A petunia seed sprouted in a large container on my deck late in the summer, and I brought it inside before frost. It is companion to a succulent that would not last the winter, sharing the same pot. Since then, this petunia put out quite a few blossoms, even though it’s wintertime.
It longs to be outside in warm summer sunshine.
But it wouldn’t last long in the snow! So it just looks out the window, daydreaming about what life would bring in a different time.
May we all be like Miss Petunia–longing for better times, but putting out our blooms anyway. We will need to be as resilient in the coming days, taking what comes our way, and doing our best with it.
“I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.” MLK
In the approach to January 20 and the changing of the powers in our country’s capital, I’ve read that it’s important to be absent from those events on mainstream media.
Don’t even think about tuning in to watch on television. Keep your distance for a week. Or longer.
I will cling to sanity in the face of the chaos that is sure to come.
I plan to check in with trusted commentators through Substack and/or Bluesky such as Robert Hubbell (Today’s Edition Newsletter), Joyce Vance (Civil Discourse), and Heather Cox Richardson (Letters From an American). Jessica Craven (Chop Wood Carry Water) tries to share good news on her substack, as well as simple things we can do to make a difference. We can all use some of that.
Robert Hubbell dispensed this advice about the coming week: “First, don’t collapse the future into the present moment. The future comes at us one day at a time.”
“Second, maintain ’emotional distance’ from bad news. Recognize that you can’t control most of what Trump says or does. Given that fact, recognize that unchanneled anxiety and fear will not change the outcome. Focus on what you cando to change, impede, obstruct, or reverse policies we oppose.”
As I distance myself from the absurd news of January 20, I note that others have recommended that we all delete our Twitter (X) accounts that day, in resistance to the “Mump Regime” (Timothy Snyder’s term for Musk/Trump). That one is easy for me since I never had a Twitter account. Now I’m considering what to do about Facebook and Amazon.
I have already signed up for Bluesky as @prarywren55. Consider checking out that venue for social media. If you are on Bluesky, consider following me. I’m stumbling along. At my age, this whole social media thing is rather mysterious and incomprehensible. But in resistance against billionaire acquiescence to the returning chaos that Donald Trump brings, I plan to limit my Facebook appearances and try to figure out how to effectively use Bluesky. If you have tips for this old lady, I’d be glad to know them.
At one point in the last few months, when we eagerly anticipated the election of Kamala Harris, I endorsed a notion brought out by someone that on January 20, 2025, this year’s observance of Martin Luther King, Jr’s Day, our country’s first Black woman president would take her oath of office on Abraham Lincoln’s Bible, administered by our country’s first Black woman Supreme Court Justice.
Well, that isn’t happening. In another universe, it would have been grand.
So, it’s time to mourn that lost dream. In no way will I tune into the installation of a facist president. Instead, what can I do?
I might read a section from the biography of John Lewis: Walking With the Wind: A Memoir of the Movement
I might review Amanda Gorman’s amazing poem from Joe Biden’s inauguration: “The Hill We Climb.” Or another of her awesome wordsmithing such as anything from her book Call Us What We Carry. Or the recent poem “New Day’s Lyric,” which ends with the sentiment:
“Know what we’ve fought
Need not be forgot nor for none.
It defines us, binds us as one,
Come over, join this day just begun.
For wherever we come together,
We will forever overcome.”
–Amanda Gorman
For the few days following January 20, 2025, I will resist tuning into all the bad news. I will strive to support the recovery efforts of the horrific fires in California. I will honor my neighbors, of all hues and backgrounds. I will look for and celebrate the beauty of our natural world, and try to share some of it to help lift your spirits. Moment by moment. Day by day. We’ll get through this together.
Seventy-three years ago today, at 10:10 in the morning, a baby boy arrived in this world who would become a significant part of my life. Two decades later, I met Craig Winter in college at FHSU. We enjoyed traipsing around public parks and nature reserves in Kansas with our cameras, taking pictures of the wonders of nature. This morning I celebrated his life with a walk in the winter wonderland, taking a few pictures of the snow that fell overnight.
Craig and I were married in 1977, during Jimmy Carter’s presidency. Having taken a class in the biology department at FHSU together–a class called “Can Man Survive?” that examined all the environmental issues of the day, including the greenhouse effect and global warming as climate change was called then–we were united in our commitment to support the natural world and reduce humanity’s harmful effects that were due to our unmitigated greed. Jimmy Carter was our guy. They say he was ahead of his time. I don’t think so. The probability of a global consequence to our short-sighted ravaging of our planet was known more than 100 years ago. Society knew all the benefits of alternative energy in the 60s and 70s. But harnessing free energy from the sun didn’t make any corporations much money. Craig and I were supporters of Carter’s conservation methods–turn down the winter thermostat, 55 mph speed limit, his installation of solar panels on the White House. And we dreamed of becoming reliant on our own private energy production, even then.
