Spontaneous Musings

My emotions were all over the place this morning. I woke up, made pancakes with my Paelo flour mix, and turned on the news. And proceeded to cry for two hours straight watching the Mayor discuss the protests last night, and then the Governor discuss the essential workers, Covid-19, and the protests, reminding us all of why we aren't out of the woods yet, and why this hit New York so badly, worse than many countries even. New York has more cases of COVID-19 than the UK and Italy, and almost as many deaths. And New York got the virus directly from Europe. The 2 million travelers from Europe gave us the virus. If we had banned all travel from Europe in December, we may have saved over 20,000 lives.

Then I talked to my mother...for a bit. She reminded me that not everyone is generous in spirit. OR mindful of others. Also that I was probably going through menopause and yes, crying is part of that. After that, I went on the internet - and I made the mistake of reading responses to a post. The rage I felt overwhelmed me. It was rage that had been building for some time, I think. I am a bit like my father and maternal grandmother - it's a slow burn. And then it hits. And I think why am I so angry? Why do I let someone who I've never met in person, don't know their name, and haven't seen their face - and more importantly does not know me, get me so angry? And then I realize it wasn't just them...the anger in my country, in my state, in my city, in my locality, in my world is at a boiling point, I think. We're all sitting on the edge of it.

I had one New Year's resolution this year, just one. It was - to be kind. I never in a million years realized how hard that resolution would be to keep.

Talking to an actual person face to face has become a rare thing. Rahael on Facebook, who resides in London, and is similarly isolated and working remotely - taking long walks each day, writes that she feels at times as if she is drowning, with one day blending into the next, and the only relief are the long walks in the country side near where she lives. Same. Same.

After writing a very angry post in my journal, one I may well end up deleting later - since I know all too well - it won't necessarily be interpreted the way I hope. Humans aren't very good at seeing things from anothers point of view, we tend to only see it from our own. It's why we are doomed to make the same mistakes again and again.

So, after that - I took a walk to Greenwood Cemetery. A three hour walk. I walked the length and breadth of that cemetery. I ran into people throughout, but I managed to stay kind. I avoided them when I could. I wore my mask, even though several of them did not, and when one woman apologized for blocking a path with her stroller, I just lifted my hands in shrug as if to say - it is what is. One man, I passed, I said hello to, his mask was on his chin, mine on my face - but I got it - we were more than six feet apart, and it was spacious and open. He asked how I was doing. I said "hanging in there", with a brief laugh, he said, he totally got that, he was much the same.

At one point, when I was alone, Wales called. I pulled out my phone and answered. We spoke for a while, as I sat beneath a tree and then in front of a tomb. I told her that hopefully no people would drop near the tomb - it was safer than the tree and I could see all the paths around me. With any luck no vampires would leap out of it and grab me, although I suspected I was fairly safe - it being broad daylight. She asked how I was doing, and I told her about this morning, and she understood, for she felt much the same. Apparently people are moving out of her area.

Wales: Is everyone moving out of Brooklyn, now?
Me: No, I don't think so.
Wales: I keep seeing moving trucks everywhere.
ME: I don't know why they think the suburbs are safer. COVID is there too. The only people I know who got it - live in the frigging suburbs.
Wales: Yeah, I know. Same here.
Me: It's not like I can leave. (I tell her about what my brother said when I jokingly texted him that I might join his daughter in the barn.)
Wales: God, what a jerk. I'd have been furious too.
Me: I deleted five different text messages to him. He was lucky I was working when I texted him. I talked to my mom and just sent a joke back.
I wish you could be in Greenwood with me. That we could sit on separate tomb stones and chat with each other.
Wales: I could if you can find me an apartment where you live.
Me: It's still pricey here. I managed to get a deal but that was a while ago.
Wales: I'd think it would go down with all the people moving out.
Me: It most likely will in time.

