The news is so sad and outrageous these days. My heart breaks. At these times, when the bleakness of rhetoric and hatred seems impossibly overwhelming, I want to lift up the love I have been blessed with.
Sitting in the backyard tonight as the dusk turns to dark. This is the time of day when the birds are noisy and the sounds of the neighborhood as it settles in for the night are particular to this midwestern city on the shore of a Great Lake in the summer. The call of a child, the shutting of a backdoor, the smell of a fire pit, the rustle of the trees.
Looking around this small green space and reflecting on earlier in the day. A seemingly spontaneous brunch this morning ….originally we planned a small gathering to celebrate grand daughter Muriel’s 2nd birthday. MiNei and I had talked brunch so she could be here without having to rush off to work. Joe would be home for the weekend - bonus. Elijah of course. MiNei’s mom - Helen, or Tutu to the kids. She brought them both ukuleles. Then it turned out that Annie and Audrey would be here - and Teresa came over…Luke is staying with Johnny for a week - so he was here. Elijah brought a friend - Rohan. Granny came. We were now nearing 20. John baked a cherry and apple pie. Tuna salad, meatballs and fruit. Lot’s of coffee. Flowers from the garden - the last of the yellow iris, daisies, peonies - and a couple big striped hosta leaves.
See how easily these familial names are written, the simplicity of a vase of flowers and pie, the casual planning - always able to be flexed to accommodate change? Could this be your family, just by changing the names and tweaking the menu, the flowers, the place?
And this just speaks to those of us who were physically there. It doesn’t include everyone else who joined us - either through the objects around us, or the conversations that raised them up, their pictures (readily shared) on our cellphones, or the children they live on in.
Only a home that has been lived for a long time in can conjure up all the children who have run through its rooms and yard, or yelled about a toy, or wanted a ride in a wagon. Those things still happen, but now it is other children - the children (or grandchildren or great-grandchildren of some of that first group).
The fathers who raised these children…the ones who originally roofed the house and built the studio. They live on as well. Luke moves certain ways and Annie and I turn to each other and say “TODD.” We are all draped in chairs underneath the shade of an apple tree that was planted ten years ago when John R passed and a “weed-tree” that John L brought back from Le-Cache. The cycle of planting continues as John F digs up plants to take to his yard. Otis joyously runs bases around the yard in the midst of all of us. Four generations right there.
And those flowers? The peonies remind me of my grandmother Marie’s backyard…planted all along the back fence. The yellow Iris are from that same yard. Dug up in Royal Oak, planted on 44th street at the house of blue steps. Dug up again and brought to Bay View. How many times they have been split and shared - I can't remember. Same with the hosta from my Mom. And the daisies? How many times have I heard my mother in law sing, “I’ll give you a daisy a day dear…” this woman who now struggles to remember each of our names.
....We chase the melodies that seem to find us until they're finished songs and start to play.
When senseless acts of tragedy remind us that nothing here is promised. Not one day.
This show is proof that history remembers
we live through times when hate and fear seem stronger.
We rise and fall and light from dying embers.
Remembrances that hope and love last longer.
And love is love is love is love is love is love cannot be killed or swept aside.
from Lin-Manuel Miranda's acceptance speech at the 2016 Tony Awards.
