Posts tagged ‘Life Preservers’
What We Carry
This week as I watched a news interview with a mother remembering her fireman son . . . when I saw pictures of the Tribute in Light . . . as I see again the unaging snapshots . . . it all comes rushing back. The images we all know from September 11, 2001, have been playing through my mind, one after another, in that unforgettable, gut-wrenching slide show, on repeat.
The same images have played and re-played in my brain on each anniversary, but, this year, over the past few days, I began to notice that an extra image kept popping in. It was an unrelated event. It had nothing to do with that day. And it caught me off guard. It seemed such a random and peculiar thing that I wondered about the function of my 25-years-older brain—until I sat with it for a bit.
The anomalous image was a bunch of people, outdoors at night, crowded around a cylindrical yellow cage. It was the Quecreek Mine rescue.
Quecreek happened in July 2002, ten months after 9/11. I remember hearing about the miners trapped underground. The news was bad. And the complications of time and earth and water and breathing so complex that success seemed impossible.
I checked the news every day, and, on that last evening, I watched it all, curled on the couch, holding my breath, trying to hope. I watched every moment, until 2:45 a.m., when each man was finally, amazingly above ground. And I kept watching as I cried with happiness and sobbed in delirious relief.
People were found. Everybody was rescued. Hard work and ingenuity and patience and optimism were enough that day. The efforts of rescuers, some old-fashioned luck, and a 22-inch-wide rescue capsule lifted us all.
I’m not saying that Quecreek’s happy ending was a remedy for 9/11 (nothing ever could or will), but it was a miraculous moment in a dismal year. And it was a reminder that even though there are times when our most desperate hopes fail us, it’s important to know that our worst imaginings are not prophecy.
We cannot change the past. We cannot un-know what we know of September 11, 2001. We are its witnesses. And we will carry that day with us throughout our lives. Yes, there will be days when the weight of it will throw us off balance. But, today and every day, we get to choose our own ballast.
We get to choose what else we carry.
We can cling to despair and anger and hate. Or we can stuff our pockets full with courage and compassion and joy. We can be exceedingly horrible to one another or we can be outrageously kind. We can look away with fear or look life in the eye with love.
Despite evidence of very bad things, we can still be good humans. Despite it all, optimism is still an option.
For the Love of Seuss
I generally try to avoid conflict on my blog, but I am compelled to say something about a favorite life preserver (books) and the recent uproar over Dr. Seuss. It is a timely and rather ironic example of poor communication habits and the gigantic barfnozzle of social media. Here are some pieces of the actual story:
- The decision was made to remove some books from publication. Not all books. Probably not your favorites.
- The decision was made by Dr. Seuss Enterprises, a company founded by Dr. Seuss’ family to protect his legacy and preserve his memory.
- After months of discussion, which included feedback from parents and teachers, the company decided to remove 6 books from publication: (1) To Think I Saw It on Mulberry Street, (2) If I Ran the Zoo, (3) McElligot’s Pool, (4) On Beyond Zebra!, (5) Scrambled Eggs Super!, and (6) The Cat’s Quizzer.
- The decisions were made primarily based on outdated imagery. Examine the stories for yourself. I suspect that, if you are a decent Whovian and you had been on the panel—with an eye to protecting his memory as well as the hearts of those he wrote for—you would support the decisions.
So here we are. The company in charge of Dr. Seuss books, with much thought and good intent, made some changes to keep up with the progress that society has made in the past 80 years. But, someone took a nugget of that news and twisted it into an attack on Dr. Seuss (which it is not); people started making memes that the famous Cat had been removed (which he has not); some even tried to politicize it (ya crazy conspiratinkers), and boom. Within moments people were blowing their floofloovers and banging their tartookas over click bait.
The passion to protect Dr. Seuss may be genuine, but it is misguided. Dr. Seuss is fine. (Well, you know, he’s dead, but his fame remains.) His books are beloved. His lessons are positive. His imagination is inspiring. Maybe not every single phrase or illustration will stand the test of time, but that’s okay. I suspect that, if he could, he would do a bit of editing himself.
Change isn’t always bad. Sometimes change comes about from people trying to do the right thing. And memes are never the whole story. If you see news that seems really outrageous, step back from the blindly enthusiastic domino clicking of likes and shares. Take a moment. Take a breath. And embrace the things that Dr. Seuss taught us, like optimism, respect for others, open-mindedness, love, the importance of reading, and the perils of entertaining ideas from crazy strangers.
Keep Your Hands Clean
Don’t let these odd times damage your point of view. There are lots of good people out there. There are people trying to figure out COVID-19. There are people trying to manage policies and next steps. There are people concerned about their loved ones. And we are all human, each and every one.
