The Tall Tall Sky

The day began with the usual chores; start the fire in the wood stove, bundle up & turn on the generator outside, flip the switch on the electric kettle for her coffee... Nothing was different for her this morning, other than it was colder than the morning before.

Her coffee was smooth and warm as she got cozy at her kitchen table, but life was different from what she'd known, in her many years of life. This particular morning, she was distracted with what - and who - she'd lost in 202o.

Her health remained robust, even though she was older. People who knew her believed her lifestyle and perspective were why this was the case, yet people her age were often the ones who had died last year regardless of all that.

She wasn't thinking about the virus that killed; she was thinking about the people she'd loved and lost in the last year. Not all to death, but to the disagreements they had about a few 'non-negotiables'.

In April of 2020, she had begun to keep track of things in the little black book one of her grandchildren had given her at Solstice in 2019. Mira had written a note with her gift saying,

'Tutu, you are always keeping track of things, so I thought this would be the perfect gift for you! I love you to the moon and back and just can't WAIT to see you in April! Love you, Mira"

The old woman had not been able to visit her girl. She'd seen no one for all these many months. The infrequent trips into 'town' which was little more than the grocery & hardware stores, one shitty coffee shop and a gas station; was always a rushed endeavor for her. She donned two masks and employed a great deal of hand sanitizer as she navigated the aisles at the stores.

Once in awhile she bumped into a friend when she was out, but she said little and kept her distance. For reasons she couldn't comprehend, the folk she had been close to before the virus, ended up being the same people who didn't take the virus seriously. They wouldn't wear masks and were hateful to those who did. So far, seven of her friends had already died terrible deaths in hospitals - but their families still insisted she was being paranoid.

It was because of what had been happening, she began keeping records of lost friends. At first it was only those who had literally died, but then she started marking down other friend's names; those she could no longer respect. Her method was simply to let the person know she was stepping back from them and saying, 'my door is always open to you, but only if you are willing to have a civil CONVERSATION about our differences.' None of them took her up on this offer, so all of them had a place in her daily journal.

Technology kept her close to her children and grandchildren, so most weeks she had the pleasure of talking to the most important people in her life. Her four legged companions were also a great salve, as they didn't talk with words but they were always unconditionally loving towards her. She repaid them daily when she took them out into the wilds, under the tall, tall sky where she lived ... Her dogs ran all over, hunting the small game who lived near the brambles and desert cacti, or snuggled under the juniper trees. In their delight, they showed her exactly what made their hearts sing. Some call it instincts, she called it their 'canine truth'.

Today, she had noticed the little book, first thing, as she'd absently left it on the kitchen counter near the kettle the day before. It reminded her she had put another entry on the page she'd made for 'Friends Lost - 2020'. The entry yesterday was somehow more of a loss than any other name on that list. This surprised her, as she hadn't spoken to this man in over 30 years and the realization of who he had turned out to be, cut to her core and delivered him to her 'lost friends' list.

He had been her lover for a few weeks, 40 years before. Further, he was the only one she had betrayed her children's father with. After having spent 15 long years being invisible to the man she loved, she realized she had completely lost herself. Her marriage had turned out to be more of a transactional relationship than a love affair. Still when all was said and done, she felt she got the long end of the stick. He got all the money. She got the children.

This man from her long gone past had been the firebrand who stirred her memory of what being a woman was. Being 'her' wasn't simply about giving babies her breast so they could teethe on them; her breasts and body were all part of the vessel her soul lived in. She realized she had neglected and adjusted herself, waiting for her husband to see her.

The love affair had been short, but the lovely residue remained for all the decades since - even today. The way the light lit his face as he made love to her was memorable, but it was not really the man or his scent that lingered, it was the awareness he stimulated in her which had been so powerful. This man and the gift he gave her had freed her. He had opened her heart to herself again.

Choosing to leave him behind 40 years ago almost broke her; having to do it again seemed a waste. Still, anyone who could say such awful things to a little black girl, couldn't have even a pinky toe in her life.

