Round Noon

Well, we’re only one month in, but 2017 has been a bit hard to swallow thus far. I’m gonna come right out and admit it.

I’m tryin’ – I really am. But I’ve been feeling like I’ve been going down the rabbit hole of negativity these past few days.

And it’s dark down here.

Because, you know – for one, the world has spiraled out of control

Then, to add insult to injury, I’ve just emerged from yet ANOTHER bout of some recurring craptastic illness that’s plagued me on and off for the last six weeks now and just WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE. To be extra mean, it saps all my will to want to stop the world from spinning.

I tried to take a weekend to rest and recover and get some mental clarity only to discover that California’s record wet season is now invading the basement of my mountain house, with cut trees, dead from drought, still on the ground outside:

Ugh. Don't worry – turns out it was worse than it looked.

Ugh. Not so relaxing. But at least the drought is over?

Which problem to solve first? I don't even know. The world is ending.

Which problem to solve first? I don’t even know. THE WORLD IS ENDING. Fire / water. Shot / poisoned. Take your pick.


Good thing we’ve just FIRED AN OPENING SHOT AT THE PLANET in our new leadership’s WAR ON THE F#@%ING ENVIRONMENT.

It’s too much. 


I’ve been teetering on the edge.

Kinda. Sorta.

That is, until I came home today.

I met up with my husband at the Transbay bus terminal in downtown San Francisco (we try to do it every day). We rode home together, hand in hand, and I kinda just snapped. I had a bit of an emotional vomit at a volume that everyone on the bus could enjoy.

And it felt good.

It felt good to spew all kinds of frustration – fears for the planet, complaints about work, anger at the mess of our human existence right now – but it also felt good to have someone actually listening and engaging and even say, “I’m glad to hear you vent. You were getting so quiet and walled up.”

Um, okay – really?

Note to self: vent more. 

And then we walked in the door, and he very quietly and casually told (reminded) me that he made something.

He made it a while ago, while I was in Washington D.C., and he’d been trying to show it to me, but I’d been distant and didn’t respond the first few times he asked if I wanted to see it.

Surprised (and really not knowing what he was talking about), I asked if I could please see it now.

And he showed it to me:

He made this. All of it. Alone, in our home. My Texan-Californian superhero wrote a symphony to his late grandfather, recorded it, and edited a movie to go with it and I didn’t even notice. And he desperately wanted to show me, but didn’t want to disturb my funk.

I burst into tears.

I’ll never make that mistake again.

There is no getting through anything that’s to come without this cowboy. And we’re not getting there through the rabbit hole.


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One thought on “Round Noon

  1. Margaret Wisniewski says:

    What a rare and wonderful opportunity to view Trent’s work! I am in awe of how you carry a message to the public with visuals and sound, and make it profound and meaningful. You are a quiet man who sends a very loud message about the world and the people and products in it. This is how the world works now, and we are lucky that we have people who can share the messages, regardless of their meaning, with us. And I am in awe of the possibilities for visual media to impact others in the most profound way of all, such as helping the blind to see. We don’t appreciate the capabilities of what you do every day! But I am grateful you do it.

    Your message about your grandfather is an emotional reminder of not only how talented you are, but how he has impacted your life. The professionalism of your work and the message behind it reminds me that you are a truly valuable commodity in the marketplace, and also a person who appreciates people and the deeper meaning in the lessons of life. I commend you for it. Lisa is lucky to have you.

    It is a lesson to me that no matter how much in control we would like to feel we are, that floods and sickness continue to persist in the world. I am sorry you got a double dose at the cabin, but not surprised. This is life. It is a mess. There is no perfect world. Every action has a reaction. Every good gift comes with a price.

    Use that bus ride as a time to vent if you need to. The other riders might appreciate and even enjoy the fact that someone is willing to say what they are feeling. Venting feels good. It reminds us that we are human, and we have a right to our feelings, and a right to be accepted for those feelings. We might just find common ground.

    You are lucky that you and your cowboy could take that bus ride and spend time together. Treasure those moments, because those are the moments that really matter. The water will dry up in the spring, presidential terms will eventually come to an end, and you will get well again. Continuing to embrace and catalog both the good and the bad moments will create reminders for you, and for all of us. Never has a flood been so beautiful to me. Never has sickness made me realize how lucky I am to be well. And never has the chaos in the world around me driven home the lesson that I need to take a bus ride with somebody who listens and cares. When I get off that bus, I will feel like a new person. And the world, for a little while, has become a better place. Love you both!

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