Carter acted with the well-being of his neighbors in mind, a true Christian quality. He wasn’t ahead of his time. The “resistance” at that time was just way behind. Look where that got us as they gained and assumed power.
Craig became a cancer statistic 9 days after his 33rd birthday in 1985, and I became a widow. (Quite the stigma for someone not yet 30 years old.) But I haven’t forgotten our joint priorities, nor our admiration for President Jimmy Carter.
Photo courtesy of The Carter Center. Cuba 2002–The Carter Center’s delegation to Cuba, being the first time since the 1959 Revolution that a sitting or former president visited Cuba.
After his time in office ended, President Carter showed that you don’t have to be the elected leader of the country to make a huge difference, and today, a day after President Jimmy Carter’s funeral in Washington, DC, I renew my commitment to make a difference for those in my circle, for the inhabitants of Earth’s future, and for all the non-human neighbors that are as dependent on this planet as we are dependent on their well-being. Those of us with the future of our planet and its life forms in mind are now the “resistance.”
This morning, in honor of Craig Winter, I was trekking around our acreage in the fresh snow with my camera, capturing scenes, just like we used to do. Thinking of you Craigie, as I always do on this day. With love.
NOTE: I am deeply grateful and indebted to my second husband, Mike, for his generous and compassionate heart for the last 36 years. He has never objected to my memories or to my honoring people from my personal history that helped make me what I am today. We are all products of our histories and our memories, not just the stimuli we receive at the present time. Thank you for being dad to all our children, and grandpa to all our grandchildren as well as allowing my heart to grieve through the years.
Remember what it was like. After a long wait, it finally happened. With guarded optimism, you look forward to the big event. Though you know things can happen, chances are you won’t be in that slim margin. So you dance. You laugh. You hug everyone and share the good news. You imagine life after the event, the realization of a dream come true. The anticipation of anniversaries, holidays, and journeys to wondrous locations, savoring the unfettered excitement as your long-awaited dream discovers the world. Never a dull moment. Of course there will be challenges, but nothing you can’t work through and be stronger for it. You look forward to years of living, loving, and learning together.
Until there are none.
It all comes crashing down. Something was wrong at a routine checkpoint. No heart beat. Emergency trip to the hospital. Before you have time to process the news, joy morphs into heartbreak. A birth becomes a funeral. It’s over. Dreams die hard.
After November 5, it struck me how similar the election loss was to the loss of an infant. Though it’s been decades ago, I feel the same sad aimless wandering and hopelessness with the election results as with my two sweet babes who died before they had a chance to live. Gone are the anticipated celebrations and birth anniversaries. Gone are all the anticipated years of discovering the world together. Gone are the memories and the history I looked forward to making.
Every morning brings more bad news to my inbox and I move through life on the verge of tears, almost—yet not quite—ready to open the floodgates.
How will I manage the coming hard times? How will I step forward, keep moving, go through the motions, when my heart is sorely wounded? How can I show up for others when I can’t even manage to cheer myself up? Where did all the good in the world, all the anticipated conquests of our precarious future—where did they go?
One of the writers I follow suggested asking two questions every day.
What do I still know and believe as truth?
Is my heart still beating?
In other words, my values remain and I can embrace them until my dying breath. It reminds me of the weeks and months following the burials of my sweet babes. It’s been forty years. (Almost 43 for the first and 42 for the second.) How did I work through the devastation?
Perhaps some things I did then will help now too. I journaled regularly, poured my soul onto pages in my notebooks. With tiny locks of hair and photos that spoke to me, I made lockets and hung them near my heart. Little by little, I dared to venture forth. I told myself I would make choices and take actions—small at first—but I would do it for the lost children. I would live for those who didn’t have the chance, and I would face each day for the sake of my lost loved ones. I would do my best to make a good life. For them.
I don’t know what lies ahead, though I face it with a certain amount of dread. I can only work with what is here, today, and do my best to make a difference for my family and for as many others as I can.
Do all the good you can,
By all the means you can,
In all the ways you can,
In all the places you can,
At all the times you can,
To all the people you can,
As long as ever you can.
― John Wesley
It hasn’t escaped my notice that even during the consternation of the election aftermath, there are people in my life who have reached milestones. In the last week:
My husband and best friend celebrated his birthday.
One young piano technician achieved her registered status by successfully completing the required series of exams.
One immigrant friend was received into full American citizenship after successful completion of the requirements laid out in our constitution.
Our grandson earned his first letter in high school athletics.
