One Clear Moment

Los  Angeles, California

I recently discovered that I had two posts with the same name. It happens. I have been writing posts since I started my blog in 2010. And I don't always track as well as I used to. So as I wrote the title on this post, after doing chores around my house this morning with my July 4th, 2010 playlist cranked up loud, and hearing Little Feat's One Clear Moment, I momentarily pondered. Have I written a post with that title before? Easily searched, but I decided to wing it. Live dangerously, right? Danger I can live with.

My posts generally start with a title. Something suggests itself. It can be a song title or whatever. But once I have that title, I begin to write in my head. Your head is not a good surface for creation of any lasting quality. I have often thought that my best, Pulitzer-winning writing often occurs... in the shower. By the time I dry off, I have lost it. I know how Coleridge felt when that salesman knocked at the door (I just threw that in as an inside to fellow English majors).

This Little Feat song, One Clear Moment, was the first song I put on Joel's birthday playlist, which is an abridged version of the playlist I created for my salsa party last month. I have always liked this song, a lot. But today, as I was doing laundry, sorting clothes from my closet to give away, cleaning up my kitchen, and chasing stray ants (OH NO, is this the beginning of a summer invasion?!?), I really listened to the lyrics of the song and felt its connection to how I am doing at this point in time.

...Ah, gimme that one clear moment

I can turn your head around

All I need is one clear moment

To get you back up off the ground.

It's not what the song is really about, but here in July 2021, I am still looking for clarity. That one clear moment, if you will. Covid case and hospitalization numbers are ticking up, thanks to the Delta Variant. And in Los Angeles, we are the first county to re-mandate mask wearing. And yet today, I passed a woman walking into Whole Foods wearing a mask that stated: This mask is useless and so is our governor. I'm sick of this fight. I'm sick of people talking about terrorists as if our greatest threat isn't the homegrown ones in the MAGA hats. I'm sick of it all. And yet... my 2021 pledge was to avoid politics on the blog, so I must at least attempt to demur.

I was not a huge fan of Little Feat, but when I hear their music, I feel happy. Granted, happiness is not a lasting state of being at this time. But it is coming. I have to believe it is coming.

My third set of houseguests arrive tomorrow afternoon. Diana and Brendan have been coming to stay for about fifteen years, mas o memos. They originally came with their daughters who slept feet-to-feet on the sectional den sofa. Our routine has always been much the same. We hang by the pool all day, eat and play cards all evening, then sleep in, hang around with our coffee and tea all morning. Rinse and repeat.

With summer, with houseguests, with Dodgers baseball: It all seems like normal life, right? Except it doesn't. It seems like Abby-normal life. And as it goes on and on, I wonder if it will ever really seem normal again. I don't mean free from the fear of a potentially-deadly virus. I'm vaccinated, and I will be boostered as soon as advised. But this new world, the one in which bad bevavior is sanctioned and modeled. I really want to get away from it all. Just give me that one clear moment.

My friend, Larry, recently read a book I recommended about the American ex-pats living in France after WW1. Is there a place like that where we can go? I am so proud of being a Californian. My roots here are generational, and I cannot imagine not thinking of myself in terms of this wondrous state. And as a Californian, I am a proud citizen of the United States. But we ain't so united anymore. My houseguests who arrive tomorrow are a native San Franciscan and a Canadian, raised in Montreal. I once asked her if we could live in Canada and the answer was no. But while waiting for my one clear moment, I ponder: At what point will other countries offer us political asylum, as this Trumperland population continues to mutate and multiply? And does one clear moment perhaps translate to getting the hell out of Dodge?

I do not watch political news on television anymore, and I have cut my online news notifications to a few conscientious sources. You just can't be involved in a practice of meditation, and then take in all this dreck. You just can't.

And so, moving on in search of my one clear moment. Or, maybe just to listen to Little Feat. How bad can the world be when you have access to music like this? I hear you callin' for some sympathy. I got the answer that can set you free.

If only...

From the desk of: Is it November yet? I thank you for reading my blog.