For many years I was ambivalent about Mothers’ Day. My own mom passed away when I was 14, and since she and I were such different people, with the common traditional mom / rebellious teenager conflicts, I felt like we’d had a lot of unfinished business between us. Nearly two decades later, as a mom, I enjoyed the gifts (usually a baby fruit tree or garden ornament, chosen on behalf of N. by his dad) during the little-kid years. After N. reached adolescence I’d remind him every year that the best gift would be remembering to wash his dirty dishes and mugs.

However, I felt bad for the many women whose contributions to society weren’t similarly honored simply because they’d never given birth. Or the moms in the restaurant industry, including several fellow-writer friends, who had to work an extra-hectic day rather than spend it with their own families. Or mothers who weren’t acknowledged by their familes at all, such as the circle of friends in one of Maeve Binchy’s novels (many of which are populated by dysfunctional adult children), who called themselves the Chickless Hens and held their own gathering on Mothers’ Day.

But times are changing. These days efforts are made to acknowledge the many roles that women play in the lives of kids (and on Fathers’ Day, the same goes for men). Adoptive and foster mothers, stepmothers, neighborhood moms who welcome their kids’ friends as their own, aunts, grandmas, teachers, mentors such as in the Big Sister program, coaches, counselors, professionals working in the child protective services field (an attorney friend said, “All of them are my kids”)…even the elderly lady on my block who perches in her porch chair every weekday morning and keeps watch over kids walking to school are contributing.

And perhaps it’s less common now for couples without children to be grilled about their plans or given unsolicited advice by family and friends. When I was a kid it seemed like every family had a Nosy Parker who made it their mission to probe, opinionate about, and broadcast their young relations’ childbearing intentions to the entire clan. Choosing to not have kids seems more widely accepted now. Knowing oneself well enough to say “I don’t want children of my own” requires a high level of autonomy. As a special ed professional who has worked with students in the foster system I’ve often wished that certain birth parents had possessed that self-knowledge and maturity.

There’s even a recent trend towards women (and sometimes entire families) giving the day a philanthropic or awareness-raising focus by hosting postcarding parties where they write to elected officials regarding programs such as WIC or protesting the ICE detainments that tear families apart. As Ms. Magazine points out, the first Mothers’ Day was a protest, organized by sufferagist and abolitionist Julie Ward Howe in 1870, to commemorate all families damaged by the effects of the Civil War. The author of this year’s article (link below) writing in the context of current world tragedies, says “This Mother’s Day all of us—whether we are mothers or not—must recommit to the children of every nation. We must recommit to opposing attacks on our children and attacks on our shared future.” https://msmagazine.com/2026/05/08/mothers-day-history-protest-war/

Far from being limited to bouquets and brunches, happy occasions as they are, Mothers’ Day observances can be expanded to include rededication to building a world where all womens’ choices regarding parenthood are honored and all children can survive and thrive.

I liked this person and generally enjoyed working with them, but like all the other staff, I grew tired of playing Bad Cop. And there was something not quite honest about the Compassion excuse. Fear of being in charge and lack of assertiveness didn’t hold up well in a high-volume public service position where a good percentage of the customers had issues that made them likely to become volatile (this library was the downtown branch in a major urban area, with the social challenges that sometimes come with those locales). And real compassion would have included compassion for us coworkers.

I can’t remember where I first read the term idiot compassion - I think it was in a book about mindfulness, one with a Zen Buddhist slant. It’s attributed to the Tibetan teacher Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche. (See a full article on this here: https://bigthink.com/articles/idiot-compassion-and-mindfulness/) The definition that appeared at the top of my screen was “what happens when we try to be kind at all costs — even if that kindness avoids the truth, reinforces unhealthy patterns, or delays necessary change.” As the Bigthink article points out, we can exercise idiot compassion on ourselves as well as on others.

During the time I was working at the same library our city newspaper ran an article, one of those that discuss the pros and cons surrounding difficult issues, about drivers giving cash to people stationed by freeway exits. A photo showed a woman standing at one of the most-traveled I-5 exits, holding a sign: “Please stop giving meth money to my son.” While no doubt many recipients of cash used it for food or transportation, the mom’s sign illustrated the downside of this practice. Shortly after the article, several churches in the downtown area began assembling and distributing “life packs,” ziploc bags containing emergency rations, bottles of water, city bus tickets and directions on how to reach nearby food banks, shelters and social services. The bags were offered to drivers and pedestrians who wanted to offer some kind of help in passing.

Since shortly after its opening in summer 2013, a nearby store, Main Street Marijuana, has propped several of these signs outside their doors:

The charity mentioned on the sign is Share House, the umbrella organization that hosts several permanent shelters and a daytime center, complete with permanent housing and employment services, plus providing the professional staff who oversee volunteers working at the winter overflow shelters.

Idiot compassion sometimes plays out in family situations. One such situation with which I’m well familiar, having observed it for 35 years, has had ongoing negative impacts on all involved, including those of us who aren’t of the original family. It took years for the family’s matriarch to stop asking her financially competent children (and by association / joint bank accounts, in-laws) to “lend” money to the spendthrift sibling. This sib is five years older than me but was still treated as the stereotypical baby of the family (although he is the youngest, this role can be played by anyone in any given family regardless of birth order). He has an aptitude for finding long-term cohabitation partners who effectually become his keepers (a certain type of woman is drawn to helpless-seeming men), a situation which gives his older sibs a sense of schadenfreude along with an underlying dread - “What will I do if she kicks him out and he shows up on my doorstep?” Sadly, parents who create this setup by enabling a favorite child usually aren’t aware of the long-term consequences.

Developing a more mindful sense of compassion can be hard because it requires growing the assertiveness to say the necessary “no” without being thrown off balance by possible reactions. In personal / family situations, it can help to offer an idea-based Life Pack, suggestions that include community resources and do-able self-help options. However, it will probably still require learning to live with a certain amount of initial discomfort. Women have historically been the designated accommodators but I’ve also known a number of men who have difficulty setting boundaries.

Another challenge arises from the fact on social media, the people I think of as Proclaimers attract attention and praise by posting weekly reminders of how compassionate they are via the “OMG, I can’t believe the times we’re living in” post. Some of them back this up by volunteering for worthy causes, showing up at rallies (which are weekly events here now), contacting elected officials or other real-world actions. But many don’t. The most reliable activists in my own part of town are quiet folks who rarely talk about themselves at all and who may not be very demonstrative.

We Americans often mistake style for substance, and that includes assuming that high-intensity emoting indicates depth of feeling or committment. Social media has encouraged this by being omnipresent; every world, national or personal event gives an opportunity to grab a spotlight or mic. And with all the racket this generates, only the most dramatic performances will be noticed. Sometimes it seems more about personalities, Likes and followings than about the issues themselves. There’s a misguided sense among some social justice circles that if a person isn’t posting, they’re not doing.

But in spite of all this, sticking with the effort to cultivate mindful compassion as a way of living eventually has its own rewards. One of those rewards is knowing that one’s efforts will have positive results in the long run. Another is a renewed sense of self-respect that comes from not allowing oneself to be manipulated. If the good deed feels “clean,” it’s probably the result of thoughtful, considered compassion. If it makes the doer feel dirty somehow - resentful, ill-used, taken for a ride - it may need rethinking.

This might be the most reliable way to measure an approach: does it bring a sense of rightness, both in the outer-world situation and inside us?

_________________________

Last year the church where my band practices, an ELCA (liberal LGBTQ+ and immigrant-friendly) congregation adopted Advent and Lenten themes revolved around the acceptance of what is, rather than what we think the season should be, and seeing the sacred in what can sometimes be grubby reality. “The Advent/Lent that we actually have” was the motto. The church hosts our city’s winter overflow homeless shelter (the permanent shelters are always full) for single women and families, with another ELCA church hosting the shelter for single men, Nov. 1 - March 30. Both congregations have plenty of opportunity to rub elbows with reality, one that is especially hard on families with young children in a major metro area known for its ongoing housing crisis. And to give.

But my own lessons in blessing the places we’re actually in by giving started 34 years ago. I grew up in 1960’s - 70’s Seattle and until age 32 had always lived in big cities such as Washington DC, New York (although for only 2 weeks), Minneapolis, Dallas and Austin. Then, in 1992, my husband, our baby son and I found ourselves back in the PNW, living in midsized city with a working-class history, few of the amenities our two glittering neighbors to the north and south boasted, and a depressed manufacturing / Port economy. We’d both snagged jobs in Portland but, like many of our coworkers, couldn’t afford to live there. For several years I grumbled to myself about the trials of having to live in an outpost that was considered second-class and often the butt of jokes by not only P-towners but neighbors here who wanted to distance themselves from our realities.

