Campari blues

It's cooler today so I waited until 3 o'clock to go for my walk. I like walking in the heat—it's the CA in me— and the thermometer on the porch said just 72. Too cool, I thought, but once down the hill and into the sun it was hot and I wasn't dressed for it. Still, I did two loops, uphill and down without breaking stride, and made it home, sweaty but content. I quickly changed into an airy caftan, poured myself a double campari and soda, and now it and I are here on the porch with you.

And what a week we've had. I was apprehensive about the convention. Would the Dems blow it? Would it work? Could I stand two hours of it? Yes I could. I stuck with it and came back Tuesday, and I loved the visual trip around the U.S. as the states voted. America is a glorious richness, lovely and diverse, and the trip was fun, occasionally corny, often moving, and I hope they never go back to yelling in a crowded hall.

Sadly, early Wednesday morning I learned of the death of an old and dear friend who died suddenly in her sleep, cause unknown; no signs of Covid. It was shocking in the way few things are. Beverly's death brought me down from Tuesday's high with a thump. What's next?

As I've written before, I decided to use this "pause" to dig deeper into whatever confronted me. One of those things was black lives. So I'm reading Caste, Isabel Wilkerson's beautifully written book about caste in America. I'll have more to say when I've finished it, but already I know everyone should read it.

The contrast between what this book has already shown me and Tuesday's happy tour is hard to rectify, though both exist in the same space. I am ashamed at what our country has done for centuries, and more ashamed that I never knew how bad it was. I saw the movies; I read what books came my way. But why didn't I know all of it? Why weren't we taught it?

My regret adds to the exhaustion I know we're all feeling: the drama that never stops, the loss of over 180,000 souls, the virus and its vexing appendages, the angst and boredom. Can we worry and be bored at the same time? Yes we can. This is hard, but we've all done hard and I know we'll get though it. Life doesn't come with a happiness guarantee, but it does come with a chance to love, grow, and learn. And the virus, I'm convinced, is a lesson, forcing us to wake up and see the real. Even when it's ugly.

May we all learn quickly and move on to happier days. Campari anyone?