A friend comes for cheese sandwiches and raspberries, and we walk through the hydrangeas and across the cemetery and downtown to the Galaxy Bookshop where Garret Keizer launches his new book. The evening is illuminated with sunlight. Keizer reads well, and at the end, my hands folded over my knitting in my lap, I feel how this room of friends and strangers leans together, yoked by the intensity and compassion of his words. He thanks the audience and says drive home carefully.
Over those sweet raspberries, we’d talked about the curious threads that knot through communities, the connections between people known in segments. Likewise, we comprehend this universe in all its radiance and brutality through a smudged lens. This week, in a nearby town, an unimaginable car crash.
Lingering at the bookstore’s door, two old friends and I muse about these strange political days. One friend ventures that collective celebrations, like the recent Knicks’ win, keep us buoyant. As a writer, I’ve always leaned into words, the shelter of creation, the force of imagination. Yet, there are realms where language no longer suffices. Nine years ago, we moved into this house. I opened the living room windows, and the perfume of roses washed through the rooms. Nine years? a friend asks. What does that feel like?
It feels like multitudes.
… Last, grateful for this nice write-up of Call It Madness in the Times Argus.
Stony Soil Vermont 
Nine years? Reminds me of this I posted yesterday…..
This quote is mis-attributed to Lenin:
“There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.”
The closest quote that is correctly attributed comes from Mexican poet Homero Aridjis in “Sefarad, 1492”.
“There are centuries in which nothing happens
and years in which centuries pass.” – Homero Aridjis
Fantastic quote!!
Lovely review, Brett.🌺 It’s next up on my list. Also, thanks for the intro to Garret Keizer…
💚Hope you enjoy Garret Keizer.
Upon reading the Times Argus write-up, it dawns on me how I have a unique Vermont experience, and perspective. Born here. Raised on food stamps and commodities. Live on the same property I was raised on. My mom, the same. I’ve felt the sting of being at the bottom of Vermont’s social hierarchy. I know what living unconsciously is like. I’ve also experienced the growing pains of pulling out of that social black hole. And I’ve watched those who have remained in, or who have been sucked into, that black hole.
I feel so grateful to have had certain people in my life who saw me as a capable, intelligent person, someone with potential, which I couldn’t see in myself. Those people and their acts of kindness were stepping stones in my life leading me away from that black hole, that pit of despair. I remind myself often that compassion—not judgement—is what heals. Had individuals not expressed compassion for me… jeez, I can only imagine.
💚