Looms and Loops

During a recent visit to our house, the lovely Madelyn Simone was intrigued with the scrapbook I created during my third grade year. It was dominated by yellowed clippings telling of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, accompanied by photos of his young widow, daughter Caroline, and son John-John, bravely saluting his father’s flag-draped casket. I also saved a wedding picture of my third grade teacher, some Buffalo Bills highlights, and a photo of my cousin Cathy twirling a fire baton at the high school football game, all of interest to the budding eight-year-old news junkie. 

 

While my days of keeping a scrapbook about current events ended with that treasured album from 1963-64, I’m still drawn to the news of the day, aided by in-the-moment reporting from around the world. News bulletins over the past few weeks have seemed nearly as relentless as the assassinations, civil rights marches, and the Viet Nam battles of my childhood. Images from the wildfires raging throughout the west coast of the U.S. are terrifying. As I write, Hurricane Sally is pouring down on some of our southern states, and meteorologists tell us that they’re running out of potential names on this year’s list, so they may have to go to their backup, the letters of the Greek alphabet. A disturbing report from a detention center in Georgia has surfaced, the skirmishes of the presidential campaign are brewing, and racial tensions are still high. And we’re consuming all this news through the haze of COVID-19-induced anxiety.

 

At eight, I wept for our handsome president, his family and our country, but I had the soothing presence of Walter Cronkite, and a child’s limited awareness of the impact of the daily news. Now, at sixty-five, the endless cycle of news keeps me on edge, and I wonder what the impact of each day’s revelations will have on the lives of my grandchildren and their peers around the world.

 

Given my long-time diet of the daily news, I’ve shuddered as current events have been called “fake news” or deemed to be a hoax. One report from the west coast fires told of a couple who had prepared to evacuate, only to be convinced by some internet source that the danger of the fire in their area was greatly exaggerated. Tragically, they lost their lives. 

 

Yet even those of us who trust the journalists and credible news sources grow weary. We look on from a distance and may utter a word of sympathy or whisper a prayer of support, but in a time of news saturation, our reaction soon becomes, “out of sight, out of mind.” Just as compassion fatigue in the time of great disaster is real, so is virus fatigue, political fatigue, and climate fatigue. 

 

Yet what I’m recognizing in myself is that I’ve got to make an effort to shake the lethargy that has been so prevalent in these days, even in terms of news overload. I had an “aha” moment as Madelyn asked one last question about my childhood scrapbook . “What’s this, Nana?” It was a thank you note from Jacqueline Kennedy. When plans for the JFK memorial library were being made, there was a nationwide fund drive. What could a child do to help? I had a loom and a package of loops, so I made potholders and sold them up and down Klinger Avenue, sending the proceeds to the presidential library. Thus the preserved thank you note.

 

Nearly one hundred and seventy years ago, Abel Helman and a small group of people left Ashland, Ohio to head west, where they formed a community they named Ashland Mills, Oregon. Just this week, the Almeda fire burned from Ashland to Medford, Oregon. Might there be a way to weave some potholders for those who have lost so much?

 

Peter, Paul and Mary sang: “Weave, weave, weave me the sunshine out of the falling rain. Weave me the hope of a new tomorrow, fill my cup again.” Might our looms and loops weave on, inviting respectful and courageous conversations, encouraging lifted voices, writing generous checks, offering respite, and sustaining a steady presence in our world. One potholder at a time.