La Vida Tranquila -- Today in America (from a distance)

Isolated by our location and limited access to TV in Honduras, I've been spared the majority of the lead up to today's election. I do my best to ignore most of the polarized Facebook feuds coming through my feed. But in the middle of the night, someone posted a poem that resonated with my musings about living abroad, observing our country and my place in it from a distance. Strange that the first faintly political thing I want to share, that hit me where I live, is a provocative poem written by a ringleader of elementary school unkindness, the guy who once dubbed me The Ice Queen. On another island, a volcanic mound in the Pacific, several hours between our time zones, Jason Smith wrote a poem. I happened to be awake spinning my mental wheels. I read it before he could delete it, and asked his permission to share it. (Thank you!)

Childhood bullies pull one eighties and become clear-eyed sages with a finger right on the pulse? An American living in a third world country patrolled by Blackhawks has yearnings for the homeland's connection and conveniences, but is grappling, grasping for what she has gained by living with less?

Stranger things have happened. 

 We go home in a month, back to the land of stuff, but our Honduran story isn't over. My emotions are mixed. Of course I've missed my extended family, the dog, our friends, but I don't want to lose what we have learned here relative to priorities, resources, electronics, creativity, and consumerism.

Here's the truth: Many things are harder here in Honduras, more effort. We commute by boat. Without electronics, organized sports, or a deep well of peers and resources, fun for the kids has to be found. It has to be created, along with home-boiled bagels and paper airplanes. Heavily-anticipated playdates can be canceled because of a storm squall. The cafe where I planned to write for the morning can be out of coffee. Flexibility is key. Depending on the day, the isolation here can feel like safety, an escape, or 'nobody to hear you scream'.

We have to bring our own water, food, our own everything from Town. Instead of doing what I did in my old life, making a menu and shopping for a week, I see what's available, and try to cobble together a meal based on that until the next time I will have access to stuff. This can be tricky. If there is no butter on the island, there is no butter on the island. Sometimes, I fantasize about dashing out to Target in my SUV and choosing from seven different brands of butter and butter-like product, and hey! picking up new black yoga pants and some more hair pretties for Piper from the dollar bin by the door and ... (see poem below)

It is absolutely more convenient to live in the States. Easier. There are choices and options way beyond butter. But do we exchange convenience for experience? For authenticity? For simplicity? Living with less gives birth to creativity and ingenuity. Before, I vaccuumed up legos, hairbands and paperclips rather than go through the effort of picking them up. Here, almost everything has a second life, and a third, and finally, feeds the crabs. 

 On the island's level playing field, the littlest gestures are gifts and there's a fast-forming, homesteading intimacy between friends. Out here, we put the luck in potluck dinners. Simple ingredients. Less smalltalk. Cut to the chase. Does food taste better, are friendships and connection more precious, more real, because we have to work harder for it? Because we appreciate it more? 

Today, I watch with a sense of detachment to see what will happen in the United States for the next four years. I voted, based on many of the issues in Jason's poem below, and I admit I am grateful for the twin gifts

of distance and perspective.

* *** * 

The Peaceful War

by Jason Smith

canada's invading
the US
with truckloads 
of stuff
stole from
their woods

canada's invading

the trucks are lined up
at the border check
the border stop
they're backed up 
invading 
for us

and the people are white
fighting black pipelines 
to an earth quake 
ridded coast
in a rainforest 
where drought's the new norm
but it's sunny and warm
so no ones complaining 
or even noticing 
that canada's invading 
like a hurricane storm

christians
who oppose
to not fought not 
so big they judge 
the small pot
hindering truth and
real things like
cannabis reform
and at their core
what are they waiting for? 
...waiting for
...waiting for
Jesus's return

when he was wayne gretzky 
gordy howe 
and guy lafleure
walking on water 
let's see
what's that zamboni is for
a miracle on ice

but they're turning to football 
next door
friday night lights
slight of hand
half time band
endzones 
to disneylands
of warm weather
and castles 
cartoon plushys
with big heads

and the beds 
of the 18 wheelers
are lined up 
multiple lanes
multiple miles
invading with piles and piles
of extraction

to who's satisfaction?

and we're on the cutting edge
3D printers
CADD softwear 
we love to build stuff
like there's still rogain adds
for men's hair
and all the pink toy aisles
in the targetted 
box store

Who is making this stuff? 
we talk about campaign finance reform
and following the money 
to which super pac
funded what negative add
in the meant to divide us
political war

where does the rogain come from
or the plastic G.I. Joes
what about the candy 
in the cute tin can containers
on the dollar pile 
by the front 
automatic door?

Can we follow that money?
to the source company 
to the upstanding christian 
CEO
and his family 
his children
who may be attending 
what country club like
college education 
that sort of 
hypothetical 

I don't care where it's made
i support the troops 
on that toxic factory line
making minimum wage
or below

show me the CEO
who is he
where is he

who is really selling the candy
by the register
by the front door

who is at the top 
of this food chain
chain store

who is really invading
and what for?

and we're so distracted
divided 
for what for

peace

the peaceful war