In Flight From the Madness

Once again, I am fleeing from Facebook.  The social network is a monster.  While it is an invaluable news resource for people in and of my life, it has a very dark side.  Facebook is a megaphone that amplifies our nastiest and darkest parts.

We live in a country now as divided as it has been since the time of the Vietnam War.  Only the crack, the fault line between the divisions is not split by age.  This chasm seems to be fueled by differences that are not the opposite sides of any single issue.  The split seems to come from completely different perspectives in world view.

Thinkers far beyond my intellectual capability would probably be able to state this better but I will give it a try.  On one side, you have people with a set of factors that are key.  Roughly to my eye these are tied to a certain morality focus.  Abortion is wrong.  Libertine behavior is wrong. Government is too intrusive. They seem to believe in the primacy of the individual, that is, I am a nation unto myself to make or break what happens to me in this life save for external agencies which must give me roads and police protection.  There is a nationalism component to this side too, America must be triumphant and supreme.

On the other side are people who believe that America the concept is not as great as deal as it is made out to be. These are people who seem to be focused on a much different concept that the role of government is larger in our individual lives and that such involvement must be paid for by taxes.  Things like universal health care and social services are much more important to this group.  Religion is far less important here but justice seems to matter very much to these people.

Instead of the conflict being right or wrong on a particular issue the two sides are like boards coming at each other at right angles but with one several feet above the other.  They aren’t on the same plain.  When you are talking about income inequality on one hand and the other side is focused on the immorality of abortion there is no place for common ground.  When debates play out on line the point counterpoint is more like a jenga tower with gaps between the levels of issues in play.

There are polarizing figures here.  Hillary Clinton, former President Obama, Donald Trump and Jeff Sessions are just a few of them. We are at the point where we are so partisan that each side views the figures on the other side as criminals.  No I will not be ambivalent on this point I think Donald Trump’s encouragement of chants of jail her during the campaign has in great part led to this toxic situation. 

Somehow, I wish it were different.  Somehow, I wish there were states-people being elected to the Senate and to the House of Representatives but I don’t see it happening soon. 

Me, I need refuge from the vile bile and vitriol.  I will thus return to this blog as my outlet for at least the next week.  Pretty pictures and odd bits of writing, it is what I need.

Today as it Was

Where did my day go so quickly?  I now sit in the fading light of day. What have I done with these precious hours of my life, this time I shall never recover? 

Soft gentle music plays now on this laptop’s speaker. 

Right now I sit outside at a table having finished dinner and having put the dishes in the dishwasher and the leftovers into the refrigerator. Alone by choice I have taken a seat in the early evening air.  This night is warmer than it has any right to be.  It was a mere 34 degrees just a day and a half ago.  Looking upward the sky is clear, the trees are spring green and the light promises to last at least an hour.  Yes, indeed what have I done with my day?

At the start of all the events of these hours my wife nudged me.  No alarm had gone off but we had both been laying quite awake but still in the quarter light of 5:55 am.  Our internal alarm clocks had told us exactly what time it was. For my part I was debating a return to sleep but the tap of the elbow into my ribs confirmed what my bladder was telling me, I would need to rise from the sheets and covers.

The next hour was ritual pure and simple.  Take a pee.  Grind and brew the coffee.  Empty the dishwasher.  Set out the plates for the morning meal.  Dash upstairs for a quick shower. Dress.  Item after item on the daily checklist was marked off until I walked out the door at 6:58 a.m. and began the mile and half walk to work.

On a normal day, I would simply snap photographs of the plants that catch my eye.  On one day, it might be a color that strikes my imagination. As a result, there will be six shots of purple blossoms going up on the old Facebook page.  On a different day, the thing that will catch my eye would be plants with apparent symmetry.  One small pale blue blossom circled by six perfectly formed green leaves might demand a couple of minutes and numerous angles.  Cropping the shots and adjusting the color would normally happen too but not today.

As I stepped onto my path I decided I needed to write a note to an old friend.  Using the voice recognition software on my smartphone I created six or so paragraphs.  Of course, the software is inexact, or maybe it was because I do not speak with the accent the algorithms were designed to capture, but there was much editing.  The walk flew by as I crafted those paragraphs.  Eventually it was done and I mailed it off.  Maybe a response will come.

When I got to the office the surprise/not surprise that my coworker was ill became a reality.  Work needed to be shuffled.  Those extra minutes I had planned to use to catch up on other deferred work disappeared.  This moment set the tone for the day.  Nothing ran smoothly.  Nothing was short.  Everything was an onion growing more complex as you peeled back the layers.  I did not need nor did I want complexity today.  Screw the layers.

As it had begun with that nudge, the day came to an end.  As I was typing and in midsentence the phone rang telling me my ride had arrived.  The sounding of horns, my favorite ringtone was an aural nudge that the day had come to completion, well at least it told me my work day was at an end. What the hell tomorrow will be another disaster.  I could leave some of the cars of this rolling train wreck until tomorrow.

At one moment in the middle of the day an old friend had called.  This was someone I worked with for years.  Living the dream of every single person from this northern climate my friend now lives in the sunny south where tobacco leaves grow high.  The words flowing over that phone line reminded me I had made a good impression on at least one person’s mind over the years I had toiled at my tasks.  The talk was good.  The talk gave hope that one day in the not too distance future I will enjoy time to do things.  The talk seemed to imply that I will have a chance to travel, to write, to be alive.

