Just a Blade in the Grass

Tell me how you feel...

My my, cold hearted child, tell me how you feel
Just a blade in the grass, spoke unto the wheel
My my, cold hearted child, tell me where it's all gone
The luster of your bones, those arms that held you strong
I been worryin' that my time is a little unclear
I been worryin' that I'm losing the ones I hold dear
I been worryin' that we all live our lives in the confines of fear

The Fear  -  by Ben Howard

It’s been a week. From being with young, innocent, free loving, inquisitive grandchildren to traveling to Los Angeles with an old family friend to shoot graduation portraits on the University of Southern California’s (USC) campus.

No easy accomplishment earning a masters, while working more than full time. I felt so proud of my young friend.

The contrasts of life in eye-blinking snapshots. Don’t I wish I could physically tweak them to perfection as I tried while editing yesterday. Slide that dial back to the middle, give it a little more or less. But I can’t. It’s all out of my control. So, I observe. Take in all the human islands, nuances, some felt in passing and some so deep they linger for days. Hence, why I am here writing the impacts felt from Tuesday to Wednesday.

In 48 hours I drove, or was a passenger, on a terrible freeway where literally no one knows what a fast lane is, or how to get on the freeway. Semi-trucks have no rules either.

It’s more than strange. It’s a mess.

Focus, patience, breathing. These are life saving mental tools.

Patience is a word like love. It’s overused and under appreciated. Like anything worth achieving in a deeper sense, true patience is to wait with your feet treading, head held high in six feet of water. Wait, akin to wading, body lifting, mind thinking, arms reaching, pushing, moving against the tide toward safety. Wade, wait through life’s tests. Breathe. Wait before you speak. Breathe. Wait for a genuine conversation. Breathe, listen. Wait on your heart to feel tingly. Wade, wait through love. Breathe. Wait on the One. Breathe. Wait on the direction or plan. Wade backwards, see where you were — where you are heading. Are pieces of your life fitting together for a purpose? Did you notice how you got from A to Z?

Carefully progressing, sequentially from one stage to the next.

Collecting my youngest granddaughter from preschool Tuesday afternoon, we patiently got in the car repeating -- Vi, how was your day. I want to run on the grass with my friend. Nana did you bring me goldfish? Oh these carseat straps make Nana crazy, Nana you are funny. You know what? You know what what? You know what else? — finally firing up the engine as a familiar Beatles song poured memories into my childhood mind.

Vi: I want to hear Kidz Bop!

Me: Oh my daddy used to sing this to me. Can we listen?

Vi: (totally NOT her norm): I WANT TO HEAR KIDZ BOP!!!

Me: But, can we hear this first — it really makes my heart feel so happy to remember my daddy singing this to me.

Vi: long whine.

I relented. I was tired. She was tired. This is not my normal either. To get a sad voice and say, “okay, here you go.”

As we drove the two minutes home, I heard an angel begin to softly compute the beauty of my memory, as if to say she was deeply sorry. Lowering the volume of repetitive bopping, this small four year old child took back what happened in soft statements of her own recollection. The other grandma paints her nails purple “to think of her” and how I, her nana, sings her the song “Remember Me,” from the movie Coco -- and when she hears it or sees the movie, she thinks of me. “You sing that to me Nana, for nap. “Remember?”

Yes. I do. Thank you Violet. I love you.

It was profound and I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Which leads me to 24 hours later and the lovely afternoon shooting at USC. In all my years I hadn’t been on a school campus for portraits so close to graduation, so it was, to say the least, very crowded with grad clad twenty-somethings and a smattering of more mature masters candidates. I guess the dress code for girls is white dresses and stilts for shoes and whatever the guys feel like wearing. It’s been a few years and “Mudd Hall” was the place to begin. Or so we thought. There were plenty of soon-to-be grads straddling the white Trojan horse in bright spotty sunlight, gathered around waiting their turn. Several times we passed Tommy the Trojan beckoning many to wait as well, giant light reflectors and tripods everywhere.

There we were, one hour in line (a first) with several various groups and their appointed photographers. Happy, patient, waiting our turn to use the entire old Italian-style archway of this historical school. That is until a middle-aged woman, with one camera and a trio of young undergrads walked to the front, entered the archway and began to position her people at angles to avoid the other photographer’s angle. It wasn’t shocking. But to the guy behind me, with all his equipment, several young clients, and a patient attitude, (like the rest of us) it was enough for him. I will preface this by saying people are capable of getting in a line for groceries, pictures, tickets, anything, and being patient. People are capable of taking their turn. It’s polite. And although I never got a degree (because I fell through the cracks) -- the one thing I took with me through the threshold of my family’s front door, was this:

You can have all the education, but if you don’t have manners you won’t get far. Manners open doors. You might think you will get far being a bully or pushing others around - but you will answer. It doesn’t mean you need to be walked on either by those doing the pushing.

Did I stand up to my four year old grandchild? no. Because we also pick our battles and it definitely wasn’t worth it. But I played it right in the end.

So my new photographer friend, of less than an hour, with all the good and friendly info for shooting on campus, (a rare treat from other photographers to share) walks up to the woman and her undergrads and tells her, as if she didn’t notice, “excuse me, all of us have been patiently waiting our turn and you can’t just cut in line like that.” To which she hem’d and haw’d and reluctantly backed down. The one young boy with her, as I’ll call him, because an educated grownup should know better, couldn’t resist a comeback.

Finger out, feathers pumped, hoping to shame us all, “it’s your fault for standing here and not asking the other photographer if you can use the space. That’s what we did and she had no problem.” Mind you it was warmer than usual too, but despite the sweat we waited. My new friend, who reminded me of the character Kevin, in the old comedy, King of Queens, shot back about how that was not the point. No explanation really needed. I piped in the same, “you missed the point — we are waiting patiently, giving each other the space of the whole archway.” This kid was so self-absorbed, he wasn’t going to see through our words. Right then, I looked up and saw a few homeless pulling their carts along the side of the metro train station where this old building, from one of the most prestigious campuses in the world, was butted up to.

I thought to myself -- how I can live in the confines of fear, worrying about the future of people. Indifference, ambivalence shed so easily to others? I’m tired.

History shows us we need to stand on the right side of it. Speak up, defend the weak, vulnerable, persecuted, and those who are patient to live and love. Use our manners. Treat each other with respect. We don’t defend wrong in the name of right. If that is the the way, it’s a dead end.

This story — might seem small, but in the bigger picture…

Are we just a blade in the grass? spoke unto the wheel?

Can we stop and seek reverence like the tiniest soul in the backseat?

I’ve been worryin.

Tell me how you feel.