Riding High on Hope
Here are eight things that give me hope:
- I went in the garage this afternoon and saw my bike in all its clunky silver and pink glory locked to the door of an old refrigerator and it made me feel like I did when I was a kid and took a can of spray paint to my old Schwinn every spring.
- Donald Trump is going to be the Republican nominee and no Republican big shot wants to be seen with him (excepting Chris Christie who is still hoping the bully will give him some candy and Ben Carson who just is the world’s biggest puzzle of a person).
- Hillary Clinton is probably going to be the next President of the United States despite a dozen missteps in the past few weeks. Bless her for her flaws, though, and thank goodness for her brains and heart. It’s her time (at last) which also means that it’s our time (at last). Unbelievable for us who came up when Under My Thumb was an actual song sung by the world’s leading rock and roll band.
- I am less and less concerned about going places and doing things on my own, this hesitation having grown in the years of my most acute hearing loss and abating with my cochlear implant. I think my solo road trip to Dayton broke a little wee barrier for me so now I think I could drive across the country if I wanted to. Or walk across, I think of that, too. You know, it could be done. Doesn’t mean I want to do it right this minute but I could, you know?
- The City of Milwaukee planted our new tree. Last fall, when the forester told us that they were cutting our 70-year old tree down, he said I’d like having a new tree because “it’s like having a puppy.” It has little branches and buds and is the poster child for hope.
- I am liberated by reading instructions from Mary Oliver that poetry is about how words sound, how they look on a page. I know there are many other secrets beyond the great economy of words and their beauty arranged on a page and in my head but I’m happy with those two. It gives me the tiniest green light.
- This year could be different on the garden front. It might not begin great and end eight weeks later with the usual wild nightmare of gargantuan zucchini plants waving their leaves like plates in the wind and swallowing the pepper plants whole. The hope is fleeting but it’s real.
- There are several brave and valiant people I know who are unwittingly showing me how to be brave and valiant when it’s my turn. I hope to remember their example and pass it on.
There’s no world peace on my hope list. I’m more pragmatic than that. Call me the Hillary Clinton of hope. A bike in the sky, no pie.
Written in response to The Daily Post prompt: Hope