Meanderings on writing, reading, walking, bicycling, and life
Author: thedamari
I live in Missouri, a more beautiful place than many realize. I love writing, reading, walking, bicycling, and making lists. I’ve written poetry since I was seven. A few years ago I branched out into short fiction and memoir pieces. I also perpetually have a novel in progress. My brain pursues ideas at a brisk pace, wandering all over the map. This blog represents one of my efforts to keep up with it.
Today’s walk about the neighborhood started out in fog–brain fog. It was pretty darned cold, but I couldn’t remember where I had stowed those nice new electric gloves. I vaguely recalled putting them “some place obvious” where “I’ll be sure to look.” At least I got a lot of indoor steps in my search, as well as finding a warm headband that’s been lost for a while.
I finally left wearing older, less thermal gloves. My hands did mostly okay. Once I had my focus on other things, of course, the memory of the “obvious location” snuck up on me and announced itself. I verified when I got home the new hand warmers were in fact in the carrying bag that came with them, hanging in my closet. I had even seen the bag, but we have dozens of reusable totes around. And I’ve had a lot on my mind, okay? Stop judging! LOL.
The only pics I got this afternoon were crap because it was pretty chilly to have my bare hands exposed. Here are a couple anyway, for documentation purposes.
We’ve had three significant snows since New Year’s Day, and there are still remnants here and there. From what I’m hearing, this might be my last walkabout for a few days. More you know what is on the way, accompanied by subzero temperatures. I don’t remember a winter this unrelenting in well over a decade.
But hey, I’m proud of myself for getting outdoors today anyway. And I’m grateful for the time and resources that have allowed me to stock up on provisions for weathering a week in New Siberia. For anyone else in the path of the coming system, take care, and know I’m wishing you well.
Maybe my next “On Today’s Walk” post will simply be images from different rooms in my house.
I know we’re all fighting a lot of fires right now, some not even metaphorical. But we also need some times of rest and sanctuary from the…waves hand vaguely.
I found it today at the Bonnie View Nature Sanctuary. Wouldn’t you like to experience a respite vicariously through my photos?
I saw a cool playground. Got to admit, I was tempted to do some climbing on these structures.
I saw several birds but got no photos of any of them. However, the Merlin app took a stab at identifying them by sound.
Screenshot
A crane your neck to see the top tall tree:
Some really beautiful prairie grass, even if it is dormant season. The mix of hues and shapes is breathtaking if you take the time to really look. One view from across the way and one view from what it might look like for a tiny animal taking refuge in the brush. (I stuck my camera right in.)
And despite the fact that our last snow fell on *January 10*, a little bit of it remains here and there.
If all of the…waves hand vaguely…has got you stressed and anxious, try to go out into nature and move around for a while if possible. When you come back, I almost guarantee you’ll be better able to deal with it.
For decades, I’ve made it a point to read authors from a variety of backgrounds. As satisfying as it is to come upon a piece of writing that reflects my lived reality, my life is richer for also reading works by writers who have had different experiences. It helps me think more deeply, builds my capacity for empathy and gives me a more well-rounded worldview.
For Black History Month, I’m sharing a handful of memorable books I’ve read by Black authors.
Published in 1937, this book by one of the prominent figures of the Harlem Renaissance is considered a classic for good reasons. Hurston’s Janie is one of the most fully realized characters I’ve seen in a book this length. Through her upbringing with her grandmother and multiple marriages, we see Janie struggling to free her real self from the confines of those who define the parameters of her life.
Hurston evokes so much through simple, every day scenes – a game of checkers, the buying of groceries. All of her characters are real and complex. No stock cut-outs here.
Nonfiction, first published in 2010. The author Wes Moore – Rhodes Scholar, decorated veteran, TV host, eventual governor of Maryland, all-around accomplished guy. The other Wes Moore – serving a life sentence for the killing of a security guard during a jewelry store robbery.
Both are near the same age, and they lived within blocks of each other as children in Baltimore. Both grew up without fathers (the author’s father died from an illness at a young age, while the other’s father was simply absent). Both African American. Both had brushes with the law as kids.
But at some point, their paths diverged, and the author explores what factors might have made a difference. I appreciate his humility, as he expresses that their roles could easily have been reversed.
Published in 1987. Winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction.
