Dear Reader,
'Tis a strange business, this writing weekly. You do it for weeks on end, and then you don’t.
Nothing to write about, or far too much to write about?
For me, it was too much of the same to write about.
As the world continues unraveling around us and the Irish summer, true to form, keeps us in pullovers and wellies, I had no idea where to start.
Then the dam broke, and here I am again.
I am glad I found that flag. I looked for a while on Unsplash, but they were all wrong, too triumphant.
This one has seen better days, it is topped by some dark bird and suits the current situation.
Did you know that tears of joy sound exactly like tears of sadness? I did not, and I learned that on Sunday night when I broke into uncontrollable sobs and people surrounded me as I stared at the blue screen of my phone.
They thought someone had died. Well, something kind of had—or at least I hope.
Let me tell you how it all came about. I was doing a storytelling gig with my friend and colleague, Sarah. I had been very brave all day, all week in fact, and possibly for the past three weeks since the French President had thrown his toys out of his pram and declared that he would bet on the country’s future on a whim.
I had voted online dutifully, an extraordinary experience—that couple of nervous moments typing into the system strings of numbers and letters sent by email and different ones sent by text. Another mysterious set of numbers to open the final gates and then… a click. You are done.
No wonderful ritual, no sonorous French official shouting “A voté” once you have put your envelope in the urn. Silence. Bizarre.
Anyway, as I said, I thought I felt fine. I had taken to referring to France as “my country of birth.” As it was teetering on the edge of fascism, I tried to detach myself. After all, I had left a lifetime ago. It had nothing to do with me.
I had not even looked at the projected results. I mean, I was working, so…
At the interval, I picked up my phone to make sure that the dog was okay.
I saw all the messages on WhatsApp. “Great News from Paris,” said one.
Shaking, I checked.
The Republic had been saved.
And I sobbed.
In the most unprofessional way, most surprisingly, I found out that yes, I cannot unfrench myself. I do care, at the bottom of my very being, about the Republic.
And so does the majority of French citizens.
The tears watered my writing drought, and here I am again.
With my ramblings.
Times are tough. It is hard not to lose heart.
Then, something happens, and the heart starts the upward climb again.
Being old is a funny thing. You think you have seen and experienced most things and then…
A completely new thing appears, ready to be experienced, and you discover that yes, you can.
Hope again, perhaps. Moderately.
Write again, perhaps. Passionately. Who knows.
Any new exciting experience in your neck of the woods?
Until we meet again,
Whenever that will be
Yes, the new and exciting thing is that here in the Pacific Northwest (Oregon) we’ve had five days above 100°F. It was 105 today, which is extremely unusual. We are also under red alert fire danger and praying our beautiful forests do not blow up. Many here do not have air conditioning in their homes so cooling centers have been set up. I have not been paying much attention to elections in favor of trying to keep my garden, land, and all of the creatures that live on it alive and watered. Climate collapse is upon us. That being said, I completely understand the emotion around elections! The one coming up in the U.S. is quite terrifying...