I have a joke to share with you.  It was going around almost four decades ago with the rise of radical feminism and for some reason it's on my mind lately.  That's probably because I blame the hard times the world is going through on patriarchy.  In fact, I pretty much blame patriarchy for most of the ills that have plagued humanity for the last five thousand years.  I know that's sexist of me, but there are some compelling arguments for my case.  Patriarchy represents the lust for power and domination of the earth and women.  It's power over rather than power from within.  

But I'm not here to re-hash the same old stuff I've been complaining about on this little web of mine for more than a decade now.  Today I'm writing a joke that reminds me of being young, righteously angry, recognising my divinity and embracing the power of sisterhood.  It's not deep, and not even that funny.  But it made me laugh long ago, and remembering it now still puts a little grin on my face.  Which means there is a basic truth in it, despite its sexism.  So here it is...

Q:  What would the world be like if there were no men?

A:  No war and lots of fat, happy women.

That's it.  That's all I wanted to say.  Have a nice day.

- g.p. 

Kamala Karma

A goddess has been elected vice president of the U.S.A.  Kamala Harris triumphed over vile racism and misogyny as she campaigned alongside presidential candidate Joe Biden.  Her bravery and perseverance in the face of extreme asperity is nothing less than heroic.  

Kamala means lotus in Hindi, the language of her Indian-born mother.  The lotus is a sacred flower in Hinduism and Buddhism because it grows and blooms out of muddy, murky waters.             

Kamala Harris is the perfect embodiment of the lotus.  She emerged victorious after The U.S. - and indeed the entire world - endured four years of living in the muddy trenches of Trump's lies, ill will, and ignorance.  And she survived a mud-slinging campaign with grace and dignity, attributes which have been seriously missing in the outgoing president.                                                                    

Kamala represents all women, race and religion notwithstanding.  She is the daughter of a Black father and Asian mother and married to a Jew.  She is Everywoman.  Her perceived privilege of class is the result of being educated - a right which should be available to everyone.                                                                                                                                  

What celestial committee consorted to elect this woman of divine proportions?  The mere facts of her remarkable story are mythic.   She is beautiful, brilliant, accomplished, and compassionate.  Kamala moves me and makes me proud to be a woman.   

For four years the world has been forced to watch a shit show in which Trump played the villain.  Enter our heroine Kamala Harris, dea ex machina and the stuff of Trump's nightmares - an educated woman of colour in a position of power.  Like the fierce Hindu goddess Kali, she is a destroyer of demons.  

The lotus has risen to the top of the mud heap while the world breathes a collective sigh of relief.  A new era is at hand.  It won't be easy for her, but Kamala has proven that's she's got what it takes to surmount whatever challenges come her way.  Her story is a reminder of that pithy maxim - No mud, no lotus.                                

Namaste.                                                                                    - g.p.  

Smilin' Through

If you can't beat 'em - join 'em.  And that's exactly what I've done.  After six months of refusing to wear a designer face mask, I've given up and given in.  I hate wearing them of course - who doesn't?  But if I'm going to have mini-anxiety attacks brought on by shallow breathing because a swath of cloth is pressed against my mouth and nose, while my glasses fog up so that I can't see, I might as well be wearing something that looks better than a piece of ugly tissue hiding half my face.  So I bought a handmade facemask in my favourite colours.     

 Up until now I hadn't purchased a permanent facemask because I hoped it would make me feel as if this shit show we're going through wouldn't last long enough to warrant the expense.  Well, I was wrong.  Boy, was I wrong. 

And if that weren't enough to convert me, I don't like the same, nondescript, sterile appearance of the disposable masks.  When you can't tell who's behind the mask almost all individuality disappears.  Because as oppressive and depressing as these times may be, at least  we're not living in communist China during the Mao regime.                                                                        

Most of all, however, I miss seeing people who return my smiles.  But maybe they are.  Maybe strangers are smiling at me the way I'm smiling at them beneath the mask.  We need good will more than ever now, and  we shouldn't have to hide it.  So that's why I'll keep wearing my mask when I should, and smile and breathe all the while.  So mote it be. 

- g.p.

