Surprised. Not Surprised: Post-Mortem 2024

My memory about how and when the COVID-19 pandemic arrived in the United States is still as clear as if it happened yesterday. In late 2019 and early 2020, I had been reading about the virus in China, fretting about its potential migration to other countries and hopeful that migration to the U.S. was not inevitable.  But, on the eve of flying back to Washington in early 2020, the first COVID-19 case in the United States was announced on the national news.  Patient Zero was in Everett, Washington -- near SeaTac airport where I would land the following day.  

When I heard this, I felt everything in my life go still.  Still. Quiet.  Dark.  

As the United States reacted, as businesses and services of all kinds shut down, as people panicked, as face masks were optional, then required, then demonized -- I had no doubt in my mind that my fellow Christians would step up and do whatever was necessary to protect those around them from infection and the serious harm posed by COVID-19.  I assumed that I would return to church on Sunday after lockdowns were lifted and my fellow Christians would be gladly donning face masks without complaint.  I assumed that they would be more than happy to shine a light in a dark place and chose mask over freedom.  I assumed that wearing a face mask was a small inconvenience -- a minor irritation necessary  to protect the healthy from oppressive illness and the vulnerable from dying.   

The joke was on me, of course. Surprise!  Instead of observing my fellow churchgoers honoring the laws of the land (Romans 13:1-2), I saw pushback.  I saw hostility. I saw dismissiveness. I saw overt refusal to obey public health guidelines.  

Four years later, I am now shocked at myself rather than at my fellow Christians.  It is shocking to me that I was surprised by the results of the November 2024 election.  Really?  How could I possibly be surprised by the outcome?  How could I possibly think that things are different now, in 2024, compared to 2020 and 2016?

Many of my fellow Christians have dismissed or downplayed rape, felonies, assault, racism, xenophobia, and a vast array of hate-filled remarks to vote for the president-elect.  It's one thing to vote for that candidate's policies/positions on issues while admitting and admitting frequently that much of his behavior is anything but Christian. It's another thing entirely to gloat, boast, defend, or remain silent about the behaviors that have shocked America, and should be shocking Christians.  

Whether or not I am surprised or not surprised, I am sure to be dismissed as a demon-filled Democrat, even before anyone thinks to ask or care what my political party affiliation has been over my many decades of voting as an American citizen.   You might be Surprised.

​​​​​​​I so badly wish we could just choose love over anger, faith over frustration, humility over boasting, gratitude over greed, speaking out kindly over remaining silent -- and a myriad of other choices that could get us to a better place as a country without all this chaos, hostility, and divisiveness.      

Surprised. Not Surprised. 

Every day it's a Surprise to me which of the two will win out.

No Fruit, Minimal Fruit, Inconsistent Fruit, Spoiled Fruit = NO Vote

(This blog was written the day before Election Day 2024 and was edited several days after)

Except for my inner circle, I've kept largely quiet about the presidential campaign.   Too much anger. Too much chaos. Too much talking. Too many statements lacking facts and evidence. Too much bias. Too little listening.  And so on.   

I was relatively quiet until the day before the election when the extent of my speaking out ventured beyond my head but remained confined to this blog which should have made me feel a tad better, should have relieved some of my election angst (which as it turns out, was warranted), and be read by at most two persons who likely already know how I feel and what I'm thinking (still true).  

Oops! That was an impressive attempt at talking myself out of writing.  Unfortunately, without writing (and doing so abundantly), I will just succumb to the anger and divisiveness that the majority of voters appear to be indulging.  Trying again now...

My whole attitude can be summed up in two pictures.  While I expected a lot of fruit in the presidential campaign:

It appears a bunch of nuts emerged instead:

Some examples:

• Fruit:  "I strongly disagree with any criticism of people based on who they voted for."
• Nut: "Any African American or Hispanic ... that votes for [the opposing candidate], you've got to have your head examined. They are really screwing you."

• Fruit: "Well, I'm not -- but I'm not finished. I'm not finished. May I finish -- may I finish responding, please?”
• Nut: Interviewer chronically interrupting [the candidate]

• Fruit: The opposing candidate does not understand women’s “agency, their authority, their right and their ability to make decisions about their own lives..."
• Nut: "Well, I’m going to do it whether the women like it or not. I am going to protect them."

