Love and Fear, Kiwi and Yankee Style

A letter to my sister.

Hi Tam:

Today New Zealand voted for love, 77 to 44 in favour of same sex marriage.  Today America voted for violence, 54 to 46, against background checks for those wishing to buy guns.  In New Zealand the gallery spontaneously erupted into a traditional Maori love song.  In the US Senate gallery there were calls of 'Shame on you!' as the vote was counted.  To me that about sums it up.  The US has lost its mind.  Some American said something about how the rest of the world looked at the US with bewilderment - how it seemed quite crazy, this fascination with guns and gun culture.  He or she was right.  Can't speak for the rest of the world but here in Australia, the US appears as though it's gone collectively off its rocker.  Madness twinned with paranoia fueled by testosterone and steroids.  Hate fueled by fear.  Why so frightened?  What is everyone afraid of?  Retribution? 
When Martin Bryant shot and killed 35 people and injured 21 others at Port Arthur in Tasmania the then conservative government was galvanized into action.  In order to own a gun you had to have a license.  Hundreds of thousands of guns were surrendered (there was a recent amnesty of unlicensed firearms in which even more guns were surrendered).   The keeping of guns in strictly regulated.  Richard has (licensed) guns which he keeps in a secure padlocked cabinet.  Ammunition is kept separately.  The police have been out to check that he adheres to the regulations.  Richard is very much in favour of gun ownership but accepts with not too much grumbling the way things are in Oz. 
And then of course you get the homegrown loonies like the Boston bomber.  I suspect you are right, Tam and he or she is insane.  There's a grown man up the road.  He's in his 40's and lives with his quiet and unassuming parents.  His dad is a friend of ours.  When this 'boy' gets agitated he gets scary if he's not on his medication.  The neighbour brought Richard his guns for safekeeping when the son was having an episode (over an aged  cat that desperately needed, for humane reasons, to be euth'd).  That's all it takes.  The parents are rightfully frightened of this big burly 'kid' but can't/won't have him committed.  Is the bomber such a person?   There are so many 'mad' people out there.   Mad people that are afraid and therefore find reasons to hate.  Hate comes from fear, don't you think?  You can't hate unless you're afraid.
It's all so sad. 
One of my favourite movies is Love Actually.  I'm sure you've seen it.  During the opening monologue Hugh Grant talks about how when the planes were going down during 9/11, the passengers, knowing they were going to die, rang their loved ones to tell them they loved them.  They didn't ring their enemies to tell them they hated them.  Love is our natural state.  Despite all the madness in the world, I still believe that.

And I love you,
Holly

Wishing the Guilt Away

Was reviewing things I have wished for (with the sudden ownership of three Art Deco Club Chairs years after accepting I would never own one).  Found a notebook with a pretty cover entitled Day Dreams in which I'd started to write a short synopsis of my life, desires and wishes.  (There are many many notebooks with many many beginnings jotted down that never see a finish - a sad statement on my ability to commit).   Several times I wrote that I would like to have a published book, a strange statement because I no longer write.  Finished one novel and got halfway through another before being permanently distracted.  Another thing I keep referring to is the need for solitude.  I am my mother's daughter after all.   Went to a neighbour's 21st last night - didn't want to go, wanted to run home and play with a new drawing instead of making small talk perched on a bale of hay. 
     Yes, a new drawing.  I've felt the need to sketch.  The pastel isn't finished.  Haven't touched it for 2 days.  Feel it's safe to leave it for awhile as I've got a handle on where it might go.  Nevertheless I wanted a doodle.  Something which I could play with without so much at stake.  A pastel seems SERIOUS, while a graphite drawing is more PLAYFUL.  Which illustrates a basic fault in my perception.  There is no reason why a pastel can't be playful.  I know from past experience that seriousness, the thought of consequences (what if it doesn't turn out?) freezes my ability to do anything.
     At least something is being created. 
      Created.  Isn't that a miracle?  Making something from nothing, something which has never existed before and which will never exist again - whether it's a loaf of bread or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.   That need to get something out which was in, even if what's in is only an itch which must be scratched and hasn't got a form as yet beyond the desire to do SOMETHING! 
     I beat myself up (what an odd picture that statement creates!) because I don't do more.  Have to remember that because I sleep so poorly now (a side effect of menopause I suspect) and am often tired, I won't feeling like doing much.  Despite this, when I stand back and look at what I accomplish I actually get quite a bit done.  Guilt is just a natural part of my make-up.  Where did it come from?  I'm not Catholic.  Sure would like to get shot of it.  It's not helpful. 
     Maybe that will be my new wish.  I wish to be free of guilt (not conscience, only guilt).  After all I got a couple of club chairs.