Live and Learn

old  adjective
1. having lived for a long time; no longer young
2. belonging only or chiefly to the past; former or previous                                                                     


A few of my friends and I were celebrating one of our birthdays.  Gayle, the friend whose birthday we were toasting, has just turned an age that marks another decade. It's one of those birthdays that ends in zero.  That's time for pause for most people, and becomes even more noteworthy the older one gets. 
Aging is not for the faint-hearted.   If turning an age as young as thirty causes someone an existential crisis, they must be living their lives in constant fear, because every sunrise makes them another day older,  although clearly not any wiser.  Hopefully that changes with the passing of time.
Fearing birthdays that end in zero is not one of my problems, I'm glad to say.  Regular readers of this little web of mine know that I mark my age in days, and not just years. Every day is a diaversary.  So for someone like me it makes annual celebrations extra special since they happen only once a year.  And when it's a big-0 birthday, which is the kind of birthday my friend Gayle is having, it's cause for even more merrymaking, because it won't be happening for another ten years.
Though I won't divulge more details, most people would acknowledge that a memorable birthday like Gayle's has officially entered into the "old" category, (Of course, the younger and stupider one is, one is "old" at a relatively young age.  You know, like, thirty-three is, like, so old.) 

Gayle is the oldest of the four of us that got together to eat, drink and be merry, but none of us is young or even middle-aged anymore.  Although we are by no means stooped and doddering, I used the word "old" to describe our group as we sat around and talked about life and the number of birthdays we've accumulated. 
"No, no.  We're not old!" one of my friends exclaimed.  I understood why she responded as she did, because the adjective old applied to human beings has distinctly pejorative connotations.  When I judiciously describe someone as old, including myself, it's usually (but not always, depending on the person) referring to the number of years they've lived, and not their appearance or demeanour.  Check out the first meaning of the adjective old at the beginning of this blurb.  There's nothing disparaging about having lived a long time.  In fact, it can be a good thing, depending on the amount of experience and wisdom one has acquired, and of course, one's physical condition.

Being old is unfortunately equated with loss of vigour and beauty.  Sure, it happens to everyone.  But why not enjoy the slower pace of life and a different kind of beauty which happens with living longer?  The later years of life are sometimes described as the "sunset years."  Though there is an inherent sadness in sunsets that presage the arrival of the dark, I love a splendid sunset.  As the sun sinks lower on the horizon, its colours and those of the surrounding sky become deeper and more vivid.  Old and dying trees are still admired for their gnarled, twisted forms and the striking silhouettes they make.  And the ruins of ancient, crumbling buildings all over the world are highly regarded tourist attractions, admired for their derelict beauty.  Beauty is not just the purview of youth.
And what about the wisdom and experience that come with age?  That's surely one of the best things about growing older; and I do mean growing older.  If you're going to reach old age, it's better to grow rather than decline while you're getting there.
Wisdom is acquired by learning from experience.  Wisdom is earned.  One of the attributes of the Snake as a spirit animal is wisdom, because it continues to grow until the day it dies. (Animals that grow all their lives are called indeterminate growers.)  Another animal that symbolises wisdom is the Tortoise/Turtle, because it's the longest living animal on the planet.  And the reason it lives so long is because it takes it's own sweet time travelling through life.  

But make no mistake, just because someone is old doesn't mean they're wise.  There are a lot of old coots out there who have spent a lifetime honing their ignorant, curmudgeonly ways.  That's certainly not the case with my friend Gayle, however.  At her birthday celebration she proudly declared her intention to honour her very special day and make the most of the coming decade.  Way to go girl!      
With each passing year (and day - happy diaversary everyone!) I appreciate the clever, pithy words of George Bernard Shaw more and more - Youth is wasted on the young.  There's no better time for advancing than in one's advanced years.  Growing old is the surest way to stay forever young.
- g.p.

Something for Everyone

Hey there Pig!

 

Happy 24,000th Diaversary! 

 

 

Enjoy your 24s!

Every day is a diaversary!

 

and for everyone else...

 

Happy Home & Native Land Day!

 

- g.p. 

