How SLO County columnist and far-flung relatives are handling war worries
It seems wrong somehow, that while what could escalate into a major war is raging halfway around the globe, life as we know it here on the Central Coast keeps on keeping on.
For many of us, emotions are fractured. We’re torn between fury, fear and hope, helplessness and a feeling of needing to do something, now please.
There are ways to help Ukraine now, of course. Yes, I will donate, but sending money seems so impersonal when innocent individuals are terrified, in danger, wounded and dying.
When we’re this stressed, sinking into an abyss of apprehension, little irritations can grow exponentially beyond their importance, sometimes triggering a temper tantrum that our personal situation doesn’t warrant. I wonder if road rage, fist fights, confrontations and more serious conflicts will increase.
The anger and fear will surface somehow, and that could be messy unless we recognize those emotions, allow ourselves to feel them and find a way to vent them properly.
Meanwhile, we have to keep working at our jobs, caring for our homes, families, pets, gardens and friends, fulfilling other responsibilities, making plans. We’re doing whatever we have to do with half of our being, while the other half wants to hide under the covers and not come out until the world calms down.
As I write this on the day after the attacks began in the Ukraine, it’s tough acting like life is normal when it most certainly is not. (And to be honest, it hasn’t been for a while, whatever normal is supposed to be these days).
On Facebook, my cousin Erin Bell in Colorado joined a “group of people from around the world who will be sending out prayers for peace and healing.”
“Wherever you are (each day at noon), I hope you’ll consider adding your voice, prayer, meditation, magic or whatever else,” she wrote. “All of us together, not just sitting in despair, but sending out intentions ... well, what could it hurt, really? And maybe, just maybe, it will help.”
Late-night worries of war keep writer awake
That night, as Russia was invading Ukraine, I’ll bet none of us slept very well. I know I didn’t.
In the often ominously ghostly dark of night, I found myself fretting about the future for all of us, but especially for the younger members of our family.
Our granddaughter Caity Tanner lives in England. Kris Greek, one of our “acquired” sons from Cambria, lives with his young family in Budapest — Hungary shares a border with Ukraine.
For now, they’re far enough away to be out of the line of direct fire.
Proximity makes it personal.
To reassure myself, I reached out to them to find out how they’re handling the crisis so close to them.
“I would say shock is the predominant feeling among the people I know/work with,” Kris wrote Feb. 25. “Until a couple months ago, a war in Europe seemed inconceivable. Hungary, small and in the middle, has to be careful — it has tried to cultivate ties in both directions for security.
“Of course, there are worries now around the world that something could escalate this into a bigger war. For our part, we are hoping cooler heads prevail,” he continued. “We expect at some point there may be a refugee influx as well, depending on the level of devastation.”
Kris, the son of former SLO County Agriculture Commissioner Richard Greek and his wife Christine, grew up across the street from us. Kris said his outlook may differ from that of his wife, children and neighbors, “because Europe is a home, but not the same as ‘home home,’” which will always be Cambria and this county.
“For now, we live and go about our day to day, but we will be watching, diligent and alert, helping where we can,” he said. “Monitoring various news outlets closely. I think Putin will stop at Ukraine but ...”
When I reached out to her, Caity wrote that night from England: “I think so many people are just stunned and haven’t fully processed it … moving from the traumatic experience of a pandemic to yet another, a war, a very large war.”
“I have colleagues in Romania who are about four hours drive from the Ukrainian border, which feels way closer, but haven’t heard much worry (from them) yet that they will be wrapped up in it,” she said.
Reassured momentarily about them, I try to tamp down high stress levels about limited finances, inflation, the stock market rollercoaster and how the war over there might impact everything here, from cyber security and the internet to supplies and cost of gasoline and wheat, even higher food costs and how our hometowns might be affected, especially those that rely so heavily on tourism.
I agonize about the warriors and the people directly in the path of the fight. Will they survive, and if so, how? What might we do to help the innocent as the factions fight to gain or keep control?
I fervently hope the fighting will end by the time you can read this, but hope is all it is right now.
But life does have to go on. We have keep going while we try to deal with our anxieties about things we cannot fix or affect.
Macho turkey, Central Coast beauty offers solace
After my sleepless night, I headed out early to check for icy photo ops in downtown Cambria (32 degrees! But the air was too dry for frost).
Then I took a little detour. I watched waves rolling up on the shore along Moonstone Beach.
Along my Lodge Hill route, I was shaded by Monterey pines, oaks and sycamores. Little birds flitted from branch to branch, tree to tree, as turkey vultures and hawks soared above, searching for breakfast.
A flock of waddling turkeys took their own sweet time to cross from one side of the hilly road to the other.
Usually, impatient me would have s-l-o-w-l-y pushed my way through the cluster of road hogs.
But this time, with no traffic behind me, I stopped and watched the slow-motion parade as a macho gobbler male displayed his colors, tail and manhood while his stoic harem ignored him.
I laughed at their antics, and once they’d wandered off the road, I drove slowly home.
I was still upset and worried. However, having stopped to absorb some of our Central Coast beauty, I felt more centered, more in command of my emotions and myself.
Which, since I have absolutely no control over what’s happening in and to the rest of our world, is about the best I can do, at least for now.