• Fruit: The opposing candidate  “is a fascist” because he has praised Adolf Hitler and put personal loyalty above the Constitution.
• Nut: The opposing candidate is “lazy as hell”, “slow”, a "stupid person", and has a “low IQ.” "Does she drink?  Is she on drugs?"

And last but not least, the closing comments of the two campaigns diverged about as much and as widely as I can imagine.   One candidate offered a democracy operating with grace, kindness, and on occasion, joy (her words, not mine).   The other candidate vowed to take revenge on anyone who defies him.  

In all these comments/statements and many, many more that I have heard over and over again in 2024, I've come to the conclusion that although I try to consider all the complex issues on the table without introducing my own bias, I am, after all, a simple-minded voter. Perhaps I also have a low IQ.  Perhaps not.  But with whatever IQ points I have to work with, I can confirm, without reservation, that any candidate who cannot at least try to exhibit the fruits of the spirit (kindness, patience, self-control, joy, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, peace, and love) and do so frequently and sincerely  -- can not have my vote, no matter how much I agree with that individual's stand on any issue. No fruit, no vote.

And, please don't misunderstand me.  I don't mean the use of the word "nut" to say or imply that one candidate is necessarily crazy, but the behavior often seems that way.  My amateur, untrained opinion is simply that something is amiss with one of our candidates (now President-elect). And no matter how much I might agree or disagree with his policies, goals, or strategies, I can't imagine that he will rise above what is fundamentally and essentially "amiss" to enact policy and provide leadership that is consistent with what any country truly needs from a President.  I want to be wrong on this.   

In the closing days of the election, the candidate (now President-elect) accused anyone voting for the opposing party or registered in that party of being possessed by demons.  I am indeed obsessed with and possessed by nine demons, all fruitful.   But to be sure that I am not truly possessed by demons of a more sinister nature, I have turned to prayer and scripture.   If I am wrong, I have fervently asked for eyes to see and ears to hear.   I ask God daily to redirect my mind and my heart if I have it let it run astray.  But, my mind and heart just keep coming back to the same point -- I just can't get away from those crazy fruits (Galatians 5: 22-23).  

Fruits are an essential part of the leadership diet.   Nuts are not.   

Vegetables?... well, that's another blog altogether.  

A Metaphor for Anger in America: Paint Pots at Yellowstone

As any visitor to Yellowstone National Park will tell you, it's nearly impossible not to marvel at the variety and beauty of the hydrothermal features the park offers. The variety extends from Old Faithful who erupts with almost two hundred feet of steaming water and grandeur every 35 to 120 minutes to the relatively water-starved and subdued mud pots which provide endless entertainment with their random symphony of burps and gurgles.  

Watching these features and getting lost in my own little world as any self-respecting introvert would do, I couldn't help but think that many of these hydrothermals speak metaphorically to the problems that we have with anger and frustration in America today.  Many people have heated opinions about politics, policies, rising costs, housing, overwork, underpay, and a myriad of other issues, some so much so that their true colors are largely masked by their anger:

Like the mud pots, others seem pretty mellow and even keeled, but their persistent, low-key, rumbling suggest that they could go sideways at any moment:

Still others, while still heated and passionate in their views, somehow manage to keep their true colors shining bright and beautiful through their negative emotions:

A select few manage to transform all that heated energy into something stunning and lasting -- a legacy:

Given the selection of paint pots, I prefer to strive toward these later models.  Stay invested, remain engaged, feel passionate, experience anger... but do it without it getting in the way of loving and caring about people, no matter what their paint pot may be.

Because I am definitely one prone to steaming over things to the extent that my true colors disappear underneath my anger and frustration, this is easier said than done.   Sigh.

And now back to admiring the geysers and hydrothermal bouquet without overthinking them... that's a piece of advice that Old Faithful was kind enough to give me:   

Simple Pleasures

 

Yesterday morning (12 October), I slipped (or partially collapsed, depending on your perspective) into the driver's seat of our 2015 Toyota Sienna and began the long drive to Clearwater, Florida from Whidbey Island in Western Washington State.  

