ON THIS BRINK

Sit with me on this brink of time.

Tonight is the threshold of a new calendar year. It could be a turning point – we hope it is. And this kind of assessment could be part of any turning point, any transitional moment. I don’t make New Year resolutions, but I can assess the situation and evaluate my resources just like preparing to go on a road trip. Only this time, I’m traveling into 2021 and beyond. First, the question:

What did I do with 2020?

Well, I finished writing, then published my second book in early March. It’s a memoir of the ten-year period of paradox when my marriage dissolved and God became absolutely real and bizarre. Check it out here: Turn & Walk: an unexpected quest. My website went live shortly after I began self-isolating.

I also read a ton of books; some I wanted to read for a long time, but never had time. Now I had time. The library continued curbside pickup service, so my information hunter-gatherer didn’t starve. Their Zoom workshops were my lifeline to the world. I could see and hear them clearer than in-person gatherings. I took a class on writing poetry.

Built a greenhouse lean-to late 2019 so grew most of my own greens. I’m eating chard, mustard, and kale now; and nothing tastes as sweet as pea shoots about four inches tall. I try to keep the room above 30 degrees in winter.

Had cataract surgery. Now I have one clear eye for the stars and tree tops and another clear eye for close up work. I cried when I saw the Milky Way again. I can watch a hawk watching me.

My son and granddaughter came and we built a treehouse together – mostly Ben. I’ve enjoyed mini-retreats even farther into solitude than my quiet house. Met a couple good friends out there with our masks on. Watched the deer play around me. Love the sound of rain on its metal roof.

I baked a lot of bread. Whole grain with lots of mystery ingredients. This winter, I’m practicing sour dough boule in cast iron.

I played a lot of pool. The full-sized table stands in the middle of the living room. I shoot better with my new eyes.

Can’t say I’ve been super productive in the old way of being productive. I’m not leaving the house for work anymore, hardly leave this place at all. But I’m not at all bored. There was 25 years of neglect to mitigate, and it’s an ongoing maintenance and purge mission here. Focus is the main challenge.

What can I include as I move forward . . . and what should I leave behind?

I’ll move forward with music. Some form of music will always move with me. Satellite radio fills the house or whispers to me via PC speakers. My flute fingers recall tunes before my mind names them. Amazon Music purrs my baroque playlist as background to consuming books. Cher and Celine Dion motivate cooking and cleaning. It’s all good. I sure do miss the live blues jams here in Kansas City.

I’ll move forward with my writing. I’ve gone dormant a few times this year because I have seen no response to it. What’s the use, I told myself. It didn’t have an affect or help anyone. But when I ask myself why I write, my answer is that I really need to explain or describe what I’ve experienced or witnessed in life. I’m not out to convince anyone of anything; I just want to show you, Good Reader, what I see. Like walking a nature trail together and say, “Do you see that? Look, over there!”

Mindful meditation practice has integrated with my prayer life and will move forward with me, or maybe within me. Contemplative prayer emerged during the years of the memoir and I can’t un-know what I experienced during those times. Compassion and good will are now the core of my hope.

Self-sustaining skill sets will help me move forward. I’ll continue to build and sew whatever I need as best I can. I’ll cook and bake what I eat. The less interaction with engineered or artificial “food” and drink, the better I’ll live.

The one thing I’ll leave behind the negativity, hatefulness, and corruption and foul lies of these last years. I know it’s part of present-day society, but I choose to not give it special attention. I’ll focus on potential; contribute to solutions.

The greatest sadness for me this year is the crisis of racial injustice. The cruelty makes no sense – has never made sense – cannot be justified or rationalized. And religion cannot hide and act like they are innocent. I hope more light shines on our horrible mess.

Isolation does not mean loneliness. I don’t feel like my world has gotten smaller during these last months; I feel it has gotten richer and deeper. Of course, I miss my family and grandkids, but I’m old and they were gone long before Covid restrictions. I am grateful for Facebook photos.