One of my birthday presents was both odd and unexpected. I’ll explain.
For more than six months, I’ve hosted a Bedlamfarm.com blog with eight long-time blog readers.
I wanted to humanize the writing experience for people I had never met or spoken with. Sometimes, I forget there are actual human people out there.
I asked people who like the blog to join if they were interested, and I chose eight: Californias, Texans, and people from Ohio, Minnesota, Colorado, and Chicago. It was a random choice but a blessed one. The Zooms have become a treasured part of my life, and the Zoomers are all good friends now. We have come to love and trust one another, a miracle.
It is the America of my dreams on my Zoom. The conversations are confidential; we don’t share our discussions outside of the hour-long Zoom meeting, which meets once a week.
I can’t say enough; we talk openly and honestly in Zoom without fear of offending or being softened. There are many different points of view on Zoom, including one who is an Evangelical Christian and a dear friend. Maria joins when she can and enjoys the talks as much as I do.
None of us has ever said a hurtful word to the rest. These are lovely people, generous, kind and caring. They have many ideas, and we are always eager to hear each other’s thoughts and be respectful of them. I always leave the Zooms wondering why our leaders and politicians and their extremist and angry followers can no longer do that.
The Zoom reflects real America, the one I know is there, where we disagree safely and openly without anyone getting angry, hurt, or hated for their views or feelings. These days, it means a lot to be able to do that.
We do it all the time on our weekly Zoom, but I am still often amazed by that. We frequently disagree, but I can’t imagine a moment when anyone felt hurt, harmed, or dismissed. I wish to hang onto Zoom; perhaps one day, the rest of the country will discover sanity, honesty, and compassion again.
People challenge me and laugh at me all the time. The outer world of trolls, ideologies, and busybodies seems remote.
It feels like one of those good families I keep seeing in movies but rarely get to meet.
I can’t say how important these gatherings are to me. I look forward to them all week.
This week, I told everyone on Zoom about Maria’s two-dollar pants, the ones she has painted Red and wears for her daily manure shoveling in the morning. It makes me smile, it’s pure Maria.
One of the Zoomers joked that I ought to be careful joking about her Red pants, or she might paint mine.
I laughed, although it occurred to me that this is not something to joke about with Maria, an artist who finds painting and re-sewing things just part of everyday life. She never buys anything at a retail price and is teaching me how to be frugal in the rising price age.
Yesterday, as a birthday present, Maria handed me a pair of jeans she had painted, at least along the bottom cuffs. I was shocked, a bit uncomfortable, and confused. No one had ever painted my paints or any other part of my clothing, so I wasn’t sure how I felt about it or how it might look.
My father would have been horrified.
It took me only a few minutes to like it. Maria took a photo, and I thought it looked great. Like many men, jeans are dull and boring and never changing, and I leave it to a gifted artist like Maria to bring me into this world of color, imagination, and fun. She seemed to know I would like it. “It’s in you,” she said.
I love my jeans; they are the best present I got for my birthday. If possible, I would love and admire the artist who painted them and who knew that I would come to love them. Maybe she’ll paint some more of my jeans. They are boring, aren’t they? Men can often be stiffs.
And for the Zoomers, I will take their jokes more seriously now. Thanks to them also.
