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    • Return to Normal

      I know they’re up there, just not as many. I’m sure the flight paths from Europe to America or Boston to Chicago are still traveled by some planes, but they aren’t flying over my home anymore. Chances are they aren’t over your home either. Like many businesses the airlines have furloughed thousands of employees and planes around the globe are getting an extended break from the constant flights that make up their existence. The highways and roads of the world are getting a similar respite from the constant flow of vehicles. Factories are shuttered while the curve flattens. And the planet gasps the cleaner air. The people in India see the Himalayas for the first time in a generation. People in Los Angeles see blue sky. Even here in relatively rural New Hampshire the stars seem clearer.

      No, the sky isn’t empty at all. It’s as full as it ever was, we’ve just finally cleaned the windows enough to see outside. The universe pirouettes above and around us, and collectively we finally see it. Perhaps we’ll remember it when things return to abnormal. For isn’t this far closer to the planet’s normal state than the constant buzz of machinery spewing emissions into the air? Billions of years of normal versus a century or two of abnormal. We just don’t see the forest for the trees.

      Too many act like temporary renters of the space we occupy. Having experienced the attitudes of renters versus homeowners, I know not all renters feel enough of a sense of ownership over where they reside to treat the place well. There are plenty of people roaming the planet with a renter’s mentality. Use it up, discard, get another one. But there are too many of us for that to go on indefinitely. There’s nothing good about COVID-19 for humanity, but the planet might feebly raise a hand to express gratitude. We’re too deep in it to know the long-term impact, but maybe we needed the pandemic to shake us all awake from the drunken stupor we’ve been in. The planet gets a much-needed breather while humans focus on something besides themselves for a bit. The return to abnormal will come, will it be enough of a jolt to reset our worldview? It seems to me that Earth could use more homeowners and fewer renters. What will the new normal be?

    • Dry Towns, Blue Laws and Border Crossings

      There was a time, within my time, when towns were well known for being wet towns or dry towns. I’m not talking about the amount of rainfall, but rather whether a town allowed alcohol sales or not. I went to a dry wedding once and marveled at the resentment in the room as people found out about it. Imagine moving to a dry town and realizing it afterwards? Like that wedding people would simply carry in what they’d like to drink. Rules are meant to be broken, aren’t they?

      New Hampshire only has one “dry” town out of a combined 259 total towns, cities and “unincorporated places”.  That town is Ellsworth, a small town just west of I-93 between the Lakes Region and the White Mountains.  There are only 83 residents in Ellsworth, and every one of them of drinking age have to go to another town to purchase alcohol.  I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of restaurants or stores selling alcohol in Ellsworth anyway, but if they have anything going for them it’s that quirky statistic that makes them unique in the state. Live Free or Die indeed.

      Neighboring Massachusetts by comparison has 8 dry towns. It used to be many more in my lifetime, but the trend is downward. Look, even the Puritans drank alcohol, and for generations it was safer than water in those early colonial years when life was hard and cholera was common. The Pilgrims brought beer across the pond and negotiated with Massasoit with aqua vitae. People went straight from the cold church to the warm tavern. Alcohol consumption was common right up to a century ago, when Prohibition crashed the party for the entire country. From 1920 until 1933 the United States was “dry”. But rules are made to be broken, and organized crime and small time bootleggers, rum-runners and illegal moonshine stills came into prominence immediately afterwards.

      Dry towns are bureaucracy in action, or simply inertia. Most dry towns today are in rural, sparsely populated places that don’t have restaurant and store owners campaigning for change. Dry towns are a curiosity now, 100 years after Prohibition, but also a legacy to the cultural and political winds that blew across the country then. Being a wet town kid, I remember going with my grandfather to the bar where he would proceed to drink many beers in tiny glasses. That bar was on the edge of town, and that edge was wet meeting dry. How many people crossed the border over the years to have a couple of drinks and zig-zagged home? Now that former dry town sells much more alcohol than that old wet town. Money talks, and there’s money in alcohol sales.