Then, in 2005, I stumbled upon a book that helped me change my outlook - Pronoia Is the Antidote for Paranoia, Revised and Expanded: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings by Rob Brezsny, the guy behind the popular Free Will Astrology (locals, you can catch it in Willamette Week). To quote a friend, “It’s a book-and-a-half,” but among its many activities and experiments, the one that grabbed me was the suggestion to find a nearby place that seemed neglected, forlorn or downtrodden, and bless it with something. That something could be a small altar made of natural materials, a spoken message of appreciation, an informal ritual…whatever suited its nature and the situation. My own neighborhood at the time was replete with such places, including boarded-up storefront businesses, vacant houses that weren’t selling, corners that were often makeshift encampments, and empty lots at the far edge of the area that hosted factories’ dumping grounds and the world’s largest blackberry jungles.

With the help of a like-minded friend and her 8 year-old daughter, I chose one of the vacant lots that was bordered by ramshackle houses occupied by third-generation families that had gotten left behind during the manufacturing bust. Several of the children in one of the families were students in my special ed classroom. Their father, his tool-and-die shop skills made irrelevant by computer technology and outsourcing, had been unemployed for two years. The family existed on public assistance and the mother’s infrequent housecleaning jobs. Another household consisted of an elderly woman and her adult son who was battling addictions, cycling in and out of the county jail. The entire block seemed to reek of despair.

The three of us cleaned up the lot as best as we could, then set up a circle of small stones that my friend’s daughter had painted. Inside the circle we placed a stoneware pot we’d found amid the brush, filled it with water and placed a bouquet of flowers that are often designated as weeds but have their own beauty (dandelions are like little suns!). We spoke a nonsectarian blessing, then paid visits to the neighboring houses to invite them to the next neighborhood association meeting. I’d guessed that, like everyone else in the neighborhood, they received the monthly newsletters delivered by volunteers, but maybe a personal invitation would help.

After that, I began paying more attention to not only the grubby places but to people who are often ignored. As a special education paraprofessional and former caseworker, I was used to noticing some marginalized people. But having been raised in an achievement-oriented middle class family full of white-collar professionals, I had routinely overlooked those in less highly regarded occupations whose work facilitated our own, such as food, retail and trades workers, even though I was one of those workers myself during high school and college. Like many of my demographic in Vancouver (the “Other Vancouver”), I spent our first few years here grousing and comparing. But with the little ritual with my friend and her daughter, I finally got the “bloom where you’re planted” philosophy.

Nowadays, doing this work not only includes blessing the forgotten places in town but also the people whose work sometimes seems invisible - convenience store clerks, flaggers on road crews, trash and recycling collectors, the tired-looking folks behind fast food counters, the homesick crews on foreign trading vessels that dock in our port. Having a son who eschewed college for Job Corps and now works in heavy industry has provided an education in equality and appreciation for which I’m grateful, although I regret that it took so long.

Spirit most often works through us rather than for us, and requires us to get our hands dirty. For concerned people of any faith living in urban areas, our own work can’t end with thoughts-and-prayers, spell-casting (my dear Wiccan friends!) or vaguely New Age visualizing. It has to include real-world action. This might include speaking up at City Council meetings, volunteering at one of the shelters or food banks, being a Big Sister or Brother, advocating for compassionate government policies and funding (a job in itself these days) or simply remembering to thank every single worker who provides us a service, whatever their job title may be. I may be the person whose “I see you” pulls someone out of a funk or makes their day a bit lighter.

During the past decade, the city (well, sections of it) have been gentrified, glammed and glitzed, made pretty for recent waves of well-off new retirees fleeing southern states’ climates, professionals working in Portland and flippers / investors. Some of the changes have had positive effects that ripple outward, such as thriving arts venues and businesses that endow creative programs for disadvantaged kids. My Chorale and the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra, both of which recently celebrated 75th anniversaries, have received new infusions of funding. But I worry that some of our longtime residents, including the 3rd - 4th generation residents whose children I taught, will be displaced. I also worry that many of our current generation of young people who’ve grown up in the Northwest will have to leave their ancestral places in order to find decent work and affordable housing. There is still much work to be done.

But I’m guessing that the spirit of place, however any of us may envision or define it (and that includes nonreligious people) will continue to move through all areas of the city, showing us not only the beauty in the forgotten places and people in the neighborhoods we actually occupy but also how we can best serve them. And how to honor the places that are often overlooked but are certainly part of the network of places, all of which are Home to someone, that span the world. Maybe this is one of the steps towards a world peace that so many of us envision - an enormously overwhelming, maybe impossible goal, but with simple steps we can each take to at least make it more likely someday.

Book: Electric Eden by Rob Young

This is an exhaustive history of the British folk revival scene but it’s written in popular narrative style, like a 600 page blend of National Geographic and Rolling Stone articles. It covers all the main players, themes and evolutions of the movement in a manner that makes the reader feel like they were right there in the middle of it…which is a good thing for those of us who were born too late to actually experience it.

Book: Utopia Avenue by David Mitchell

A novel about a fictional 60s folk-plus band based in London, with all the people-drama that working and living together on the road for long stretches can generate. The characters are so well done that the reader can empathize with them as they survive family tragedies, and the ambience opens a door to a short-lived time and places.

Book: Wylding Hall by Elizabeth Hand

Often billed as “soft” horror, this is a dark fantasy featuring an up-and-coming British band, much of whose repertoire consists of traditional pieces and original songs composed in folk - ballad style. What happens among the five members during their summer cloistered in a Tudor manor which seems to have retained ancient malevolent energies makes a satisfying read for genre enthusiasts. But even readers who don’t generally go for spooky vibes can enjoy the mundane details of youthful music-infused life at the dawn of the 70s.

Book: Folk of the Air by Peter Beagle

In Electric Eden, Young notes “The folk revival and medievalism have always been closely linked.” During the years that my madrigal group performed at Renaissance fairs I noticed a strong connection between medieval, trad-folk, fantasy and neo-Pagan fandoms. All are often current versions of 19th century Romanticism. This novel is a blend of all four elements. It takes place in Bay area California as the 70s draw to a close - Beagle’s main character Joe makes some poignant and humorous observations about the fading of his beloved counterculture and the emerging “yuppie” era. Throughout multiple readings I’ve found the book as interesting for its atmosphere as for plot. And you don’t have to be SCAdian to enjoy it.

Graphic novel: California Dreamin’ by Penelope Baglieu

One can argue that The Mamas and Papas weren’t folk, but they did contribute to the overall music scene of the time. Cass Elliot has long been one of my favorite singers although she did much of her best work after the M & P years. Through story and illustrations this book gives a taste of what it was like during the era’s peak years and of the woman who was the real Voice in the group.

Book: Black is the Color of My True Love’s Heart by Mary Pargeter, aka Ellis Peters

Readers of historical mysteries would know Peters as the author of the acclaimed Brother Cadfael series. She wrote several other mystery series as well, and this one is set in 1970s UK. This novel takes place during a folk music conference in semi-rural England. The plot, which involves some family intrigue, is interesting enough. But I found the daily details of the conference curriculum and its workshops most absorbing.

Documentary: Lost Boy: In Search of Nick Drake

Narrated by Brad Pitt, who is an intense fan of the 1960s British singer and major (if tragically short-lived) figure in the folk revival scene, this series documents the details of his life and his often-surreal music. I’ve wondered if Elizabeth Hand’s character Julian was modeled after Drake, they share so many similarities. The series is also available on YouTube:

Music: Greenwood - British and North American Folk Revival, a playlist featuring artists / pieces covered at the online conference I mentioned

Here’s a playlist I compiled as we were going through material, featuring Brit and American folk plus some early music revival pieces as well. It’s not in any particular order although I placed some of the major players such as Pentangle, Steeleye Span and Fairport Convention at the top. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLc0prDOxPOnoGGN5iK262Nl0MaV0EBfyO

A merry music season to you all!

“They’re not there.”

Since I’d noticed plenty of younger protesters at the Vancouver waterfront (and all the previous downtown events), including what appeared to be an entire high school swim team, I suggested to Sue that her friend is probably right. When I was in high school, neither I nor my friends especially wanted to frequent our parents’ stomping grounds during our free time. At the time, downtown Seattle was much more interesting than the ‘burbs. Also, by a certain age young people want to establish their own independent customs - they want their own “room”.

When the new downtown library in Vancouver opened in July 2011, the room known as Teen Central immediately became popular. Guidelines specified that it was a place solely for ages 12 - 20. Every so often an anxious parent would insist on accompanying their child inside and remaining. We staff couldn’t officially enforce the age guidelines but the presence of an older adult did have a noticeably dampening effect on conversations, even if those convos were about such innocuous topics as term papers or shoe styles.

So, one reason why Millennial and “Z” presence may seem low might have to do with the location of the event. Another reason may be that most YA buzz takes place on social media - it’s where news about events, including political activities, circulates, where arrangements are made and photos posted. I knew that Sue has never been on any SM sites, so she was bound to have missed some of the signs. Young people do join groups centered around issues and concerns; they’re just not our groups.

Shortly after the Jan. 6 insurrection, several young women started a project urging their like-minded peers to register as conservatives on dating sites such as Bumble, trawl profiles, and forward any with selfies taken at the insurrection to the FBI. Some news readers questioned their actions, but it is an example of how social media and apps are being used in creative ways.

