It didn’t take long to realize the new leadership’s manic attack on the status quo was by design. It also didn’t take long to realize the “shock and awe” was meant to both terrorize and exhaust us.
It’s pretty clear, the new administration wants us to live in a state of constant despair.
I am thankful for the many sociologists, political analysts and caring everyday Americans who took to social media and shared tips for staying calm, keeping perspective and not letting the powers that be take over every waking minute.
We all need to protect our peace and to continue seeking joy.
As I embrace every ounce of tranquility that comes my way — making new recipes, exploding miniature volcanoes with the grandchildren, rereading a favorite book, enjoying a rage lunch with my like-minded cousins — I hope to instill gratitude.
Because gratitude leads to forgiveness, which leads to calm.
When the news of the day — or should I say hour — overtakes everything else, I step back and chuckle at things that once consumed my thoughts.
I mean, truly, Americans often don’t realize how good we had it.
Long, long ago, at least two weeks anyway, our thoughts were dominated by the dreariness of winter or the rising cost of eggs or the pervasiveness of honey oak.
Anyone who lived through the ‘90s has a love-hate relationship with honey oak. Once the coveted finish for our staircases, doors, baseboards, floors and window trim, honey oak has overstayed its welcome.
Over the decades it has morphed into a grimy, dingy shade of orange
But, how to escape it without breaking the bank, depleting the retirement fund or moving?
Believe me, I’ve explored the options.
Last year, I invited contractors in for estimates. Of course, we could start small and simply replace the trim here or there. But homes are like dominoes and dang if all rooms aren’t somehow connected.
Replacing that golden tone of oak might start as a small project but it would continue on into perpetuity, as we turned the corner from the hallway into the living room, and then the dining room and what about the kitchen — a place that screams “Boomers must live here”?
Estimates to have the work done ranged from the cost of a new car to, well, the stratosphere, a figure that would leave me wondering, “Am I out of my mind?”
All of my inner discussions would end with the same question, “Can’t you learn to love this tarnished look again?”
And then my cousin suggested I update a few things other than the woodwork and see if I felt better. At the risk of throwing good money before more good money, I decided to do just that.
I had an electrician come out and change up the lighting. I replaced the kitchen counter’s black granite with a white quartz. We had a new sink put in and hired a painter.
The effect was immediate, and wonderful.
And, dare I say, enough?
The added brightness changes the whole feel of the house. It’s calmer, more tranquil, and, boy, does that mean something today.
The progress was tempting me to continue the reno. Why not refresh the flooring, paint the cabinets, maybe a dark green backsplash?
Then, a few weeks ago, everything went topsy-turvy.
Within hours, my attention turned to the news, social media, my bank accounts, the prognosis of democracy and a host of directly affected family members and friends.
I am now consumed with worry.
Even though I know the chaos is manufactured, the end results are very real. I imagine this must be how it feels to be caught in a natural disaster.
When life gets scary or uncertain, your tendency is to circle the wagons, protect your loved ones, stock the pantry and prioritize action.
And so that is what I have been doing these past weeks. If you pass by my house at 2 a.m. and wonder why the lights are on, it’s because I am photographing important documents, organizing the canned goods, apologizing to Canada or taking a damp cloth to that aging yet amazingly stable honey oak.
A reversal of priorities now inclines me to protect, appreciate, even hug those orangey stair rails and cabinets.
In the tornado that is now our daily lives, honey oak is a comforting constant, a throwback to when our problems were miniscule and our free time to focus on aesthetics was plenty.
All of life is relative.
Donna Vickroy is an award-winning reporter, editor and columnist who worked for the Daily Southtown for 38 years. She can be reached at donnavickroy4@gmail.com.