While I have made this drive many times in a minivan loaded with (too?) much stuff and (too?) many animals, it never ceases to amaze me that the endless to-do list that accompanies closing up one house and departing for another actually comes to an end.  And here I was.  The October 2024 departure had begun. We were headed to Pinellas County, Florida, so recently traumatized by Hurricanes Helene and Milton (technically Milton was a Him-icane, but I don’t think these storms care much about pronouns).   

Accompanied by a bout of unseasonably warm and beautiful weather, my sister and I drove down the road and meandered onto the Whidbey Island ferry, headed to the mainland.  After a plethora of traffic lights, we merged onto one of the crowded commuter routes toward Seattle and headed eastward onto Interstate 90 away from Seattle and over the Cascade Mountains via Snoqualmie Pass.  The weather begged us to make a stop to gawk at 268-foot Snoqualmie Falls so we obliged, not feeling particularly hurried on the first day of the drive. 

Unfortunately, in a fit of weather-induced optimism, I had the misguided thought that I could take Willow (our rescue dog) through a weekend throng of tourists to see the Falls and all would turn out OK.  My (misplaced) optimism didn't last long as Willow became increasingly nervous with one car after another, one person after another, and one dog after another.   Not surprisingly, the “stroll” ended when she completely freaked out and made an almost successful attempt to slip out of her collar and disappear into the wilderness, never to be seen again.  

With the simple pleasure of viewing the Falls at length successfully submarined, we returned to Interstate 90 and headed east once again. Crowds of many living beings and a reactive dog -- bad combination.   Lesson learned.  

Moving east brought us across the desert-like landscape of Eastern Washington and just over the state line to Post Falls, Idaho for our first night on the road.  The very friendly desk clerk informed us that an entire marching band was joining us for the evening at the Post Falls Sleep Inn and that commotion and chaos were to be expected.  

Whew. The simple pleasure of a peaceful evening had been successfully averted.  Who needs peace and quiet anyway?

After a decent but short night’s sleep, I reluctantly rolled out of a strange but warm and comfortable bed, put a collar and leash on Willow, and headed out for a morning walk.  I was delighted to see that in front of the Inn was an abandoned railroad track that had been converted into a long, wide, comfortable trail for walking. The possibility of peace and quiet loomed in front of me. I looked both ways on the trail, saw no one, and struck out to the east in search of the simple pleasures abounding in the beautiful Sunday morning.  

It was chilly enough to wear a heavy jacket, but not so much that my exposed hands, eyes, or ears had anything to say in protest.  The gentle chill allowed me to wake up and return to the land of the living slowly without any of the (many) things that annoyed night owls in the early morning.  

On both sides of the trail, two-foot tall grass had gone dormant and straw-like in the drought conditions of the Western summer.  The swatches swayed back and forth in the gentle breeze as there were no cares in the world. It’s a good thing that grass can’t read a news feed, lest their bliss be interrupted with the grim realities of the modern world. 

In the distance, the mountains and their many resident conifers rested, seeming to take a deep breath in their last meditation before the snows arrived and smothered them with blankets of winter white.  

As I gradually returned to the land of the living while breathing the crisp chilly air, I relished these moments of being along and relaxed. Not only because they had been largely lacking over the past month in the chaos of getting ready, but also because the simplicity of the moment pushed the complexities of the world away for just a little while.  

Usually a bundle of spirited and zig-zagging energy, Willow also seemed to sense the simple pleasures of the quiet morning.  She seemed to have little to no interest in pulling my shoulder out of its socket.  I thought for certain that our peace would be broken when she spotted two horses in a nearby pasture.  But no manic bark fest ensued (presumably because she couldn’t figure out what to do with these large, never-before seen creatures). We continued in our walk, uninterrupted.   

For almost a half an hour, the morning embraced us as we walked easily down the trail.  I reluctantly turned back only when I spotted a deer in the distance before Willow and her eagle eyes did the same.  We would have pulled off an equally enjoyable return trip if it had not been for the two pit bulls gone crazy over the sight of Willow.  This included one of the two dogs pulling out of its collar in an effort to have a close encounter of undetermined consequence with Willow.  Fortunately, the brain cells in Willow's head over-rode her crazy dog self (an infrequent occurrence), and we escaped the pit bulls (and their angry owner) without any bites, blood, or unexpected visits to the vet.   