Serious Silliness

Today I'm 25,052 days old.  That makes this a very special diaversary because 25,052 is a numerical palindrome. 
Okay, so I'm writing about trivial, nonsensical stuff that doesn't mean anything to anyone but me.    But it doesn't mean I don't know or care about the upheaval and chaos that's happening around the world.
Humanity is experiencing a triple threat to living in a healthy, safe and peaceful planet.  We are undergoing 1.) climate catastrophe, 2.) a global pandemic, and 3.) a righteous and necessary rebellion against systemic racial inequality.  The first two factors fomented the perfect conditions for the last. 
The current crisis has been a long time coming.  A lot has to be toppled and destroyed -  and not just statues and monuments commemorating racist history - before we can start clearing up the mess we've made. 
We can't move forward without first dismantling centuries of bigotry and injustice. It will require sacrifice and constant awareness of how we think and behave.  It's a difficult and sometimes dangerous undertaking, and probably will be for a long while to come.  And the world that eventually emerges out of all this will be a sadder but wiser place.  At least I hope so.  But sadder for sure. 
Which brings me back to my palindromic diaversary.  Sure, my obsession with these personal details in my life may seem flaky, but the attention I pay to them isn't flaky at all.  When I focus on the minutiae of my daily life, I am more aware of the day and even the moment I inhabit.  The result is I'm more present and balanced. 
Writing this inconsequential blurb won't change anything out there, but it won't harm anyone, either.  And please know that my gratitude for being able to indulge in frivolous pastimes is tempered with guilt.  For the brief time it's taken me to write this down, I'm fully aware of my white privilege for being able to do so, and in that awareness I find balance and equanimity.  To paraphrase one of my heroes, Mahatma Gandhi, I'm doing my best to be the change I want for the world.
- g.p.
p.s.  The Universe gave me an awesome diaversary gift today.  There were two bunnies hanging around my birdfeeder this morning.  Rabbits are active around dawn and dusk and therefore associated with shadow worlds, which is why they're also known to be guides into the fairy realm.  So at least the Universe takes me seriously.

Time Away with the Fay

There's a columbine growing just outside my door, which happens to be a very fairy-friendly flower.  The Fay like hanging around columbines.  They're a kind of fairy pit-stop.  If you don't believe me, you can google it. 

Anyway - the other day I took a picture of one of the blossoms, and noticed after I'd taken the photo that there was a little dandelion seed on it.  It had escaped my attention while I was taking the picture.  That's because it's a fairy in disguise.  They do that sort of thing.  Fairies can be a tricky lot.
It's nice to know there's still mischief and magic in this world.  It's not all crap out there, even though you wouldn't know it when you check in on the news. 
I'm well aware that writing this piece of fluff about a little bit of fluff doesn't help the grief and pain the whole world is feeling these days.  But this little web of mine isn't called The Magical Musings of Gossamer Penwyche for nothing.  It was never intended to offer solutions to the world's problems.  It's meant as an escape from them - for just a little while. 
Sure, sometimes I address serious issues.  But not today.  Today I'm indulging in some beauty and magic.  It doesn't cause any harm, and it makes me feel better.  And when I feel good, I'm a better person. 
So mote it be.
- g.p.

Hope for a New World

Happy Earth Day! 
Not only is there a new moon today, it happens to be the fiftieth anniversary of Earth Day as well.   That makes this particular Earth Day rather special, especially because it's landed smack in the middle of the covid-19 debacle that the whole world must now endure.  I can't dismiss that bit of synchronicity.  Of course I find it significant. 

The confluence of  1.) a special anniversary on 2.) a new moon of  3.) a day dedicated to Mother Earth during 4.) a world wide crisis - is a reminder to watch how we treat the Earth that sustains us.   Mother Nature is creating a true to life myth rife with metaphor and meaning.  Myths are lessons expressed in the form of grand stories, replete with gods and mortals, heroes and adversaries.  And this Earth Day story we're currently acting out has it all.
Myths tell tales about the loss and restoration of balance in the natural order of things.  The consequences of our mistreatment of Mother Nature are quite obvious right now.  But so were the all the signs leading up to this moment.  Yet we're shocked and surprised at the ferocity of  Earth's reprisal for our mindless actions as we continue to exploit her for all she's worth.  And she's worth a lot.  In fact, she's worth everything we need in order to survive.
Last year we watched in horror as the president of Brazil deliberately set fire to the lungs of the planet in the Amazon to allow illegal mining and cattle grazing.  It's a tragic irony that the myriad plant life of the Amazon rainforest contains potential cures for our most virulent diseases, including the coronavirus. 

