Near Christmas
Not everything is right with the world, but there is hope
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Hope
Hope. The unseen prayer. Whispered into the wind, stroked by the icy fingers of the season. Made ready for us.
This season, I am closer to Christmas than I have been in many years. I have my writing, this posting, these words to thank for that. They have brought me reflection.
Hope comes wrapped in gratitude. Daily, hourly, I murmur, “thank you.”
I have my own special hopes, things held tight in the breast. Hope for healing. Hope for reconciliation.
Hope is slender and fragile. Confidence helps strengthen and hone it. I need both in these winter days.
We hope for peace, for prosperity, for the Republic not to end. We hope for the planet to survive, for us to survive with it.
For now, celebrate the season of hope. The season of light, our light, our peace.
Just for the day, just for an hour, I will discard fear and banish trepidation.
We are going to need hope in 2024. We are going to need lots of it.
Clinging
The leaves are gone, blown from the trees by December winds. Only a few hardy survivors remain, bright as cardinals.
Shortest day
As I noted last week, the solstice was December 21, last Thursday. So, already the days are lengthening.
The solstice can sometimes fall as late as today, December 23, but that’s rare. The last December 23 solstice was in 1903, and there will not be another until 2303.
Sundial check
If you have a sundial in your garden, and you want it to tell time accurately, Sunday (December 24) is one of the best days to set it. Go out at noon (standard time) and set yours to 12 o’clock.
Sundials can be set on four dates each year for an accurate read:
April 15
June 15
September 1
December 24
Holiday buzz kill
I was all ready to write about holiday cheer. Something about relaxing on the couch. Enjoying the Hanukkah/Christmas lights. Watching some holiday movies—the more snow the better.
But reality intervenes. My attention is drawn to upsetting stories and developments.
The Nazis
Trish, who writes on Substack as Dishkitty, published an agonized open letter Dec. 14 urging Substack’s owners to take down postings written by neo-Nazis. She wrote that she is prepared to leave Substack over this issue if the proprietors don’t act.
Thing is, Substack’s platform has always been welcoming to writers who traffic in lies and disinformation.
Last April, the ADL posted a blog entry, “Antisemitism, False Information and Hate Speech Find a Home on Substack,” with these words:
Substack, a subscription-based online newsletter platform for independent writers, continues to attract extremists and conspiracy theorists who routinely use the site to profit from spreading antisemitism, misinformation, disinformation and hate speech.
Elizabeth Dwoskin wrote in The Washington Post last January about conspiracy theorists spreading misinformation about topics including Covid vaccinations.
The dark side
It’s the plague of social media. Anyone can post any lies anytime.
One of the first postings I saw on Substack, by someone calling himself The Second Smartest Guy in the Room, equates Covid vaccinations with genocide. Genocide against whom? I didn’t read it carefully enough to tell. Disgusted, I turned the page.
Other nutcases are free to wander the corridors of Substack, alongside intelligent, well-written content from people like Dishkitty and me.
Taking a stand
Dishkitty writes about leaving Substack over the Nazi postings. The problem with grand gestures is that they are ultimately toothless. You feel really good about taking a stand, but nobody really notices. And then you are on the outside looking in.
You want to blow up the Nazis. Instead, you blow up yourself.
Editorial time
Another disquieting publication of Dec. 14 was in The Economist. In “When The New York Times Lost Its Way,” James Bennet recalls his time as the editorial page editor of that newspaper. It ended in his forced resignation after he published an essay by Sen. Tom Cotton, R-Ark., about using troops to maintain order in response to the George Floyd protests. That piece incensed Times staff members who felt it threatened their reporting and would send the wrong message to readers.
In his lengthy article, he rightly excoriates The Times for being so ingrained in liberalism that it has become illiberal. He fears for the future of American journalism that doesn’t take into account the views and concerns of half the nation.
His departure, in 2020, coincides with my disillusionment with the Time’s op-ed offerings. At about that time, I noticed that I was increasingly reading partway into items, then abandoning them because the writing was weak or the reasoning specious. I eventually gave up reading much of that section altogether.