We're worrying about the massive evictions that will occur when the Governor's edict regarding no evictions expires. There's so much to be angry about - it is exhausting. I get requests for money to help daily in my email. More than I can ever possibly afford.

So I stared up at the trees, many older than I am.



And things fall slowly into perspective. I feel ghosts walk along beside me, the ghost of old relatives and old friends, long dead and mourned yet never forgotten. Maribeth Martell aka embers_log, dances, and Richard Walker hums a tune, while my grandmother and aunt smile and nod and embrace me. Death they seem to say is the great equalizer. All things die. Only the trees seems to last alongside long faded tombstones, dating back to the Civil War if not before. I see the Civil War Memorial perched on hill surrounded by flowers - a long ago fight to end slavery in the US. Yet it did not end the hatred that inspired it. Only death seems to end that, or so I think.



I think about visiting the memorial up on its hill - but a man with a yellow shirt and no mask is up there walking around it. So I focus on the flowers instead.




Meandering around the graves, I feel the tension and the rage and grief leave me and an odd sort of peace and tranquility settles in. I look at the impossible blue sky and the sparse yet increasing white clouds, and heave a deep breath and find myself grateful to be alive, if only for this moment.
And humbled by how fragile life is and how much we all take for granted. It occurs to me as I wind around each statute and monument that humans are but a part of the whole. Parakeets flutter near me, yes, they are here too after all, and I'm half surprised to see them. And wild Canadian Geese graze. With a small baby turtle on a rock in a lake, where people sit reading and lying in the sun, six feet apart, some with masks, most with them off...to relax and breath in the sun and air, without impediment.





The graves tell their own story...and they let me know by their very presence that all we do, here, and now, and all we say is but...the flutter of dandelion seeds in the wind. That which lands, will be twisted and embellished by historians until it barely resembles what happened. I watch on Facebook as my uncle tries and flails at recreating the past of his ancestors - looking for facts where there are merely stories. And my father's memory fails him, he's hunting for words, but forgetting them as they come. And I look at the grave stones, with names such as Lungingstock, and think...who were these people? Who did they love? Who did they grieve? Who did they hate? What did they dream? And does it matter? And who were the people that created these statues and tombs that mark their demise?

Our art outlasts us as do the tombs that mark our graves, even if our names and who we once were are long forgotten. Hidden by trees or merely guarded by them.



Yet flowers bloom nearby around a lake front, with an angel posting guard over it, white and pristine.







Reminding me to be ever hopeful, even when hope seems but a dream, and always kind, as I wander mindful, ever mindful of my surroundings..and trying to say hello to the people I see, whomever they may be...peace and love in heart. I come across a view of the graveyard, the lake and the city - perhaps among the best in Brooklyn, where you can see as far out as the Statute of Liberty and the City she guards and lights the way towards, our poor maligned lady liberty.




And moving further still, I see a quiet stone angel sitting atop a hill, beneath a tree, standing as a silent guardian over the city that stretches beneath her, ever watchful.




And I pull out my map and slowly find my way home.

I'll leave you with my angel. And I think these words for those who've read this far, at least...please remember to be kind. Ever kind. And ever mindful. And ever curious. And to hold hope in your hearts. It is not an easy thing to do. And in some cases it is an act of courage - particularly in these difficult times. A black woman driving a car, stopped to let me cross a street today - she didn't have to, she signed for me to cross and I waved my thanks. My neighborhood is a diverse and a safe one. Not once have I seen violence. Not once.

And for the most part they have been kind. I look for kindness now, in myself and others. Even the Governor seems to be kinder. Wales told me today that they are still clapping in her neighborhood for the essential workers. Who still go in each day to battle COVID-19, braving subways, and braving a disease that terrifies them. Yet they battle it with kindness, even though their masks mark their faces with intentions and scars.

I'm going to bed now, perhaps a shower first. It's been a long day. I hope the path through tomorrow and tomorrow is like the one I post below, bright with sunshine and green with trees.