Lives

One of my favorite publications is the New York Times' annual "The Lives They Lived" edition.
It has really evolved from its origins some 10 years or-so ago; now recounting some lives in graphic novel format, others in simple illustrations, and even including the unfamous: this year's examples being the community of Paradise Park, N.J., decimated by Hurricane Sandy, and the sad tale of Najiba, an Afghani woman martyred by backward Afghan men.
I came away from this year's issue, partly devoured early on Sunday morning when I could not sleep, with these keepers: (All quoted from the Times.)
From Susan Jeffers: "We live in a society that teaches us to grasp for control, total control of everything. But perhaps the grasping only makes things worse." Susan wrote "Feel the Fear and Do It Anyway" and "Embracing Uncertainty."
From Erica Kennedy: "What does having it all mean? Does it mean having some fancy title, executive perks, making a lot of money, having your book on the New York Times best-seller list? Or does it mean waking up and looking forward to your day, whatever you make of it?" Erica  was an author who wrote "Bling" and "Feminista."
From Kitty Wells: "Sometimes maximum impact requires minimum drama." Kitty was a country music singer who wrote "It wasn't God who made honky tonk angels."
One of the bittersweet emotions that wells up upon reading the obituaries of strangers is the great sadness of not having known them, or known of them. Only now that they are gone do I know anything about Susan, Erica, Kitty, Najiba, Paradise Park and the people who made it so.
Thank you for your stories. And for your lives.
Love, Katy

The Snowflake Confluence

Just as I decide, two days before the winter solstice, to abandon my unreliable 36 Banksville bus -- which comes in the evening rarely on time, usually 20 minutes late, occasionally early; in sum total, totally unreliable -- and decide to cast my fate to the slightly more reliable light rail line, entailing a 1.3 mile walk home at the end of the ride, but Christ, at least the schedule is somewhat more dependable, because the train is on a track, so things have to keep moving -- it starts to snow.

And that's fine, because this was a snippy snow, wet and sharp, staying around only long enough to make night sidewalks icy. But does it have to pelt my face no matter which direction I turn? Does the wind shift the fricking flakes to torment me as I turn from main road to sidewalk? Well of course it does. It's dark. I'm walking home, into the teeth of the storm.

It's just that I can't remember the last time I stood and looked up into the sky and watched the snowflakes fall from under the constellations. Just quiet and peaceful.

Now I lay me down to sleep

I'm not familiar with the Book of Common Prayer, except to know that it is part of the Anglican and Episcopal liturgy.
Whatever the book contains, the title seems to me extraordinarily comforting; a reminder of the humbleness of daily life, no matter what its trappings.
Today, I ran errands that had me in the midst of holiday crowds. Some people were pleasant, some were pushy and I wondered, amidst the bustle, what we would all be like if our immediate world suddenly descended to chaos. Would any of us be true to our public personas?
And then I thought, the lucky ones never have to know the answer to that question.
Are they lucky? Or just blind longer than others?
I wish it was not a question that has to be asked.