Finding light in the gloom, sort of
What a dire year! 2024 — the year Putin murdered Alexei Navalny, a man of heroic integrity and courage, plus pursued the slaughter of countless Ukrainians. The year Netanyahu continued a relentless slaughter of Palestinians, a massacre, according to some a genocide, horrifying the world. The year Donald Trump was elected for the second time, which someone said was like the Titanic hitting the iceberg and then backing up to ram it again.
The year Ontario premier Doug Ford, a buffoonish crook who has starved public education, health care, and climate solutions, cut down over 850 trees in a public waterfront park to make space for a luxury Austrian spa that will cost us taxpayers countless millions, plus came up with the idea to build a tunnel under the 401 and, oh yes, to rip out bike lanes to make more space for cars.
And Alice Munro. Alice Munro.
It’s not looking good, Canada. It looks like our relatively decent but currently more than lame Prime Minister will be replaced by a mini-Trump attack dog who has no policies, just juvenile insults and doom screeching. To Poilievre, everything in Canada is broken and every single bit of it is Trudeau’s fault. I’m sure he doesn’t believe that for one minute but he spews it, over and over, until everyone believes it. That’s how it’s done these days. Can you imagine this petty, small, unpleasant man on the world stage? Well, get ready because here he comes.
So yes, it’s not good out there. Geoffrey Hinton, the inventor of AI, said the other day if we’re not careful, the machines that are smarter than we are will take over and wipe out humanity in the next thirty years. But then the climate catastrophe might do that too. Or else world war — think of the lunatics with nuclear weapons, North Korea, Iran, many others. Trump, for that matter, another lunatic with his hand on the red button and craven sycophants surrounding him, no one to say no.
Never has the world situation seemed so dire.
So what do we do, how do we get through? I’ve quoted her before, my daughter Anna, who, on November 6, said, “We need to take care of each other. That’s all that matters.”
We need to take care of each other. We start there. And from there, if we can, we need to take care of a slightly bigger piece of our world. From there, if we can, we do our best to expand our sphere of influence.
The smallest things. I try now not to go out without spare change in my pocket, for which I will inevitably be asked. I try to look at or hear people without judgement, although there are some — my extremely right-wing former schoolmate in the States, who sends me emails glorying in Trump’s foulest excesses — I find impossible to understand or forgive. I try to be grateful, every single day, for all I’ve been given in this world – a home, health and healthcare, family, friends, democracy. A garden. Birds. My incorrigible cat, who yesterday knocked the lid off my breadbox, chewed through a plastic bag, and devoured a third of a Slovakian Christmas loaf my tenant Olga had given me.
And, always, art. Books, magazines, music, dance, film, television, the visual arts – crazy creators out there, making stuff that wasn’t there before, because they have something to say. How grateful I am to them and for them, the artists who bring us pleasure and enlightenment every day.
It has been the gloomiest December I can remember — grey and drizzly, most days, including today, dark and wet from dawn to dusk. But this morning I danced on Zoom with Nicky and the gang. Then, a birthday gathering on Zoom, and now, going to visit a fellow writer for cocktails. Tonight, Sunday night TV, I’ll sit by the fire and find something to watch. And so, from moment to moment, finding a reason for celebration. That way sanity lies.
A small something to look forward to: Ian Leslie whose Substack I follow and with whom I’ve corresponded has just brought out his book. You can imagine how eager I am to read that! I even sent some suggestions to Ian, my own take on their profound and competitive love. 
That’s Paul’s teenaged daughter Beatrice, showing there’s no guarantee vast wealth and fame gives you a child who doesn’t act out. Good to know, as my noisy, rebellious grandsons slide into adolescence.
Now, out into the rain for cocktails. Cheers!
The post Finding light in the gloom, sort of appeared first on Beth Kaplan.
