Fear is the lock
One of my favorite songs is “Suite Judy Blue Eyes” by Crosby, Stills & Nash. (I guess Young - no relation - wasn’t part of the group yet.) It was written for/about Judy Collins, who does have sweet blue eyes.
The song’s “lacy, lilting” lyrics go to my soul. They tell some of my personal story. And don’t get me started on the harmony and instrumentation. It’s a great song. And because that’s what I think of it, I am also glad that it is a very long song: 7.25 minutes. Good. It can’t be long enough for my taste.
The specific lyric from that song that inspired this blog post is “Fear is the lock, and laughter’s the key to your heart.” Isn’t that true? Laughter DOES open one’s heart. The next line of the song is “And I love you.” That’s logical, because when one’s heart is open, one loves.
So what’s the problem here? I believe myself to be a pretty “open-hearted” person. My mother used to say I was a “soft touch, always rooting for the underdog.” True (like so much of what Mother said to and about me). So if we can agree that I’m mushy-hearted, why am I so filled with fear right now?
It’s November 3, 2016.
If you’re counting down the days until our national election for President of the United States, you will know that we have five days left. FIVE DAYS!
For everyone I know, the days can’t go by fast enough: we want to get this horror, this embarrassment, this vileness over and done with. Yes we do.
Sort of. But then again, 5 days from now, Obama will officially be on his way out the door. That fact alone makes me so sad. I wish he would be President For Life. On the other hand, I like him so much that I wouldn’t wish that on him and his beautiful wonderful brilliant family! I remember when Obama was running, detractors said that he was “cold” and “cerebral.” YES! – I thought. I definitely want a President who is less emotional than I am, and VERY much smarter than I am. I got what I wanted, and I am so proud and so sad for him. I hope that he and his family have a long happy untortured time for the rest of lives. They have served magnificently under duress, which rhymes with stress..
The reason for my current trepidation is obvious: the unthinkable could happen.
When Jesse was born in 1985, I gave each of my parents a book: “Grandma Remembers” and “Grandpa Remembers”. They were Hallmark-type journals with corny illustrations and with questions about the grandparents’ childhoods, how things were, what each of them thought about when they were young, and now. All this so Jesse would have a better idea of who his grandparents were. When Daddy died in 1994, Mother gave me my father’s completed journal.
One of the questions in my father’s journal was “If you could meet anyone in history, who would it be?” Daddy penned, in his beautiful, teensy handwriting, “FDR”.
Another question was “Who represents your idea of a Good Man?” Daddy penned, in his beautiful, teensy handwriting, “NOT Donald Trump.” !!!!!
That was written sometime between Jesse’s birth in 1985 and Daddy’s death in 1994. How could Daddy have known enough back then to choose Trump – over Hitler or any other historic monster – when asked who is the worst example of humanity? Hardly anyone knew who Trump was back then. But to Daddy, that man was obviously a nightmare waiting for the chance to strike fear and havoc into the minds of humans worldwide.
Given the current situation, I figure that Daddy is either rolling over in his crypt, or is very glad that he didn’t live to see THIS.
So here I am, five days away from the outcome of the challenge posed to this country by one man’s candidacy. I feel like I am holding my breath, the way people hiding from bad guys hold their breath to be certain they make no sound and are not detected. I am waiting to exhale. I am waiting to unlock my heart and release the fear that has me choked. I am waiting to laugh. Shout. Wave my arms and do my happy dance. And fall to my knees in gratitude for the sanity that I hope will rule the voting majority. Let the resulting laughter be the key to my heart so I can once again love the world in which I live.
And let the late night comics and commentators ready their funniest stuff.
Only five days…
Only five days.