When you want off the ride

God gives out refunds

May 31, 2022

On Wednesday last week, the morning after we were wrecked by the shooting of 19 schoolchildren and their two teachers in Texas, I was pissed off at some trees. I took the dogs on a walk, and I saw new shoots of leaves growing out of post-winter bark, and I was offended. Normally in May, I’m blessing and petting each sign of life, thanking nature for waking up again. For waking me up. But on Wednesday, I thought, the audacity of things to keep growing, to not even pause in shock, in horror. The trees act like nothing happened at all.

A part of me wishes there was a threshold at which the earth finds something so broken, so evil, that everything good stops, takes notice, mourns, and is then changed, tattooed by the tragedy. I want the earth to show the scars its people wear. I want the damn trees to weep with those who weep.

Oddly, it started raining that day. Five days later, it hasn’t stopped.

I realize now that while nature might continue on in the face of our human disasters, stubbornly refusing to slow its pace of flowering and blooming, cooing her dove-notes, and acting like nothing’s wrong, something different happens in our collective emotional landscape.

It’s like God has gloved hands on a giant bronze lever, and he pulls the whole ride to a gradual halt. He knows when we all want off. He knows when we’re spun out and sick from going in circles.

Lately I’ve been having some typical teen/parent conflict in my house, and I keep preparing speeches in my head. I’m carelessly trading sleep for worry, overthinking like a pro, and mapping and remapping my parenting plays like I might come up with something new. But after Tuesday - Tuesday was the turning point - I realized I’m not planning a funeral for my kid. And that made me want to throw all my notecards in the fire. I don’t want to give the speeches. I want off the ride, to hug my kids on level ground.

Work’s pulled at me this month too. I lost some clients, one job got delayed, and I am not sure what income I’ll have three months from now. It’s such a long, ordinary list of woes I have related to money. Such a boring story of single motherhood and the lingering regret from having supported a partner’s career for decades only to then be left without a career of one’s own. But again, Tuesday made me forget what it all means. I lost vocabulary for my temporary insecurities. I want off the ride, to ground myself in something immovable.

I don’t have a personal anecdote about social media. I just want off the ride. It’s really the first thing to go when lesser priorities start to fall off, isn’t it? We could all reset quite well, quite comfortably, if social media disappeared in a blink. We may even be better off. I don’t know. But that ride eventually makes most of us queasy, let’s be honest.

Tragedy strikes, and God, in his compassion, brings us to a slow, contemplative stop. This week, I watched many of us amble off the carousel, dizzied, stumbling, blinking, reorienting. We can’t keep going in circles. We can’t keep doing the same things. If you happened to stop at the ticket booth, and if you were mad enough to demand your money back because whatever ride you were on wasn’t at all what you hoped, then I know you saw God in coveralls and a baseball cap behind the screen. His eyes were shining a teary relief, and he was giving refunds to whomever wanted one, all of us with sour stomachs.

He was saying things like, “It’s so good to see you,” and, “I’ve been calling your name from the railing. Did you hear me?” “What are you doing later? My shift ends at 10.”

We can change our minds and our priorities.

We can tear up the speeches.

We can write new speeches.

We can give speeches without words.

We can stop fighting the same fights.

We can instead hang out with Love in coveralls, the one who’s always getting his hands dirty because he’s overly involved. He keeps asking hard questions.

We can admit we made a mistake - missed the point for a while - and get our money back to spend on something better.

We can let the trees tell us that goodness will never, ever stop blossoming. The darkest of evils won’t stop the rhythms of Love, because his hands are moving ever gear and star, tending every tulip and tide. Some wheels in the cosmos will never stop turning because their mechanics declare his faithfulness.

From time to time, we may get spun out on things that don’t really matter. But Love never stops calling our name at the railing. Waving, trying to catch our attention. Love simply wants to show us all the cool places we’ve never been.

make this.

