Love is the constant
Whereby we endure all winters and all storms.
The seasons will always turn,
The clouds will gather,
And the cold will come.
We will survive them.
We will grow regardless of the weather.
We will know wonder where there has been despair.
There will be happiness and we will remember it.
There will be friendships which we won’t forget.
Love is the constant
Whereby we endure all winters and all storms.
It is the climate in which all things can flourish.
Welcome the darkness;
Embrace it as a canopy from which the stars can hang.
For there are always stars when we are where we ought to be
Amongst the faces we love the best.
Each with our place, each with our purpose.
Call the Midwife
Season 9, Episode 8
Dear friends:
More than anything, I hope this finds you truly well–in body and in spirit. Able to see the stars, able to bask in wonder and friendships. You’ve made it so for me.
I cannot dress this year up in pretty clothes, in poetic hyperbole. As we wrote to each other last holiday season, we could not have imagined the loss of anticipation, of travel, of routine, of health, and of life itself that has defined this year. We have lived, so much, not just in our houses but in our own heads and histories. We’ve felt an undertow of fear throughout—political and personal.
This Thanksliving season I am especially grateful for two particular gifts: the pure magic of our digital connections and a spacious front porch. In the first warm months of the pandemic and our early lower numbers, I trusted Montana wind and sun to keep us safe. I spent more time walking and reading (to the companionable chitter of crows and magpies) than I’ve done any other summer. Social visits on the porch—spaced a bit apart—brought good friends close. Emily’s and Amanda’s families both made laughter-filled stopovers and we could relax on the porch and play in other parts of Helena. And the miracles of Zoom, FaceTime, What’s App, and the phone brought many others of you into my world. Perhaps because distance is always a reality in Montana, I am struck by how potent and practical those new-fangled means are. We can see more, not less, of each other. Bless you for all the caring you’ve sent this year, in all forms!
Books, of course, remain constant escape, comfort, education. When I skimmed through my Kindle, I realized just how many semi-questionable historical novels and, god I hate to say it, romances I’ve plowed through. But there were these, too, books whose messages and words will linger: Trevor Noah, Born a Crime; Bryan Stevenson, Just Mercy; Janine Cummins, American Dirt; Peg Bowden, A Stranger at My Door and A Land of Hard Edges; Allen Eskins, The Life We Bury; Elizabeth Gilbert, City of Girls; Jarvis Jay Masters, The Bird Has My Wings; Nina Renata Aron, Good Morning, Destroyer of Men’s Souls; Jenna Blum, The Stormchasers; and every Outlander book. In the evening, I’ve found solace on Netflix: the Outlanders of course; the Crown; and revisiting Call the Midwife as often as my spirit needed.
To keep out of more serious mischief, I continue to write “Women’s History Matters” Facebook posts. This summer, I had the opportunity to work with State Historic Preservation Office colleagues to encourage state agencies to be better stewards of historic properties. In April, I took a deep breath and created a blog called Essays of Memory at http://stilllearninghowtofly.com/ On it, I’ve posted older memoir pieces and written a couple dozen new ones. This fall, to hang onto my sanity, I joined the Democratic grassroots effort “Postcards to Voters.” Volunteers across the country sent handwritten notes to Democrats in swing states, reminding them to vote. I’m in the midst of another batch for the Georgia runoff now. Just this month, thanks to Amanda’s generous and understanding heart, I’m back playing old favorites on a digital piano. In jagged contrast to the agonies that face so many, my life has been uncommonly sweet and interesting. I am lucky and grateful.
Words seem such frail implements now. Still I know only to wish you this.
May you weather the ongoing winters of illness and fear.
May you know love and good health and beauty.