He had found her on social media a few years ago and although they didn't connect directly, she did enjoy a few light touch comments and messages. He still had his lovely way with words, had remained poetic, philosophical and unerringinly kind, until she read his missive yesterday. Who was he, really?

She had read many similar statements on social media over the years and it was as though people she thought she knew had a dark underbelly of beliefs which had suddenly become appropriate to share.

She decided to pick up her little black book, which was now a bit ragged and scuffed from use and opened it to the page where her list of lost friends' names resided. As she read through the names she became desolate and adrift.

One of the friends had said to her, "We can just agree to disagree, can't we?" She hadn't responded to this inquiry, but left that statement hanging like a discarded scrap of fabric floating in the desert wind.

The new "cancel culture" loomed large and unyielding in her mind. If someone suggested she 'do her own research', pointing to YouTube as their source, she instantly glazed over.

Wellness gurus and Instagram 'influencers' had somehow become more knowledgeable than epidemiologists, while fearful white people kept lying about their own racist tendencies, unwilling to make a single change.

Her white skin and piercing blue eyes, which hadn't lost their hue even as she aged, afforded her immeasurable priviledge in the world. But she knew someone's white skin never made them better than those who were darker. Having less melanin meant it was easier to get burned by the sun. That was all. Yet, here was this long ago lover saying exactly that.

"Do my own research!" she muttered, to no one in particular and solicted a curious head bob from both her dogs. Where would she be able to research the unrelenting garbage about the so called, 'superior race' of which she was a member, much less find anything conclusive proving the virus raging all over the world was a hoax or created in a lab? She had tried, out of the lingering, faulty respect she felt towards the people who challenged her, but nothing reputable emerged.

All she knew was this microscopic viral monster was forcing everyone to be more aware about their connections, not the differences. Regardless of religion, color, status or gender it was forcing us to wake up to this basic fact; we are all connected.

The little 10 year old had been given accolades from millions of people across the interweb, after a video had been uploaded with her speaking a poem she wrote about how she experienced life as a black child. Ten years old, yet so wise. But here was her 'friend' making a close minded, racist statement in response.

It was happenstance she even saw what he'd written and she made sure it was his comment, as she was stunned and initially in disbelief at what she read.

No, it was him and for some reason her sense of loss was tremendous. She shook her head in an effort to dispel the sensation of anger and mustered up the will to extend to him what she had been doing for all the people on her list.

She had determined that making any effort to change the minds or perspectives of those who had become less kind or thoughtful during these tumultuous times was fruitless. The few times she had, the conversation devolved into a confusing miasma of declarations and accusations from her friends about her limited intelligence or perceptions. She found herself silenced and ineffective. No amount of reason could overcome these fantastic ideas they now held.

She opened her book and read her old lover's name out loud. Then she said each subsequent name above his, in order. She lit the candle on the kitchen table and watched the flame for a moment. The vision of it burning away the hatefulness and fear they all seemed to possess, became vivid. Then she began her prayer for her lost love and everyone else on her list.

"Please enter these beloveds' hearts and minds. Dispel the fear and replace it with compassion. Transform their perceptions and give them clear vision and clarity, so they can reclaim their ability to make a difference in our troubled world. And, please give ME the ability to love them purely and with fervor, so my loving energy can support them in their pain. And great Spirit, give ME an open heart and discerning presence to remain steadfast in my position towards them. To love them, remain open to them and keep my distance until they need me."

In that unique moment, she realized she had lost nothing. All the blessings of the past remained intact. The gifts she'd received from all the people on her list remained within her and it felt good to know that.

She would still be able to make cookies or cakes with her grandchildren. She would still enjoy the tall, tall sky with her dogs. She would still be able to love everyone easily, while she knew she was not open to having lunch with them.

She closed the book, blew out the single candle on her table, pulled her work boots over her thick socks and gathered up her gloves to collect some wood for her fire. As she opened the kitchen door and gestured for the dogs to join her, she looked at her little black book again.

Somehow, all would be well.