Not Living in a Bubble (17)

July 1st
My eyes glaze over most items in the news. Even the days when reading an actual printed newspaper was a thing to do, I skimmed the front page and went directly to the crossword puzzle. Keeping up with the news might have allowed me to speak with authority on the world at large, and sound smart, but it was finishing the puzzle that made me feel smart. My focus on what is important in life reflects my sheltered, self-centered existence for sure. So caught up in the dramatic election and presidency of the Trump era, I did expand my pseudo-fascination with politics to reading the daily New York Times e-newsletter. The Times seems to share my slant on the outrageous events that took over our country and I felt like it was my job as a citizen to keep up with what was going on, not that I could make a difference. My vote for Hillary certainly didn't. This presidency, like all the rest before and after will enter the history books (or the cloud) and be remembered as it will. More determined people than me, such as Ricky and Barbara, may help this country recover, one voice at a time. I thank them as I would thank a doctor for helping people recover, one body at a time. The world needs passionate experts. Listening to the ridiculously funny remarks of the hosts and late night geniuses on television does help make the ridiculous so much more than just a joke and adds fuel to my unlikely interest in the news. I try not to live in a bubble.

My focus on what is important tends to shift with what is happening around me. When we spent summers in camp, we used to joke that we were in LaLa Land and Kinder News was the only thing that really mattered for 8 weeks of every year. Of course, the many hours dedicated to Ranney School had the same effect. Teachers were immersed in school events, schedules, and the behaviors of the students. Real world concerns seemed not to touch our day. The formative years of our young students pleaded for that singular attention, and as Mr. Rogers so eloquently reminded us in his documentary, that is where our focus should have been. But now, without camp ruling my summers or school regulating the other ten months of the year, I now get to focus on me. I'm not sure that is a healthy thing, as the country could be falling apart, but perhaps I am just going through a phase.

Which all brings me to this morning. I read a newsletter post from Ricky Tims, The Quilt Show host I've been watching and following for years. How ironic that celebrities become our intimate friends. My background has me staring at the faces of my iPad or television friends with the eyes of an artist. I know the shape of their features as if every appearance on the screen is a pose for a portrait. Other people might be listening to the tone of their voice or getting swallowed in by the characters they portray. I memorize their features. In some way, everyone gets intimate with these famous people. And the reverse, I think, is true. Ricky Tims may not recognize me if we pass each other on a street, but he does know his audience very well. What he shares on his online quilt show is what he knows quilters want to hear, including just enough of his personal life in La Veda, Colorado, to keep us interested in him. So I do consider him a friend and I would be drawn in by any headline concerning his life. It seems from his post this morning, that there is a wildfire raging through Colorado and threatening Ricky's home. He showed photos of the town, the spreading flames, and I could sense his fear as his home could go down just like many of his neighbors' homes. What did Ricky and his partner Justin grab first? His quilts. An artist will always be an artist. I could relate to this story in the news.

As my children are growing up and leaving my house, I have less loved ones under my wooden roof to be concerned with in case of a fire. They say to get yourself out of the house and make sure everyone knows just how to do that. There is a good reason schools have annoying fire drills. What would I grab at the first sign of smoke or a flame? Other than shouting to Norman and Sam to get the hell out, I would grab my Murray. And if possible, my paintings.