And I celebrate with each of these people in achieving part of their hopes and dreams.
There are ways to connect with friends and help each other. Socialization is a human need, and to stay in isolation will not help in our self-care.
In-person gatherings of grassroots resistance organizations already in place meet regularly in many places. There are also online options through digital communities at least for the present time, where we can share what’s on our hearts and minds, and pray together for guidance and strength.
Many substack writers offer almost daily support and ideas. Some of my favorites are Dan Rather, Heather Cox Richardson, John Pavlovitz, Robert Hubbell, Jess Piper, and Andra Watkins. If you have the means, you can subscribe and support these writers, but quite a few will share thoughts at no cost. While we still can access them, check out what they have to say.
According to the stats I found online, 69% of the people in my county–my neighbors–voted for Donald Trump. That means that it’s likely that 7 of 10 people I meet in the store, on the street, at a school function, or in any public area, voted against democracy for whatever reason. Perhaps it doesn’t matter why at this point.
But, with a nod to Henry David Thoreau, “What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I condemn.”
I cannot allow the apparent majority to squelch my spirit.
Three out of those 10 people are as shocked and devastated as I am. Just for today, I will share a smile with any stranger who catches my eye in one tiny act of kindness and fellowship that at least might lift someone’s spirit, and might even embolden another to take the first steps of resistance that we are sure to need.
About 30 years ago, through a program that our daughter enrolled in as a troubled teenager, we went through several group counseling sessions as her parents, to come to terms with issues we might be facing that would impact our ability to parent. In one of them, we were required to define what values we held, and to define our life’s purpose.
Here is what I defined then as my values, and reaffirm today.
I value:
Creativity, both Divine and human. This includes Creation itself, Reverence for Life in all forms, the beauty of the natural world, art, music, literature. I recognize that fine art, music and literature are rooted in the mysteries and magic of the natural world.
Harmony, life fitting pleasantly. Aside from the obvious musical connection, this includes cooperation, love, honesty, integrity, generosity, security, commitment, family, church, clubs, service, communication and compromise.
Education, being a student for life. This includes an openness of heart, continual learning, exploration and adventure, which leads to growth in mind and spirit.
These make me the person I aim to be. It’s a continuing process, but I want to hang onto my values, no matter what.
My teen years were challenging and I often vented my frustrations at home, pounding out my favorite classical compositions on our home piano.
I find playing the keys a valuable release again, now that I’m enrolled in piano lessons as a retiree. It does help. There is music for every mood, and every situation.
Though listening to your favorite play lists helps, I recommend getting involved and making some music of your own.
If you don’t play an instrument, sing along with your preferred artists at the top of your voice. Belt it out. Join friends and sing. Ring some bells. Shake a tambourine.
If we don’t feel it yet, we are likely to soon enough.
Last month I attended a few presentations at the Kansas Book Festival in Topeka. The one I remember most was by author and administrator at Haskell Indian Nations University Daniel R. Wildcat. I bought his book, On Indigenuity: Learning the Lessons of Mother Earth, a long essay on what indigenous peoples can teach the rest of us about protecting our miraculous home planet. I have long been concerned about protecting the home we share with all life forms, including people around the world and millions of other species. When greed and lust for power impact the lives of innocents around the world, I am enraged. Destruction of the biosphere that sustains us is now threatened with acceleration. Communities of wild things and minority populations will be the first to feel the impact.
In the early pages of his book, Daniel Wildcat recommended that we should become more familiar with Nature. One thing which compounds and complicates the rampant destruction of our planet is our distance from the elements. We sit inside our comfortable homes in front of screens far too much, and should become more familiar with how the natural world near us is impacted by our decisions and policies. To that end, today I decided I would walk the deer trails on my small patch of virgin tall grass prairie and look for the beauty in Nature. Even if you aren’t close to a 40-acre meadow, you can still take a walk and feel the fresh air and sunshine, listen to whatever birds are in the trees lining the streets, and enjoy the colors of autumn.
These scenes are from my morning walk today.
Sweetgum tree in our front yard, blazing orange.
A fallen Osage orange, with closely fitted puzzle-piece segments. No two alike. Just like people.
One of the two pine trees on our place, laden with pinecones. I keep wondering when the pine bark beetles will invade, but so far we’ve been lucky.
A backlit patch of little bluestem, with fluffs of seeds gleaming like a field of fallen stars.
One of my favorite grasses: Indian grass. The seedheads are still there, though they are far more impressive earlier in the autumn season. This reminds me of Native American writers that I admire, including Daniel Wildcat and Robin Wall Kimmerer. Kimmerer’s book Braiding Sweetgrass changed my life during the Covid shutdown.
The Bridge 