Bring me the horizon

End of September, sweetie darlings, how is the mood in your parts? We're all atwitter with indignation and determination here in the Thule. Some thoughts floating around:

Dear Russians, whatever your President has told you and tells you today, tomorrow, in the future, these are not breakaway regions let alone republics who decided their own fate, these are illegally and forcibly captured parts of Ukraine.

With all undue respect: WTF WTF WTF? We have to suffer because you were traumatized by the collapse of the Soviet Union? What the ever-loving fuck?! You should have that looked at by a trained professional instead of terrorizing the world with your fascist fantasy, you soulless genocidal megalomaniac humanoid. Want to send a message? Write an email. Jesus.

The good news, people? He is in his seventies and even if he doesn't find polonium in his tea or get the full experience of a defenestration he seems so fond of, he won’t live forever. The bad news? The new czar may well be just like the old czar. Like Agent Orange used to say, who knows, folks? Things have moved fast and unexpectedly in Russian history; they might again.

Fun fact, people: Finns have a verb, ryssiä, derived from the noun ryssä, a derogatory term for a Russian. To ryssiä means quite simply to fuck up, derived from the stereotypical notion that Russians simply can't do anything right. Whatever their grand design, just wait for it, it won't go to plan. Don't shoot the messenger! Look at a map and study some history and understand that Finns have had to fend off eastern advances and outright aggression since at least the year 1123.

Yes, everyone's a Kremlinologist now. Because of that long border. Does it worry Finns? Not as much as the notion that it might be moved or removed. So Finland has decided to join NATO and as the highly efficient and organized democracy it is has been taking steps to ensure that national, local and personal safety and resilience is second to none in all situations and contingencies. As they have been doing for decades.

But did you ever think you'd be freshening up on your shooting skills? Just because and why not? Use it or lose it. Could you do it, need be? I'm a mother. What do you think? But what do you think will happen to those young and not so young Russian men sent out to war? How long before they realize how disposable they are, how expendable? And combat changes a person. What sort of men will return home, when and if they ever do? The able-bodied workforce of a nation. That's how invested that man is in developing his country. He can't offer a future so he looks to the past. That's how interested he is in how his own people fare.

What he is openly partial to is Igor Rasteriaev's verse and notion that Russia has no borders, only the horizon. Finns know something about Russian overreach, and their neighboring Estonians know even better what Ukrainians mean when they talk about repression, relocation, deportation, genocide, Russia's determination to wipe out Ukrainians as a people, a culture, a language, an identity.

At the same time, now more than ever, we should take care and ensure that knowledge of and a connection to Russian language and culture isn't severed. You cannot understand what you cannot immerse yourself in. Putin may control domestic narrative but he cannot be allowed to own both language and culture. That's what he thinks and claims he is, a custodian, and you can partake if you play by his rules, do as he says. Well, that's a sure way to ryssiä national and international relations, so feel free to override him and sideline him and ignore him and keep connections alive. Enjoying, say, Russian literature or composers does not equal rooting for Putin unless you believe they belong to him. Which they don't.

Of course you can dig into history and fabricate a fantasy, or rewrite history and pass it off as fact; that’s how delusions work. You can criminalize thoughts and words and actions; that’s how dictators work. You can fool everyone for some time and some for all time but not everyone indefinitely; that’s the charlatan’s dilemma.

Quietly yours

How are you, sweetie darlings? Hanging in there? Why have I not written in a while? Oh I have written to you, many times. Angry, frustrated dispatches from the Anthropocene. I caught myself typing in all caps the other day and I don’t think I’ve ever used all caps on this blog, too many exclamation marks on occasion, but all caps? That’s what stopped me from publishing a single word. Venting. That’s what I was doing. And I won’t dump it on you, yet again, dearest denizens. There’s a better way, a more active, practical way to channel all that livid upset; writing is my way of organizing it all. Fury can be a flame, pain a catalyst, in a positive, constructive way. What you do with that sort of energy, now that’s the question, ain’t it?

Apart from all that, and work, I’ve been eating plums aplenty, it was a good crop, and drinking loads of tea as the temperature has plummeted a good 10/50 degrees; the last summer weekend was indeed the last summer weekend, the perfect villaavslutning, as it’s called up here, a festival of fire and water, dark and light; and I’ve been looking at the stunning images coming in from the James Webb Telescope and stargazing with my youngest; and I’m currently reading All the Devils Are Here by Louise Penny and Collapse of an Empire: Lessons for Modern Russia by Yegor Gaidar and yes you too have time to read if you do the math meaning give yourself four weeks and with an average book you only have to read ten to fourteen pages per day, yes, I say only because you have time for ten to fourteen pages per day say before bed or if you snack here and there or cut down on other media starting with the social kind, wink wink hint hint [stop lecturing, jeez]; sorry about that; and I’ve been thinking about my maternal grandparents, 102 years last week, and Brazil, 200 years of independence last Wednesday; and I’m trying to practice gratitude and see beauty and find wonder while building up my sons for the world they’ll inherit; and I’ve picked up a handicraft I used to enjoy and it turns out I still enjoy it immensely, and I’m learning a new craft, which is wonderful and awful at the same time because I’m no good at dabbling, I want to know everything and learn everything, and if I can’t be a semipro at the very least then what’s the point. So, what else should I learn? A modicum of humility and moderation, right? But where’s the challenge or effort in that? 😉

We're all nesting dolls

The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been.
~Madeleine L'Engle

Happy accumulated existence to the one and only you! 🌟

Mellow weekend, sweetie darlings

 ...in a decidedly non-stalkerish, nonchalant way. (Yes, I know, it's a whole subgenre, the obsessive possessive stalker kidnapper.) I just happen to enjoy these hypnotic beats per minute.

Burning down the house

Temperature: 26/79 degrees. And re: coming to cool down up here in Scandinavia: you better hurry. Two-fold Arctic amplification is old news. The Arctic has warmed nearly four times faster than the globe since 1979.

Eating: Just had some ice cream to celebrate my son passing his driving test! (Yes, we've gone electric. Yes. Wind power. I agree, sodium should replace lithium. Fossil fuels should and will become extinct, absolutely.)

Drinking: iced tea.

Listening: I'm more than a little disgusted with the Internet's fascination with this woman-hater Tate. And a whole lot disappointed that misogyny is in such high demand. I hope you're just curious, not taking notes and pointers. Because if you're rejected and dejected after taking your cues from this guy it's because you took your cues from this guy. And even if this is just a look-at-me-master-provocateur provocation, it's still stupid and dangerous, just as dangerous as the all the other demagogues out there spreading bigotry, sowing division and inciting violence. Because someone will always take them at their word and feel empowered to act accordingly.

Watching: the strangest dreams lately. Last night: I was hiking with my husband. We ended up in a forest that got weird fast. I lost track of the trail. I lost him. I lost all sense of direction. And plummeted into a hole in the ground, just big enough for a human to fit in, just small enough that there was no room to move. I kept falling, knowing no one would ever find me. The ground had swallowed me whole.

Reading: Hothouse Earth by Bill McGuire. That may have something to do with the above.

Thinking: What's the worst that can happen if the absolute worst doesn't happen, climatewise? We've kept the world inhabitable for all species.

Feeling: flummoxed some still feel we shouldn't paint a pessimistic picture of the future. Has that worked, pussyfooting? No, it has merely bought the status quoers more time and opportunities to keep things going their way regardless of what that means and does for all of us, their children and grandchildren included. No one is safe. Nowhere is safe. So why not? Why not paint a picture so honest and so horrific that we'll do everything in our power to avoid that fate?