It Never Rains but it Pours

It's almost the solstice and Coloradans have barely seen the sun, though in an age of permanent drought and climate change, we try hard not to complain about six weeks of rain. Despite our gratitude at full reservoirs, reduced watering costs, and the lack of forest fires, it's getting a bit tedious to find mushrooms supplanting the xeriscaping, weeds growing as high as my thigh, and open water swimming cold enough to purple my fingers.

At the gravel pond this morning, where I swim with the Colorado Wild Women triathletes, the water was 12 feet higher than normal and a chilly 63 degrees. With an air temperature of 49, we were reluctant to enter the murky waters, and after 48 minutes of swimming in a sleeveless wetsuit my whole body was shaking. Summer swim teams register similar shock in umbrella-festooned social media posts.

I blame the recent shocking humidity for residual smells around the house. Rex's pee-corner has been attacked multiple times now with the heroic carpet cleaner, and we can almost sense (smell) victory. Rob and I enjoy the new device so much that we embarked on a program of cleaning Aden's room and the upstairs hallway, too. Daniel strangely declined our services from his bed, when we woke him up at 11 am. 

In other news, I purchased Olympic Trials tickets for swimming. Watch out, Indianapolis, I will descend upon you for three days of super swim fandom (a year from now - which should serve as enough warning). My family kindly agreed to accompany me when I offered to buy the tickets and pay for the hotel, so I have backup support. Fortunately for the swimmers, the events will be held indoors and the water temperature will be an appropriate 78 - 80 degrees. Barring another pandemic, we'll be ready to roll.

It's possible that my next entry will register sunny activities such as biking or sunbathing, mowing the mile-high lawn or not-watering the flowers. Stay tuned!

 

So Hope for a Great Sea-Change

 "History says

Don't hope on this side of the grave

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up

And hope and history rhyme.

So hope for a great sea-change

On the far side of revenge.

Believe that further shore

Is reachable from here.

Believe in miracle

And cures and healing wells."

- Seamus Heaney, "The Cure at Troy"

When I was a junior at Harvard, Seamus Heaney was my poetry professor. I had no idea then how influential Heaney was as a poet and how his far-reaching verses would echo through the years in the words of world leaders. Their emergence in Joe Biden's acceptance speech at the Democratic convention, as Biden finally accepted his party's nomination for president, took my breath away. The verse "and hope and history rhyme" put my own earlier words about escape plans to shame and prompted me to quickly re-evaluate both my current attitude and my prospective actions.

The seeds of a solution have been planted in the soil of America's discontent, and we pray for a light to penetrate the darkness even as we must be the hands that water and cultivate the soil. I signed up to write get-out-the-vote (GOTV) letters to voters in a swing state.  Urging the recipients only to vote and not whom to vote for, the stack of letters is piling up on the side of my desk, waiting until late October when I'm due to send them out.  

I've emailed the US Postal Service Board of Governors several times to demand a repeal of the removal of mailboxes and sorting machines, reached out to my congressional representatives to ensure a fair vote. We have donated to campaigns both national and local, pledged to write personal postcards to swing voters in Colorado. I will help people get to drop boxes at the November election, help at the polls if necessary, and continue writing letters to voters. 

The United States moves now like a heavily-freighted cargo ship through stormy seas. The ponderous forward motion belies a hefty momentum that will make it hard - but not impossible - for us to change course. Some of the containers we carry hold weighty mass like pride, grievances, anger, blame. We may have to off-load some of this cargo before we can slowly begin to turn our massive ship and avoid the obstacles that now line our path.

I owe a debt of thanks to Biden and Seamus Heaney for plugging me into a hopeful energy that will be necessary in the coming months. While I was too late to understand the greatness of my poetry professor in time to relish his physical presence, I won't be late to recognize the precious - and precarious - nature of our democracy and my role in preserving it.

Escape Plans

 "My fortune told me I'm on the wrong road

"Well life's a game, yeah I need the cheat codes

And I hate the snow

But I think I'll dye my hair and I'll move to Alaska.