      Sunday’s were once a sacred day in Massachusetts, with Blue Laws that prohibited the sale of alcohol. So naturally residents drove across the border to states that didn’t have blue laws. New Hampshire’s southern border is dotted with old convenience stores that sold beer to eager Massachusetts residents on Sundays. New Hampshire built liquor stores on the highways for the quick and convenient sale of alcohol to out-of-staters. The Blue Laws are long gone, but “sin taxes” aren’t. People still stop to fill up their trunks.

      So Ellsworth, New Hampshire remains the lone holdout on the dry side of the law. I hope they always will be, as a reminder of where the country was 100 years ago. If we’ve learned anything over the last few years, it’s that the political winds can blow in strange ways, and a few people can impose their views upon the masses given the opportunity. But if Prohibition teaches us anything, it’s that Americans chafe at arbitrary rules and find ways around them. Our forefathers would recognize the debate either way, and marvel at the choices in the liquor stores.

    • Grateful For The Connection

      They say the Striper return to New Hampshire waters when the lilacs bloom. By “they” I mean a guy standing in front of me talking to another guy six feet in front of him. That the statement was overheard in a COVID-19 mandated line to get into a store is a curiosity of our times, but interesting to me if only because I don’t generally participate in fishing talk. I’m not much of a fisherman, more a fish eater, but I instinctively heard the truth in that statement.

      I’ve been in the woods of New Hampshire for a month now, and other than two trips to visit the in-laws from afar I haven’t strayed out of the 603. I’m plotting covert salt water visits in my mind. I scroll through old photos on my phone and think about excuses to visit Cape Cod once again. Salt water is just out of reach… damn. I’m told that social isolation helps flatten the curve and like most people in the world I hear the truth in that statement. I’ll remain here in the woods for now.

      “Sometimes we are starving to see every bit of what is right in front of us.” – Brian Doyle, The Shrew

      I’ve learned the truth about myself over the years. Especially now I suppose. I’ve learned that it’s easier to listen when you turn off the flow of distraction the world offers. I suppose that’s why people turn on the flow; for distraction. Or to feel connected to the world. We all do, in some measure. The truth about me is I don’t need much distraction. But I do need connection. I learned long ago to have connection you need to reach out for it, because most people are dancing with their own distraction. I turned to the poets and songwriters because they offer connection in spades, even when they’re long gone from this world. If they are so bold as to reach out to me I ought to listen to what they have to say.

      As I stood in that line waiting for enough people to exit that I might enter the store, I found silent connection with a couple of fishermen. It was a bit like stealing because I picked up pieces from them but didn’t give anything back in return. So instead I paid it forward with others I’ve spoken with since, and now with you. Connection is a chain, and we are the links. Distraction weakens the link, attention strengthens it. It doesn’t always seem like it, but I do try to pay attention. And since I have yours, let me say I’m grateful for the connection.

    • A Trip Back to the Old City

      I visited the Old City in Jerusalem four years ago. Today is Easter, and I reflect back on my time in the holiest site in Christianity somewhat humbled by the opportunity I had then. I’m not the most religious man you’ll ever meet, but I’m highly spiritual and know a place of significance when I see it. The Old City is the most significant place in Western Civilization.  Divided into quarters that betray the historical importance: The Muslim, Christian, Armenian and Jewish Quarters.  

      I walked the Old City with a guide who brought me into places I would never have seen otherwise, and of course a couple of jewelry stores for his cousins to hard sell me. I felt perfectly safe while there, and found people respectful of each other no matter their beliefs. Based on my experience, be prepared for guides and merchants to sell you hard on their services and wares. It’s all part of being a tourist, and that’s what I was that day. I never saw them disrupting pilgrims, so they know their audience and no matter how much I thought I was fitting in I stood out as the American tourist I was.