Nevertheless,

Just thirty minutes.  Just a basic urban trail. Just an ordinary day.   

Just simple pleasures.  

Just exactly what I needed.   

The Childless Dog Lady

After a long day away from home, I open the front door, weary and weighted down.  It is so very easy for the world outside my home to have that effect on me, and I am always grateful for the blessing of closing both the  garage door at the end of the day and closing the metaphorical door of another long day in the crazy, chaotic world out there. 

Today, as with many other previous days, I am greeted at the front door by two rather large mixed breed coonhounds and a flurry of activity topped off by eagerly wagging tails. Whether the tail was wagging the dog or the dog was wagging the tail is totally irrelevant. All I can see in front of me is a happiness so full and innocent that I can't help but smile and feel the hard day behind me start to melt away into the past.   

As I bend down to pet the two happy heads, I ask both of them whether they are happy to see me... the  childless dog lady.  While I see a brief quizzical look pass across their faces, their expressions quickly return to the wildly enthusiastic "She's home, She's home" mode.  Their unbridled happiness tells its own story.  They could care less if I am childless not by choice or childless by choice. I am their cat's meow. Pure and simple.   

As the internet continues to churn on J.D. Vance's negative views of childless women, I've had plenty of opportunity to reflect on my own childlessness.  While it wasn't my choice to come home to two delightful coonhounds and the pitter patter of four paws rather than two feet, I have found peace in my alternative life.   While some seem to think that the childless among us bring home dogs to try (pathetically, unsuccessfully, or otherwise) to fill the hole left by the absence of children, I can confidently say that Willow and Lazer are not caulk on the seams of my broken heart.  

I didn't bring them home to serve me, but for me to serve them. Adopting rescue dogs most of my life has come from a sincere desire to make a  small dent in the immense population of  homeless and unwanted dogs in the U.S., a result of over-breeding, accidental breeding, and a culture that seems to think that custom-made pets should be a thing.   

Mixed breeds are always an adventure, a mystery bag that unfolds year over year into a combination of challenges, chuckles, and cheer that no one could have ever custom-designed from scratch.  So, in our home where the inhabitants make up a group of hearts, minds, and souls that seem far away from the mainstream nuclear family, we have nevertheless found the warmth, safety, and closeness of family.  Stitched together, one paw at at time.  

On days that I can shut out the voices of what I should be doing and should have done with my life, I am content and happy.  Due in no small part to those crazy coonhounds running around the house. 

 

Barcelona-- a Summary

I am grateful for the opportunity to spend time in this lovely city.  The photos are worth a thousand words or more, so I'll let them do the talking:

https://youtu.be/C70fXeSAV9E

Ending in a Happy Place

While I was tempted to spend our last full day in Barcelona traveling to the Montserrat Monastery northwest of the city that was justifiably reputed to be beautiful, stunning, and therefore not to be missed, the long journey by bus, train, and some other mode of public transportation was too daunting for me, my traveling companion, and my multitude of blooming bedbug bites.  

Instead, I opted to be a horrible tourist and forgo Montserrat for something as ridiculous and unnecessary as rest and sleep.  And it therefore came to pass that we ended our vacation in Barcelona the same way we started it... with excellent food and a walk along the Iberian sea:

Castelldelfels ("castle of the sea") gave us a stunningly beautiful day, devoid of any white or wet stuff in the sky, replaced with a long, long stretch of sunshine and almost deserted beach.  The weather was sufficiently warm and comfortable and the beach sand smooth enough for me to exit reality and enter la-la land for quite a while. I stopped to pick up some beach glass and shells along the way, feeling a wee bit as if I were in a Spanish version of Florida.  Albeit without obnoxious seagulls to disrupt my peace.  

It was hard not to think of the weeks ahead -- the long flight back, the scramble to pack up, the long drive back to Washington, and the grind that spring quarter would inevitably become at work.

But, for the moment, there was no grind, no exhaustion, no frustration... just my reliable happy place, merrily at work, filling my spirit with all the good stuff that it would need as I travelled back to reality in the U.S.  

Adiós Barcelona. Hope to see you again!