The horrors of slavery are examined through the experiences of a Black mother in post-Civil War America. The baby girl who died many years before, buried in a grave marked with a stone bearing only the word “beloved” returns as a young adult ghost (or something) to Sethe’s life.
The opening lines let you know right off that this isn’t going to be a gentle book, but a powerful one: “124 WAS SPITEFUL. Full of a baby’s venom. The women in the house knew it and so did the children.”
This story drew me in. The main character, Ray Carney, is complex and relatable. I held my breath many times as he found himself more and more out of his depth, drawn into a web of crime he never intended. He has a weakness for trying to make his cousin (more like a brother) happy no matter what bad decisions the guy is making. Then there’s the constant struggle to keep his home life with the wife and kids he adores separate from the other part of his existence. Excellent world building immerses the reader right into 1950s-1960s Harlem.
There’s a lot of depth in this poetry collection. I appreciate the way Gorman experiments with form. One poem I re-read a couple of times is titled “Pan.” …”Pandemic, meaning all people. / Pandemonium, meaning / all demon. / Pandora , / meaning all-gifted…”
And I’ll wrap it up with one of my all-time favorite books of poetry.
This is another Pulitzer Prize winner. It combines many elements that have been integral to my life: poetry, science fiction and David Bowie. A couple of these poems punched me in the gut, while others had me simply nodding my head in recognition. Smith’s father was a scientist who worked on the Hubble Telescope, which helps explain where some of this came from. Get ready for some BIG questions when you open these pages.
Lines from her poem The Weather in Space:
“…When the storm
Kicks up and nothing is ours, we go chasing
After all we’re certain to lose, so alive—
Faces radiant with panic…”
Please feel free to add your own recommended titles in the comments. Read on!
Can a bag of onions make a meaningful difference in the world? I sure hope so!
I know many of us are searching for ways to make a positive impact right now in a time when a lot of things are going very wrong. While we might not experience many opportunities to take big actions, every one of us can do one thing. And those individual contributions add up.
I’ve come to believe community building needs to be an essential focus right now. One specific part of that is supporting local businesses and local agriculture. It’s becoming more vital every day to reinforce strong local food systems.
For a while, I had a subscription to an every-other-week produce box through a local store’s community supported agriculture program. But that was not working out for me logistically, so I cancelled a while back. My little city has a nice, largish, year-round farmer’s market, as well as some smaller seasonal ones. I kept telling myself I should hit them up for some of my food. But even thinking about it made my anxiety spike.
The big market, at least, is a perfect storm of social anxiety and sensory issues for me. I would have to deal with a lot of noise, bustle and crowds while trying to make decisions in a setting where I wasn’t sure of the rules or expectations. That’s every one of my buttons pushed, right there in one go.
But then I made a plan. A bite-sized plan. I could get myself used to farmers’ market shopping and learn the ropes by starting small. All I had to do was go in and buy one item, then leave. Still an improvement over no items from local farmers.
And I did it Saturday morning! I was a little overwhelmed, but I wore my Loop earplugs to minimize noise, looked around for one clearly marked item that I needed, found the onions, and paid. Then I went on to the usual grocery store for the rest of my shopping trip. It’s a start. I can keep taking more steps.
What if we all looked for one step each day or each week? How much difference could we make? Let’s try it and see! Let’s go!
“What most did not understand then was that I was not only married to the man I loved, but I was also married to the movement that I loved.” – Coretta Scott King
On Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, I’d like to take a couple of minutes to think about the person who, perhaps more than any other, made sure the message and the work of social justice continued after his death. Coretta Scott King was married to Martin Luther King, Jr. for 15 years, a full partner in leading the movement for peace and equal rights.
For another 38 years after his death, she continued leading the charge not only in the U.S., but around the world. This is taken from The King Center website. That would be The King Center that Coretta Scott King founded.
“One of the most influential African-American leaders of her time, Mrs. King received honorary doctorates from over 60 colleges and universities; authored two books, edited a compilation of selected quotes by Dr. King, maintained a nationally-syndicated newspaper column, and served on and helped found dozens of organizations, including the Black Leadership Forum, the National Black Coalition for Voter Participation, and the Black Leadership Roundtable.