      Today Jerusalem is under the same quarantine that the rest of the world is under. Residents are not allowed to move more than 100 meters from their homes except to get food and essential items. Businesses like those jewelry stores are shuttered and the Old City must feel surreally still at a time – Passover and Easter – when it’s normally packed with pilgrims and tourists. Since the world can’t be there this weekend, I’m sharing some pictures from my visit in 2016. May the Old City, and the world, return to better times soon.  

      The Church of the Holy Sepulcher
      Ancient stairs with ramps for carts
      Who paved these ancient market streets? How many have walked upon them in that time?

      Tower of David
      The Western Wall

      Damascus Gate

    • Horses and Butterflies and Viruses

      “For years and years I struggled
      just to love my life. And then

      the butterfly
      rose, weightless, in the wind.
      “Don’t love your life
      too much,” it said,

      and vanished
      into the world.”
      – Mary Oliver, One or Two Things

      I woke up restless. It builds rather than dissipates as I go through my morning ritual of hydration and caffeine and reading. I recognize it immediately. The writing will be more difficult today, I thought, and surely it has been. I struggle at times with structure: chafing at rigidity and schedules and routine. But I chase these things anyway, thinking a proper to-do list brings order to life. My morning routine saves me more than it imposes on me, and today will be no different.

      Yesterday I walked four miles at lunchtime to shake off the feeling. In the last mile of the walk I saw the horses by the fence and eagerly anticipated saying hello to them when I reached the bottom of the hill. As I was thinking this another walker came into my vision, marched purposefully to the fence with his camera phone rising above his head and spooked the horses away. Resentment at this intrusion boiled in me until I realized it would have been reversed had I been in his shoes and he mine. The horses didn’t care which of us intruded first, only that they wanted no intruders. They stood at the edge of the fence because they’d found their end point of freedom. Yet rebelliously snuck their heads through the slats for a nibble of grass on the other side. I finished my walk with mixed feelings.

      Like most of the world I need to fly away from the cage; to weightlessly catch the wind and let it carry me away. To vanish into the world and return again someday, maybe. Such is life in the cage, it seizes the restlessness inside you and amplifies it. Serving the greater good staying in place offers mixed feelings as well. The virus doesn’t care who it intrudes upon, only that it has room to grow, and careless or prudent hosts alike offer that given the opportunity. The virus is restless too. Who’s patience will run out first?

    • Learning Anew

      “Spirituality is… unlearning all the rubbish they taught you.” – Anthony De Mello, Awakening

      I’ve pondered this De Mello quote since I read Awakening last year.  Admittedly I was late the game with De Mello as with many other writers, but then again, I don’t believe there are prizes for learning everything before a certain time in your life.  More to the point, we don’t really know much of anything until we live.  When you’ve lived words resonate differently.  Life lessons are a self-paced game, and I’m slowly climbing like the rest of the world.  I’ve become much more patient with some things people say and do, and much less tolerant with other things.  But I recognize the stoic challenges thrown out at me either way; choose how you react to the world for it’s the only thing we really control.  I can’t control what someone says or does, but I can control how I react to it.  Find the truth in all things, starting with ourselves.

      “Whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time.  The twining strands of fate wove both of them together: your own existence and the things that happen to you.” – Marcus Aurelius, Meditations  

      Reading Meditations was one of the more impactful things I’ve done over the last decade.  It’s a quick read if you want it to be, or a lifetime read if you let it be.  I chose the latter.  As with every writer I refer to here, the lessons mean more when you’ve taken a few hits in life.  We’ve all been entwined in the strands of fate in 2020.  We were quite literally born to live in this moment.  So how will we react to it?  Rise to the moment or crawl into the fetal position of self-pity or the life atrophy of absorbing the same inane rubbish they taught you over and over?  An open mind and a strong desire for the truth in this moment and in life.  What will you do with your time?  What has fate woven you into, and how will you react to it?  Worthy questions to ponder.  And I do ponder…  and hope to act appropriately in this time.