While the inferno still raged in the Amazon, our attention turned to the bushfires in Australia.  After months of horrific holocausts  on two continents, the fires abated for a while.  But there was no time for a collective sigh of relief; along came the coronavirus, which had no regard for manmade borders.  It took on the world.
The myth that is unfolding is perfect in content and form.  Mother Earth can write one hell of a story.  Covid-19 attacks the upper respiratory tract.  The most severe cases that lead to death are caused by acute pneumonia, which is an inflammation of the lungs.  If that isn't retributive justice on a Biblical scale, I don't know what is.  It's also a perfect metaphor.  Nature is surely the greatest poet of all.
There is good news, however.  Nature can keep this world in balance as long as we work with her; not against her.  Instead, we've been selfish and greedy, and even had the hubris to try and "conquer" her.  Conquering anything  entails conflict and destruction.  And the sin of greed consumes like a fire out of control, just as the deadly disease that was once called consumption destroys the lungs.
Now we've been given time to be still and quiet, and reflect upon Mother Earth's hard lesson.  Let's pray we'll have learned it well by the time we come out the other side of all this.  Nature is perfectly willing to share all that she has to offer.  As long as we act in accordance with her laws, she will allow us to harness her bounty.
So mote it be.
- g.p.

Boredom

If the worst thing I have to complain about is boredom, then I must be blessed.  And I am - both bored and blessed.
So I'm posting a picture nobody cares about except me, because I painted it, and I'm not a painter.  But it was something to do.  Posting it on my little web was also something to do.  As was photographing it, which I wouldn't normally do, but I was bored and needed something to do.
I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't for covid-19. 
Enough said.

 g.p.

Grave Matters

As the coronavirus continues to sweep away freedoms hitherto taken for granted, ordinary pleasures are harder to come by.  Fortunately I live in a town small enough to allow for daily walks without creating gatherings of two or more.  My long, solitary strolls have offered me the opportunity to pay attention to a wealth of mystery and beauty found in nature's details.  Since the only other things I can do outside of the home are purchase essential items for isolated, indoor living, walking in familiar territory has become much more interesting.
Instead of standing back and admiring a beautiful scene, now  I get up close and personal.  I look at the bark of trees as I've never done before.  I lay my hands on the trunk and feel the crusty folds of the bark.  I see the beauty of dead and decaying matter that is returning back into the earth.  A dead tree trunk in a graveyard holds as much significance for me  as the gravestones that surround it. 
In order to make life more interesting, i.e., magical, I've always sought meaning in the seemingly mundane.  Now I feel as if all that exists is interesting,  simply because I'm alive to appreciate it.  It gives credence to the expression that life is a gift, something I haven't always believed.  And covid-19 has had a hand in converting me.  Go figure.
I look at the world more microscopically now.  My scrutiny has provided me with a better  understanding of all matter, both living and dead.  I've come to realise that a cemetery contains as much life as it does death.  I feel as if I matter because I am matter, just like the dead vegetation that inspires me.

On one of my recent rambles along the river that runs through the town's massive graveyard, I heard a woman screaming with an otherworldly ferocity that carried on for several minutes.  Concerned that someone might be in danger, I followed the sound of the terrible shrieking to its source.  Eventually I saw a young woman on the opposite side of the river.  She had her back pressed up against a wire fence, arms spread wide in Christ-like fashion, as she howled like a banshee.  Seeing a mortal woman wailing like an  otherworldly being known to herald the arrival of death, and in a graveyard no less, was truly eerie.  Even the most prosaic of people would have found the scene worthy of a horror story.  It was dramatic irony at its creepy best, and truly weird* in the deepest sense of the word. 
(*from the Norse wyrd, meaning fate and the web of entwined human destinies.)

