Lofty-minded old camels

I am reading a most wonderful book.  It’s called The Country of the Pointed Firs by Sarah Orne Jewett.  Written in 1899, it is a quiet piece of work about a seafaring community and all the individuals in it.

A small quote:  it is “as if a landmark pine should suddenly address you in regard to the weather, or a lofty-minded old camel make a remark as you stood respectfully near him under the circus tent.”

If you want something to soothe you right now (and by all means stay active against Trump and his cohorts), crawl into bed after a long day with this book.  It will transport you.

Here he is, the lofty minded camel.

 

 

 

 

What safety net?

I haven’t written a lot recently.  It may have something to do my hip replacement surgery, or it may be the doldrums of January.  Or is that dull drums?

I have been thinking about illness and old age.  Poverty and meanness.  The view closing in rather than opening out.  There is a wall out there just waiting for us all.

Then, of course, I think about my sister Chris who may be stymied for a minute but not for long.  She pushes through and goes for one last run down the mountain.

I think about my friend D. who is considering moving into a retirement community because she has health issues that keep her rather confined and it would be good to have a community around her for support and activities and cultural enrichment.

Options.  Options are important.  Living until you die is important.  Keep your golden years golden.

But what if you can’t?  Not won’t, can’t. What if, because of your own stupid choices, bad luck, poor health, whatever ills, you find yourself facing that wall with no sustaining or sustainable supports?  What if you find yourself in January under a bridge somewhere in a yurt made out of tarps?  Then what?

I have always prided myself on being able to cope.  No matter what life throws at me, I cope.  Well, huzzah for me.  But even I, in my most optimistic moments realize that my comfort, my sanity, relies in large part on others.  On my individual social and familial network that won’t let me fall too far.

If I didn’t have that network, who knows?   The older you get, the fewer people there are that can rush in to help.

Why am I ruminating on this?  Because I am deeply disturbed when I go to Seattle and see the homeless encampments.  On the one hand I don’t want to see them and on the other, if we don’t see them we can pretend they don’t exist.  We can say “Oh, I had no idea it was this bad.”  It is bad.  And if this could happen under Obama, what could happen under Trump.

Maybe we’ll call it Trumptown.

This is a picture of Hooverville named after Hoover during the depression.