Late-Night Comedy?

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July 4, 2025

The week's politics have rendered me nearly speechless ... but not quite. Today is Independence Day. This holiday is one I've never enjoyed. The deafening barrage of exploding fireworks, no matter how colorful and spectacular, is too similar to bomb explosions. Today, on the last day of another week of horrifying headlines, even more so. I think back to a July 4th many years back.

We were staying on Lake Sunapee at the time, and predictably enough, as darkness fell, explosions and starbursts began to fill the air. We sat outside on the lawn by the lake. Suddenly we spotted some creature frantically swimming toward us from the small island offshore. As it approached, we realized it was a tiny white dog — which proceeded to reach land, shake itself off, and start running. Nothing we offered — treats, gentle voices, outstretched hands, could persuade it to stay or come closer. It simply turned tail and continued its journey, disappearing into the woods, traumatized by the cacophony in the air. It was an epic journey for so small a creature, driven by terror. (Late that night, after a series of phone calls, the owners were found, the dog was found, and all were reunited.)

The night before last, I dreamed I was a late-night comedy host, about to go live on air -- but I had no jokes prepared, no punchlines, no idea what my routine could possibly be. When I opened my eyes I was relieved to realize it was only a dream. But after I turned over and began to doze off again, another dream-scene popped up: now I was a therapist! The first patient of the day was waiting to be called in, and I had no clue of what to say when confronted with their fears, griefs, and wishes. Usually my anxiety dreams are rooted in actual experience — for example, as a violinist (late setting off for a performance but can't find my bow), as a teacher (first day of school, 2nd graders are arriving, and I've forgotten to set up the classroom and get ready), or as a parent of small children (one of them just fell overboard and needs to be saved from drowning). But I've never been a therapist or a comedy host! I couldn't imagine what I might dream next, and wasn't anxious to find out — so I got up, though it was only 4:30 a.m. — and headed for the beach in search of answers.

Seals popped up here and there in the sunrise-tinged waves, the tide was on the way out, a lobster boat chugged along out beyond the sandbars. A delicate sprinkling of tiny multi-colored pebbles edged the waterline. I walked for a while, and was just about to turn and head home for breakfast, when I spotted a cluster of shorebirds ahead in the distance, standing in the surf as if waiting for something. Curious about what they were seeing in that particular spot, I decided to keep walking and find out before turning around.

As I came closer, I noticed one bird was nestled down on the sand, just out of reach of the outgoing tide. The others by now were now hopping around warily and flapping their wings, but this one did not take flight at my approach. I wondered if it was ailing in some way, and if the others had gathered around it for support and protection. As I drew near, most of the other birds took off, and I kept my distance from the lone bird. Without frightening it, I couldn't get close enough to note identifying details, but I did see that it had a different coloration than the others, which were Herring Gulls, with signature white heads and fronts, dark grey wings, black tails. The loner was more of a creamy beige and white, with a somewhat fluffy appearance. In any case I wanted to let it continue resting, and to allow its community to return and keep vigil until it was ready to move on. I guessed it was not native to these parts, but might have been blown off-course by overnight winds. As I walked further away from it, the bird stood up and took a few steps into the surf. Looking back a minute later, it was still standing on the shore, immobile, not taking flight, remaining there until I could no longer see it.

That morning's beach walk and the tableau of the birds seemed somehow to relate to those early morning dreams. It seems that whenever I search for connections, connections appear. While we grapple with the impact of appalling world events, connection threads through our lived experience. On this particular day I was reminded of our need for humor, for compassionate listening, for the same community and solidarity that other animals offer one another.

And yet ... is that enough to get us through?

Impending Storm Encircling the Light, Ballston Beach July 3, 2025