Not everything I encounter in the graveyard invokes feelings of foreboding, however.  Although I don't know anyone who's buried there, I am often flooded with memories of loved ones long gone.  Even as my mind wanders through the corridors of my past, I feel completely rooted in the present, and grateful to be here. 
Finding pleasure in weird stuff is easy, whereas delighting in  ordinary, everyday things is another matter entirely.  Yet covid-19 is managing to do that for me.  Now I feel sensuous gratification in doing something as banal as buying soap.  Although I probably have more soap than I need right now (goddess forbid I should  become a hoarder), it's become a pleasure to spend time shopping - at a safe distance - for luxuriously scented, handmade, all natural, and minimally packaged soap.  (I admit that sometimes I bend my own rules, as can be seen in the accompanying picture.)

Everything that's out there, no matter how ordinary it may seem, matters to me more.  I'm finding a little beauty and purpose in all that is - even the dreaded coronavirus.  That's because it has humbled humanity and brought us to our knees, an appropriate posture for prayer.  Humility becomes us better than hubris, which is what got us into this mess in the first place.
Anyway, I'm still hugging Francis, (see Hugs All 'Round, 3/17) and am now embracing his sister/neighbour tree Hildegard.  (I named her after Saint Hildegard von Bingen - medieval mystic, healer, herbalist, poet, musician and more. )  It's good to have physical contact with a living, breathing being.  As for human huggery, I'm still giving out big, fat air-hugs whenever I can, while doing my best to ensure that the only thing I'm spreading is cheer and good will.  And it's not even Christmas.
I suppose all my recent blurbs are a way of making lemonade out of lemons.  But covid-19 isn't just sour, it's tainted.  It saddens me to know that my sudden burst of creativity has come at such a high price. I'd prefer to be inspired by something less dire and isolating.  Yet despite keeping my distance from everyone, I've never felt more a part of this world.
So mote it be. 
- g.p. 

Sveiks

Miļā Ingrida, 

 

 

Daudz Laimes Vārda Dienā

un

 

 Laimīgu Pavasari

 - g.p.

Weaving the Web

I went for a long walk around the river that runs through town yesterday.  There aren't many things a person can do outside of the home these days except go for a walk in open spaces, where it's easy to avoid crowds.  I prefer to walk alone anyway.
During my happy walk around the river, I made a number of connections, despite keeping my physical distance from fellow walkers and runners.  I felt strangely free and light-hearted, despite all the restrictions on human interaction that would normally make me feel anything but carefree.  During my walk, which lasted just under two hours, I greeted numerous passers-by with a huge air hug.

"A big air hug to you!" I exclaimed as I spread my arms wide, matched by a wide grin from ear to ear.  "I'm engaging in some friendly social distancing!" 
The reaction was always the same.  People smiled and laughed with me.  There was an unspoken understanding that we're all going through this together.  Some returned my air hug, others said a heartfelt thank you and wished me a great day.  Everyone was glad to be greeted with joy and humour in these challenging times.
Social distancing separates us physically, but it doesn't mean we have to detach ourselves emotionally.  In fact, my walk yesterday proved that compassion and understanding are being openly expressed more than ever.  I didn't offer air hugs to perfect strangers as a way of attracting attention to myself, although it certainly did do that.  I wanted to weave a web of connection that active social distancing would seem to belie.

By the time I got home I was filled with hope and optimism.  Despite the underlying gloom of forced separation, I had hopes that maybe, just maybe, we might emerge from all this into a better, kinder world.  Covid-19 is slowly dissolving my usual inclination towards misanthropy, toilet paper hoarders notwithstanding.  People aren't as bad as I used to think they were. 
I'm taking another walk today, and sharing some air hugs as I go.  I want to help weave a web of healthy solidarity.  Feeling kindly towards my fellow human beings gratifies me.  It makes me feel good to make someone else feel good. 
Although I'm not going to say I'm grateful for the coronavirus, I've certainly learned a lot about myself lately.  And that's saying a lot for someone given to self-reflection as much as I am.  The number of blurbs I've posted in the last week is testament to that.

It would be preferable, of course, if we didn't need adversity to reveal the best of our selves; but it's only the best and strongest part of human nature that overcomes adversity.  Amid all the worry and fear, I see sacrifice and altruism from ordinary, every day heroes.  And that leaves me wondering - what's my better self going to do if I run out of toilet paper?
  g.p.

