my resistance is living
cece's sensible and human things
I purchased this framed print almost forty years ago at a Pier 1 in Dallas, Texas. It has traveled with me to apartments and houses; through relationships, marriage, children, divorce, single parenthood, and my marriage to Rock. Winnie-the-Pooh and friends sitting down to a meal has been a constant comfort, reminding me of the strength of connections.
Sharing a meal at the table has always been a vital part of who I am. We sat together, the six of us, at our dining room table on Riverview Avenue. Later, I cooked for friends, often scrunched around a little crooked table with mismatched chairs. When my boys were born, I made it a point to have meals together. First we pulled up high chairs, and when they got bigger, we propped them up on pillows so we could all see and talk with one another. I continued after the divorce, still gathering around the tables gifted to me by family and friends.
When I married my new husband I informed him that we would be sitting at the table for dinner. He even bought me a kitchen high top table for Mother’s Day. Now that we are empty nesters and in a new, smaller home, the two of us still sit down for dinner every evening. We put on music, often open a bottle of wine (trying to limit that to weekends these days), and I occasionally light candles. It is what we do, and I am grateful for this ritual, especially these days.
Having traditions and rituals help us connect. They are the glue, offering up continuity and what makes us human. A table is a symbol. It is family. It is community. It is our bond.
As I enter this second full week of November, the shock has subsided. Now I am pondering how to live this life of mine. Or as a wise young woman texted me last week, I want to live so I don’t give these assholes the satisfaction of my sadness. I want to LIVE.
Yes, it will be bad, and if you don’t believe you won’t be touched by it, you are in deep denial. More like quicksand in the firestorms of hell, but I digress. And yes, I am still furious, but I am carefully emerging with a kind of pissed-off hope. Right now that is all I have.
What else?
First, what to avoid:
Wallowing.
Worrying.
Doom-scrolling.
Social media.
Sane-washing news.
What to do?
Keep exercising, moving my body because endorphins help my mind and tender heart.
Sign up to donate blood and volunteer at the food bank.
Continue learning Italian on Duolingo. Salve, amicas.
Return to knitting.
Read, and maybe even tackle a few classics that have remained unread on my shelves. Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston will be the first on the list.
Listen to music, all kinds, but especially bittersweet songs. It is what I need at the moment, melancholy tunes often in minor key.
And yes, I will sit down at the table with friends and family, sharing food and conversation and connections.
Or as CS Lewis wrote, I’m going to keep doing “sensible and human things.”
My resistance is living. I think of myself as an optimistic Eeyore, sad but kind and hopeful. Want to join me?
(I’ve curated a bittersweet playlist on Apple Music. I’ve included the link, and I will include one song/video every post. It may even inspire you to make your own bittersweet playlist. I promise it is therapeutic.)
Christie, I am with you in being so disappointed with the election and all the people who cannot see his true colors. We will get through this. I may permanently lose some friends.