       

    • Jam and Honey and Joie de Vivre

      When I was in London last fall I got back into tea, and with it back in the habit of adding a spoonful of honey. London also rebooted my brain on the delight of spreading some of that honey or a great jam on a bit of bread or a scone. Small, commonplace joys sprinkled into the day. Europeans are much better at these things than Americans. Here we drive through a coffee shop and eat something out of a bag while commuting to work. Sometimes you don’t even see what you just ate. Cheap fuel with no joy at all. Hopefully you tipped the drive-through person?

      The French long ago figured out the simple pleasure of being fully alive. Joie de vivre, the joy of living, is an expression but also a lifestyle pursued with zeal.  We’re all finding our stride with the joy of living right now, but I’ve seen plenty of evidence that joie de vivre is alive and well in the world. Zoom family calls, group text strings with old friends, Italians singing from balconies and drive-by celebrations of birthdays or just thanks for being in our lives.

      When this collective sacrifice for the greater good of humanity ends, the stories of these moments won’t end, and neither will the memories. I miss connection with the everyday world, but find joie de vivre in smaller bites – or sips – now. Gently fold the very best small pleasures into the daily habits of your life and these little joys punctuate the moment. The joy of living is now, this moment right here, spread out over your life like honey on a bit of bread.

      “Whisper, “I love you! I love you!” To the whole mad world.” – Hafiz

      Isn’t that the whole idea of joie de vivre? Loving life and all the nooks and crannies in our days. Embrace the suck and get through it as best you can, celebrate the small joys and dance with life. Our time on the floor is limited. Maybe stop to celebrate the small bite of food you’re unconsciously nibbling on. Add a bit of sweetness and savor the gift of that morsel of food just a wee bit more. And find ways to make the bigger moments bigger.

      Last weekend I visited my parents from six feet away. We had a bit of rum to celebrate the moment; them with their glasses, us with disposable paper cups on our side. Eye contact is important in such moments, and we fed energy across the fence and sipped spirits. We all miss the hugs and handshakes and kisses on the cheek, but we make the best of what’s still available. In this time of so much death and financial devastation, celebrate being alive in the smallest of ways. Whisper “I love you” to the whole mad world. For it really is a wonderful life.

    • Rest In Peace, Happy Enchilada

      And then COVID-19 took John Prine…  I wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to him.  Surely losing Bill Withers to heart disease last week was tough enough, but now another voice from my private stock is gone too soon.  I share the Withers tunes with the world, and the world embraces them.  But honestly most of John Prine’s songs I listened to on my own.  It’s not that he didn’t speak for most of us in his charmingly self-effacing, folksy way, it’s that you don’t roll out Prine songs at parties.  It’s thinking music, sung in a gravely voice that warmed the soul.  His most famous song was Angel of Montgomery, which Bonnie Raitt covered and made it a hit.  Enough people know that one that I’ll leave it to fly on its own.  Here are a few of my favorites.

      All The Best
      “I wish you love – and happiness
      I guess I wish – you all the best
      I wish you don’t – do like I do
      And never fall in love with someone like you
      Cause if you fell – just like I did
      You’d probably walk around the block like a little kid
      But kids don’t know – they can only guess
      How hard it is – to wish you happiness”

      All the best John, you’ll be missed…

      Glory of True Love
      “No, the glory of true love
      Is it will last your whole life through
      Never will go out of fashion
      Always will look good on you”

      Jesus the Missing Years
      The video on this one isn’t great, but John Prine is, and that makes this version worth listening to.

      That’s The Way That The World Goes Round
      “That’s the way that the world goes ’round.
      You’re up one day and the next you’re down.
      It’s half an inch of water and you think you’re gonna drown.
      That’s the way that the world goes ’round.”

      I love the live version of this John sings where he talks about the woman who confused the lyrics “inch of water” as “happy enchilada” , but this version with Stephen Colbert is new to me and put a smile on my face when I watched it.  We all need to smile more nowadays, don’t we?  Rest in peace, Happy Enchilada.