Mrs. King died on January 30, 2006. She was the first woman and the first African American to lay in honor in the rotunda of the Georgia capitol. Also, a few days after her death, thousands of people stood in line in the rain to pay their respects at a viewing in the heritage sanctuary of the historic Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta.“
The Kings taught us a lot about the importance of unity, community, and standing together with the oppressed. I believe those principles are more important today than ever.
For the past couple of weeks, I have been driving my car to get from point A to point B on most trips. I was becoming desperate for a walk in the fresh air. So despite the arctic temperatures
along with lingering patches of snow and ice from our recent winter storms, I took myself out for a short ramble around my immediate neighborhood this afternoon.
It was too cold to take many photos, but I did click one in an attempt to capture the feel of things.
Yep, that’s Winter with a capital “W.” But I know how to layer up. And now, I have something that’s a game changer for wintertime strolls.
My husband found a nice post-holiday sale on electric gloves. He ordered a pair for each of us.
No matter how insulated I was able to keep everything else, I always had cold fingers outside when the temp dipped below about 25 degrees Fahrenheit. But no more! These battery-powered beauties kept my digits toasty.
Now I only need to find some kind of electric nose tip warmer and I’ll be completely set!
I’ve had two different inclement weathers days off work this past week, which made me nostalgic for the snow days of yore when my kids were young. Sure, there was some inconvenience involved, but also so much magic and fun. I loved sledding, snowball fights and sculpting creatures to decorate our yard.
I admit, I also realize I took for granted the level of energy I had back then. The work of getting through winter takes more out of me now. But I still want to enjoy it. I wonder how weirdly people would take it if I showed up alone at one of the popular sledding hills in town all on my own, just this 60-year-old woman.
I’m still healthy and strong enough to wield a shovel. But the big yard where the kids could play when we bought our house came with a long stretch of sidewalk that takes a while to dig out. We have a shared driveway with an apartment building, and the owners hire someone to remove snow. However, for the Sunday/Monday weather event, he had equipment problems, which meant a huge mess at the end of the drive where the city snowplows repeatedly left a lumpy, frozen wall, and our neighbor with a large pickup kept driving through it.
Where the driveway ends you’ll find snowplow debris there.
I knew if we were to get our own cars out I had to move mountains before the overnight Monday freeze. My husband was wrapped up in telework deadlines while my son was under the weather. And I don’t believe any of the next-door tenants own shovels. So this heavy labor fell to me. I took a break for a photo about halfway through the job. After 90 minutes, I finally had it passable for cars.
After that, my arms were jelly, and I only wanted to sit quietly with a cup of tea.
Along about Thursday night, here came a second snowstorm, one that kept accumulating all Friday morning. For that one, the apartment owners found someone who had a heavy-duty truck with a plow on front. He got the apartment lot and driveway passable pretty quickly. But in the process, he walled in all egress points from our house. After the snow stopped, I went out our side door believing I only had to clear our porch steps and front walkway, but encountered this:
Fortunately, it was fresh with no melt and refreeze, so not tooooo difficult to work through. And then there was the wall blocking the front walkway from our porch to the drive and the wall built up behind our cars at the edge or our carport.
That snow wall is higher than it looks.
This all turned into another hour and a half session. However, the temperature was perfect for being outdoors in snow – right around 30 degrees with no wind. I was pretty tuckered again, but not so much I didn’t consider at least making a small snowperson.
However, I decided our block was represented well enough by the neighbors’ large one.
I was able to take a few minutes to enjoy the sights, so joy found its way through the drudgery. I do love the beauty of winter.
Good footwear is essentialSunflower/snowflowerArtfully draped
Someone else was traipsing through the snow.
But it wasn’t this guy, who doesn’t know what all the fuss is about.
He did keep me company while I rested up with a cup of tea. So he earned his keep in that way.
Fiction that ticked the categories for favorite of the year, most original, and book I wish I had written:
This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone Labeling this is my favorite fiction read is really saying something because I had an exceptionally good reading year with amazing authors.
This is a time travel story, but not in a headache-inducing way that requires the reader to become a double-ledger accountant. Top agents from each side in the time war finally find worthy adversaries in each other and begin a prohibited correspondence, taunting each other to begin with. This is also an enemies-to-love-interest romance. The plot, such as it is, doesn’t center on the tides of the war. It’s very much about the evolution of the relationship, carried on solely through spy vs. spy type activities and letters delivered in increasingly devious ways. It contains lots of allusions to history, art, and other works of literature. Finding those little easter eggs is fun.
