I had hopes and dreams.
I buried them.

I had wants and needs.
I buried them.

I had yearnings and aspirations.
I buried them.

I buried them all.

They were buried for lack of confidence.
They were buried in fear.
They were buried in disappointment.
They were buried in anger.
They were buried in sadness.

They were buried in piles of papers, books, old clothing, and all manner of detritus
that became life.
They were buried in the cellar with dried up paint, ice skates of rotted leather, and cobwebs.
They were buried in the attic along with baby clothes that held memories, old toys no longer               bringing joy to young faces, and discarded furniture.
They were buried in the garage with plastic sleds, tattered lawn chairs, and unused tools.

They were mine, and I buried them all.

Copyright February 19, 2022 Sandra Grafius

thoughts and ideas playing tag and leapfrog through my mind, creating a dizzying and endless meandering path that weighs heavily on my waking hours. This is always a stressful time of year, made more so by worries of the times and memories of the past.–not to even mention the desire to make the holidays special, at least to me.

Special, in my mind, means decorating with the colors of the season (whatever I deem those colors to be at the given time) and making my world temporarily more happy by invoking my concept of what Christmas is to me. One aspect of Christmas that I find important is baking the kinds of cookies my mother always made: sand tarts, Christmas cut-outs, sometimes lace cookies and spritz as well. In remembrance of my grandmother, I make springerles (using hartshorn, the modern version termed ammonium carbonate, or baker’s ammonia) and Aunt Esther’s fruitcake which incorporates unseasoned ground pork sausage in its ingredients. Surprisingly, it tastes quite good and is moist and rich, unlike most of the dry fruitcake I’ve tasted in the past. Do I need to do these things to keep their memories alive? No, but it allows me to share them with others who may never have known them.

A task I willingly undertake most years now is making a Christmas ornament each year for my children and their partners. When they were young, other people started the tradition of an ornament each year, and I have continued with that custom. Some years they were solely purchased ornaments, other years they were commercial designs I tweaked to make them mine, and some were completely designed and handcrafted by me. Three children, who are now off on their own, has resulted in more ornaments that our tree can accommodate. Perhaps, it is time to make a gift of them from Santa on Christmas this year.

None of this even begins to touch on the handmade gifts I always plan and seldom accomplish. So many desires, so little time left to manage all I want to do, let alone complete the chores that are always part of life and unending. So, off I go, on this third day of December, 2021, contemplating my next move(s).

It is now late evening on September 1, 2021, and the rain from the remnants of Hurricane Ida has finally stopped. Here in Lycoming County we were fortunate; areas downstream were not as lucky. Still, none were near as devastated as a southern area of the United States.

Sixteen years to the day Katrina rumbled through New Orleans and created massive destruction, Hurricane Ida attacked the Louisiana coastline, albeit just a little over 20 miles from the previously ravaged New Orleans. Power may be out for weeks for some, creating huge drawbacks for cleanup in a hot and humid climate. No air conditioning, little clean water, and increasing Covid-19 Delta variant cases at the same time as likely increased storm-related injuries will tax the hospital systems that are already struggling, many of whom are dealing with storm damage as well.

So much water! Water that is desperately needed in the western area of the country is flooding the south and northeast. The increasingly arid weather in California is making conditions all too desirable for wildfires. One can debate whether the fires are caused by climate change, improper disposal of cigarette butts, or unraked woodlands, but the cause now is unimportant as the flames continue their often unimpeded race through forests and communities. Homes are destroyed, businesses ravaged, wildlife killed, as the orange menace strikes again and again, as human efforts to stop its relentless march forward dance in a forward, then backward, then forward again lockstep with the demon. The ultimate success or failure of the war against the destroyer will depend both on skill and luck.

So much depends on luck alone.

There comes a time when life becomes weighty and quite unmanageable as it is lived. When one feels like every day is a battle that can never be coped with as it stands, let alone won. When loved ones are as a millstone around one’s neck and finding comfort in their presence is not doable. That can lead one to feeling like a hermitage is desperately needed to preserve what is left of one’s soul and sanity.