       

    • An Infinite Expectation of the Dawn

      In the dimmest of early morning light I watched a deer slowly work its way through the fallen branches, stones and muck out beyond the fence. White tail flickered and drew attention, just as a squirrel’s tail does, and I wondered at the similarities of these mammals who coexist in these woods. Each are seeking the same food – an abundance of acorns that relentlessly fell last fall. Each are prey for carnivores. The tail draws attention, but you could also say it distracts a carnivore long enough that perhaps the prey might get away. The deer feels my presence just as I felt hers. We coexist in these woods too, and I silently nod and leave her to her travels.

      “The morning, which is the most memorable season of the day, is the awakening hour.  Then there is least somnolence in us; and for an hour, at least, some part of us awakes which slumbers the rest of the day and night…. To be awake is to be alive.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      How quickly the morning progresses now. The birds erupt early, filling the woods with their chorus of song. New voices appear frequently now as the migration continues in earnest. At least the birds can travel. Were this a normal time I might be traveling now too. But then I wouldn’t be here rapt in the audience listening to the symphony. There’s a silver lining in everything, should we look for it.

      “We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep.  I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden

      In a few weeks the trees will start blooming in earnest while the perennials slowly climb from the cold earth to the sky. I welcome the time of year, even as I dread the pollen that accompanies it. Small price to pay for flowers and fresh herbs growing in the garden and the return of the bees and hummingbirds. I think about these things as I walk in the cold early spring garden. I’ll be barefoot out here then without the creeping cold that prods me back inside. Warm days and cold nights. Sap weather. I glance at the maple trees and down at the red buds they’ve shed on the yard. I ought to charge them a toll of syrup for their messy habit, but I realize the folly of me boiling sap for a few ounces of maple syrup. No, the trees remain untapped.

      I remain transfixed by the world around me, and the writing helps draw it out of me like cold sap boiled to something sweet and digestible. Well, you’ll be the judge of that. But I’m the better for the process, and for these journeys out into the awakening hour. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavor… these words echo in my mind, as they have for years. And maybe my time out here in the earliest moments of the day spark something deeper inside me than I previously realized.

    • Dipping a Toe Back Into Facebook

      I dropped Facebook three months ago today, after one too many unsolicited political opinion, one too many invasively toxic comment, one too many Messenger spam attack or something like that.  Really, I don’t remember anymore, but I do know I haven’t missed it at all.  Until the last week or so, when the news of family dealing with earthquakes in California, COVID-19 in Massachusetts and a friend dealing with the loss of a parent piled up and I recognized that there’s something to be said for the connection Facebook offers.  And so today I’m reluctantly back on it again… in extreme moderation.

      In the meantime, I’ve been blogging away and today will be my 641st post.  This is where I’d rather be, and Facebook will just be a place I’ll stop by to hear about and share in what’s going on with the people I care about.  I’ll respect those people’s firm believe in the rightness of their political, religious or social views, but won’t debate them on any of it.  I’d slowly back away from someone at a party if they were preaching to me about Biden or Trump, and I’d do it virtually when they post it on Facebook.  I may strongly agree with them, or even question their sanity, but why go there in the first place?  It’s their right, and my right to mute the noise.  After three months of cold turkey I’m dipping a toe in the waters again.  I have equally strong opinions about our current political climate, but I won’t muddy up the waters more than they already are.

      No, I won’t subject family and friends to the very stuff I bolted Facebook to avoid.  I know that I missed reasons to offer condolences, congratulations and Happy Birthdays in these last three months.  Hopefully I won’t miss many more.  But the people I’m closest to I just called instead, and that seemed more genuine than some comment on a post anyway. The world has changed a lot in three months, and maybe collectively we’ll be the better for having endured the shared experience.  Facebook still annoys me, tracks me, pushes things on me I don’t want and generally is the worst behaving “tech company” of the lot. And they know they can get away with it. That doesn’t mean that we have to put up with it. I may just look around, realize it’s all still a quagmire and step back permanently. I know they won’t give a damn whether I’m there or not, but maybe a voice of support for those I care about is enough reason to try.