A third reason could be that each generation or decade does things its own way, not necessarily the way the previous one did. I experienced some of the misperceptions of previous decades whenever an older Boomer (the so-called Woodstockers, 1946 - 1954) criticized those of my decade for adopting different strategies when working for change. The college campus scene circa 1978 - 1982 was far different from what was common ten years earlier.

And then there’s the dilemma faced by the high school kid who wants to attend but the more conservative parents forbid it. When I went to my first march at age 16 (Seattle 1976, Equal Rights Amendment) I told the adults I was going to the downtown library to work on a paper. Luckily this wasn’t an unusual occurrence, and compared to many of my classmates at my parochial school I had a lot of freedom. But some of my friends didn’t, and that’s likely true for kids today.

“Maybe they don’t care.”

Young people are one of the strongest forces behind action surrounding climate change. That’s not hard to understand, since they’ll be dealing with the results their entire adults lives. Environmental issues and human rights are big.

They’ve been criticized by groups such as mine (Indivisible’s Greater Vancouver chapter & Clark Co. Democrats) for sometimes focusing on the economy first. But that’s understandable, since 20 - 40somethings are in the midst of the traditional high-pressure earning years, in a location where housing costs can be prohibitive and the general cost of living is high relative to wages / salaries. Where having a B.A. in anything may mean pumping espresso for the first 3+ years following graduation. And where the kids who don’t attend college generally aren’t even on the Liberal Boomer radar. All of them are in a much more precarious positon than the many retirees who, if not wealthy, are comfortably off. Who can reasonably expect benefits such as social security to continue and who were able to actually save enough discretionary income to invest.

High school students have been leading gun law reform efforts since Columbine, often working against adults who try to discredit or derail them. Walkouts have become common. The schools in my area, including the middle school where I used to work, have active extracurricular public service clubs. All these things add up.

Sometimes it’s our own attitudes

Progressive older adults haven’t always provided a welcoming presence for YAs. My husband related a story featuring a group he’d participated in for a few years, a sort of philosophical discussion club for nonreligious people. Members were mostly 55+, white, university-educated white-collar professionals or retirees from middle-class backgrounds. One evening the group started out by bemoaning the fact that they weren’t attracting or keeping younger members. On this particular evening, a couple in their 20’s was visiting, checking it out. T. told me that presently the conversation devolved into reminiscing about the good old days and how much better everything was then, especially civic, intellectual and artistic life. I’ve noticed that in every generation as it ages, there will be people who gold-dust their own experiences or the era itself and enlarge their own roles in it. Maybe it’s human nature - our time on earth is running low and we want to feel that our contributions have been significant.

Not surprisingly the young couple never returned. But that was five years ago; happily, the established movements with which I’m acquainted are making a stronger effort to be all-inclusive now. An understanding that respect for contributions isn’t like a pie, where a larger slice for one means a smaller slice for another, has been developing. Every decade and its approaches has something to offer. We need that sort of diversity as we work towards common goals.

Perhaps that diversity is what could ultimately lead to unity.

These days it’s not unusual among larger families, “framilies” and circles to have members missing from holiday gatherings because they have to work. Some don’t mind - when my son was working at the Port, he always volunteered for Thanksgiving and Christmas because of the increased pay. And it wasn’t a problem for us at home to shift gatherings to a mutually available day. But for others, not being able to participate or to arrange alternative dates is hard. During my college years I wasn’t all that attuned to traditions, but having to work till 7:00 on Christmas Eve because some shoppers hadn’t planned well meant that everyone else had to wait for me to get home. My husband worked at Frederick & Nelson one Christmas season in Seattle, and he said that late on Christmas Eve, panicky men came rushing in after realizing that maybe the girlfriends would expect a gift after all.

While in high school and doing retail, my coworkers and I called Black Friday “Bleak Friday” - Thanksgiving entailed leaving the party early because we had to get up at 4 a.m., and the work day ahead could be 12 hours long. But at least we were off on Thursday; nowdays, as stores remain open even on Christmas, many workers don’t even get the day itself. A friend who used to be a Walgreen’s assistant manager told me that one year she had to work on Thanksgiving because the corporate office had decided that all over America, when feasts and football were over, people would be bored and would leap at the chance of going shopping (they didn’t - she had the boring evening). It’s probably easy to make certain company-wide decisions when the deciders won’t be the ones on the floor.

On occasions when I’ve brought this matter up, someone has always said, “Well, what about hospitals, firefighters and police?” I think most of the askers were aware that the question was a red herring. Certainly the essential services, mostly health and emergency-related, would have to remain available. But how many other businesses are really essential? Will the world end if any one of us can’t make a last-minute dash to Safeway for vanilla ice cream because Uncle Hubert paid a surprise visit to the holiday table and he expects it on his pumpkin pie? To me it raises the questions of what’s really an emergency, are such “emergencies” more common now because we can pacify them quickly (mobile phones have a similar effect), and whether holiday 24 / 7/ 365 is partly responsible for either poor planning or bloated perfectionist expectations.

This is one reason why, even if we’d been so inclined, the family and I didn’t make a custom of going out to eat on Mothers’ Day. Many of the women staffing restaurants were likely moms, and they didn’t get to spend the day with their kids. When my husband was working for a district public schools program, a newly hired coworker told him that during her years with her former employer, an airline, she got only one official holiday off per year, and that she was grateful to now be able spend all such holidays with her school-age daughter.

With small family-owned businesses the trend may be reversing. Many of the eateries, drinkeries and boutique shops on the storefront-style main street near my home are now closed on the common holidays. Some post signs announcing “In order to give ourselves and our employees time to celebrate with their loved ones, we will be closed on (dates).” Occasionally I hear or read complaints about this but I think most customers get it.

Maybe the trend will continue and enlarge, especially as more workers in manically paced jobs burn out. The Covid-era “Great Resignation” comes to mind. If that happens, maybe our culture will take a real step, however small, towards becoming a “kinder, gentler nation.”

But one fact remains: those of us who can make food choices at all are privileged. The word has probably become overused and itself carries judgey overtones, but I can’t think of a synonym that fits. I volunteer at the county’s warehouse / distribution center for FISH, a food bank organization, where we also run food bank “shopping” hours. Often when I mention this in group settings (the block party and “So, what do you do?”), if the questioner is from a certain demographic (mine), they often respond with “Food banks are such a great service but I feel so sorry for the people who are stuck with their food!”

Usually the speaker isn’t familiar with local area food banks; if they were, they’d know that we do get some pretty high-end donations from sources such as New Seasons, Chuck’s Produce and the organics departments of various supermarkets. But even given that, there are reason why our most hard-up shoppers don’t disdain the generic canned tuna, tomato sauce or mac & cheese. Nor do they turn down canned veggies, Frosted Flakes or the endless bags of chips and snacks on offer, courtesy of the Frito-Lay plant in town, one of our biggest donors. The “But all those foods are so bad for them” can sometimes convey the same patronizing tone as my crowd’s “They vote against their own best interests.” It may be true, but it’s not going to change minds or move the conversation forward.

Why might the mom (moms usually do the meal stuff) in a very low-income family sometimes prefer cheap-quality convenience foods? Let’s take a walk through a sample work-and-school day, based on the familes of some of my students during my public school years.

She’s a motel maid, CNA or domestic worker. Her husband is a day laborer for a construction company or a restaurant dishwasher. They have 2-3 kids. Their joint monthly income is around $3000. Those who live in the coastal Northwest, especially the Portland or Seattle areas, know what this means. Most of the $3K goes toward rent, utilities and transportation. The family rises at 6:00, the kids are at their school bus stops, and Mom & Dad are on their separate city buses to work by 7:00. Both adults work in strenuously physical occupations with high injury rates.

She clocks in at 8:00 (if she’s lucky enough to get day shift), is on her feet all day, and leaves at 5:00. It takes two city bus routes plus a half-mile walk to reach the kids’ elementary school, where they’ve been waiting in after-school care. After collecting them, they walk to the bus stop and take a second route to Winco, which offers the biggest bang for the Basic Food (formerly Food Stamps) buck but isn’t conveniently located relative to the apartment. They buy what they can carry on the bus, so no suburban-style monthly stock-up. FISH customer hours are 10-2 M-F, open only one Saturday a month, so it’s an extra source, not a sizeable one.

She and kids arrive home around 6:30 - 7:00 pm, Dad shortly thereafter. Backpacks must be unpacked, forms signed, newsletters scanned and homework supervised; elementary school in 2026 isn’t what it was when I was a kid, and even first graders may have homework. Everyone needs a shower and preparations must be made for the next day.

And there’s dinner. It’s nearing 7:30. Her back aches. Dad is supervising the kids but everyone’s tired. Is she going to stand at the counter chopping fibrous vegetables and stirring a pot of lentils and quinoa for the next 45 minutes, or will it be Hamburger Helper (probably minus the hamburger; maybe a can of tuna) with frozen green beans, ready in 15?

If she picks #2, the essential tasks could get done and the family be in beds with lights out by 10:00. Tomorrow it starts over again.