I want to have a secluded spot to go absent other humankind. I do desire creature comforts of a sort: electricity, cell service, running water, and a cat or two. The problem is how to afford these luxuries as a poor senior citizen with very limited resources and few friends who have any access to such habitats.

Help!

Some old maxims seem quite dependable; March coming in like a lion is one such truism, at least today. Central Pennsylvania is under a wind advisory until tomorrow, Tuesday, March 2, 2021 at 10 AM. And, to add to that bluster, there is a chance of snow until 8 PM. Not a lot, of course, but do we really need any?

I’m fairly certain many of us are a bit winter weary by now, and I am even more sure we are all tired of the pandemic estrangement that is close to its first birthday. I remember sitting in the Writing Center at Penn College in early January 2020, reading the news about Wuhan, China and the disease outbreak, and being very thankful (and obviously naive–in hindsight) that we were not required to wear masks like the Chinese citizens. Then, in the latter part of January, the United States announced its first case of the novel (i.e., new) coronavirus in the state of Washington, a man who had traveled from Wuhan. COVID-19 had penetrated American shores.

By mid February, that initial comfort I felt was abating, but the virus still seemed distant. In early March of 2020, I was looking forward to Spring Break, not because I was heading south to a southern haven replete with sun, sand, and surf, but I was getting a break from providing suggested edits to distracted students anxious to escape school and parental oversight. Spring Break arrived, giving us that brief respite. It was soon extended by one week due to the virus. Before March ended, the virus had taken enough of a foothold that Pennsylvania’s Governor Wolf ordered non-essential businesses to close for an unknown amount of time. That was the end of in-person tutoring, and tutors then worked remotely.

March of 2020 did not leave like a lamb. When the lion thundered, it was a resounding rumble, and its roar has not ceased. It quieted to a low grumble briefly, only to return as an even more terrifying bellow. The lion has claimed over 516,000 victims in the United States as of today and is not likely to return to its den any time soon, certainly not by the end of March.

It may be some time before the lamb is safe again.

As you, my reader, can observe, some of the recent posts have embedded dates that do not reflect the posted time. I had originally begun those particular writings at the noted hour/date and somehow was distracted. Oh, look, Squirrel!

So, I decided to finish and publish them. Better late than never, right? As that timeworn adage suggests, they might still have some value. Whether you chose to see them as entertainment or education is your decision. I can state I will strive to do better in the future, but that, in itself, well… Therefore, no guarantees will be offered.

Today, January 6, 2021, has become a dark day in the history of the United States, one I never anticipated experiencing. Today, hoards of white supremacists stormed the capitol building in DC, seemingly with the advice and consent of President Donald John Trump, the 45th president of the United States. According to the media, there were over 30,000 of his ardent supporters who assaulted the Senate and House, breaking windows and swarming over the barriers and walls. This transpired because Trump does not want to go quietly, as the outgoing president is expected to do, but he wants to fight on in spite of numerous lost court battles, with the electoral votes certified by every state and as the Republicans have lost control of the Senate in the Georgia runoff elections, taking Mitch McConnell out as the majority leader.

The Representatives and Senators had to be sent into hiding for their protection.

Oft Does Not Remain There

We are frequently admonished to not dwell on what has happened in the past as we cannot change it and to not let any such events impact our lives going forward. Since we, each part and parcel of our beings, are the aggregate of all that has occurred throughout our known existence, the past cannot be escaped nor ignored. Indeed, some believe that the influence extends even further back than that cliched spark in our father’s eye. Regardless of the origin of the guidance, the bygone days and all attendant happenings in the human sphere of being cannot help but leave their mark.

The Beginning or the Ending

It is 12:17 am on November 3, 2020, the ending of the most recent Mercury in retrograde. All in all, the year 2020 has been a time of great trials in many arenas. Wildfires, torrential rains and floods, earthquakes, hurricanes, drought, heat, terrorism, and of course, COVID-19, aka the coronavirus or, in some bastions of intolerance, the China virus. As if 2020 has not been challenging enough, the United States, or the term I frequently use– the Untied States of America, is in the midst of possibly the most difficult and dangerous time it has faced as a nation in many generations.