Of all the 660 minutes between waking and when the work day ended two things counted.  There was a phone call with a friend.  Friendship should never be underestimated.  The second was the drafting of a note to a friend.  Friendship should never be underestimated it is a balm, it is a high, it is a purpose for which we live.

And the pianist plays softly but lightheartedly.  The wind has shifted and the air is cooling now.  There are about 180 more minutes before I will hang this day on a nail and call it a night.  Two moments of joy out of hours of mundane pleas of mea culpa and several tales of true depravity, well I will call this day a win.

               

Alive in the City

I have returned from the great white north.  

 

Walking the streets of Toronto this weekend, either alone or with Loren was decidedly a blast.  On both days there I walked through new neighborhoods. These were places I did not have any familiarity with and some of them were quite nice.  Strolling through a row of connected parks surrounded by seven storey buildings made me think that I was more made for urban that suburban living. I walked almost 10 miles on Saturday from a brewery to a weekend market to all sorts of stores that sold every single thing under the sun.

 

There is a joy in having the freedom to pass from place to place unknown making a new impression on each person you meet.  A city is a wonderful place for a gregarious person.  Soon I will just be an invisible old man but right now I could spend a couple years in a little efficiency apartment in the section of Toronto called the Annex, brownstones with second floor porches and stained glass windows.  I would love to spend the early morning having dark rich coffee and eating croissants from the local bakery smothered with orange marmalade.  Then I would write for two hours straight.  A brisk walk to see what was about and going would follow Next I would have a light lunch of summer sausage and fresh fruits and vegetables.  Then more writing would follow.  Finally in the evening I would be at a film or a concert.

 

Time is short.  I probably won’t ever get moment like these.  Still, I can dream upon paper of a world I would love.

Walking into Health/Walking into a Storm

Every day for several weeks I have been walking into work.  My ritual as it has now become is part of the “make the best of these later years” campaign.  As part of the campaign each week on Sunday mornings I go to Weight Watchers.  More often than not I am losing weight.  As of last week it was twenty five pounds down.  Some strategies do have positive results.  In reality once the first 10 days passed I was not missing my daily candy bar or M&Ms.

Routing for my walk is simple.  Each day I take the neighborhood streets insofar as I can.  I grab photographs of the flowers that are starting to come into season.  I take a daily picture of a construction site; the time lapsed movie of it is rather fun.  I turn on my iPhone and set it upside down in my shirt pocket and listen to tunes.  Headphones are out due to hearing loss from one too many rock and roll concerts.  My eyes scan for the odd and the unusual.  Today I notice somebody is using the wrought iron head and footboards of a twin bed as trellises for Morning Glories; odd but kind of cute.

There is only about a five block stretch I have to walk on a main thoroughfare.  If I have remembered to bring a plastic bag I pick up empty water, energy drink and juice containers.  With no deposit required on these there sure are a great number of them abandoned along the way. 

About a block from my office I started into a cross walk.  There was a car coming down Highland and it was an old beige Buick.  It was at least four car lengths from the stop.  I started across.  The driving despite having plenty of time to slow and stop made it a point of screeching to a stop.  His driver side window was down.  He called me a mother*cker and then began a bit of a tirade.  I looked to see if it was someone I knew and if this rant was just a social greeting.  Neither of these potential facts were the actual case.

As I finished crossing the street the vehicle the vehicle accelerated and the driver threw out one more epithet calling me a piece of poo.  He actually rolled down the passenger side window to do this.  Well, I raised my middle finger in salute to such exemplary behavior.  I also lost my cool and referred to him as a human fluid receptacle.  He sped away, but I felt guilty.

This man made me lose my cool.  I reacted in anger and not compassion.  I don’t know what his urgency was, and whether there was any urgency at all. There were no cars on either street to speak of. Maybe he knew me and didn’t like me before he got to the stop. My incursion into his path may have allowed him to vent things he thought about me before he ever saw me today. Whatever the genesis, my response was wrong.  I am therefore apologizing to you my readers because he is long gone down the highway.  In life things will go sideways through no fault of our own.  Our compassion and understanding will usually be the best course.  So it goes.

Mist *

North Country mists are common as a copper penny,

If the snow has stopped

and if the sky is not threatening tornados with torrents and lightening, 

Well then, the weather gives us mist.

 

Never be deterred by a hazy spray 

Spring or summer solitary walking in a gentle rain is a meditation.

In the dog days, the gentle moisture cools the heat.

In the spring the tiny almost unseen droplets perceptibly transform brown dormant things to green lush life.

Mist falling drives the weak and weary people from the streets, sidewalks, side yards and driveways leaving one to one’s own thoughts and perceptions.

 

All the contrivances of humanity, gutters and flashings, drainpipes, rain barrels and sewer grates,

Are made known in the mist.

The work of human hands is futile against nature,

Rain will find the earth.

 

Falling quietly almost silently you hear the collecting water 

At critical mass the liquid tings and gurgles and makes that slow sliding sound as it reaches the end of a downspout, 

The mist is seeking the earth,

The mist seeking the moment of cleansing and rebirth.

 

Mist so common in the North Country,

Shows us human folly,

Shows us natural healing,

Observe and absorb.