For Goodness Sake

After posting the previous blurb, I went to the nearby drug mart for some food and toilet paper.  Just as I was about to enter the store, an elderly man walking behind me stumbled and fell hard on his knees.  I quickly moved to help him back up to his feet.  I offered my arm to support him, which he gratefully accepted.  He didn't appear to be harmed in any way, except that one of the knees of his trousers was torn.  Better that than a torn ligament.
We exchanged the usual "Are you all right?" and "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," words that come up when these public little mishaps occur.   As I walked away I suddenly realised I'd had physical contact with a perfect stranger, and a very elderly one at that.
"Oh for heaven's sakes , I forgot about social distancing,"  I blurted aloud, (mostly) joking.  "We've touched each other!"  I laughed to make sure he knew I wasn't really disturbed by our encounter.
"Well, I guess it's okay to make jokes about it," he replied.
I was a bit taken aback by his response.  "Why, you're not feeling symptomatic, are you?"  I kept my tone light.
He relaxed a little.  "No no.  I'm fine really."  I could see that he was reacting the same way anyone else would.  It's hard to know how to deal with an ordinary situation in far from ordinary times.
Moments after we parted, I found myself thinking Oh dear, what have I done?  He's got to be an octogenarian, they're more susceptible to the virus.  They have weaker immune systems  Oh geez. 
Then I very quickly came back to my senses.  Suddenly I felt ashamed for entertaining the notion that I might have done the wrong thing by helping an old man.  Of course I didn't.  What I did was good and right.  I went to his aid without thinking.  It was one of those circumstances when doing the right thing is instinctive.   
Perhaps if my life had been in immediate danger, my instinct for self-preservation might have elicited a more selfish reaction.  But that was far from the case.  And as I sit here writing this a couple of hours later, I'm not worried that I put myself into any health risk that may be looming on the horizon.  But this whole coronavirus business has certainly made me more aware of my actions and interactions.  That can only be good.
The little episode this morning certainly was an eye opening experience.  I've learned something about myself that I wasn't entirely sure about before - I'm basically a good person. 

I'm also a vain person, which I've admitted a few times on this little web o'mine.  (Irish contraction for a Saint Patrick's day blurb.  By the way - hope you have a nice one, given the current situation and all.) 
Anyway - where was I?  Oh yeah.  I'm vain, and most of the time my vanity serves me well.  So does kindness.  Now I suppose those of you less concerned with your appearance than I - and that's most people - wonder how vanity can be equated with kindness.  Well, wouldn't you know, I recently read a quote that explains it all...
Kindness does wonderful things to a face.
- g.p.
p.s.  The store was out of toilet paper - again.

Air Hugs All 'Round

Most of the things that give me joy or pleasure have been postponed or closed until further notice.  That includes my yoga practise, two writers' workshops, and watercolour classes.  And this morning I went to the one refuge that always lifts my spirits - the library - and it was closed, too.  I couldn't even shove my books down the after-hours return slot because it was locked shut. 
At least there's one pleasure that hasn't been taken from me - walking.  I live in a beautiful town surrounded by bucolic  countryside that has many nature walks and trails in and around it.  Thank goddess that's still available to me.
The lockdown of so many public places and services does have an upside, however.  It's proving to be good for the environment.  More people are staying at home, which means they aren't driving cars as much, and of course overseas travel has declined considerably.  Not only is there less world-wide fuel emission, there are a lot fewer people creating garbage in major tourist centres.  China and Italy have reported that the quality of air and water has noticeably improved since the coronavirus outbreak.  Thank goddess for small mercies.

As for embracing social distancing (an oxymoron if there ever was one - I read it on the Web somewhere) I'm mostly fine with that.  Thanks to a life changing trip to Peru last year, I've only recently learned how to hug properly; but now I must revert to my well practised "air hugs."  Not that I see or meet many people to air hug these days anyway.  So I'm hugging trees instead. 

