What Would Mr. Rogers Do?

When the unthinkable becomes our everyday thought, when cruelty is applauded and kindness mocked, when a little sniffle of wrongdoing explodes into an epidemic of uncommon indecency, where can we turn for a little teaspoon of solace? Who will remind us that we are gifted with life so we can learn to love and laugh and light the way for each other? 

 

This poem by Emilie Lygren offers the spoonful of sugar that helps the healing medicine go down. With just a slight taste of bitterness that we have allowed ourselves to forget what really matters. Come take off your shoes and put your feet in the water where Mr. Rogers can wash them:

 

“Mr. Rogers, what would you say to us now?

I miss your soft voice and slow smile.

 

Somehow you would remind us of what it means to share a neighborhood—

How our breath travels farther than we think,

but so can our care. 

 

You would’ve made the puppets of tiny cloth masks,

Had them ask all the questions children need to ask like, 

‘Why?’ and ‘How Long?’ and “Can’t we…?’

Let Daniel Tiger feel sad and antsy, itchy under the ear

  straps.

 

You would have explained it all patiently and thruthfully:

   ‘ No, we don’t know how long.’

    ‘ Yes, it’s okay to feel afraid.’ 

    ‘ This is how we care for everyone right now.’

 

Maybe the adults would have listened, too.”

Flowers and Thorns

The calendar page has turned yet again and here I still am, scribbling on the sands of Time on this daily blog. Doesn’t matter much what I say, either to me or the reader. Simply a daily reminder that I’m here and this is what I notice, this is what I’m doing, this is what I’m feeling. All of it means nothing and everything at the same time. 

 

At this moment, the beach I’m walking on is strewn with stranded starfish, some 15 or 20 waiting to be returned to their element. So on my “to-do list” is figuring out how to pick each up and get it back into the water. Which sounds easy, but almost every one involves a discussion with someone who has misunderstood our conversations and blocked the way to the ocean. Conflicted understandings of hotel arrangements for the summer course, clarifications with book dealers, confused expectations with workshop hosts, unanswered e-mails, the maddening financial discussions with voice-mail-robots of mega-corporations— a veritable wall to be climbed over, walked around or knocked down. The simplest tasks made so much more complex than need be with QR codes and security codes and the 35 voice mail options and people more and more incapable of clear conversation and handshake agreements— the whole catastrophe and increasing absurdities of modern life. Not to mention the daily news of tsunami warnings that has us all on edge. Maybe I really should retire and choose to make my biggest challenge of the day reserving a pickleball court. 

 

But the quote on my March calendar insists that it’s up to me to choose flowers or thorns and yes, up to a point, I think that’s true. So after wisely beginning the day with this daily check-in, my little footprints in the sand, a deep breath and on I go to meet each of the little monsters one by one. 

 

Wish me luck!