My Republican aquaintances (the white-collar upper middle-class ones, anyway), will do the “That’s what they get for not going to college / getting pregnant / picking the wrong jobs” thing. They might as well add “And for being born on the wrong side of the tracks.” They’re easy for me to dismisss.

What’s harder are some of the comments by well-intentioned people of my own class / station. The hard truth is that some believe that they know more about the lives of fellow citizens further down the ladder than they actually do. There’s a tendency to assume that low-income people are uninformed about good nutrition, that Basic Food recipients should be required to take nutrition classes or at least given cookbooks. And that certain lifestyle or health values of those living in daily or weekly survival mode should match ours. Sociologist Barbara Erenreich’s classic Nickel and Dimed, based on her experimental year of bottom-rung worker living, makes the point directly.

But until everyone is able to live in reasonable comfort without working themselves to the bone - and I don’t see that day coming any time soon - the best thing we can do is suspend judgement, ask those in need what they need rather than deciding for them, and work for social & economic fairness as best we can. It’s a matter of respecting direct experience. And everyone, especially those who perform essential services but still barely make ends meet, deserves respect.

Some of my fellow choristers and players grew up here and still live close to their families of origin. Some who’ve moved here have family members in town. Some are able to persuade neighbors, coworkers and friends to purchase tickets. A few of my choir peeps move about in such large herds that they get an entire pew for each concert. During my madrigal days, several fellow singers brought such groups in not just once a season but for every event. Since our repertoire varied little from event to event and year to year, I sometimes wondered if the friends and family attended out of a sense of obligation, but no matter what, they were there.

Since I have difficulty with the idea of trying to persuade people who have no interest in classical music or live performances to buy tickets, I limit my publicity campaigns to sharing the chorale’s posts on my page, and sending short emails to the handful of local people who may be interested. This past December, one friend attended the chorale concert and another came to the band’s performance with her husband. Several other friends have attended concerts in the past, plus performances in outdoor venues. I’m deeply grateful to all of them. They’re all music lovers in the first place, so they were more likely to enjoy the performances than would the friends with tin ears or whose tastes extend only to oldies Top 40.

During the 10 years I’ve been with the chorale, T. has come once, and that was because we were doing Beethoven’s Ninth, not because I was in it. Aside from the Beethoven he’s never been much interested in choral works. I don’t blame him because I never attended his Kung Fu promotions, which can go on for 5-6 hours and can be pretty boring for non-participants. My now-adult son accompanied me to practices and to Renaissance faire performances up through his middle school years but that was because the couple who directed the recorder consort had six kids with whom he could play, and at the Ren faires he always managed to hunt down an ongoing three-day D & D game.

But all of this makes me appreciate the strangers (for me) in the audience every time. Many have left positive comments and glowing reviews on our page afterward. It’s nice to feel the connection between us, however brief. And maybe after one of those performances, we’ll somehow meet and they’ll become part of my music “found family.”

No family or best friend, however perfect, can fulfill one’s every need or wish, just as we can’t be all things to them. And what therapists call Love Tests - if you really loved me, you’d join me in doing (name of activity) - can put a strain on the relationship. That’s why some of us find it crucial to form “framilies” around certain interests and involvements. I have mine. T. has his Pacific Crest Trail buddies and Seattle Mariners bunch. By forming our own circles, each of us is free from having to pretend to enjoy everything that the other does. I love nature but am not going to strap on a 50 lb backpack and hike 10 miles a day in order to enjoy it. He loves music in general but won’t don “Disney Medieval” garb and make an appearance at the next fair in order to listen to sackbuts and racketts.

Those of us who cultivate found families are also more free to enjoy our partner’s or birth family’s company when we are together, doing something we all enjoy. There’s no overhanging guilt, just mutual appreciation for whatever we’re doing.

Everyone wins.

And at the last concert, a new-in-town stranger who’d moved here just two weeks ago won the drawing. Congratulations and welcome to our city and our Framily.

Shortly after advertising the group via flyers and infant internet forums (this was 1997) I received a testy email from a woman who’d been certified to facilitate groups similar to ours, implying that we were poaching on her property. I pointed out to her that since many people didn’t have an extra $800 lying around, if there wasn’t a free option they’d simply struggle on their own without help, much like those down to their last dollar going hungry if there isn’t a food bank in town.

I believe that everyone, regardless of income, household configuration or status, should be able to access mutual help and support when trying to figure out what would make life meaningful for them and map out ways to live that life. Living with intention and purpose shouldn’t be limited to those with discretionary income or time. For those who believe that designated meaning is important (and I realize that’s not everyone) even the longest human lifespan is too short to remain content with just getting by.

A few years after our first group, I was part of an effort, via the community college learning assistance center where I worked, to start a monthly arts salon for our students. We especially encouraged the single parents who were enrolled in a support program for students planning to enter trades, tech or allied health fields. When I mentioned the salons, which highlighted visual arts, poetry and music, to a friend, she seemed disturbed, peppering me with questions about our intentions. I told her that the salons and the practices they encouraged were meant to provide an extra dimension to our students’ lives, one that wasn’t getting any expression. She replied with relief, “Oh, I thought you might be encouraging them to try to make a living that way.” I’d implied nothing of the sort; she was making an assumption. But her alarm itself was interesting: were the efforts of the group aimed at giving single moms on welfare, who should be nose-to-the-grindstone at all times, elevated notions about themselves? The dated pejorative “She’s no better than she should be” came to mind.

The privileged attitude toward any life efforts beyond subsistence doesn’t surprise me when it comes from Republicans. The friend mentioned in the previous paragraph was one herself 30 years ago - she’s flipped sides dramatically since then. But I’ve also encountered the same attitude in people who think of themselves as Liberal and who vote Dem or even Green. It popped up occasionally during the years I worked in the public library system, with some librarians questioning whether we public service assistants should be given the opportunity to propose and facilitate programs, as if inviting guest presenters or lining up information tables required extra credentials. A few were, I think, bothered by the fact that some of the best-attended programs for adults, including a five-part series entitled Reuse, Repurpose, Recycle were produced by Senior Assistants.

There will probably always be gatekeeper types who feel proprietary towards artistic and other creative efforts, whether the criteria needed to breeze through the gate is money, class, formal education or belonging to a certain demographic. Among conservatives I’ve known, the idea of low-income or working class people (especially those on public assistance) making art seems unsettling. And I don’t think it’s only because of the prevailing opinion that anyone living at subsistence level should be doing nothing but attempting to “bootstrap” themselves every waking hour. It’s also because once disadvantaged people get going, they may also get ideas about other post-subsistence activities such as political involvement. And there goes the neighborhood. Better to be content to work double shifts at a rote job, come home, have a beer, watch a bit of reality TV, go to bed, do it again tomorrow - there’s a good peasant.

I’m more puzzled about creative-efforts gatekeeping when it comes from my fellow progressives, which it sometimes does, although not as frequently. Did the woman who showed up for the online write-ins for a few months really believe that writing a great novel requires an MFA from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop? Did the “professional” guy who answered a Craigslist ad I’d placed on behalf of an ensemble I was part of really think that we’d call upon him only for paying gigs, when all of us were devoted to performing at free community events? Among some folks in the various arts & humanities communities there’s an idea that open participation cheapens the scene or lowers the value, similar to the belief held by those who oppose Wikis and other open source projects. Granted, some fields should have stiff entrance requirements. I wouldn’t want to be operated upon by a hobby surgeon, drive across a bridge designed by a hobby engineer or board an airliner piloted by a hobby flier. But more subjective areas can benefit from widespread participation, like rivers being refreshed by mountain streams.

And if participating gives a new lease on life to someone who’s been struggling, it’s not just one life uplifted, important as that is. We’re all lifted a bit higher.

“It’s all very well to talk about your art,

About the life of the mind,

How each of us has a grand purpose,

About the need to fulfill creative urges or feed the spirit.

But when the wolf is at the door,

Rent is due and the kids are hungry, it’s not spirit you need to feed.

You need something more substantial than the fairy dust of imagination.”

I invited her into the kitchen and bade her take a seat.

“Are you hungry?” I asked. “Would you like to try my fresh Limericks on the half shell, (bought straight from Molly’s wheelbarrow, alive alive O!) for starters?

They’re good with a squeeze of lemon.

Or you can sample the Flamenco Canto tapas bar - the small-plates style is perfect for nibbling.

I can recommend a vintage Rondeau with light floral notes to accompany them.

After that, for the entree, I can bake a Sonnet, like the street cart pies in Shakespeare’s London, stuffed with juicy morsels.

Or, if you want something heartier, maybe a grilled Epic of Beowulfic proportions, washed down with a heady Ode brew?

Perhaps you’d prefer something light, such as Haiku wrapped in nori and served with rice and wasabi?

There’s Ghazal ladled over couscous and topped with cashews,

Madrigal on linguine with grated parmesan,

Or, for the indecisive types, the Free Form buffet and salad bar.

We also have the more casual Ballad served on a bun with a side of chips for those who want finger food and picnic ambience.

And for dessert, there’s Villanelle topped with salted caramel sauce and fresh raspberries.