Now to me
I’m also reminded, not entirely in a comfortable way, about my own stint as the op-ed editor for The Oregonian.
It was the mid-80s, during the Reagan administration. I loved the job and took it seriously.
In my mid-40s, I was also still developing my own sense of belonging in the world, and to bolster my unformed ego, I tended to be strident about my own views. Articles I chose were strained through the filter of my own beliefs and inclinations.
Most of my pages were good, readable, full of ideas and fine writing. And I did make an attempt to include disparate voices. Still, my liberal mindset got in the way, as did my annoying need to be right.
Maybe I should have printed that piece by the self-described physicist who claimed, and had the equations to back him up, that no citizens were “vaporized” in the nuclear attacks on Japan in WWII.
He was wrong, I am sure of that. But his essay might have sparked some useful debate, about nuclear war, and the indiscriminate murder of civilians, and how we are handling these issues today.
Royko
Then there was the brouhaha over the Chicago columnist Mike Royko, which I wrote about some months ago. I infelicitously told a reader that I was running fewer of his columns because he was becoming increasingly irrelevant.
This got back to Royko, who was understandably annoyed, and he wrote to me to object. I should have run his letter; instead, embarrassed, I tossed it.
The media and the election
But my experience is irrelevant to the issue of today, which is the waning strength of American journalism and its failures in the face of Donald Trump’s increasing authoritarianism.
The Economist’s article is worth reading. You should have some free reads before the pay wall slams shut.
Something to celebrate
In the spirit of the season, let’s move on to good news:
The Christian Science Monitor has initiated an beautiful way of looking at the news. You can read stories based on topics or regions, as always, but stories are also grouped by values.
Here is the list:
Balance
Compassion
Cooperation
Courage
Dignity
Equality
Fairness
Forgiveness
Freedom
Generosity
Gratitude
Honesty
Hope
Humility
Ingenuity
Innovation
Integrity
Joy
Justice
Peace
Perseverance
Prosperity
Resilience
Respect
Responsibility
Safety
Transformation
Trust
Wow
This idea is breathtaking in its scope. You must explore it for yourself. It is pregnant with synchronicities and worthwhile connections. Here are a few:
Under the value Community, a photo essay about life in Nunavut, the Canadian territory that was split off from the Northwest Territories in 1999.
Joy: The Chinese art of paper cutting; ice cream in Ecuador.
Respect: How Pakistan is handling its entry into the Miss Universe pageant.
Generosity: Ukrainian war refugees find toeholds elsewhere in Europe.
Cooperation: Working to save Colombia’s jaguars.
Courage and Congress
Earlier this year, I chose the value Courage and came upon a story from about the late congresswoman and presidential candidate Shirley Chisholm that includes a stunning bit of newspaper idiocy.
When Shirley Chisholm ran for a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives in 1968, she was not nearly as well known as her opponent, civil rights leader James Farmer. In the compelling new biography Shirley Chisholm: Champion of Black Feminist Power Politics, Anastasia C. Curwood observes that the novelty of a female congressional candidate was reflected in the headline of a New York Times article about the Brooklyn contest: “Farmer and Woman in Lively Bedford-Stuyvesant Race.”
Journalism as it should be
How many newspapers have a mission statement that includes the word “calm”?
The Christian Science Monitor is an international news organization offering calm, thoughtful, award-winning coverage for independent thinkers. We tackle difficult conversations and divisive issues—we don’t shy away from hard problems. But you’ll find in each Monitor news story qualities that can lead to solutions and unite us—qualities such as respect, resilience, hope, and fairness. . . .
Our aim is to embrace the human family. We prize honesty and largeness of heart. We seek practical solutions, not just page views.
Also, by focusing on the values behind the news, we offer a deeper view—a read more about solutions that unite rather than divide. That’s why many of our stories clearly identify the values driving the news—whether it’s respect, compassion, responsibility, freedom, or so on.
