July 8, 2020 11:30 pm Just an introduction

[ljgeoff]

I guess that every people think that their time is one that will be remembered and remarked upon. Most people alive today would say that 2020, the year of the novel coronavirus, will be memorable. But I think that so much will happen in the next thirty years that this year might just be remembered as part of the beginning.

My name is Lisa. I never felt at home with that name. It's too sweet, too pretty. I'm sturdy and strong, with a loud laugh and an inquisitive nature. I'm dark haired, round hipped, and busty. I like to garden, and to cook, and I love the sounds of words, how they flow together in poetry and song. But most of all I love people. I love the way people look and the sound and smell of them. I love their dreams and desires. I want to comfort their hurts. I despair of them because I can see how things are going, and they are going this way because that is the way of people.

At this moment, I live in a house in a small city. I live with Mike, whom I've loved for decades and who still somewhat loves me, and is usually kind and caring to me. I live with my eldest sister, Denise, who's a bit unbalanced in a narcissistic way, but loves and is lovable. I live with two little boys, Trentyn and Zary, who came to us from Jerome and Lindsay -- Jerome is dead and Lindsay is unbalanced, and so we are raising them and we love them and they are our boys. They love us too.

So, there, a home filled with love. Of course we squabble as families do. We fail each other. But we keep trying.

Mostly I'm consumed with the day to day chore of going off to work and paying for our food, clothing, and our home, and paying for the electricity, natural gas, clean water, sewer and trash collection that makes the home comfortable. And paying for the cars and gasoline that allows us to travel quickly and comfortably where we wish to go. And paying for the taxes that go to fund the roads, schools, and bureaucracy that allows people to endure living in cities.

That is our life - go to work, come home for a few hours and take the children to the beach or library (well, not to the library recently because everything is closed) -- clean the house of our messes, wash the clothes and mend door knobs or windows or car tires that get flattened, bent, or broken, and sleep -- day by day by day. It sounds a bit dreadful and boring, but it's not bad. Work is interesting and we love each other so home is good.

In between the working and the paying, I listen to the news, to the workings of our government and that of other countries. I read science articles about the state of our climate change crisis. I try to understand people who are different than me, who have a different experience of what community is, and who have different hopes and dreams. Mostly, I see that few of us are really that different. Some people are more loving and generous with their thoughts and talents. Some people are more anxious, fearful, and hateful. I try to listen more to loving people and less to fearful people.

That is me and my little family, dear children. That's just a taste of who we are. We are not complicated people. We work and love, play and wonder. We worry and try not to worry. I imagine you there, standing in the future saying "Watch out! Be careful!" or "My God, how could you?" I am sorry. I am sorry. I wish I could put my arms around you and weep with you. But there you are, and here I am.

All I can do is talk to you. And send you a whisper of love.

Comments

[boxofdelights]

I love this idea. May your grandchildren's grandchildren receive it in health.

[ljgeoff]

I think that if I continue with the series of essays I have in mind, I'll have it bound up in case of whatever. *hand wave* I think it's a bit precious but it's also sincere.