December 7, 2014
A Day that Will Live…
She, downstairs, unable to sleep. I, upstairs, awake, with an injured knee. We meet, with surprise, on the stairway, stumbling in our own world’s worry. A 3 AM reunion of the elderly. We feel the end in our bodies, in our bones, as we embrace, grateful that we are here, now, together in the darkness.
December 7, 1941
The searing memories of December 7, 1941 fade into the black-and-white of history, as most of those who lived it are gone from us. But the aftershocks still pulse. My father was drafted into the army after December 7, 1941, and my mother moved to Washington DC to work in the war effort, where she met my father. Seventy-three years later, Sharon and I, serendipitous progeny of that fateful day, embrace in the darkness…
While just off camera:
This year is one if the hottest years on record in the hottest decade on record. 30% of coral reefs, home to 25% of ocean life and the densest area of biodiversity on the planet, have died in the last 30 years, and 90% will be gone in 50 years. Wildfires have grown exponentially in magnitude and frequency in the past 30 years. Monster storms and extreme weather events are now commonplace. Over 18 million acres of forest are lost every year; an area about the size of South Carolina. Ice at the poles is melting much faster than previously thought— the Arctic Ocean will be ice free in about 20 years, and in Antarctica, a huge ice shelf, the size of a Delaware and 700 feet thick, has calved into the sea. Oceans will rise 2-5 feet in next 50 years flooding many major coastal cities, from New York and Miami to Shanghai and Hong Kong, from Osaka and Alexandria to Rio de Janeiro and The Hague. A number of island nations will be underwater. The oceans’ temperature, oxygen depletion and acidification are increasing exponentially, destroying ocean ecosystems, changing weather patterns, increasing sea levels and contributing to human famine. Intense drought has increased world-wide, denuding forests, destroying agriculture, and initiating mass human migration. Underground aquifers, which took thousands of years to create and that supply 35% of world’s population with water, are being drained. Glacier National Park is a misnomer, and the great glaciers of the high Asia mountains, the water source for millions of people, will diminish by over 50% in the next century. We are in the midst of earth’s 6th extinction crisis, called the Anthropocene period, named for the single species responsible for this mass destruction of life: us.
Shoes on the floor where they were tossed after yesterday’s walk. The frig, with the tomatoes, special lettuce, mushrooms, beets and milk for the day’s meal. The radio, tuned to NPR, for the morning chat. Porch chairs askew, as they were left after we spent the evening reading. Laundry basket, checkbook, a pile of unopened mail; desk clutter, yesterday’s newspaper, phone charger, to-do list and purse on the counter. TV clicker on the couch, half completed crossword, grocery list, opened book with bookmark, pills to be taken. The pillow with the impress of where she laid her head. Habits, routines and concerns of daily life leave behind a trail of our presence; the intimacy of the mundane, overlooked in our headlong rush through our days…into the night.
in the sand
I swim for exercise several times a week, and undergo a species transformation. Vertical to horizontal, gravity-bound to weightless, a lumbering biped becomes an aquatic mammal. Immersed, massaged, chilled, my entire body tingles from the supporting surround of water. As I ‘crawl’ along, head swinging from down to up, my vision turns from watery shimmer to sunlit solidity…and back. Embedded in this frolic in an alternative universe resides a thorn. Lose a breath, sense the remoteness of landed safety, gulp the aquatic environ, and a stab of fright reminds me that my shape-shifting self is not untethered. I must breathe. The water that supports can also kill. Whether in the pool, the page or the mind, we can gain blessed respite from our fate, but we cannot be rescued. I swim, I sing this joyous panic.
weightless in the surge