Category Archives: holidays

Be Kind / Practice Kindness

February is Heart Month and Black History Month, 
Host to Groundhog Day, Super Bowl Sunday, Valentine’s Day,
Presidents’ Day, plus, in 2026, a confluence of cultural holidays:
Chinese New Year, Mardi Gras, and the first day of Ramadan,
All of which occur on February 17. Perhaps providentially, the day
Has also been branded “Random Acts of Kindness Day.”

Lately the world does not seem kind.
Wide-ranging verbal attacks can distort and depress.
Yet through the ages, a plethora of prophets and
Seers have preached kindness:
The surest way to lift your own mood, they advise, is
To do something kind for someone else.

While meandering along neighborhood sidewalks
Near my current home, I came across a recently painted
Mural on the steps leading to an area middle school.
Fashioned by a local Girl Scout troop, it reminds us all:
“In a world where you can be anything, be kind.”
The placement of the axiom seems especially apt–
Lots of us during middle school try to
Stoke our still-fragile egos by demeaning others.

The sentiments of the Scouts are laudable, but
I have a minor quibble with their choice of words–
Despite decades of life since middle school,
Whenever I’m smarting from a perceived snub or injustice,
I still find it very difficult to be genuinely kind.
My aging self has not yet fully absorbed
The discipline of kindness. It may take me until
The great hereafter, if even then, to become uniformly kind.
In the meantime, it’s worthwhile for me to practice kindness
Especially on “Random Acts of Kindness Day.”

kindness motto at local middle school

Stony the Road…

This MLK weekend, I didn’t feel much like celebrating. It seemed as if much of the civil rights progress of the past half century and more was being erased as quickly as our national executive could flourish his sharpie and sign yet another exclusionary and/or incendiary executive order. 

Still, I wanted to show solidarity with the activists and citizens who for years have been calling our country to live up to its ideals, so I got a ride to downtown San Diego to walk in Sunday’s MLK 5K. There were a lot of other walkers and runners, most more fit than I was. I figured I could probably go the distance, if somewhat slowly. 

It was a gorgeous day—sunny, with a light breeze and pleasant temperatures. Along the way, I got to hear snippets of conversations among those who also took a slower pace. The atmosphere was congenial, most of us opting to enjoy the walk and the weather more than just stewing about the sorry state of our republic. Someone probably “won” the race, but all of us got some worthwhile exercise in a friendly environment.  

Later, I stayed for part of the annual parade that’s been held in San Diego for many years, beginning even before the MLK holiday was enacted nationally. Some of the groups marching were predominantly black, but many were mixed, with high school and college bands, various professional associations, and contingents from area employers.  Most of the early groups were generally apolitical. I enjoyed the colors, the festive mood, a few of the gift items thrown from passing floats. Before I left, some more militant marching groups appeared—I took a picture of a set of local activists whose banner intrigued me.

Activists in MLK Parade, 2026

What combination of tactics could work best to slow or reverse our slide into increasingly authoritarian rule, I wondered? I wished I were a better writer, able to craft a rallying cry that would re-inspire me and others. Then I remembered a poem written during a previous dark time for the disinherited, James Weldon Johnson’s 1900 “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” 

A black friend had delved deeper into the words to this three verse civil rights poem during a workshop nearly thirty years ago on building the beloved community. The first verse stresses harmony and rejoicing, a needed uplift for the students at the segregated black school in Florida where Johnson was then principal. But the poem doesn’t sugar coat either the realities of prior slavery or the challenges of the Jim Crow era then unfolding. Its second verse lays it all out: 

Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died,
Yet with a steady beat, have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered.

Johnson’s brother Rosamond crafted music to go with the poem. A school chorus first performed it at a school ceremony later that year. A generation later, the hymn was adopted as an official anthem of the NAACP. The song has become an enduring symbol of the struggle for civil rights—its mandate expanding to include equal rights for all. 

