Lost weekend

Two days of missed blips. I spent most of the two days with Sue. 

On Saturday I watched Bella’s team win their volleyball tournament, but accidentally I deleted all my photos from that day. I was awed to see how well Bella plays, how strong she is, how attentive to every moment of the game. She’s poetry in motion. Speaking of that—

Also on Saturday Judith Jamison, one of the greatest dancers of all time, died. In 1971, she and Alvin Ailey created a dance called Cry. I lived in New York that year and saw her perform that dance, barefoot and magnificent, using her head and neck in ways I didn’t know a head and neck could move. For years a poster of Jamison graced whatever home and office I occupied. 

Every conversation over the weekend was dominated by election news. Hard to take in. I keep saying to myself, “This is what we have.” I accept it, and then I have to face it and accept it again. Jacob Silverman's article about Trump and Musk appeared this morning. Jim Watson’s photo, the second one posted with the article, is a photographic wonder—a moment when shutter speed, angle, and action were perfectly coordinated.

Today Sue drove me back to my place early in the morning so we could both be in our respective homes for an online meditation led by one of my former teachers, Martine Batchelor. Martine’s wisdom and light-hearted laughter, her deep grounding in what IS and cannot be denied, is a big help.

After the meditation I had coffee with a good friend. We talked about politics and culture and then we discussed tattoos: our own, our children’s, the ones we may yet acquire. More relief from heaviness.

Finally, I had the echocardiogram for which I’ve been waiting a while, and on the way home I saw this little community garden lit up by a sudden blast of sunshine through clouds. It is Armistice Day, and my daughter, who served in the US Army and now lives in Houston, Texas, sent me the photo of herself, made fifteen years ago, in the Extra.