Yes, some people will horde. Some people will try to take advantage. Some people will do anything for profit. But remember that acts of craziness get attention—because they shock and surprise, because they are not normal.
One thought: Manufacturing and distribution systems (and employee shifts for shelf-stocking) run on data from normal, everyday shopping habits, not the habits of people who were all told at the same time that they have to stay home for two weeks. Changes in group behaviors, even when we are trying to do our best, can be misinterpreted or misrepresented.
Look at your family. Look at your neighbors and friends. You are good people.
I believe that most people are good. I believe people want to help. I believe that human beings, as a vast majority, are brave and funny and kind.
Here is one example. Last night, KDKA news showcased Rocco’s Pizzeria in Youngwood, PA. They are making and giving away free lunches for kids. The owner, Rocco Pifferetti, says he promises to do it for two weeks, longer if he can. (The Trib Live website is keeping a list of other restaurants doing the same.)
I suspect that donations to these wonderful humans would be welcome.
Crisis situations are going to provide an interesting view of the world. Remember to look through your own eyes. Keep your head. Keep your heart. And keep your hands clean.
St. Patrick’s Day, 2020
With a last name like Schmidt, you probably wouldn’t expect me to be Irish, but my mother was Irish. We have always celebrated St. Patrick’s Day, and, in the past 10 years or so, the annual gathering included me, my mom and dad, and my uncle and aunt (Mom’s also-Irish sister). We’d all wear green, put on leprechaun hats, and cook up something like shepherd’s pie or corned beef. Then we’d sing some special songs and raise a glass to our Irish relations and ancestors. The mixture of tradition and shenanigans made it one of my favorite days of the year.
As happens in life, sometimes you do a thing, and you don’t know that you are doing it for the last time. I celebrated St. Patrick’s Day with Mom on March 17, 2019. In July, she passed away.
In January of this year, I saw an advertisement that the traditional Irish band The Chieftains was going to be in Pittsburgh in March. I cannot claim to be an expert, but I have an album or two that I like. It was called a good-bye tour, so I thought it might be my last chance to see them. And I thought of St. Patrick’s Day and how March was going to be a tough milestone. And, in that moment of jumbled sentiment, I bought tickets.
When the day of the concert arrived (March 9), I considered whether I should go. I had some concerns about germs. I had greater concerns about a previous occasion when I bought tickets to a (potentially) similar performance that turned out to be excruciating. And, beneath it all, I was experiencing the inertia that often threatens to overwhelm me these days when I anticipate going anywhere that requires makeup, bra, and shoes.
But I’d paid for the ticket and invited a friend, so I went. I went expecting to see three old Irish guys sitting on a stage with a flute, a tin whistle, and a drum.
The three guys were there all right (and they are phenomenal), but they were not alone on stage. There were also tap dancers, Irish step dancers, and The Pilatzke Brothers (a mix of Irish step, tap, crazy legs, and boyish abandon). There was a pipes and drum band. There were singers. There were fiddle players, a harpist, a guitar and accordion player, and, for the second half of the concert, the Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra.
Talk about your bells and whistles. It was quite an extravaganza and one of the best musical shows I have ever seen/heard anywhere. All the adjectives feel trite, but it was superb, inspiring, moving, wondrous, magical.
There were jigs and good humor a’plenty. There was laughing, toe-tapping, and clapping. There were also ballads. Oh the ballads. When they played the sweeping melodies of the slow songs—haunting, beautiful, magnificent—I was done in. Had I been alone, I would have wept. Not for grief or longing or sadness or regret (although there was a bit of all of that). Not for joy or beauty or love (although there was a bit of all of that).
I wanted to weep for being.
It’s not the prettiest of analogies, but: If you ever had an old furnace with a re-usable metal filter and if you ever removed that filter and took it outside and turned the hose on full blast and blew all the gunk away . . . and in the end, the filter is sunlight-glinting clean and it can function again . . . it was kind of like that.
Live music, when it’s really good, it’s physical. It creates and transfers an energy, like an ancient Ley line from performer to audience, that vibrates every cell. It lifted me. It carried me. It was metamorphic.
We humans need music. We need music like we need air and water. (It’s a life preserver.)
So, this St. Patrick’s Day, take in some music. Blast your stereo, buy the tickets, support some local musicians, or just encourage your descendants to sing and play and stomp their feet.
To Rebecca Douglas, my great, great, great grandmother; to the Crokers and the Yochums and the McNallys; to the Maloneys; to the Daughertys. To Aunt Mitz. To Mom.
To you all, Sláinte.
Video: One of the Chieftains (Matt Molloy) playing Easter Snow.
Life Preservers 