There’s a lot more work to be done before the ideals expressed in our nation’s founding documents are fully realized. The work will not get done solely with marches or protests, though they may help. Sometimes the road ahead will be stony, but gentle perseverance can get us to a better place again. We’ve been working at perfecting our union for 250 years—with luck and fortitude, we’ll have a better nation and a better, more peaceful world before the next 250 years are done. Then, we will truly be able to lift every voice.  

In Search of Monarchs

In September, 2025, I visited the small central coastal California town of Pacific Grove on the Monterey Peninsula. While checking out the local natural history museum, I learned that the town had a monarch butterfly sanctuary. Displays about this grove where some monarchs overwinter included pictures of town butterfly parades and festivals during the 1960’s and 70’s. The exhibit cautioned that monarchs rarely arrived in the area before late October, so I wouldn’t be able to see them this visit. The museum’s graphics also showed how severely monarch numbers had plummeted in recent years. Bummer, double bummer!  

Nevertheless, I was intrigued that there was a California town where some monarchs came to spend the cooler months. Several years earlier, I’d seen videos and read instructional materials about a massive monarch butterfly migration that winds up in the Oyamel fir forests in central Mexico. Turns out, it’s the monarchs spawned east of the Rocky Mountains in the U.S. and Canada who overwinter in Oyamel.    

Until my Pacific Grove visit, it hadn’t occurred to me that not all monarchs follow the same migration path or that wintering monarchs could be found in California. Smaller migrations of monarchs leave their late summer quarters west of the Rockies and congregate for the winter in some coastal towns in California and further down the Baja Peninsula in Mexico. Unfortunately, these Western monarchs are under even more severe environmental pressure than their Eastern cousins. Their overwintering numbers have declined by about 95% since the 1980’s, due to a variety of factors. Eager to find a monarch grove before the butterflies entirely disappeared, I did a minimal online search and mistakenly concluded that Pismo Beach State Park was the closest California monarch overwintering site to my home in San Diego.  

In early December, I cajoled my somewhat reluctant husband into joining me in a “mini-tour” of the area near Pismo Beach in search of overwintering butterflies. I promised to share at least some of the driving chores involved in getting us past Los Angeles. The trip started out poorly. The rudimentary driving instructions on our phone app took us right through the heart of L.A., amid smog, congestion, and other stressed out drivers. When we finally got to the butterfly grove at Pismo Beach the following day, the number of wintering monarchs was only in the low hundreds. We never saw more than a few butterflies at a time. 

The trip was not a total bust, however. We had a chance to sample some “Julefest” holiday displays and merriment at nearby Solvang, a village founded by three Danish educators in the early 20th century. With its half-timbered structures, plus more candy and pastry shops than any one town should have, Solvang combines a strong Danish flavor with the presence of a Chumash casino complex nearby. We also spent a magical evening at a lights festival at the Santa Ynes Valley Botanical Garden, where I snapped a no-flash photo of the guy who’s made my heart flutter for nearly sixty years.

Jim as butterfly

Once home, I did a somewhat more extensive internet search (better info at https://westernmonarchtrail.org/) and discovered that there is at least one monarch wintering grove in California south of L.A. With a bit of luck and advanced planning, I may get to see some closer-to-home monarchs in January, before the spring’s northward migration begins. In the meantime, I’m nurturing a few milkweed plants at my community garden plot, hoping to provide a slightly better chance for these stately butterflies to avoid extinction. 

young milkweed plant and watering can at our community garden

Perhaps with time more of us will join efforts to help preserve these denizens of insect royalty, and perhaps fewer of us will remain fixated on their human counterparts and wannabes. 

Some Things Never Change: the Destiny Instinct

When I was a kid in 1950’s Maryland, Thanksgiving was all about the Pilgrims and the friendly Indians in Massachusetts. Before sitting down to turkey and stuffing at Grandma’s house, I’d probably participated in an earlier school Thanksgiving pageant, its prize roles going to the Indian Squanto and to Massachusetts governor William Bradford. We made paper cutouts of Pilgrim hats, or paper headdresses of fake feathers. It was pretty much the same every year. 

