Tonight's Little Table

This is tonight's Little Table.  

I'm not at it.

 I'm having some silliness
with Orion.

 

 

  A good way to spend some unplug time when we can't swim.  Orion has a cold and it's been windy for days on end.   The punch ball isn't heavy enough to break anything.  We are, but we try not to get too out of hand.  The object of the game is to cooperatively keep the ball in play and off the ground for as long as possible.  Just as in the pool.  We call this game "Laws of Physics," because they do apply and can surprise us.  Chaos factor, you know.

 Tonight, there's an added feature. This is an old house with lots of rough edges on the ceiling.  We play knowing that it's only a matter of time before the ball meets one. 

Mostly we play for the laughing.

 

Now Pete and Orion have gone to pick up Chinese food and I'm saving photos for Aubrey.

And as I look at these happy photos, I'm haunted by images of

smiling people in the news, who are now gone.  Children. I can't truly imagine the loss.  I don't have the courage to try.

Or to embrace the anger that will follow.

And I'm haunted (as always) by the other times I've been sickened by violence.  Each incident brings with it the horror of all the ones before.

 

These memories are strung together like beads.  Some of mine are quite vintage.  My earliest was made as I sat in my Little Red Rocking Chair.    I see this memory in black and white because mostly what I recall is pictures on the screen. Terrifying pictures of war and mass graves.

 

These things happen and they tear away any sense of peace or well-being.  Gradually, we gather those comforts back around us.  Until the next time.

 

We are the lucky ones - myself and you, reading here.  We have time between the violence to regroup and forget a little.  Many others don't.  They live with violence daily.  And the victims don't, or their families.

How then, can I be part of the solution?  What can I possibly do to help?

Good question. I don't know the answer.  For now, The best I can do to honor those innocents fallen is to live an honorable life.  To be informed and to vote.   To remember them and to deeply appreciate my own life  and  family and all that goes with.  And to make art.  To be one more person doing what she loves.

 

Still, tonight the anxiety creeps in at the edges.  I glance at the time.  How long have they been gone?   I resist these feelings.  I get moving.  I start some laundry, tidy up in the den and prepare to  enjoy dinner together.

This weekend I'll catch up with Aubrey, Alison and Phillip, and other family and friends. I'll not hesitate to tell them that I love them.  Or you.  Because I love you too, fellow traveler.

 

I'll gather my peace about me again eventually, but I won't forget.  And yes, I fear for humans. That one never goes away.