Bird’s nest
My daughter Lyza Danger Gardner writes:
Randomly, in terms of bird's nests, here is the nest of a cactus wren in a cholla cactus, from a hike in Mexico last week. See if you can make it out? Smart place for a nest if you think about it.
Cats and dogs
When I was at the Hillsdale farmers market last week, a woman asked for a poem about cats. And I had already been thinking about dogs, so I wrote a poem about them for a woman who didn’t give me a topic.
The weather was sunny but cold and windy. The placard I wear around my neck inviting passersby to ask for a poem blew up into my face. It is just a sheet of paper in a sheet protector with a string knotted through. I tucked it under my arm.
Fingerless gloves (I knit them myself) make writing easier.
Maddie asked for a poem about cats.
Cats
Cats are of two minds, Cuddle and cluck the chin, Or scrabble and scratch. Suspicious cats, Loving cats. What Makes them either? Be kind to cats. Think about tuna. Open the door, But keep them from birds. Cats will repay love, Just maybe not In the way you think. Cats demand That you Follow Their Lead
And dogs
The dog poem was for Trilby. She said she was named after the title character in a book by George du Maurier (grandfather of Daphne) that was serialized in Harper’s magazine in 1894. The novel introduces a character named Svengali who seduces Trilby. It’s the source of “Svengali” as an embodiment of fascinating evil.
Dogs
What is it about dogs? So elemental. Nose to the ground, Nose to the post, Nose in the air. Sniff, scent, mark. Are dogs sentimental, Beyond scent and sniff? Parsing the dog mind— Well, it can’t be done. What do dogs hope for? Peace on the playground? Loving companions And lots of treats. Our wishes for dogs: Don’t bark, please. Paws on the ground. Don’t go smelling my crotch. Elemental dogs, The only way to be, Chasing the stick And chewing the sock.
Bus vignette
“Smoking is not permitted in trains or on any Trimet property, including shelters,” the disembodied female voice admonishes over the bus loudspeakers. Then she repeats the message in Spanish.
Not long after that announcement, a couple of men board, one of them with a huge, unlit joint between his lips.
The two get off just a few stops later, but not before the bus is infused with the sweet aroma of grass.
Some experiences you just don’t sign up for.
Poem from a friend
This lovely verse is by Merle Alexander, friend, former Oregonian colleague and resident of suburban Atlanta.
Nursing Home Money, part 6
Where were you, faraway daughter, with your perfect shade of red lipstick, elegant pantsuit and pricey purse? Where were you when your modest mother roamed the halls in a flimsy negligee that exposed her breasts? When we were embarrassed by having to look at her body at the dinner table? Were you on the beach sunning yourself, drinking cocktails and watching nothing in particular? I was there watching her tug at that nightgown, but it was sizes too big and old, like her. Where were you, faraway family, when she slipped into this other world, her fantasy world forever, where the paid help loved her and touched her heart and body to make sure she was safe and nurtured and clean and fed? You paid the bills, faraway family, but that didn’t add up to what she needed . . . You.
Check out
More about 20 minutes
I’ve been extolling the possibilities of 20 minutes for activities that will enrich your core well-being.
Twenty minutes is a nice easy bite of time. Much less cumbersome than the hour some experts say you should devote daily to one passion or pursuit.
Memory
Back when I was 10 or 12, my mom subscribed to Reader’s Digest. I couldn’t wait for it to arrive. The articles, intended, of course, for adults, were just at my level. I read almost all of them.
In our Minneapolis suburb, the magazines that Reader’s Digest’s abridgers drew from were not available. I don’t remember a newsstand with more than comics, or a library display. I never saw a copy of The New Yorker, for instance, until I was in college.
So these little abridged articles offered a vision of what seemed like all the knowledge that was being written about.
I remember an article about how people changed their lives in one hour a day. Even at my tender age, this struck me as a difficult proposition. Subtract time for sleeping, eating and flossing, and only a dozen hours are left.
Wow, if I had to commit to writing an hour a day, I’d never do it.
But here’s the beauty of it: When I only have to commit to 20 minutes, well, I can find that time. And if I get involved and my writing time stretches to an hour, an hour and forth-five minutes . . . It’s happened.