Much later, after I’d lived near Virginia’s coastal plains for decades, I went to watch a celebration of the Virginia version of the first Thanksgiving—held, locals bragged, before the Massachusetts pilgrims had even landed. At what later became Berkeley Plantation, according to its website (https://berkeleyplantation.com/first-thanksgiving), in late November, 1619, a newly arrived set of 50 additional Virginia settlers gave thanks, per instructions from their sponsors back in England: “We ordaine that this day of our ships arrival, at the place assigned for plantacon, in the land of Virginia, shall be yearly and perpetually kept holy as a day of Thanksgiving to Almighty God.” Little thought back then was given to the perspectives of the native peoples who were often being displaced, diseased, and/or disrespected by the growing numbers of European settlers coming to Virginia, Massachusetts, and other areas up and down the Eastern seaboard of North America. You have to read beyond the Thanksgiving chapter of the Berkeley website to learn that in 1622, local tribes rose up in a concerted attack against the British settlers, after which the Berkeley settlement disintegrated. The next Thanksgiving celebration at Berkeley was not until 1958.

I now live in California, where origin stories for Thanksgiving are multiple and murky. It’s possible that the earliest Spanish or Russian explorers had celebrations of thanksgiving after surviving especially difficult passages. Later specific dates for California’s initial celebrations are variously given as: December 10, 1774, when some of the Franciscan missionaries in the area celebrated a near-miraculous return to health of one of their brothers;  or November 29, 1849 in and around the goldfields; or November 30, 1850, based on a proclamation by Governor Peter Burnett in Sacramento in the newly established State of California. The safest date to recognize may be the 1863 proclamation by Abraham Lincoln of the first national day of Thanksgiving on the last Thursday of November.  

Wherever we live in the U.S., there seem to be a wealth of “first Thanksgivings” to choose from. Our views of what’s appropriate for Thanksgiving and “who got there first” will likely continue to change. 

The book Factfulness was written by three Swedes, so there are no examples of Thanksgivings and the way the feast has changed. However, the authors use multiple examples to show that many things do change, if sometimes slowly. One example I especially like is Hans Rosling’s analysis of the compounding impact of slow changes for Earth’s nature preserves and natural parks. Under the rubric “Slow Change Is Not No Change,” he begins with an initial set-aside of natural land nearly 2500 years ago: 

“In the third century BC, the world’s first nature reserve was created by King Devanampiya Tessa in Sri Lanka. … It took more than 2000 years for a European, in West Yorkshire, to get a similar idea, and another 50 years before Yellowstone National Park was established in the United States. By the year 1900, 0.03 percent of the Earth’s land surface as protected. …Slowly, slowly, decade by decade, one forest at a time, the numbers climbed. The annual increase was absolutely tiny, almost imperceptible. Today a stunning 15 percent of the Earth’s surface is protected, and the number is still climbing.” (One globally ambitions goal is to have 30% of the earth’s land and seas protected by 2030: https://www.campaignfornature.org/getting-to-30.) 

Of course, change can be multi-directional. There’s no guarantee all change will be positive. But the notion that things cannot change can prevent much of the experimentation that might help improve things.  

Among the prescriptions the Roslings suggest for countering the “destiny instinct” are exercises like the one I’ve tried to develop here about Thanksgiving—the way we now think about and celebrate Thanksgiving is not the same as when I was a child, nor need it be the way people will celebrate in the future. Per the Roslings, “Challenge the idea that today’s culture must also have been yesterday’s, and will also be tomorrow’s.” 

In a long life so far, among the things that have not changed for me are gratitude for life. I’m also grateful for new and renewed possibilities for continued learning. Happy Thanksgiving to all!   