Oh, and the best way to disarm the wolf is to invite him in and hand him a full plate; there’s plenty for everyone.”

“I can see,” she said, surveying the spread, “that I shall have to eat my words.”

A writing coach I’ve been following for 15 years, Jen Louden, posted a list of strategies for being in the world as we get older. Some readers may find the title offensive but it’s the ideas that count. I subscribe to two writers/coaches who have been addressing the issues surrounding being both a globally and community-minded American during these outrageous times while navigating a range of personal situations such as caring for a chronically ill spouse or dealing with one’s own tendency toward depression or despair. Sometimes it seems like they inhabit opposite ends of a continuum. Jen is the firecracker. The other writer has such a soothing “voice” that her posts sometimes feel like a lullaby. She specializes in self-care advice.

Both approaches are necessary at different times, and what works will be as individual as the people who use them. My own experience has been that #2 on Jen’s list, When in doubt, expand rather than contract, is crucial. As a younger Boomer close to the X border, I’ve had the opportunity to observe people 10-15 years older, including former colleagues and members of extended family, as they’ve aged. Some have done it well. Others have become, for me, cautionary tales. As Jen’s piece notes, we’ve all seen it happen.

With the happy examples, it seems to me that much depends on resisting the urge to make contraction a habit. And that while taking measures to stay reasonably mentally healthy is important (and yes, tools such as journaling and therapy can be crucial), sometimes that is best done by focusing on something outside oneself, such as a cause or absorbing interest. I’m normally wary of generalizations and all-or-nothing statements, but after processing all my observations, I’m certain that it’s possible to live too much inside one’s own head.

During the 90’s and early 2000’s, T. and I listened to a talk show on NPR called New Dimensions. Each episode opened with host MIchael Toms proclaiming, “Only as we ourselves change will the world be changed.” It always seemed to us that this is only half the equation. Eventually the opening lines expanded to “Only as we ourselves change and take that change out into the world will the world be changed.” Much more accurate. During one New Dimensions episode, Toms interviewed Jungian psychologist and author Thomas Moore (Care of the Soul and many others), whose advice was “Don’t make a project of yourself.” I’ve known people who’ve spent years majoring in introspective self-improvement, thinking that one fine day they’ll be ready to tackle goals such as writing a novel but still haven’t gotten around to it. The best advice I’ve ever read regarding handling inertia, stage fright or stuckness was Barbara Sher’s “Do it before you’re ready!” She points out that for some people, endless preparation causes the big freeze.

For each of us the challenges we know we need to accept will be different. Some can be chosen, such as T.’s hikes and my rehearsals. Some aren’t chosen but they show up - divorce, health issues, children in trouble, job insecurities. And some challenges can technically be turned away, but depending on one’s place in the world, this may have harmful repercussions. Actor Will Smith, speaking about being Black in America, once said something like “We didn’t choose our situation but we’re still responsible for how we deal with it.” We Americans who are worried about what’s happening - the reports from my friends in Minneapolis are heartbreaking - didn’t choose to be born into the empire but we are responsible for our responses to it. It’s a default for being born American. As a recently widowed friend who has just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s said, we don’t always get to choose our challenges.

Keeping up with chosen challenges such as wet winter hiking can be a way to exercise the self-discipline that might be required for continuing to work for a better country and world. And it’s also important to step off the treadmill sometimes, and rest. Both are necessary. The key to the right balance might lie in knowing oneself, with the lead question being, “Am I prone to be workaholic, overcommitted, always pushing? Or am I more likely to withdraw, retreat, or isolate?” It’s for each of us to navigate between the two extremes and find the right spot.

And as Thomas Moore points out in his Dark Nights of the Soul, there are times when contraction is in order; the natural world has its periods of growth and dormancy, and humans are part of the natural world. But several people in my circles have withdrawn and seem unable to climb out even though they’ve become miserable. Collective efforts to help, including mine, aren’t working. The trick seems to be instinctively knowing when the period of rest has come to a natural conclusion and recognizing when it’s time to emerge and rejoin the flow. If remaining in rest is causing dissatisfaction and unhappiness, it’s time.

This is part of the myth which says that older people are afraid of tech in general and have difficulty learning new skills. I haven’t done studies and statistics, so my own observations are based on personal experience and are anecdotal. But it certainly isn’t true as far as I can see. The guy on my Chorale’s Board of Directors who heads the marketing and publicity committee, which involves social media work across multiple platforms, is 75. Another Board member, approaching 80, sets up the Zoom meetings, records them and produces the AI written summary against which I (secretary) check my notes. By contrast, I’ve met 20 - 30-somethings who have difficulty with online job applications, managing email accounts, doing online banking and looking up info on community resources. I don’t think it’s as much a matter of age as many think.

For many of us it’s not a reluctance to learn and adapt to new technologies, apps, platforms or programs, it’s a question of whether the new one makes sense, given the context and the needs. Does it actually make the work easier, save time or resources, simplify communication, fit itself well to the task at hand? Or is it just novelty for its own sake?

I’ll illustrate with an experience of my own. I worked in the Ft. Vancouver Regional Library System for ten years, part of those in Children’s Services. In July 2011 the downtown branch moved into a new (but planned for 10 years), much-hyped 5-story building complete with an entire floor for children’s materials and programs, including an interactive play area. The program room for storytimes and other programs was fitted out with the latest AV equipment and the expectation that staff would use it, whether or not it added something worthwhile to the particular program. I did a number of seasonally themed programs involving stories, songs, crafts and learning activities. I found that often the background music (we had a Bluetoothed iPod, which we loaded with songs) was a distraction. And the PowerPoint slideshows on autoplay, detailing the crafting activities’ steps, were ignored. Both kids and their adults wanted personal help from staff, which makes sense because library programs are social experiences. Some parents told me that they missed the older, more hands-on approach we’d used in the former building. But the message that we staff were given from Above was “The district paid plenty for all this, so you’d better use it!”

I’ve heard similar stories from friends in the corporate world regarding whiz-bang software programs that added extra steps to their tasks, Instagram pages that never generated many followers or much business but still had to be maintained (because all businesses have them and we can’t look like Luddites) and editing programs that couldn’t surpass sharp human eyes. During the new library building’s early days we had a Pinterest page but it didn’t seem to get much traffic so it was abandoned.

On a personal level and with a young example, one friend told me that her teenage granddaughter seems to need more help and hand-holding with her online drivers’ ed class than she did when she was taking the classroom component at her school after-hours. Covid-era online options do offer experiences that some people couldn’t otherwise get, but in many instances they’re a poor second to in-person learning or meeting.

A non-tech example of “don’t want” involves certain friends’ approaches to food and meal prep during the empty nest years. As one widowed friend related to me, her doctor was pressing her to enroll in her HMO’s Healthy Cooking for Seniors class, similar to common medical establishment urges to join SilverFit at the community gym and take up Sudoku - you’re a senior, so you must be in need of it. My friend explained to her doctor that, as a mother of five, she’d spent decades cooking for seven and was perfectly able to produce balanced meals according to the latest requirements, but she was done with elaborate meal prep. Her nightly salad with deli-made additions such as cooked chopped chicken breast was fine with her. She wasn’t malnourished and she needn’t spend much time in the kitchen. A refusal to do something as directed by a panel of experts or the latest advice column may be due to preference rather than incompetence.

As one newsletter writer put it, older people, including those still in the workforce, have been around the block a few times and can usually tell quickly whether the Big New Thing in tech or other life areas will be helpful or not. And when those with a good level of self-awareness or expertise in their field turn down an opportunity to buy, subscribe to, download, join or use something, it’s probably because life or work will be easier without it.

Among conservative millennial and Z-er women there is (I’m told by articles on Democrat / feminist FB pages) a push towards the “trad wife,” a role made popular by media figures such as Erika Kirk and other high-profile women who can, ironicallly, afford to employ help. There was a similar trend when I became a mom in the early 90’s, although that one was led by mostly liberal college-educated career women; in 1990 Glamour magazine ran an article on “the new traditionalist.” Those of us whose households couldn’t afford to do without our incomes were sometimes considered second-rate parents. Even O Magazine continued to use the term “full-time mom” until a number of us readers called them on it by pointing out that we didn’t stop being moms when we were at work. Here in the U.S., trends in family life and what’s considered optimal seem to run in cycles; they’re not fixed, as in some other cultures.

The author of an article in a new age ‘zine I picked up several years ago, writing about traditional ways to observe winter, imagined large extended family units and tribes of yore cozying up together around the fire in the cave or hut, telling stories, singing, and happily engaging in what she called creative projects.

I wonder how many of the women therein came down with cabin fever or ran out into the snow-packed wasteland in order to escape, even momentarily, the enforced togetherness.