So, my advice. Stick to 20-minute nibbles. They could easily lead to a whole banquet.
Leave the hour-a-day habit to the truly passionate.
Presents
A gift to me
I’ve been working on a charity blanket. A number of knitters contributed 8-inch squares in various colors and patterns, including some crocheted granny squares. I was tasked with sewing them together to make a blanket.
I thought the idea was a little crazy, but as I joined squares, it make better sense. The blanket is hefty but not too heavy, and soft and cozy. The yarn has to be acrylic to make the blanket easy to wash.
If you are a knitter, you know that you can pull the yarn out of the center of a skein. I was doing that to cut a strand to sew some squares together when the yarn stopped feeding.
There must be a tangle, I thought, so I stuck my fingers down inside to loosen it. I expected to pull out a clot of tangled yarn. What came out, instead, was a bundle of cash. More than $100!
My sense is that whoever stashed it either forgot about it, or died, and the yarn was donated to charity and made its way to me. It was inside a simple four-ounce skein of ivory Red Heart acrylic yarn.
I’ve found the occasional coin or small bill before, but nothing like this. How do you think I should spend or use it?
A gift for you
I have added a new little story, Hummingbird Island, to my other Substack, Fables and Legends. It features hummingbirds, jaguars, marmosets and coconuts. Also pigs, parrots, giraffes and strange two-legged creatures.
And of course, I wish for you a wonderful holiday, whether it has passed, like Hanukkah or is to come, like Christmas or Kwanzaa. We are on the far side of the equinox now, and the days will only grow in light.
Looping back to hope
We came into this posting with hope, and tasted some disgust and despair as we moved through it. I take your leave, now, in a spirit of love and reconciliation.
I want to move through to the end of the year with good cheer and faith. I hope you can also. I wish the best for you. I do.
And I have hope. Even a grain of hope is enough. It has to be enough.
What was the season
Many, many years ago, the children and I would travel to Puzzle Tree Farm near Newberg, Ore., to cut a Christmas tree. The owners were Harold and Winnie Hughes, both gone now. Harold was a longtime fixture on The Oregonian’s editorial board, and eccentric, funny Winnie was one of the best human beings I have ever encountered.
I’ve published this photo before, but it is always a warm reminder of the season.
Don’t forget the like button.
—30—
The decline of the NYT is particularly frustrating because even with its ideological leanings it is still one of America's great newspapers and it will be a huge loss if it doesn't restrain itself from the direction it is taking.
The Christian Science Monitor has always been considered the most objective newspaper in the US if not the world. Objectivity in news writing is rare indeed, if not extinct. And there's just too much profit to be made by scaring the hell out of everybody and fomenting fear, hopelessness, and division among people. If it bleeds....... And people seem to line up to get their daily dose of shit instead of turning off the news feeds. Also, how about seeing problems in their own communities and what they can do about them instead of worrying about stuff that's happening on the other side of the planet? Here's an example: the famine in Darfur spurred a lot of actors in Hollywood to using their fame and names to promote aid donations for that problem. Meanwhile, instead of building desalination plants along the coast to provide potable water, they prefer to drain the western states dry and even think it's a great idea to build a pipeline to suck filthy water from the Mississippi and bring it across country to LA for their swimming pools. As for worrying about the destruction of the planet: 65M years ago, a meteor slammed into earth, killing off most of the dinosaurs. It didn't destroy the planet! Throughout the history of the planet, there have been 17 ice ages separated by warming periods on a global scale. Humans and other species have managed to survive that climatic rollercoaster for millions of years. People who fret and sweat about "the planet will be unlivable in twelve years" need to get out of their convenient little bubbles and see that other humans and species have found ways to live on every continent in every climate that exists. Obviously it's going to take one hell of a huge meteor to obliterate earth. Any other "threat" is laughable. It remind me of a T-shirt my husband used to have. There was a painting of a woman clutching her pearls, saying, "Nuclear war. There goes my career."