#saveaustralia, #please

Yesterday I had a moment of self-awareness that shocked me.

I was in the grocery store, choosing fruit and veg for some healthy eating in the New Year. Thinking about the future, my goals, the hope of getting my life together and my body back in shape. The sun shone outside; icicles dripped. I felt a moment of joy! And then -- boom! -- I was aware once more that everything is in upheaval.

Everything.

The world and its inhabitants are screaming and I can hear their cries, feel them in my bones. From the 'roos in Australia to the children at the border and everything else in between, pain and anguish and crippling anxiety are EVERYwhere. And I looked at the basket in my hands with its net bag of clementines and its selection of Greek yogurts and wondered just what the heck it is I think I'm doing, anyway, going about my life's business, choosing next week's healthy foods? 'Staying calm and carrying on?' Just trying to push away the existential dread a moment longer?

The artist Amanda Palmer shared some words today on Facebook from Australia where she and Neil Gaimen and their son are staying currently:

"...walking down the streets here feels surreal...look to the left and people are wearing masks, look to the right and people are in restaurants, ordering cocktails and pasta. it’s all just so weird."

I knew exactly how she felt in that moment. As the lyrics go, "how can we sleep while our beds are burning?"

It feels sinful to rejoice in the melting of icicles when such incredible pain and fear and freaking destruction is occurring everywhere. And even though thoughtful friends continue to admonish me to step away from the news and get off social media, I can't help but feel that to look away -- even for a moment of self-preservation -- is the height of privilege. Those koalas clinging to burning trees, those human beings forced by the fires to flee to the sea -- THEY can't look away.

And here in the States all is focused on politics, the upcoming election, Tweets and under-the-radar actions by our president that I swear are going to bring us to war. The Big Distraction, when we could be helping somehow....

I found an article earlier today written by a wildlife refuge center that included links to knitting/crochet/sewing patterns for things like 'joey pouches' and 'bat wraps,' items that are needed by rescue agencies and veterinarians during this crisis in Australia. (If you're interested, here's a link to it.) And I think it says a lot that there are small, invisible, deeply-caring people like myself going crazy right now making tiny mittens for tiny bears. We want to DO something!

And the people who have the power and money and pull to REALLY make a difference? They are off filling their bladders for more pissing contests....

God/dess help us all.
...

BOOM! -- 2020

Today I feel a LOT like this little chickadee I witnessed on New Years Eve, so dazed and bewildered after accidentally crashing into my mother's patio door that it had all it could do to sit upright again without my assistance. And I blame it all on what I call the promise of my 'hibernation season' and the ultimate reality of it....

What was I thinking, anyway? On the heels of Fest came birthdays and my much-anticipated Halloween, followed by ramping up production again for my final art show of the year, then said art show occurring on the same weekend as Thanksgiving.... But I'd no sooner returned home again from the art show than I hopped a plane for Arkansas to spend as much time as possible with my Eldest and her family. It was a wonderful whirlwind! And during my absence James planned a Christmas vacation for the two of us to our favorite destination, hoping that by 'running away' for the holidays we could finally recuperate by avoiding all the usual Christmas stress.

So no sooner was I home again from Arkansas than James and I flew away. We'd purposely made zero plans for the holiday, hoping that our respective families would carry on without us. But if we thought we were making things easier for anyone, we were mistaken....

Christmas was just waiting for us when we got back. Family obligations were so immediate that I didn't even unpack (still haven't, really), just grabbed my suitcase and headed north until New Years Eve. Snow buried us. New Years Eve blew past us. And New Years Day found me finally home again and toasting the new year with the champagne James had bought for the night before. And suddenly I felt like I had been picked up and thrown into 2020. So much so that today I am that bird in the photo, blinking confusedly and wondering what the hell happened.

I slept until noon today, my first day alone at Tumbledown. And I'm tip-toeing and whispering in my shadowy house. There's no TV, no music, no lights. No sound save the click of my fingers on the computer keyboard. Even my Zoo is being especially gentle with me. It's like my normally exuberant Petz can sense that my nerve endings have been sanded raw and my brains are still addled. All around me Tumbledown looks like it did back in October after the end of Fest. As if I haven't had a moment since to deal with the after-season chaos....

When I think of my year, when I imagine it in my head -- all the months stretching out like a Year-at-a-Glance calendar -- October and November and December are empty. Blank. Like a hibernation period in my imagination. Full of rest and recuperation, and days when I can happily create, bake, decorate, dream, listen to carols and make handmade gifts while the snow falls outside, enveloping me in my cozy cocoon. I don't know why I still see it that way because it's never been that way, yet every year after Fest I still look forward to the fantasy of it with delightful anticipation.

All the additional unnecessary stress I caused for myself in the final weeks of 2019 did one thing positive, though: it shook every one of my cells by the hair until their eyes rattled. It spun me around until I had no idea which way I was facing. And I don’t think I’ve ever approached a New Year from this perspective before. 2019 ended seismically and chaotically and without any seasonal traditions to hang on to, and now 2020 feels like I'm still buried deep under the mess of it all even as the dust continues to fall and settle.

So here's to the dust settling already! And to the promise of a new year and a fresh sheet of paper. I am interested to see what transpires from here, both personally and artistically, and I look forward to sharing it with you.

Happy new year, my friend! Thank you for being in my life.

...me.
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