olive. I haven’t seen him, well, since Max’s arrival. Apparently, they have not met. Yet. So the birds have flown and cat and dog snooze. Peace on earth, indeed. With a glass wall, of course.

You will be glad to know I took your advice and stopped inflicting my domino theory of human interaction on folks, but don’t get too giddy. Now I am going with a much more refined version of my Pick-up stick theory. Oh, yes, those pick-up sticks from our childhood.

Don’t pretend you’re not curious. Goes like this: You drop your sticks—and here’s the refined thinking—and everyone else in your life is also dropping their sticks and the clincher, an unseen hand is dropping sticks. Fate, luck, destiny, nature. God.

Each move you make may or may not help you, may or may not help others. And the others are picking up sticks. And the invisible hand. Someone might come along and take a stick without leaving any behind. Someone might add more to the pile and just move on. But the sticks never disappear, players come and go, the game never ends.

Good luck, then, to all with control issues. Ties in nicely—or so I think—with my “Didn’t see that coming” mantra. I’ll let that ray of brilliance dazzle you some other day. Lucky girl.

Chilly days ahead, but sunny, and so a rake surely is in the forecast. No doubt your pulse is quickening, the holidays upon us. Tis a great season. Hope all is well and you will have plenty of time to enjoy the family.

Yours, and still just,

srk

 

 

 

Of Matters Unspoken...

Dear Maria,

Sure enough, leaves falling and temperatures in the 70s. Ah, the holiday season here in the Lowcountry. Thanksgiving dinner last week with four generations at the table—well, life reaffirmed as a series of renewals. At one point I think I was sharing a recliner in violation of a house rule that calls for only two bodies at a time. I know I count as two, and the three little guys who piled on took us into misdemeanor territory. Throw in the sometimes two, sometimes three young girls crowding into the mix, and Uncle Scott got a good old-fashioned mugging. Great fun!

Last week, a former student—they are all former students now, but I can’t seem to drop the phrase—asked me why I didn’t say more about current events in my posts and comments. I took that to mean the news on the national and international fronts, politics, local affairs, and perhaps more understandably, education. All I could say is that I am superficially aware via headlines and some articles but am reluctant to wade in on specific events that are beyond my knowledge of what is or is not going on.

What should I say about a news item like beheadings? An answer on my part becomes a kind of fill-in-the-blank.  I am: appalled, horrified, repulsed, disgusted, sickened, bewildered, aghast—and? Physical violence, one against another or writ larger group against group, will not come to a halt in my lifetime. Does it matter if I think human beings will never exist on this planet with doing physical harm to one another?

Not that I am without opinions obviously, but for my part I do lean more these days on the notion of what is actionable. A former colleague—see, there it is again—and one of my closest friends sent me the Rolling Stone article on rape at UVa and asked for my feedback. Didn’t want to read it, but I did. As I wondered again at the use of physical force (if the story is true), which is hateful to me, I thought to ask how a rapist would explain his actions if confronted by his daughter, or would the rapists want their daughters attending UVa. Or sisters.

Sure, I suppose it is possible that one of my questions could find its way via social media to those involved in such activities or right on the cusp of joining in, and perhaps my thoughts would give one of them pause. Possible, but improbable.

So much in the world is mind-numbing and heart-wrenching, to be sure. As it goes these days, fortunately, I am nearly never asked to ponder much of anything serious for public consumption. Head in the sand? Yes, with all due self-awareness. I would rather run a load to the dump for a friend, or pull someone’s empty garbage can back into the garage, or pick up the tab for lunch.

Or let nieces and nephews pummel me into submission. And thankfully.

Hug the ones close at hand, be sweet, and take care,

srk