The “Fear” Instinct: Danger versus Fright

One of the most insidious “instincts” we retain from earlier periods of human existence is the fear instinct, when misapplied. Some fears are justified. Many are not, or are blown out of proportion.

Like Hans Rosling, author of Factfulness, I grew up during the 1950’s and 1960’s Cold War era, back when we did “civil defense” drills for protecting ourselves in the event of a nuclear attack (spoiler alert—hiding under your elementary school desk with your hands interlaced above your head would be pretty useless against nuclear blasts or fallout). 

My nightmares back then involved not being able to find family members in time for all of us to hide in our house’s basement, the one area that might provide some minimal protection against the effects of nuclear blasts and radiation. As our societies continue to learn to deal with nuclear threats, my fear level about nuclear attack ebbs and flows.  

My fear of snakes has likewise ebbed and flowed. Much of my life has been spent where snake bites are rare and even more rarely lethal. However, during my one extended stay in an African country, where black or green mambas could inject a quickly lethal venom and sometimes were fairly well camouflaged, fear of snakes may have helped keep me alive.

Back then, I had part-time access to an aging Volkswagen beetle with a rust hole near its gas pedal. I used it to commute to the offices of an international development project I was a temporary part of. One afternoon, as I drove back to the office after a lunch break, I noticed a large black snake sidling across the road in front of me. Had it been still, I might not have registered its presence. As it was, I slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road a good distance uphill from the snake. The little car I was driving might have been heavy enough to crush the snake, but I decided it would be risky to drive over it. The hole in the bottom of the car was too near my foot. Instead, I waited. Not long afterward, a heavy luxury vehicle driven by the head of the local branch of the World Bank came barreling down the hill. After the Mercedes drove over it, the snake was thoroughly crushed and dead. I proceeded, more careful thereafter to distinguish between road tar and road snakes.  

Rosling tells a story of how, when he was just starting out as a physician, his irrational fear of nuclear war badly distorted his initial reaction to an incoherent Swedish pilot with hypothermia. Afterwards, Rosling’s longish life of dealing in some fearful situations led him to a more skeptical view of most fears: “Fears that once helped keep our ancestors alive, today help keep journalists employed.” Rosling asserts, “If we look at the facts behind the headlines, we can see how the fear instinct systematically distorts what we see of the world.”  

Today is Veterans’ Day, when we honor those living and dead who have sometimes put themselves in harm’s way to help keep the rest of us safer. They get sent where most of us would fear to go. During the waning days of World War II, my Dad was stationed with the Navy in the South Pacific. He never made a fuss about being a veteran. The war he was part of did horrendous damage, but may have indirectly played a small part in reducing our fears of “others.” As some lyrics from the 1949 musical “South Pacific” taunted: “You’ve got to be taught to be afraid of people whose eyes are oddly made, and people whose skin is a different shade, you’ve got to be carefully taught…” Some of those of different shades who’d served during World War II eventually became leaders in the Civil Rights movements, including Medgar Evers and Ralph Abernathy.

Not having served in the military, I cannot speak directly to the level of fear generated by deployment in dangerous areas or by actual combat. I am deeply indebted to those whose willingness to take risks on my behalf has made my life safer. However, I suspect that military planners and leaders have sometimes put both soldiers and civilians in harm’s way unnecessarily.

Rosling concludes, “Fear can be useful, but only if it is directed at the right things. … ‘Frightening’ and ‘dangerous’ are two different things. Something frightening poses a perceived risk. Something dangerous poses a real risk. Paying too much attention to what is frightening rather than what is dangerous … creates a tragic drainage of energy in the wrong directions.” May we all, especially our military’s leaders, get better at distinguishing fright from danger.

Taming the Urgency Instinct

This instinct, out of ten harmful perspectives mentioned in the 2018 book Factfulness, is the one the Roslings tackle last. It’s also one that gives me a lot of trouble. During the few days’ lull between this past Tuesday’s election and the crescendo of year-end fundraising appeals that begin to fill my postal and email in boxes this time of year, perhaps I can further tamp down my tendency to concentrate on “quick fixes.” Some problems have festered for decades, if not centuries. There may even be some whose contours are already getting less dire.  