These lines hit me hard in light of current events. “Hope may be a dream. But she will fight to make it real.”
Author who was double dipped by me this year:
Emily St. John Mandel, with Sea of Tranquility and The Glass Hotel.
Sea of Tranquility is yet another time travel book. I guess that’s my theme for 2024? It’s the story of three different people experiencing the same eerie phenomenon at the exact same place in the Canadian wilderness – the feeling, sights and sounds of being in two places at one time, accompanied by the sounds of violin music and airship travel — but spaced out over centuries. It’s also a tale of a pandemic and humanity’s perpetual existential crisis, as embodied by a time traveler who is determined to unravel the mystery.
In The Glass Hotel , the narrative moves back and forth in time. But none of the characters time travel. I will read anything by Emily St.John Mandel because she knows how to tell a story, and especially how to take you deep into a character’s point of view. The glass hotel is the central “character” that serves as a hub connecting everyone else in the book. This is a character-driven narrative, but also a page turner. The 2008 economic collapse plays a big part in the plot, with its ripples spreading throughout many lives.
Climate fiction that shows how to hold onto hope amidst devastating loss:
Migrations by Charlotte McConaghy is set in a near-future world of mass extinctions. Franny Lynch, is obsessed with following what is probably the very final migration of the few remaining arctic terns. Through flashbacks, we come to learn Franny’s story and ultimately, what is driving her fierce–one could even say maniacal–determination to see through her project. After she talks her way onto a fishing boat, promising the captain he’ll find fish if he follows the birds, we also come to know the members of the crew and see their relationships with Franny develop.
One of the early mysteries of the book is what happened to Franny’s mother, who disappeared when Franny was ten years old. Disappeared just like the birds and the fish and many animals are doing. Largely, this is a book about grief and how we can try to heal and move forward in the face of unfathomable loss.
Fiction that made me both ugly cry and laugh myself silly:
In Maame, Jessica George bestows a terrific voice on her main character, Maddie Wright, a 25-year-old Londoner who still lives with her dad because she has become his primary caretaker since his Parkinson’s diagnosis. Maddie’s mother spends months at a time in Ghana, purportedly helping with a family business. And Maddie’s brother James is just too busy. When the chance finally arises for Maddie to move out on her own, she has a lot of lost time to make up for.
Memoir that made me ponder the existential:
In My Time of Dyingby Sebastian Junger, who approaches his own near-death experience with the same investigative techniques he uses for other topics, weaving anecdote and feeling with background information. I was struck by his determination to try to understand how physics ties in with the possibility of an afterlife considering that his own event involved an interaction with his late father, a dedicated and accomplished scientist.
Quote: “Your pulse is your life, the ultimate proof you’re animate and have something rare to lose. Everything alive has some kind of flux and ebb, and when that stops, life stops. When people say life is precious, they are saying that the rhythmic force that runs through all things–your wrist, your children’s wrists, God’s entire green earth–is precious.”
Memoir that resonated with me so hard I talked about it in therapy:
The Exvangelicals by Sarah McCammon is a book I really needed. As an exvangelical myself, it was a deeply meaningful read for me. I think there’s a lot of healing in sharing stories and knowing you’re not the only one. I’ve been out of extreme right-wing evangelical Christianity for decades now (I do still consider myself Christian, just a different flavor) and am still unravelling all the threads. It might be my life’s work.
McCammon shares not only her own experience, but also words from other exvangelicals, many of whom point to their former church’s embrace of Trump as an inflection point for them. As one of the earliest of Gen X, I had a very similar experience re: Reagan. I wasn’t voting age the first time he ran, but I was just starting to tune into politics and couldn’t wrap my head around my elders choosing him over Carter because they believed Reagan was more “pro family.”
Quote: “Wounded people have a natural instinct to push back, to protect themselves. And for those of us who grew up in the culture wars–who’ve been trained to fight and to fight hard–laying down the sword, taking off the armor, and tending those wounds is one of the biggest battles of all.”
Nonfiction I believe will be useful in the coming year(s):
I wish there was no need for On Tyranny by Timothy Snyder. But given the circumstances, I’m glad it exists. Each chapter is only a few pages and focuses on one piece of advice in dealing with authoritarian governments. The general format is directive/short explanation of what he means by it/ historical example of how people have done it effectively/practical suggestions for your own life.