There's a very large, old maple tree on the front lawn of my home.  I call him Francis, after two gentle souls - my maternal grandfather, and the patron saint of ecology, Francis of Assisi.  As fate would have it, or maybe I intuited that something was up, I began my tree hugging campaign some time before the covid-19 crisis was in full swing. 
Now I have more reason than ever to hug Francis every day.  I want to touch something that's alive and strong and beautiful.  Unfortunately, Francis is not the healthiest of trees, because he's very old and his best days are past him.  But that's all the more reason for me to give him daily hugs.  I want to let him know he's loved.  And although he may be ailing, at least he's not contagious.   
Maybe the coronavirus is Mother Earth's way of healing some of the horrible things we've done to her.  Since the coronavirus only affects humans, it's forcing us to give a long, hard look at what we do to the planet and each other.  It's good to see that people are at last paying attention, even if it's only out of concern for themselves.  The effects, however, are far reaching.  When this is all over, and it will be over - let's hope sooner than later - perhaps humanity will have learned a deep lesson on how we are all connected - to each other and the beautiful earth that is our home.

And now I'm going for a long, solitary walk and hug some trees along the way.
- g.p.

Up Shit Creek

How does hoarding toilet paper prevent the spread of the coronavirus?  It's a disease of the upper respiratory tract.  I don't see the connection.
I was getting low on toilet paper, so yesterday morning I went to the local drug mart for more.  When I got to the store there wasn't a single roll of toilet paper to be had.  The shelves were Mother Hubbard bare.  And the facial tissues were gone as well. 
Fortunately, there were a couple of  large, unpacked cardboard crates with boxes of facial tissue nearby.  A man was pulling out box after box to load up his shopping cart until it was almost full.  He was moving so quickly and urgently I had trouble reaching around him to pick up a box for myself.  I think I must have contracted some kind of panic disorder from him, because I soon realised I was gathering numerous boxes of facial tissue myself.  After loading six boxes into my basket, I suddenly stopped and wondered what the hell I was doing.  Is stupidity really contagious?  Did I really think that having an excessive supply of toilet paper would keep me safe from covid-19?  I felt embarrassed by my ridiculous behaviour and glowered at the customer who infected me.
Sure, realising you're out of toilet paper whilst actually sitting on the toilet can be a bummer.  (Pardon the bad pun, but it's no less stupid than the nonsense that spurred this rant.)  Running out of toilet paper happens all the time.  But is that worse than covid-19?  Shit no!
So what's going on?  Maybe the people who are stocking up are planning on quarantining themselves for a while.  Surely they have friends or neighbours who are still healthy or brave or informed enough to venture out into world and purchase some supplies for them. I know I would, but then maybe I'm a fool.  But no physical contact is necessary for such a plan.  Texting or phoning obviates  the problem.  I just don't get it.
After a moment's calm reflection, I put three of the six boxes back.  And the only reason I kept three was I didn't know how long it would be before the shelves were restocked.  Even if it was only a couple of days, which a store employee later confirmed, I wasn't sure I'd be able to beat the frenzied run on toilet paper once it arrived.

My momentary lapse into pointless, irrational behaviour at the drug store left me completely nonplussed.  By the time I got home I'd shaken off my private shame, only to find an email cancelling a writers' meeting that was scheduled for the library of the building where I live, which is a community residence designated for artists of 55 years or older.  As far as I can tell, my four fellow residents feel fine, and aren't exhibiting any symptoms of anything worse than eccentricity.  I also know them to be responsible enough that if they were, they'd take precautionary measures and inform the rest of us living in the building. 
After reading the email, I was left feeling as if my home doesn't meet minimum standards of health and safety, and is occupied by enfeebled, unaccountable old folks.  I'm pleased to say that's just not true.  Otherwise I wouldn't choose to live here.  Nevertheless, given the world wide reaction to the current health crisis, I understand why the meeting was cancelled.  I only wish it hadn't happened so literally close to home.  I would have preferred someone else's residence to have been declared off limits.  I freely admit that's selfish of me, and this is certainly no time for selfishness.  But I'm talking about my feelings, and not my actions, which so far are still based on reason.

I'm not dismissing the seriousness of the coronavirus pandemic.  Not at all.  But if there's one thing that can benefit humanity from all of this, is that we consider other people first.  The only way out of this crisis is to recognise that we're all in it together.  But brainless, hysterical actions only exacerbate an already challenging situation, and create enemies where we should have allies.
So to all you harebrained hoarders I say quit your shit disturbing and leave some bowel towels for the rest of us.
So mote it be.
- g.p.