Most of us have sometimes been lured by advertising and/or public pronouncements of “now or never.” When I was a teenager,  teen pregnancy was considered a big problem. Back then, one of the era’s most popular music idols recorded a new English lyric to an earlier Italian song. Elvis had me and many of my classmates swooning, though we might have been pretty hazy on what “be mine” meant: 

“It’s now or never, come hold me tight, 
Kiss me, my darling, be mine tonight–
Tomorrow will be too late,
It’s now or never, my love won’t wait.”

The testosterone-driven urgency of this 1961 lyric did not boost efforts to promote sexual responsibility among impressionable teens. However, Elvis was more echo than cause of an epidemic of post-World War II teen childbearing. The rate of teen pregnancies had peaked in 1957 at an estimated 96.3 births per 1,000 young women aged 15 through 19. It then began to decline. By 1986, it had fallen to 50.2.  (https://www.congress.gov/crs-product/R45184) The rate has since dropped even further, registering a historic low of 13.1 in 2023. Many successive studies confirm the negative impacts of teen births: “Adolescent childbearing is associated with significant social, health, and financial risks for teens, their families, and society more broadly.” 

Perhaps mothers (and fathers) of teenagers have over time come up with more effective ways to impress upon their daughters (and sons) the dangers of this particular “now or never” argument. Perhaps teens have gotten better at assessing risks.

Lately, most of the “now or never” appeals I’ve been getting involve either 

1) the need to reduce food insecurity or 
2) the dire consequences if we elect candidates of the “other” political party.  

1) It’s true that confusion and ongoing changes to SNAP benefits (also known as “food stamps”) for millions of low and moderate income Americans have temporarily increased food insecurity in many places. To compensate, food pantries, non-profits that provide meals, and food rescue organizations have all stepped up their fundraising and distribution efforts to mitigate negative impacts in the U.S.  It is also true that too many people throughout the world lack reliable access to healthy, nutritious food. Heartrending videos of ongoing hunger and starvation in Gaza and in Sudan can make us want to do something, anything, right away, to reduce the harm. 

What gets less attention are strides that continue to be made in producing sufficient food globally.  Per a recent report from the U.S. Department of Agriculture: “Over the past six decades, world production of crops, livestock, and aquaculture commodities grew from a gross value of $1.1 trillion to $4.3 trillion (2015 dollars). … As global agricultural productivity has risen, fewer natural and environmental resources per unit of agricultural production have been used.” (https://www.ers.usda.gov/amber-waves/2024/september/global-changes-in-agricultural-production-productivity-and-resource-use-over-six-decades

A decade or so after my Elvis phase, I listened to another singer, Harry Chapin, as he pitched the importance of helping solve the hunger crisis. Harry was convinced that world hunger was a solvable problem—more a distribution issue than overall scarcity. An organization he helped found, WhyHunger, still exists and is working in multiple countries to help reduce food insecurity. A similar group, The Hunger Project, works with a slightly different focus but similar goals. Related groups such as Drawdown, working to reduce the impacts of climate change, point to the current waste in our global food systems as a potential source of both increased food security and decreased greenhouse gas emissions. Reliable estimates put current global food waste at about 1/3 of all food produced.

2) Ever since the 2000 election cycle, I’ve gotten increasing numbers of urgent solicitations from political candidates and committees. Not all, but most requests want to persuade me that the opposing candidate or party is venal if not downright evil. They do little to explain how their candidate(s) might make conditions better, but concentrate on how their opponent(s) will make things worse. After several years of such solicitations from one party, I got so annoyed that I changed my voter registration to “no party affiliation.” Unfortunately, that just produced more requests—now from “both” sides. 

