The Dream Is Over, You Just Have to Carry On

10/11/2013 02:10 pm ET | Updated Jan 23, 2014

Tonight I cut the shit out of my thumb with a cheese grater. Not just any grater, but a fancy Microplane cheese grater that my foodie sister gave me. This thing is as sharp as the bored guy at a Mensa meeting. I nearly had a complete meltdown, but managed to steer myself back on the course of dinner making. It was either that or me and the almost-2-year-old start screaming and writhing on the floor. Papa was at a rehearsal, so I had no choice. My right hand has been covered in eczema for about six months. It came out of the clear blue and has made finger picking the guitar, doing the dishes and washing my hair incredibly painful. So this unfortunate (and totally minor) accident felt like 100 papercuts bathed in lemon juice.

I have a generally sunny disposition. I am a glass-is-half-full-but-let's-just-go-get-something-delicious-to-fill-it-with kind of lady. I can see the blessing and meaning in most ship wreck situations, but lately I've been up every night worried about The Ominous Future. Climate change, GMO, the bees, the Koch Brothers, Nuclear Weaponry, Natural Disasters, the plastic island in the middle of the Pacific, the list goes on and on. I carry the weight of these things like birds nesting in my hair and I feel completely powerless as to the job of their untanglement. Is there some higher purpose to these dead end roads? "God is a concept by which we measure our pain." What is the point in eating five servings of organic vegetables a day if the beautiful glaciers are melting and the ozone is thinning and there will be no clean water left in two years anyway? Is this all an exercise in futility? AHHHHH!!!

Is it all about the minute moments of love? Is it about the new tenants in our birdhouse? The success of our small victory garden? A new song, an evening of laughter with friends, the scent of the baby's skin, your lover's kiss. This is the house that love built whicc fear will shake down to the very foundation if you simply open the door and let it in. Is God a concept by which measure not only our formidable pain and confusion, but also our staggering joy? "The dream is over, what can I say? the Dream is Over, yesterday." Most days on which I wake up breathing, in a safe home, with plenty to eat, I think these moments are enough to keep the grateful train on it's tracks. Enough to keep the hungry sharks of pointlessness from dragging me into an apathetic watery grave. Enough to keep the baby fed and think about making him a sibling. Maybe my blessing is that i have the affluent luxury of worrying about the big picture stuff, while some people worry every day about how they will feed themselves. Not to say we are exempt from the economic struggle, but if we ran out of food tomorrow, our community would feed us. They have in the past.

So am I left on this day where I feel frustrated and small, David with a slingshot against a most gargantuan foe? I hold on to my hopes like a life preserver. I cling to the notion that humanity is mostly good at the core. You clear past the brush and garbage and the sadness and there is a red heart beating inside every chest that wants to love and be loved. My dearest held hope is that my great-grandchildren will lead long healthy lives on this Eden of a planet. That the governments of the world will somehow un-corrupt themselves. That we realize the great volcano of love from which we all sprang and start behaving like family. "You may say i'm a dreamer, but i'm not the only one."

Happy Birthday John Lennon.