Americans, and maybe most Westerners, tend to believe the grass is greener elsewhere, to be overly nostalgic and to illuminate certain past eras in a golden glow which I’m pretty sure they didn’t actually have. The 1950’s may have been happy days, as the TV show implied, for some but certainly not for many of its women or people of color. And since for 40 years I’ve been able to observe a certain extended family that revolved around a matriarch who grew up in a “traditional” culture, I can attest that in such arrangements there are winners and losers. Of course there are such examples among Americans. The character JR from Dallas comes to mind. My friends and I loved to hate him. But my husband, who was living in South America at the time, said that viewers there admired him. Why? “Because he keeps the family together.” But at what a cost!

If this matriarch could have had her way, all her children, spouses and grandchildren would have lived under one roof, or at least in some sort of family compound. Hiring any sort of help outside the family was considered shameful in her culture, even though many young people coming to America from her country today work as CNAs, housekeepers and in eldercare facilities. Adults in the family who worked outside the household would pitch their money into the family pot and everyone would supposedly be taken care of. In some families of her culture, adult children are expected to enter the family business. Just think - no worries about post-high school education, job hunting, finding housing, paying rent…and possibly no angst about a social life or dating, since the family elders would be happy to make arrangements!

Probably some would find this idyllic - initially. But as I’ve noticed, things come at a cost. The abovementioned matriarch’s wishes didn’t come true because most of her children didn’t want that life, and they married North American women. However, she tried. If any kid of mine was considering marrying into what many call a traditional extended family, I’d give some cautions:

• Gender roles can be rigid, even in traditional cultures that value higher education and professional occupations for women. In the family to which I’m referring, the women were ambitious and successful, including the matriarch, but many of the men drank and gambled the money away. The women worked the double shift, as it’s called, on the job and at home. The slacking men were always forgiven.

• Birth order roles can be equally hidebound. Since my husband and I both worked as paraeducators in special needs programs, our joint income was considerably smaller than that of his youngest brother, but we were often prodded to “lend” the brother and his wife money (T. always refused). Brother was considered the baby of the family even after he passed 50, and since T. and I are both eldests, we were supposed to be ultimately responsible for the ne’er -do-well members of the family.

• As long as the Pater Familias or Matriarch is living and not completely witless, any other adults will be on the lower rungs, not fully independant or with much agency of their own. In most western-style families now, young adults go spinning off from their sun-centric beginnings and form their own solar systems although usually staying in touch with their origins. In a trad family, all continue to revolve around the sun, and when that sun goes, it is replaced.

• Money flows around and among the extended family members like water. Those who earn it are expected to lend (I use the word loosely) it to those who don’t, even when the lenders and borrowers tend to be the same people over and over, falling into the stereotypes of the long-suffering Responsible one and the flighty But-He’s-Family! one. It’s a recipe for resentment one one side and enabling on the other.

• A job that takes one out of the house is necessary, of course, especially with finanacial and home economic arrangements mentioned above, but having absorbing activities outside of family life may be discouraged, especially for women. Continuing ed classes, social groups and after-hours arts or athletic pursuits for anyone post-college are often frowned on.

• In the end, the ones who do most of the caretaking and household management work in such families will be the female in-laws. Up until recently this was true for common people the world over, but for many of us now there are other options.

• Finally, for family members who by temperament, personality and preference find this kind of life satisfactory, all will be well. But for those who long to establish careers in fields that don’t meet the Hive’s approval, have interests or passions that are unusual in the family, don’t fall into the traditional gender or sexual compartments, want to travel or explore living in other cities rather than staying close to home, or whose personality types aren’t valued in their culture, life could be uncomfortable. Distancing oneself enough to get some breathing space can have consequences.

As I’ve observed the family I’ve mentioned over the years, worked with refugee clients from traditional societies as a caseworker or with their children in the school system, and noticed on certain travels, there are no perfect or golden family structures. All have their pros and cons. At times I would have liked the option of being hired by a benevolent uncle or aunt who’d save me from the trials of job hunting, but I mostly don’t envy my peers in such families. The more typical North American or Western style allows for more individual freedom and possibly less security or certainty. A former supervisor of mine used to say jokingly, “pick your poison” when offering two imperfect choices. We all have different needs and wishes, and for some, the older traditional structures are fine. But in spite of the risks and uncertainties and “What a long strange trip it’s been,” I’m glad I was able to choose otherwise.

About 13 years ago I tried a cutback experiment on a small scale. During summer, when the farmers’ market was open, I sent out an email to local friends inviting them to join me on device-free market walks. I live 15 minutes from the market site. They could park on my block, gather here, stow the phones (Be Here Now - we’re here to catch up with each other), hike on down and browse the produce. One friend replied, “Call me when you get to Starbucks.”

Um…Oh well.

More recently I decided to experiment again. I’m not squirrely about social media (like anything else, there’s good and bad. It’s up to the user to take charge), not adverse to using FB, BlueSky, LinkedIn or even the monthly foray into Instagram in order to learn useful information. YouTube may be noisy now (there’s a reason why so many channels, including mine, have disabled comments) but since it’s the only place where people with my obscure musical interests gather en masse, I stay.

But for a number of years now, I’ve realized that FB content has gotten repetitive. Even though I love my artist friends, if the pages are essentially sales sites (and the pages of my four artist friends who post daily are), I don’t need to see them every day. Then there are the compulsive selfie postings. Love those friends too, but I already know what they look like, especially if we see each other regularly on jobs or at political events. Speaking of which, I also know who’s on my side of the aisle and why; much of the political content that appears on my feed seems like preaching to the choir. I no longer post admonitions to vote, having realized that 99% of those on my friends list always do, and the few who don’t won’t be swayed by a meme featuring Victorian suffragettes, Ann Richards or Jimmy Carter.

And while I hold wonderful memories of times with those who’ve moved out of the area, if they live longer than a few hours’ drive away, I’m unlikely to see them often enough to keep up the level of friendship we once had. Especially the much-older friends who, true to the tradition of my parents’ generation, decided to go Country upon retiring. I’m cutting back on driving, and the cabin on the mountaintop isn’t enough of a lure, especially if reaching it requires negotiating three miles of single-lane hairpin turns at a cliffside elevation where meeting a pickup coming in the opposite direction would be certain death. I’m happy if they’re happy, but jotting down anecdotes in my (for-my-eyes-only) memoirs serves as a private Memory Museum.

Regarding activism in 47’s America, there’s a push by liberal groups like mine to post like crazy whenever we attend an event, because the algorithms will pick up the numbers and photos may go viral, thereby letting the world know that we’re not slacking. It does work in our favor; note the worldwide enthusiasm for Portland’s Frog during ICE protests. But to me that seems when taken to extremes, it’s allowing oneself to be driven by the forces that created the “if you’re not posting, you’re not Real” vibe. Who’s in charge here? And will all the hustle on SM divert attention from the quiet people (like the local guy I mentioned in a recent post) who don’t call attention to themselves but always reliably show up? Does compulsive posting feed the national ADD tendency to overlook was isn’t immediately obvious, what doesn’t jump out and bite us on the nose Recently I’ve had debates about this with friends who’ve said, “I’m glad churches are finally getting involved.” I tell them that social justice churches have always been involved - the friends were too distracted by the loudspeakers (or maybe it was confirmation bias) to notice.

On a personal level, I have several distant friends from decades back whom I realize feel adrift, but I’ve had to tell them that I don’t do long cozy girly chats via texting or even WhatsApp. We can exchange email (but not compulsively) and each of them has a standing invitation to visit us here - up until recently, Tom and I have been the visitors but we now have a room that can house guests. Maybe someday soon a few of them will accept the invite and we’ll be able to catch up in person.

There is only so much we can keep up with. I imagine that this holds true even for those who are retired. No matter what stage of life, we all get 24 hours per day.

And focusing on face-to-face gatherings or making new friends does seem harder to achieve than it did at 25 or even 50. For example, when one’s kids are in elementary school, we have access to an entire herd of built-in friends. The same goes for the workplace. But it’s still possible. When one of those aforementioned post-retirement drift friends asked me for suggestions, I introduced her to MeetUp, which probably hosts knitting & crocheting circles in her city. If it doesn’t, she could start one. One doesn’t have to be passionate about the actual activity to join a group; attending in order to meet like-minded people is fine. And for those who, like my far-away friend, feel uncomfortable in new social situations, the group’s activity is the focal point, so there isn’t much need for small talk. They circumvent other awkward situations that pop up during more open-ended events like parties.

I won’t know the ultimate results of my own cut-back experiment for at least a month, but so far the sky hasn’t fallen in. I’m not deleting accounts or burning bridges, but the extent to which one can do without social media, online meetings, long chatty text threads started by the bored sister-in-law or constant contact with the expectation of instant replies has been encouraging.

One of my favorite author-coaches, Martha Beck, wrote an excellent piece when she was a columnist for O Magazine about FOMO, which seems to have gotten worse on a social level rather than better over the 13 years since it was first published. Her advice still applies today. (Note: since the linking feature in Substack doesn’t seem to be working, here’s the link to her article in Huffpost. I highly recommend it for anyone locked in FOMO freeze: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/fomo-fear-of-missing-out_n_3685195)

Phones, devices, platforms, apps and sites all make excellent servants but terrible masters. Remaining in the driver’s seat requires being intentional. Levels of pullback will be different for each person. I still get enough value from most sites to stay on, even occasionally. But I’m finding that even in small increments, once you start paring back and using more intentionally, it becomes easier to remain in control of your life.