There’s a lot in here about living authentically, embracing truth, maintaining empathy and building community. But it’s all succinct and easy to follow. I highly recommend reading it ASAP.
Onward to 2025! May our lives be full of joy, meaning, and books!
On today’s walk about my neighborhood I discovered a Christmas tree already abandoned for pickup. I also heard a murder of rowdy crows and later saw someone walking a tri-pawed little dog.
These photos are all the same tree, but each picture looks a little different. It’s all a matter of perspective.
My first thought on seeing this already-discarded tree by the curb was that someone is no nonsense about the holidays being over when they’re over. I imagined someone adhering to an inflexible calendar. But of course, I have no way to know why it’s been put out at least two days before it can even be picked up. I can imagine a dozen scenarios. The family usually leaves it up longer, but we’re leaving on a trip. That’s another possibility.
What we experience is such a small part of the world that surrounds us, but many of us–myself very much included–tend to fill in blanks with suppositions and stories to explain why, often never discovering if we were anywhere in the mark. We can fool ourselves into believing we know more than we do. All the information I really have is this: a green Christmas tree lay in the street — nothing about who put it there or when or why.
Likewise, my senses told me the crows were particularly loud today in one part of my community. I have no idea what was driving their behavior. Maybe they were having an argument or discussing where to find food. Perhaps a predator was stalking one of their nests.
Then the tri-pawed dog. So many questions. The missing limb was the rear right, and the little cutie seemed to be getting along pretty well, looking happy, which led me to believe it’s been missing that leg for awhile. I could have asked some questions of its human, but I’m shy.
I’ll bet I passed at least a thousand interesting stories today in my 40-minute walk without even realizing it. My mind can keep itself endlessly entertained spinning yarns about why I’m seeing or hearing the things around me. And this is pretty harmless, keeping it all in my brain as I have my little perambulation.
But for some reason, it’s been in my thoughts a lot lately that we can let it get dangerous, drawing conclusions and then assuming they’re correct without bothering to verify. I think it’s important for all of us to be able to draw the distinction between what we can see (the tiniest part of the picture) and know to be true vs. what we imagine to be the case. I’m working on it in myself.
However, if I ever come up with a coherent story incorporating the tree and the crows and the dog, I will share it here, being sure to label it fiction.
I look at some of my younger acquaintances who are starting families, and my heart breaks a little. I can’t imagine starting out my parenting journey in the world as it is now. The difficulties they will face, the battles they will have to fight.
I don’t say this to them, however. Maybe because I remember oldsters saying it when I was having my children, back in the mid to late 90s. And I heard it again when the internet came along and we had to be the first generations of parents ever to figure out how that fit into child raising.
We don’t get to choose the times in which we live. We only get to choose how we respond. I know plenty of Millennials and Gen Z who are foregoing parenthood, some due to the political and/or actual climate. I respect that. But I also respect and support my younger crew who are choosing to hope enough to go ahead and have the baby they want. I mean, is it ever really the opportune moment to bring a child into this messed up world?
Look at Mary. I’m sure there were people who saw a hugely pregnant teenager, not even able to secure lodging, and shook their heads. And with Herod in power? Didn’t she know how likely it was they would become refugees in pretty short order? Who would she expect to accept and take them in? What a time for anyone to have a baby.
Anyway, here’s a poem I wrote that I’m pretty sure I’ve shared before. It seems pretty relevant right now. (It’s an abecedarian poem, by the way.)
All the Troubles and Yet
All the troubles everywhere, yet a Baby brings joy, each new Child in my circle a welcome Discovery that the world goes on Each one accepted as the Finest example of what the universe offers Greeted with adoration and wonder Heralded with hope Imagine receiving that level of tenderness Just for being, freely given Love with no expectations Meaning found simply in connection No earning it or losing it Only a thereness Produced because it’s how we survive Quarrels most certainly will arrive Right along with disappointments Suffering and sickness There’ll be time to think on those Upsets later, rather than wasting the Velvet days of infancy with our minds X number of years in the future Youth speeds away but comes Zipping back to humanity again and again
Merry Christmas to all who celebrate! May we be able to keep our focus on love and support for those in need, and may we celebrate the most vulnerable among us.
Nomadic Noesis 