In November, my friend from college baked cranberry bread, and inspired me to do the same. Except I did not bake it until this week. That’s delayed inspiration.
It was a bit time consuming, but there is merit in completing the task of slicing each cranberry in half, in zesting the orange -- you must not skip this, O Best Beloved! -- and in chopping the nuts. Cranberry nut bread requires much prepping of ingredients and following the recipe. No creativity required.
A few days ago, another friend posted this:
Always search for truth.
Show your work and cite your source.
Evidence is key.
And then this:
Facts facts facts facts facts.
Facts facts facts facts facts facts facts,
Facts facts facts facts facts.
My haiku proficiency is inconsistent.
I thought my friend was, in fact, highly proficient, and she inspired me to write my own haiku in appreciation of hers. I labored with the words, and wrote this:
Factual haikus
from my friend hold truth
And banish fake news.
Then another friend gently corrected my haiku’s second line, by writing, “I think you mean ‘from my friend hold the real truth,’ right?”
That’s two instances of inspiration in one week! But not only does my creativity remain diminished, but I have lost my ability to count to seven. That’s haiku deficiency.
(After extensive research, I discovered that the plural of haiku is haiku. One haiku, two haiku, red haiku, blue haiku.)
From these experiences I conclude that my brain is beyond fried. Creativity jumped out the window a while ago, and is lying on the pavement. It’s not clear if it is ever going to come crawling back.
I have much to rejoice about, but angst still tinges everything. Here in Pennsylvania, democracy seems more threatened than ever, and most citizens have turned their attention elsewhere. Who can blame them? We are all exhausted, which is, for some political operatives, the desired outcome. There are complete nuts who have been elected to Congress, and their party supports them wholeheartedly. I see little progress on racial justice. I recently found out that the Senate Russell Building is named after a white supremacist. My grief over my mother’s death is not overwhelming, but always there.
But I did get the car washed. I changed the sheets. I called the legislators. And I made the orange-cranberry-nut bread, finding solace in chopping the cranberries and the nuts.
Let’s all chop the nuts. Therein lies healing.
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| There is also some solace to be found in Peach Schnapps. |