I don’t deny that much in our current political system cries out for reform. What I do question is whether replacing one set of naysayers with a different set of “nattering nabobs of negativism” would improve the situation. Per a recently edited Wikipedia article on “divided government in the United States”  (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Divided_government_in_the_United_States), the U.S. has had roughly equal periods of divided and “unified” government since our current two political parties coalesced in 1857. There have been about 76 years when the Executive branch (the Presidency) was led by a different party than at least one house of the Legislative branch (the Congress). There were 74 years when a single party controlled both the executive and legislative branches. It’s not clear to me whether either set of periods was substantially better at governing the country.  

https://whyhunger.org http://thehungerproject.org http://drawdown.org

My “urgency instinct” is likely to kick in to some extent this giving season. I will likely make additional donations to food rescue organizations to reduce current food insecurity. Once the next election season ramps up, I may make small campaign contributions or volunteer for a local candidate.  However, I’ll continue to use whatever time is left to me to move away from “now OR never” toward “some now AND some later.” May you similarly use your material and spiritual resources. Happy Thanksgiving!  

Power in Walking, Power in Listening, Power in Quiet

My aging body performs better and heals faster if I walk a good bit every day. In recent weeks, some of my walks have had a dual purpose—maintaining fitness and also helping support the democratic institutions on which our government is built. Last Saturday, I was one of millions who took to the streets as part of “No Kings” protests throughout the U.S. The atmosphere at the event I attended was festive. It made the roughly 2 mile walk go quickly and lessened any tiredness on a fairly hot day. I was careful to stay hydrated. I enjoyed looking at hand-made signs that were a big part of the event. Though I wished some people’s protest signs, banners, and inflatable figures less closely mirrored the disdainful rhetoric we often hear from our current national executive, I could identify with some of their justifiable anger. Some of the younger generations in my family work in government. They have been repeatedly buffeted and challenged by the sometimes haphazard, sometimes vengeful demands, firings, and shutdowns that seem to be prominent tools of this administration. 

Earlier this month, I spent time alternately sitting silently in courtrooms and walking the halls of the U.S. federal courthouse nearest me, bearing mute witness to increasingly harsh, sometimes arbitrary processing and deportation of asylum seekers who show up for their asylum hearings. I have few illusions that either of my protest walks will influence policy in the short term. Still, putting my body where my convictions are in non-violent, non-threatening ways seems appropriate.

Because I arrived early for “No Kings,” I had time to meander among booths set up by various environmental and civic groups near the starting point of the march. I signed a petition or two. I noticed what especially galling aspects of government mismanagement or overreach were being most prominently disputed. One new-to-me civic proponent was one I almost missed. A single person staffed a small table with a tented sign, “The Listening Project.” I walked up to him and asked what he was doing. 

“I’m trying to provide an example of good listening. Listening is really important,” he told me. “Many of us are not very good listeners, but practicing good listening can become a habit, like brushing your teeth every day. If you think of listening as a muscle, it’s one that gets stronger with practice. “ 

Given this implicit permission, I proceeded to talk about how frustrated I felt at the current political stand-offs in our country. It sometimes has seemed to me, I explained, that all this talk of “polarization” tends to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. He neither agreed or disagreed explicitly, but did note that he’d had chances to listen to people from all along the political spectrum. Sometimes, he observed, listening to people whose opinions might be quite militant to begin with resulted in their softening their stances as they felt heard. Listening can be powerful, he reiterated.  

Most of us live in places and spaces that have gotten noisier over the years—airplane engines, traffic, sirens, leaf blowers, not to mention beeps and chirps from our electronics. It can be harder and harder even to hear each other, let alone listen. Too often, we compound the problem by ramping up our own noise output. So we need a third power, the power of quiet. 

