The weekend before the election, I went with a group of friends to the Fiber Festival of New England, otherwise known as the Big "E", in Springfield, MA. That seems like a lifetime ago now-- the results of the election have left me reeling, grieving. Maybe that sounds melodramatic, but this is three weeks later and those words-- reeling, grieving-- seem completely appropriate even though the initial shock has worn off. Looking at my pictures from the Big "E" feels like sifting through artifacts from a lost civilization:
And what about this?
I am still blundering towards a way forward-- I'm not wallowing in despair, I have quite enough to occupy my days between work, family and general life maintenance for that. I am speaking of a bigger way, a moral path-- something to be done against the breathtaking dread that rises up, renewed, each day since November 9th. That plaque seems impossibly precious in both senses of the word-- rare and valuable as well as a bit quaint and naive. Kindness-- in this newly re-ordered world-- seems both necessary and insufficient. I will cling to it but right now I'm feeling like I'm going to have to dig in and find some other things to lean on. I'll let you know if I find any.
Still I keep looking and looking at these pictures, maybe with a selfish little wish that I could go back to that island of peace and civility and glorious human variety-- of identities, talents, passions, stories. It's easy to imagine, inside a bubble of happiness, that everyone wants the same things from the world-- and perhaps we do, mostly, but we seem to be so (hopelessly?) divided on how to get them.
This might be the only thing I have to say here on the subject of the election and its aftermath, I'm not sure yet, but I needed to say something before I resume my regularly scheduled programming of knitting, spinning, sewing and other things that keep me sane.