KINDRED SPIRITS

As Americans upholding a self-made democracy, you and I could never imagine trump as having been elected to the presidency, and thus were we blindsided (just as many Germans had not preconceived of hitler’s rise to power before his eventual self destruction led to the end of WWII), because we who’d felt financially secure ‘slept’ through the years when too many ‘have-not’ Americans felt furiously disenfranchised by and polarized (rightly so) from the ambitiously unrestrained greed of the super wealthy 1%.   In retrospect, our nation was ripe for a charlatan take-over by someone; however the fact that Trump filled that bill was astounding, being that this braggadocio was amongst the 1%, who cared naught for the woes of the common man.  And of symbolic interest is the fact that our myopic vision failed to verify the passive part played by our complacency till reflection clarified our lack of 20/20 vision until 2020 at which time, communal threat of Covid hit us, one and all, right between the eyes.

During this time of national polarization, tis heartwarming to focus upon my heartfelt connection to a deeply cherished friend from high school, with whom I exchange texts, every day, who’d sent me a photo, several weeks ago, of her youngest grandchildren all bundled up while shivering on her back porch, and with five separate flames (inclusive of the Shamash) shimmering brightly over individual candles, each standing in its own holder, my friend’s family menorah symbolizes the fifth night in which oil enough for only one night continued to light the eternal flame, signifying the eight day miracle of Chanukah in the aftermath of the Maccabee family winning their freedom from unwarranted servitude, during biblical times. And with the Menorah on this outdoor table with the approach of a Midwest winter’s eve, grandkids, huddling close together for warmth, are seen enthusiastically intent on biting into chocolate coins while opening Chanukah presents, their Dreydl being the only tradition missing from this year’s outdoors, masked celebration of miraculous freedoms, because hands inside mittens encounter difficulty spinning a top.

My text went on to say that my friend’s precious children (and mine) both big and small, are watching as she and I role model how best to maintain the on-going strength of family togetherness during life’s trying times, which classically cast dark clouds over each next generation’s sense of good natured, well intentioned, purposeful success, seemingly from out of the blue, though stormy times do not come without warning.  Time and again, Denial casts veils over the darkest of hints, which then are classically missed by too many until those most deeply affected prove to be—you and me.  And though our initial reactions demand to know—from where this horrific event came—deeper truth, buried subconsciously, will not filter into our conscious minds until some event triggers a heightened sense of self awareness to one’s own lack of sensitivity to the intensity of pain or loss or poverty suffered by others until their pain or loss or fear or poverty matches our own.

Every day, my hard working, social worker friend and I bid each other a good morning as we both prove to be intuitively determined to ‘do our thing for the betterment of humankind’ in hopes that, one day in the distant future, she and I will leave a positive footprint upon this planet of ours as we each actively participate in rebuilding a better place for human life to thrive than our world had known to provide when we were as young and innocent of understanding both sides of human nature as is true of the innocence of her precious grandkids and mine, today.

Kindred spirits are we, since our late teens, so tis no wonder why our truthful yet oh so tender friendship continues to grow ever more mindful of each other’s loving kindnesses no matter how many miles prevent our sipping the same cup of tea.  And thus, as neither has slipped away from the other, over these past 45 years of separation by 1500 miles, we each raise a glass to coach or toast each other’s mutual inner strengths, metaphorically, several times, daily, by way of texting without worry of growing so tipsy as to fail to welcome the dawning of each brand new wondrous day as our future continues to unfold in the most unexpected and thus intriguing ways—and as melanoma is not to be taken lightly, Will and I are sending our best wishes to my friend’s husband on the outcome of his Moh’s surgery, tomorrow. (Satisfactorily resolved.) Please let us know how both of you are, afterward, just as we’ll fill you in concerning my biopsy report, if not today then hopefully, on the morrow (also satisfactorily resolved), as life often offers our hearts more than one worry to handle with self disciplined intellect intact—and that’s the timeless truth. 👩🏻❤️

If you ask from whence this old English vibe infiltrates my choice of words, here would be my reply—intuitive musings of my mind, while writing, must wander through my subconscious memory’s personal library of English novelists and biographers, thus enhancing my sensitivity to the emergence of English idioms, mid sentence.

And having reminisced, over these past several weeks, this text to my friend will be considered a wrap for right now, as my attention switches tracks from that which has passed toward readying my mind toward the mutual enjoyment of zooming this afternoon’s NFL game with beloved family residing hundreds of miles away

With three days to go before all eyes, concerned with the outcome of the upcoming election in Georgia, I’ll bid you adieu until next we meet ... 🙋🏻‍♀️Annie