2 + 4 + 9 + 1 + 6 = 22

Today is really special to me, and it's not because it's Groundhog Day.  I like today because...
It's February 2, 2020, which, when printed numerically becomes 02/02/2020.
That's a numerical palindrome - it's read the same backwards and forwards.

I love stuff like that.
Any numerical palindrome in my life would amuse me, but this one is extra special because 22 is my favourite number.
And today I'm 24,916 days old.  When I add up the individual digits (I do stuff like that all the time) they add up to 22!  
It's also the 33rd day of the year, with 333 more days to go, thanks to this being a leap year.
Three - 3 - was my favourite number for many decades before 22 replaced it, thanks to a strange and memorable dream.  Nevertheless, 3 will always have a special place in my mind.
And if that weren't enough to make this numbers dweeb dizzy with delight, today marks the 7,337th day since the year 2000.  (That's right, I keep track of how many days it's been since the turn of the millennium.)  So there you have it!  Another palindrome with the number 33!

As you can see, today is chock full of numerical  idiosyncrasies that make dweebs like me happy.  I wish you geeky joy as well, wherever you may find it.
- g.p.

Strength VIII

Be not forgetful to entertain strangers:

 for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.

- Hebrews 13:2

For the last week I've been haunted by the memory of a heartbreaking incident that happened over forty years ago.  I'm not quite sure why the memory has resurfaced after all these years.  Perhaps it's because I've been feeling especially sensitive since I woke up one morning last week experiencing a touch of SADness, (seasonal affective disorder) which is perfectly understandable at this time of year.  Although I quickly stabilised my mood with a dose of pseudo-sunlight from my sun therapy lamp, as well as a vigorous yoga practise, the unhappy memory lingers.

The tearful incident happened when I was experiencing my first dive into a long history of clinical depression, which only ceased to plague me relatively recently.  It was a mid-winter afternoon and I was walking downtown, feeling typically self-absorbed and sorry for myself, as one is wont to do when depression holds sway.

There wasn't much human traffic on the city sidewalk, so I had a clear view of a female figure walking towards me. A golden retriever was pressing tightly up against her thigh as they walked in step together.  I marvelled at how closely the dog leaned against his human companion, as if they depended on each other to stay upright.  As the devoted pair came closer, I could see that the human was a young woman whose face was horribly disfigured, probably from severe burns.  Her injuries were so extreme it was clear that she'd be malformed for the rest of her life, no matter how much cosmetic surgery she might have.  I caught a glimpse of her eyes, which looked vacantly off into the distance.  It wrenched my heart to see her, and I immediately forgot about my own troubles.  My hardships paled in comparison to what she must have suffered.  Her pain and the dog's devotion were almost more than I could bear. I couldn't help thinking that the most love and loyalty she would ever know would be from the dog that walked by her side. 
As the young woman and dog passed by, I heard a couple of teenage boys who'd been walking behind me exclaim "Eeww.  That's gross, man.  Who'd ever wanna fuck that?"  Their thoughtless words were followed by loud, cruel laughter.  They clearly took pleasure in their deliberate display of heartlessness.
All at once I fell apart, and wept as hard as I've ever done for a complete stranger on the street whom I'd seen for barely a minute.  My grief for the young woman was matched in intensity by my anger with the two boys who mocked her so viciously. 
Despite the negative emotions that swept through me, I realised that my reaction was because I felt compassion.  Someone else's physical and emotional suffering momentarily made me forget mine.  Although my pain was surely nothing compared to hers, my own vulnerability opened me to feelings of deep empathy.  

I've thought about that poor soul frequently in the last week, and have been surprised by the many tears I've shed for her.  When I was mired in self-pity, seeing her briefly lifted me out of myself and showed me how feeling compassion for others can be a salve for my own soul.

Bless you, dear Lady, wherever you may be.  Whether you live or not, know that your life has not been without purpose.  Many years ago you taught a perfect stranger a deep lesson in love by simply being your beautiful, wounded self.  You helped another troubled soul feel her heart open with compassion, and the memory of that experience continues to do so.  You are truly the dearest of angels. 

- g.p.