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Author: Anne Cassidy

Circles

Circles

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In the end it all comes down to circles. I walk to the table, pull out my own pen (superstition? fastidiousness?) and ink in the ovals on the paper ballot.

I move my pen slowly, methodically. In my mind are memories of 2000, hanging chads, holding ballots up to the light. Let there be no questions, no doubts. Just miles from where I live, federal buildings are barricaded, extra police are patrolling.

When I finish, I slide my ballot into the machine. A message reads “Your vote is counted.” In exchange I receive another circle, a sticker to wear. “I voted.”

After all the anxieties and doubts and change of candidates in July. … After scanning the newspaper for months, shielding myself from news I know will make me crazy. … After all the emails and texts asking for money and support. … After all of this, it comes down to this ballot, these circles, this vote. It’s my right as a citizen, and I embrace it fervently. I hope we all do!

Take Back the Dawn

Take Back the Dawn

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For us early morning folk, the time change gives us back our mojo. No longer fumbling in the dark on waking. Now a rim of light glows around the edges of the shade.

I walk down to my office window to find a palette of color. The corals of sunrise and the oranges of autumn make dawns as rosy-fingered as Homer said they were.

I know what’s waiting around the corner. This light will not last. Mornings will grow dark again. But for the moment, I’m reveling in them.

A Martian Morning

A Martian Morning

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Up early, I creep into my office, journal and book in hand. There is homework, committee work, a presentation, two papers. Plenty to do, in other words. But here, in this warm sanctuary, at this apple-green desk, all I want to do is look out the window at the dark sky.

Is that a star? A planet? Some quick googling tells me that it’s Mars, visible in the southern sky before dawn.

As long as I’m looking, I read about the Red Planet. Though its years are almost twice as long as ours, its days are almost exactly the same.

Here on Earth, the days are long but the years are short. On Mars, perhaps we could reverse that — or at least tweak it a bit.

(Photo of Mars courtesy Wikipedia.)

Catch a Falling Leaf

Catch a Falling Leaf

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On a walk this afternoon I spent more time than I intended trying to photograph leaves in flight. So many of them are swirling around that it seems I should be able to capture at least one or two mid-journey.

But either the light isn’t right, or they’re eddying about frantically rather than gently floating to the earth. Just as often, I spy the perfect slow-descending leaf but by the time I pull out my camera, it’s too late.

It’s a delicate business, like capturing a single snowflake or the down of a thistle. Perhaps it’s best left to chance.

Trick or Treat?

Trick or Treat?

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The candy bowl will be full when little ghosts and goblins stop by tonight … if they stop by. The number of trick-or-treaters waxes and wanes depending upon weather, the age of neighboring kids, and the timing of the neighborhood Halloween party.

This year, that was held last Sunday. Long enough ago that the treats distributed might have already been consumed. Long enough ago that they’ll need replenishing.

Let’s hope they will. I would hate to have to eat them myself.

Just a Bit

Just a Bit

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A class assignment has me remembering the trip I took to Bangladesh in August 2017. For more than two weeks I traveled around the country interviewing people, soaking up the atmosphere — and sometimes the mud, too. It was just an introduction to this marvelous country but I was so impressed.

I met men who were trafficked and returned home to start a business — so they wouldn’t be tempted to leave the country for work again. A woman who became a leader in her community, sharing new agricultural techniques, helping her family and her village improve their standard of living. People who had lost homes in a cyclone and were rebuilding the mangrove forests that protected them from tidal surges.

Everywhere we went — and we covered much of the country — there were people making the most of challenging circumstances. They were a resilient bunch, philosophical and open-hearted.

Now I want to share just a bit of what I learned. The “just a bit” … that’s the challenge.

Celebrating Chocolate!

Celebrating Chocolate!

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Luckily, I heard it was National Chocolate Day before yesterday ended. But I didn’t hear about it before writing yesterday’s post. So this tribute is one day late — but just as fervent.

As it turns out, it was the radio that gave me the news. I was on my way home from the grocery store — with five dark chocolate bars and three bags of chocolate Halloween candy (in case there are leftovers).

Chocolate: where do I start? That it makes every day a little bit better. That it is a tonic, an anti-depressive, a panacea. That it is the perfect mingling of sweetness and fullness on the tongue.

Luckily, I had some of my current favorites on hand to celebrate last night, a knock-off brand of M&M’s. Which means I consumed chocolate with a thin candy shell, perfect for portion control. Because if there’s one thing I know about chocolate, it’s that you must control it … or it will control you.

Counterclockwise

Counterclockwise

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When I reached the loop trail yesterday, I went right instead of left. I thought I would walk farther, cross the road, stride all the way to the end. But that proved impractical. No matter, though. I had set the course. I would be walking counterclockwise. Everyone I passed was going the other way.

It felt fresher than I thought it would, fleshing out the flip side of a familiar trail. The low light touched the treetops in new ways. The path curved in all the wrong places. The woods spread out on either side, limitless in their lack of familiarity.

Why don’t I do this more often, choose the road less traveled? Is it habit, or a need to keep one way fresh? The second one, I think. So next time, it will be clockwise again.

Beside the Point

Beside the Point

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I remember an acquaintance years ago, a fellow journalist, who laughed about how he was working his way down the masthead. He had been the editor of a magazine I once wrote for, but that magazine folded, as beautiful magazines inevitably do. He did well for himself later, but there was some irony in his career progression.

I don’t have quite the same story, but I find it amusing that I once wrote for pay, and now I pay to write. Not always, only when I write academic papers. And I don’t pay much. The classes are made possible by a tuition benefit that’s made possible by an editorial job I held for ten years.

Less irony, then, but the point is similar. For many who do what I do, the money and the position don’t matter. It’s the writing itself. Look at it on paper, examine the bottom line, and it makes no sense. But that’s beside the point.

Long Shadows

Long Shadows

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Yesterday’s walk was exquisite: bright sun, temperature in the 70s, leaves a perfect mix of green and gold with an occasional orange or russet in the mix. I found myself looking up most of the time.

I also noticed more shade than usual. At first I thought it was further proof of tree maturity, how the oaks and poplars bend toward each other, making a tunnel above the road. But a closer look showed me that tree tunnels weren’t creating this extra shade, it was individual trees casting long shadows.

This might seem a “duh” observation. It’s that time of year, after all. The light is lowering; shadows are lengthening. What struck me yesterday, though, is how nature makes dying beautiful. Because these mellow October afternoons don’t fool me for a minute. I know where they’re taking us. But maybe, just maybe, that isn’t such a bad place after all.