Last couple of months kinda been a disaster

Tell all my friends I'm asleep if they ask ya

Sorry I had to move to Alaska."

- From lyrics to "Alaska" by Little Hurt

It's been faintly apocalyptic out here in Colorado over the past week in a state besieged by fires and the resulting smoky haze which renders sunrises and sunsets spectacular but prohibits comfortable outdoor breathing. Worries over the safety of firefighters and displaced people leads to worries about the coronavirus in crowded shelters. California has over 300 fires burning and I read their authorities have asked the entire population of the state to be ready to evacuate. The entire state? Where would they go?

Everywhere I look people are designing escape plans for themselves and their families. We made one with our college sophomore daughter, whose backup plan is our basement. She's now moved into her apartment in Boulder, meeting with friends and trying to navigate an impossible line between being social and being safe. She got her two free masks from CU and is planning a meeting with her two roommates to discuss their rules around visitors.

Can you hang out in a friend's open garage without a mask and still be allowed in your boyfriend's rental house the next day? How many unmasked friends do you allow in your own apartment? Somewhere between zero and five people, perhaps? If the answer is none, it's a lonely existence in the heat of summer or the cold of winter. But fear creeps in. CU Boulder has already had 11 positive tests for COVID-19 among the first-years moving in. Colorado College, down the road in Colorado Springs, has had to quarantine 155 young people due to the erratic actions of one individual who tested positive and exposed most of the dorm. It's been over 93 degrees here for ten days and next week holds more of the same; not a fun time to be quarantined in an apartment or dorm without air conditioning.

I heard Little Hurt's song, "Alaska," on the radio this week and grabbed on to it for a hot minute, formulating my own escape plan. "Yes," I thought, "let's move to Alaska."  Previously I had my hopes set on New Zealand, but they don't want us and are now fighting a new outbreak of the virus, so perhaps Alaska instead?  Shortly after fixing on my new and entirely unrealistic design (I have seasonal affectedness disorder and could never stand the dark of an Alaskan winter), I heard that our current administration plans to drill in the Arctic. There goes another paradise.

It didn't help my mood that William hung out with friends last Friday and found out the next day that one of his buddies had a 103-degree temperature. The friend's fever and aches lasted all weekend and while we waited for the results of his COVID test William quarantined to his room over the garage. It's a big room, so not a bad escape, except that it doesn't have its own bathroom. We got to see William only briefly as he stealth "shopped" in the kitchen with a mask on or dined with us on the porch at a healthy distance.  Thank goodness the test came back negative, and William got to go to his first day of senior year, but the worry takes a toll.

And yet, a few moments of joy highlighted the week. Daniel's first day of freshman year went smoothly, and he's already completed his algebra homework for the week. William got to swim in a small competition last night and did well - and I got called in as a volunteer so I watched him swim his 100 fly and 200 IM - a joy for me. The speeches at the Democratic Convention have been good, though sobering, and I finally have time to write some letters to get out the vote. I am grasping at one thread after another these days, feeling my way forward by the Braille of hope, moving not toward Alaska or New Zealand but to some future where we won't all need an escape plan.

Steamboat Springs

Sunrays swim down
Through layers of branches,
Ripple from leaf to leaf.
Woody scents rise
Like mist from the Yampa
In a dawntime chill.

Berries stare, ruddy-eyed,
At latest fall design of
Aspen’s lemony lace,
Invite blue birds who
Shy from our footsteps on
Loamy Fish Creek Trail.

Children’s chipmunk chatter
Drowns in water sound.
Falls hurry over rocky outcrops
To meet boys, half-naked,
Daring and splashing below.
Goosebumps rise in icy snowmelt.

Minerals evanesce in
Harnessed hot springs.
As bubbles sprout on skin,
Salmon-like swimmers
Climb walls, shoot slides.
Water exhales steam into autumn air.