In researching this essay, I ran an internet search on “rising ambient noise levels in the U.S.” I found a website for an annual event that I hadn’t known existed, “International Noise Awareness Day.” (Its 31st iteration will occur on April 29, 2026.) I clicked on a link to an interview with author Chris Berdik about his recently published Clamor. The author had submitted his book proposal before the pandemic, but wound up doing much of his research and writing during pandemic-related shutdowns. Alongside its tragedies, the pandemic measurably lowered ambient noise levels in the world’s noisiest places. Berdik argues forcefully that noise is one of the stressors we have not yet paid enough attention to, that hearing loss is only part of the damage caused by too much noise too often.  

To walk, to listen, to be quiet—three powers often overlooked. May we choose more often to walk together, to listen better to each other, and to find peace in quiet, both within and without.  

Vacation Rental

A sort of hybrid, really—less posh
Than a luxury hotel stay or an all-inclusive cruise,
Certainly less opulent (and less expensive)
Than a crewed private yacht.

Still, less chore filled than everyday
Living, clean linens typically supplied,
Fairly often nearby restaurants or
Delis to reduce meal prep tasks.

Because hosts may exaggerate online the allure 
And amenities of their properties, especially
In popular holiday destinations, it pays
To do some independent research before booking.

More often than not, guests
Never get to meet their hosts
In person, instead getting key
Codes to open gates and doors.

The interpersonal graciousness of
Localized hospitality is mostly gone.
Interfaces among actual people
In the “hospitality industry” get more
Complex, contacts more attenuated.

Nevertheless, when all goes well—no weather foul-ups
Or travel delays–a vacation rental can provide
A much needed change of scene for a few days:
A chance to recharge, maybe to renew
Our flagging sense of vocation.

beach house in Pacific Grove, CA

What Good Is August?

At first blush, it seems a mere blot on the calendar—
Wedged between the heroic hoopla of July 4 and
The start of another workaday year around September’s
Labor Day. People in their prime have disappeared from workplaces,
Taking their camping gear, their beach bags, their teenaged offspring
And their air-conditioned vans with them elsewhere.

Those of us left comfortably behind are only a little envious. 
We loll lazily on lounge chairs, or float face up in bathtub-warm
Backyard pools, while grills entice with odors of slowly broiling brats.
Vintage music plays at local festivals–Beach Boys, Beatles,
Sometimes even Sinatra. Bocce tournaments bring out the
Men in white. Parasols make a temporary comeback.

The furious scandals of pre-recess government seem less
Pressing for the moment, the final few tomatoes extra juicy.
August is not regal, not “august,” its aspect instead laid back.
Sharing vowels with its mood, August is languorous.
Before the rushed tumult of impending autumn,
Such languor is both welcome and sorely needed.

Interdependence Days

This year’s 4th of July celebrations did little for me.
Much flag waving seemed phony, some neighborhood camaraderie felt forced.
I ached as U.S. ICE raids continued, as civilian deaths mounted in too many armed conflicts.
I wanted to skulk away, to forego my allegiance to much of anything.
But I remain part of a wider whole. Whatever my pique at political or social shenanigans,
I do not have the option to resign from humanity.

So I briefly retreated to gardens that nourish me, some of whom I tend:
I admired walkway African lilies (agapanthus), most likely planted
When our 1970’s housing subdivision took shape over a decommissioned firing range.
This time of year, blue and white agapanthus blooms adorn our nearby streets,
Their starbursts quieter, more calming, less ephemeral than fireworks.

Within my own yard, I reveled in two sets of red blooms:
Along a sunny side fence, snapdragons from last year. They’d overwintered
In this mild climate where distinctions between “annual” and “perennial”
Get increasingly blurred.

overwintered snapdragons
shade-loving impatiens

Against the opposite fence, impatiens, cut-rate at the
Distressed rack of a local garden shop, now hold forth in most-of-day shade.

One day per year serves me as reminder of our nation’s independence. On other days,
I’d rather honor our interdependence with a natural world that graciously includes us.

May we continue to reconcile independence and interdependence, wherever we are.
Hurrah for the red, white, and blue, whether flags or flowers!