She may not ever go to college, earn a B.A. or any of the exalted graduate degrees, enter a high-profile occupation, earn 50K+ per year or become an Influencer. But she has a gift that I, the so-called normal person of average musical abilities, would love to have.

It’s high time to recognize all gifts, and those who have them, even if they don’t fit the American (and probably all-Western) profile of the successful young adult.

Those of us who went through Ed 101 in college will remember Gerald Gardner’s Seven Intelligences. They are:

*Linguistic (Word Smart): Ability to use language effectively, like writers, lawyers, and speakers.

• Logical-Mathematical (Number/Reasoning Smart): Skill in logic, patterns, and problem-solving, typical of scientists and mathematicians.

• Spatial (Picture Smart): Ability to visualize and manipulate objects in space, seen in architects and artists.

• Musical (Music Smart): Sensitivity to rhythm, pitch, and tone, like musicians and composers.

• Bodily-Kinesthetic (Body Smart): Using one’s body skillfully, as dancers, athletes, or surgeons do.

• Interpersonal (People Smart): Understanding and interacting effectively with others, common in teachers and counselors.

• Intrapersonal (Self Smart): Deep understanding of oneself, one’s goals, and emotions.

• Naturalistic (Nature Smart): Recognizing and categorizing elements of the natural world, like biologists or farmers.

In the system presented in my class, there are different learning/experiencing styles: visual, auditory, kinsesthetic, manual and several others. During the era I grew up in and at my university, the intellectual styles - my college classmtes destined to be programmers, bankers, lawyers or CEOs, or thte rare Professor - were regarded as top dog. We people-smart types (in business language, soft skills. Education and social work) were given patronizing head-pats. The manual and body-skills folks were dismissed altogether. My kid, who went to Job Corps and works as cook, is one of them.

The American university system doesn’t have quite the classist history as the UK does, with its “Dons” and the townies who who were required to service them. But the fact remains that much intellectual so-called brilliance of the 20th century owes itself to the people who weren’t deemed intelligent enough to contribute to cultural history and were relegated to doing the cooking and cleaning for those who then had the luxury of researching and writing. Much as I enjoyed the works of Tolkien and CS Lewis when I was a kid, and wits such as Dorothy Parker and Edna St. Vincent Milay during my teen years, I now recognize that they could be who they were because they were nurtured by small armies of supporters. Conversely, I’m acquainted with a number of PhDs who routinely botch up personal finances or relationships, and who couldn’t fix their leaky sinks / flat tires or cook a decent meal if their lives depended on it. Who knows what advances might have taken place if all intelligences were considered equal, and people of any ability, occupation or education were allowed a voice in the cultural choir?

In his book Holidays and Holy Nights, https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/189332.Holidays_and_Holy_Nights, music critic Christopher Hill mentions that during the European Romantic era, when Dickens and the Grimm brothers were writing about old customs, for the wealthy classes it was a revelation that common people had a rich history of traditions, story and music centering around seasonal holidays.

I may have a Bachelor’s degree (and have been told that it’s equivalent to a high school diploma in today’s job market, with degree inflation) but Noel the cook knows much more about geopolitics and the situation in Ukraine than I do, because he follows it. I’ve met any number of coworkers with less formal education than I have who are nonetheless insanely knowledgable about topics where I’d be among the kindergarteners. Because they’ve cared enough to learn on their own. Just like I’ve learned music history on my own. And my young fellow band member practices on her own.

It’s time to lose the hierarchies, recognize all forms of intelligence, including those held by people designated as Special Ed, and those who didn’t travel the approved path of the Great American Success Story. We all have strengths and weaknesses. We need each other.

And, as the old song says, everyone’s got a place in the choir. When all parts are singing, we’re all richer for it.

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Like many people I’ve met, I spent the first two-thirds of life being the Queen of Starts. Resolutions, makeovers in every possible area of life, bright new beginnings. There’s nothing like the fresh unused notebook at the start of the school year; the Jan. 2 bag of library books promising finished novels, new careers and ten fewer pounds; the seminar that will fix every troubling relationship and social situation. It’s a widespread phenomenon, and our culture’s “get the gear” messages apparently generate enough business - gym memberships, therapy, image consultants, clothes, degrees & certifications - to ensure that it will be around for a long time.

But how many of us pay attention to endings? A magazine I found several weeks ago, Magnolia Journal’s Fall 2019 issue, which focused on the theme of leaning into every new phase, included an article on the importance of taking endings seriously and making efforts to make them as honest and compassionate as possible, including for ourselves.

Sometimes endings are forced upon us, such as with getting fired or laid off, being widowed or served divorce papers, dropping the youngest kid off at the train station, or having a friend disappear into the ether without warning or a forwarding address. But we can and do choose some of them. And sometimes choosing to make an end of something is the right thing to do.

Many women I’ve known, including myself, find ourselves doing sweeping assessments of every life area during late midlife or early elderhood. What’s working, what isn’t, what feels stale, what do we never want to do again, what do we hunger for? I don’t have enough close male friends to say if this is true for men, but for the women, much of the heave-ho centers around relationships and social situations. Maybe it’s because we’ve expended so much emotional energy on these for our entire lives. As author Judith Viorst notes in Imperfect Control, by the time late midlife rolls around, many women have had to do so much accommodating, second-fiddling and serving that the joys of peopling have worn thin.

When it’s time for changes, it can be hard to find guidance for sticky situations. I’m still trying to work out how (or whether) to tell a certain friend that her dog’s behavior is what’s keeping people in “the old gang” from visiting her, and that I may be next. There’s a “Who’s gonna tell her?” vibe. A casual “Let’s change things up - why don’t you come over to my place?” may be met with resistance because she’s become somewhat agoraphobic since Covid. But the brave thing to do will probably require a conversation, since keeping her in the dark doesn’t serve her or us. And as Miss Manners always adds after dispensing advice in such situations, be prepared to lose a friend. Sometimes that’s a risk one has to take in order to get a situation unstuck and moving forward.

With abusive or toxic relationships, sometimes just changing oneself takes care of dilemmas. As Iyanla Van Zant pointed out during an interview on NPR’s New Dimensions, “When you shift, people will shift with you or they’ll drop out of your life.” In extreme cases such as with domestic violence it will be more complicated than that, but with less intense situations such as basic-level friendships or old patterns among siblings, it can work.

Some endings happen simply because we’ve had enough, are tired or bored, or because it was time. Most ventures come to a natural closing point; the work or effort is complete, or it’s unlikely to improve. An ensemble I was part of for 21 years, until we mostly disbanded, continued to perform at a certain community holiday event every year until this one, when it was replaced by my chorale. Even though I missed the old gang this year, I had to admit that it was time. Several members of the erstwhile ensemble hadn’t been playing or singing on a regular basis, and it showed. Our last two performances were ragged. The show needed new blood. One lesson I hope we learned is that it’s better to go out strong; knowing when it’s time to quit is an art in itself.

Beginnings may always remain more energetic, hopeful and fun than endings, but without certain endings, we might not have the time, money, energy or clarity to make beginnings stick. Even if it doesn’t turn out exactly as hoped, an intentionally initiated ending, done with as much goodwill as we can muster, can clear the way for a lighter and brighter path ahead.

A friend remarked that at age 75 she still feels like the filling in the generational sandwich, helping an adult child who’s working three part-time jobs to make ends meet while caring for both a grandchild and a family elder. “I’m ready to be an elder myself,” she wrote.

For some like her, it’s having to keep serving as the filling long after the customary age for it has passed. Since we’ve arrived at a time when people not only live significantly longer but preparation for adulthood takes longer (a longer youth phase), the traditional midlife role of supporting both ends of the spectrum will stretch on past middle age for many.

For other commenters in the conversation it involved the vague feeling of having missed out on certain supposedly universal childhood experiences because one or both parents were missing, incompetent or downright toxic. One friend pretty much raised her two younger siblings while another applied for and was granted legal emancipation at age 16. My own experiences weren’t traumatic like theirs but by the time I was 12, Mom was in the hospital more often than at home, and I had five younger sibs - the first brother had arrived a little over a year after me. The book group friends and I joked about wishing that there was a great cosmic mother that one could call upon, like Mother Mary in Paul McCartney’s song, and not just for kids.

I’m guessing this isn’t uncommon. Among my various circles there are more people whose childhoods and youths were stressful than those who had the Dick Jane & Sally experience. And historically the concepts of childhood and adolescence are relatively new. Wealthy Victorians seem to have been the first to actually sentimentalize childhood. Less fortunate families of the time had to send their seven year olds to work in the fields and factories, contract them to apprenticeships or place them in domestic service. And even among the wealthy / nobility of earlier eras such as the Middle Ages, children as young as seven were sent to other households to train as pages (boys) or ladies’ attendants (girls). In the big picture, a long and carefree youth really is a cultural aberration.

