Tuesday, July 7, 2020

The Edge of the Continent

What's happening with you? We're living large out here in Covid-California times. I haven't posted in over a week, but I've composed many in my mind. That was our Fourth of July celebration. We weren't celebrating #TerribleAmerica but tried to make the best of the day. I don't feel like using this space today to rant and rave about this country or the POSPOTUS, but I will inform you that I don't think I've ever been this stressed out in my lifetime and it's not just about the pandemic, the POSPOTUS and the Assholes Who Still Support Him. There is so much stuff happening, none of which I can control but all of which I am juggling because -- well -- apparently that is what the universe is currently demanding of me. I am on edge. I am the edge. My ex continues to detonate giant mushroom clouds; I am now supporting my tenant whose job was affected by Covid, who can't pay rent and who is entitled to stay rent-free as long as the moratorium is in place.  Don't ask. I've started my baking business up to help make ends meet and am currently deep into peach pie. Last night, Sophie had three giant seizures in a row and I changed over five diapers in two hours and then I just told Henry to keep an eye on her, got in my car and drove toward the edge of the continent. I played Ennio Morricone's music because he died yesterday, and I cried and wanted to yell but then I got to the ocean, so I parked the car and walked out onto the sand and just stood there, in the dark, listening to the surf, the lights of the Santa Monica pier bright in the distance. No one was on that ferris wheel but it looked pretty in an apocalyptic way. The world is vast and oh, so weird.

I felt better.

Today I am thinking of you, Reader. How are you doing? What are you doing? Reading? Listening to? Watching?

Here's a poem:

Not Writing

A wasp rises to its papery
nest under the eaves
where it daubs

at the gray shape,
but seems unable
to enter its own house.

Jane Kenyon (1993)


  1. Oh, woman. There is way too much on your plate. That's all there is to it. It's good that you drove to the edge and stood there. You "sat with it" as they say these days.
    Reminds me of that song by John and Yoko- "Just Watching The Wheels".
    And me? I'm just watching the weather come and go. Watching my grandchildren grow and grow, mostly without me. Watching the garden, the birds, the lines on my face.
    Thinking about all of us in our different places, struggling to make any sense of it.
    Love you.

  2. My life is good in many ways, but....yeah...anxiety. Too many loved ones on the Covid front lines. You have a lot on your edge of the continent. Glad you got into the ocean. F. the X.

  3. I am about to wear out from worrying. My 37 year old daughter is an RN and is pregnant with our second grandchild, Our first grandchild, her son is 10 years old now, and excited about becoming a big brother. I worry about my daughter working, her husband (a plumber) working, and our grandson going to school again in the late summer/early fall. Didn't our President say something about it being a "beautiful" school opening. I just can't for the life of me understand how my grandson and the other kids and their teachers will all be safe.. They won't be, but no matter what the individual state situation, the POTUS will be bullying to open those schools to clear the way for the kids parents to get back to work, no matter what the Covid 19 virus is doing. Now he wants to lay our kids and grandkids lives on the line for his ambition to get the economy going again. I have never felt such hatred and helplessness due to one specific person in my life. I'd put a solid bet on Barron trump darling not showing up at any school until every micron of virus is wiped out.

    I think all of this worrying about what is and what will be going on next is starting to affect my memory and not in a good way. I always feel distracted.

  4. I am playing Ennio Morricone's music as well, especially Cinema Paradiso. I find it very soothing and heart wrenching at the same time. Glad Henry is there to enable you to make it to the ocean's side.

    I am focusing on my garden and evening bike rides or walks. Missing my family, but will be able to have a visit from the son and one grandson this week. So looking forward to that.

    Sending lots of hugs from here. x0x0 N2

    1. So good to see you here! Thank you so much for your sweet thoughts and have a wonderful time with your little grandson.

  5. Oh god, I can’t imagine it, juggling it all. Watching the lights from the nightime edge of the continent is such poetry for such a dark and stressful reality. I’m sorry you’re dealing with all this. In a covid world too. Just feckin sucks.

  6. Life feels too heavy right now. My son got another woman pregnant and they're getting married in two weeks. Another grandchild that I'm not excited about which makes me want to punch my son in the throat because he was robbed me twice now of the excitement of becoming a grandma. Today Gracie was sleeping and didn't wake up to pick up the little guy from daycare so we got a call to come pick up our grandson.

    I want to stop the world so I can get off for awhile. Driving to the ocean sounds like an excellent idea and I'm glad it helped.

    Sending hugs and love and I hope things get better.

  7. Your Edge is so much sharper and cutting than my own so a virtual hug is in order, I'm so sorry the weight of so much is crushing you. I'm glad the Ocean was able to be a balm to your weary Soul, Nature has a restorative quality to it that I often turn to for replenishment when I'm having so much withdrawn that I'm empty and have no more to give. It was hard to Celebrate the 4th this Year since our Country is in such awful shape and led by Lunatics that lack any Leadership qualities or skills. So many are hurting... and dying... it is indeed feeling so Apocalyptic, we have to seek Solace where ever we are able.

  8. The world IS a weird place. I could not agree more. I like the veneer of normalcy projected by your pool photo, though. I'm sorry you're going through all this crap with the ex-husband and Sophie's seizures.

  9. Oh I hope that driving to the ocean will always help you one way or another.

    I don't feel apocalyptic or scared, I am sad, yes, for the things that have become harder, out of reach, the loss of lightness and of snap decisions. But we are a lucky, my family lives in Europe and NZ. My heart aches when I think of friends in the UK and the US.



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