Coq Au Vin Blanc (Chicken in white wine)

Despite the fancy name, this is the easiest, tasty, impressive dinner I can think of. I forgot about it for a while, but then my 16-year-old made it by himself, and I thought, dang, this is a winner-winner-chicken-dinner. In my opinion, it’s hard to make chicken interesting, but this recipe does just that. If you or someone you are serving chooses not to consume alcohol, this isn’t the recipe for you. The alcohol cooks off, of course, but the flavor of wine is central to the dish. And bonus! It is a one-pot meal, meaning fewer things to clean.

Ingredients

6 boneless, skinless chicken thighs

2-3 leeks, white parts sliced into thin rounds

1/2 pound bacon

2 garlic cloves, minced

16 oz pkg mushrooms (baby bellas/cremini or assorted), washed & torn

1/2 bottle white wine

Step 1:

In a heavy pot, such as a medium sized Dutch oven, cook down the bacon for about 10 minutes. Meanwhile, soak the leek slices in a bowl of water for a few to rinse any dirt from them. Drain the leeks, then add the them, the garlic, and the mushrooms to the bacon in the pot, and cook for another 5 minutes, stirring.

Step 2:

Add chicken thighs, salt and pepper. Pour in the half bottle of white wine. If the liquid doesn’t mostly cover the chicken, add a bit of chicken stock or water. Bring to a boil. Cover, and simmer for 45 min, occasionally breaking up the chicken with a wooden spoon.

Step 3:

This is a serve-in-a-bowl dish. Ladle a few chicken pieces and veggies into a wide bowl, and then ladle some more of the broth over it. Add a crusty slice of good bread, a side salad, and pretend you’re in France. Voila!

do this.

Summer List 2022

Making an annual Summer List is a tradition we carried on for years; my kids and I loved it. While it couldn’t be simpler, it provided so much goodness in our lives. Each year, toward the end of May or in the beginning of June, we’d go to the store and buy a big piece of white poster board. Then, we’d sit down and do a serious brainstorm of things we wanted to do over the summer. Big things, little things, silly things, ordinary things — all of it went on the list, with a check box in front of each item.

I found a photo I took of our Summer List from 2012. We had a trip to Hawaii planned that year, so that went on the list. But then we added things like make cupcakes and hold an X-box tournament. We wanted to watch the movie Indiana Jones, celebrate the dog’s birthday, and help a non-profit called Project Hope. And we wanted to go night swimming at the neighborhood pool.

For those of you like me, don’t let the brainstorm get tangled with things that burden you. The Summer List is not to include tasks that need doing. Don’t put down “Clean out the garage” or “Go to the dentist.” It’s only for things that bring joy, that bring life. Dreams and wishes. See: Muppet Marathon.

You certainly don’t need kids (or anyone else) to help make a Summer List, in case you thought you didn’t qualify. What are your dreams for the summer? Your desires? What can you wish for, big and small? What’s that one restaurant you’ve been meaning to try, or that book you want to read? What do you want to learn, what feels luxurious to you? Buy a pint of Rocky Road. Plant some sunflowers. Send postcards of your own town to your out of state friends. Sow happiness. Reap joy.

And most importantly, don’t shoot for perfection. The thing to know about our Summer Lists is that every year, come September, some boxes were left unchecked. On a good year, we’d check off two-thirds of our list. So the point was never completion; it was dreaming. The Summer List gave us a visual, set us on a trajectory toward good things ahead.

I think we all need some visuals of goodness ahead, don’t we? Fill out that list and then hang it somewhere central. You can even tie a pen to a string, ready for making those Xs as you check things off.

What the Summer List will cost you totals about $1.50 for the poster board, a little bit of time, and the courage to hope. You may feel hope-spent lately. I feel that. But start small. A tub of Rocky Road might be the first domino you need.

If you make a Summer List, please post and tag me @leslie.trovato. I’d love to see it!

I hope you can hope for goodness this summer. I’m getting there. I want to make a list for myself. Grow Strawberries. Walk to the coffee shop. Play tennis. I used to love tennis. I haven’t played in years, and I don’t even have the right shoes. But I want to play tennis.

If you do attempt to look forward to good things, you’ll be forced to hold both the tragic and the good in life, since we are surrounded by both, and that’s quite hard to do.

But we do have two hands. We have two.

You're not alone.

You are the beloved.

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