And yet the wish for the experience of being completely mothered and/or fathered seems almost ingrained, especially when it feels like life has been decades of effort and striving. The accumulated years can lie heavy. The social push to go-go-go, especially during the holidays, can add more weight. That’s why figuratively stopping in the snowy woods every so often is compelling. The stops don’t have to be large scale and dramatic (although I do know someone who, on an impulse, packed a bag and boarded a plane that was the first leg of a month-long escape to rural Alaska). They can be as brief and quiet as collapsing on the bed and closing your eyes for 15 minutes.

Bedtime can provide a good space for experimenting. One friend devised a mental routine she calls Imaginary Spa - imagining with all five senses, she sees and feels herself soaking in hot springs, then falling asleep to a luxurious massage, complete with the smell of lavender oil and sounds of a fountain or ocean waves. Given the viral popularity of ASMR videos on YouTube, it seems zillions of people across the planet fantasize about this.

Another friend imagines himself drifting off in a sleeping bag inside a tent with the dad he never got to know well, who never took him camping, or on any trips. I sometimes find it restful to imagine that a Great Cosmic Mother is sleeping in an adjoining bedroom (also imaginary) and that in the morning there will be the aroma of coffee and everyone in the house will be sent off into our days as if we’re kids going to school, complete with packed lunch boxes and goodbye hugs. All these examples may sound corny but as discerning readers of fantasy fiction know, fantasy, when used conscientiously, can smooth the rough edges of life without becoming escapist or addictive.

During this time of year, when the natural world quiets down and settles in for a long winter nap, maybe the best thing we can sometimes do is make a few promises to ourselves - mentally stop by the evening woods every so often, pause, rest, and return to the brightly lit morning world better able to meet its demands.

The past few months have reinforced a discovery for me, one I encountered decades ago when working with refugees: arts experiences are highly individual, and sometimes it takes an initial outsider to help one appreciate their own culture.

My chorale welcomed a new director this past year when our former director retired, and as with many such changes, we’re taking off in new directions. The older and familiar reliables such as Bach and Handel will more frequently be sharing the stage with young current composers, world music and North American regional traditions. Not banished, of course, but sharing. Our director, who also directs high school and middle school choirs in my district, seems to want to widen the bandwidth. And as often happens when a longtime venerable community institution (like the Vancouver Symphony, we’re nearing 80 years, which is “old” in West Coast terms), some aren’t happy about it.

But most members are welcoming or at least agreeable, and some of the most enthusiastic welcomers have been our foreign-born members, mostly Asian and Slavic. There’s a perception among some American middle-class intellectuals that the rest of the “developed” world sees our contributions to music, books and movies as lightweight. I’ve heard it expressed in situations like book groups and library events. In one such discussion years ago, during a library book group meeting I was helping host, an older gentleman / retired professor remarked, “I think Russians think Americans are shallow.” This may be in part generational; the few members who are skeptical of our new director’s ventures grew up in a post-WWII America where serious musicians stuck to largely European classical repertoire and believed that the “New World” couldn’t produce anything worthwhile.

But the professor’s opinion hasn’t been my experience, either on the job (school staff are a pretty diverse lot) or in music. The chorale’s very classically-oriented members from other countries have as much fun with less familiar genres as everyone else. Our Ukranian alto is a Disney, Bollywood and hip hop fan in her workaday life. This doesn’t mean she loves the classical, popular and folk traditions from her own country any less. A former coworker, Czech, who also played with the VSO once told me that he played Gershwin, Broadway and pop with as much gusto as with Dvorak and Smetana. The varied experiences weren’t better or worse than one another, just different. Apples and oranges.

Sometimes it takes stepping outside to get an accurate view of the inside. With the exception of the very elderly, most refugee clients at Catholic Charities honored their home cultures and customs while embracing newer ones as well, and even the elderly exception had exceptions. Women from certain theocratic countries seemed the happiest. During my years working at CCRS I learned that it’s possible to critique one’s own culture, work for change and engage in resistance when necessary while still appreciating its strong points and cultural / artistic contributions.

This was a radically different orientation from the accepted one among my fellow liberal classmates in college, where we earned our badges by disavowing anything labelled popular. Being Serious & Enlightened meant watching only edifying documentaries and foreign art-house films, listening exclusively to consciousness-raising indie bands and, if one absolutely must read fiction, read only “literary.” We prided ourselves on being progressive but it was actually a very restrictive outlook. This ideology seems to be receding, and while there may be many reasons for it, maybe one is influence from our immigrants.

There will always be those who resist building a larger table, whatever the focus of inclusion - sexual orientation & gender, race, language, points of view, education / occupation / class, the arts, and more. But by continuing to expand, we may be able to ensure that no one is squished, everyone has adequate space in which to thrive, and our own culture here is continually refreshed and revived.

At this time of year, many of us could use some satirical diversions. The poet is obviously British but I’m betting that many of my fellow Americans and readers in Commonwealth countries can identify. I don’t get such letters anymore but I remember the child-rearing / school days, and some of the competitive fellow moms in my extended family and circles. Please excuse the funky formatting - I’m still trying to figure out Substack’s features.

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Another Christmas Poem!

Dear distant friends, surprisingly we still have your addresses,

So here’s a list of all of our latest triumphs and successes.

We’ve been as busy as a family of beavers,

Though they’re just furry animals while we are high achievers.

*******

We’ve bought a big new house (my wife corrects me; it’s a mansion),

Emily’s verses won a prize for prosody and scansion,

Timothy got his partnership and Claire her PhD,

Which all reflects extremely well on Dorothy and Me.

********

Our trips abroad, for which we didn’t even have to save,

Prove we’re cosmopolitan, cultured, fit and brave.

Brazil, Nepal, Kenya, San Francisco and Belize;

We’re sorry if you can only dream of holidays like these.

********

And so we wish you all the best, in terrace, flat or hovel.

We’ll be in touch again next year but only if you grovel

And say you wish that you were us so much it makes you sick.

A happy holiday to all. Love, Dorothy and Mick.

From Pessimism for Beginners, Sophie Hannah, Carcanet Press 2007

I’m not one of those people. I’m one of those pesky “bring it on!” types. And it’s not just an enthusiasm for Yule/Solstice or Christmas - in my Unitarian group we also welcome Hannukah, Kwaanza and any other world celebration that shows up at this time of year. Choir people start rehearsing the holiday repertoire in September, so I’m used to Early. But I have noticed that during times that seem especially dark out in the wider world or, for many of us, here in the U.S., celebratory gestures start early and go big. It happened in 2016.

And, as I remember, it happened in 2001, the season following 9/11. At the time I was one of the local paper’s (The Columbian) community columnists. A rota of four of us, two liberals and two conservatives (who weren’t anything like Republicans now) would contribute a Sunday edition column on local issues, a column each month for each of us. My fellow liberal, attorney Bob Ives, wrote about going all-out with his Christmas lights, putting them up early, and it was because he thought the community needed some extra light during a time when many of us were not only processing the attacks but also the Administration’s response to them. A response that didn’t make us any friends in the larger world. When you live in the current empire but are not in agreement with it, life itself sometimes feels like a pounding.

All the more reason to get on with the festivities.

Most recently I’ve seen this response in the Portland - and now, all over the country, including Vancouver WA - approach to ICE activities. Frogs, chicken suits, the naked bike ride, donut fishing, 80’s aerobics protests and all manner of fun. It’s been like the pre-Lenten Carnavale season in medieval Europe and still alive in places like Venice, New Orleans, Quebec, Brazil and Trinidad. In spite of the dark and possibly belt-tightening times ahead, you can still dance.

This is terribly important. Not only for our own mental health but also because those who want to stifle joy, those who want to see us disheartened and defeated, need to see that they aren’t winning. There has been criticism of the lighthearted approach to some of the protests by critics who thought we weren’t taking the threats seriously.

But sometimes the best resistance is a resistance to cynicism and bitterness in the face of those who want us to grovel. Let’s not give them the satisfaction.

A Messenger conversation yesterday with a friend reminded me of that. She wrote about dancing throughout one of the protests in spite of her wonky hip. She mentioned Emma Goldman and “If I can’t dance, I don’t want to be in your revolution.” Among progressives there is the temptation to think that dark times require heavy-duty remonstrations for situations we’re not responsible for. But having to respond to events because we live in the country causing them is not the same as being responsible for them. Being born somewhere in a certain era is an accident of birth. Sometimes the criticism looks sincere but other times, especially with certain of my groups, it has seemed like virtue signaling - we have to go Victorian Gothic in order to establish our progressive credentials, and the people we’re trying to impress are our fellow activists.

I know a local guy who attends every event and is at the Farmers’ Market here in Vancouver at the entrance, with his signs. He’s a quiet type, not vocal and not on social media. Even when he talks his voice is so soft-spoken that some have trouble hearing him. But he shows up for everything. Showing up counts more than emotional demonstrativeness. And he belongs to a monthly folk-singing group because, as he once told me, as long as you can still sing, they can’t get to you.

So today, like my colleague at the Columbian 24 years ago, I strung up the lights. This season we need as much light as we can get.