November Out of Season

This afternoon, the view across my back yard is the essence of a shimmering, golden autumn afternoon. Dappled sun makes a patchwork of still bright green grass and long shadows. The light filters through colored leaves clinging to trees and silhouettes bare branches whose leaves now gather deeply in piles of brown. 

The last of the zinnias valiantly lift their heads up to the surprisingly warm sun and purple echinacea, still stalwart, carries on for who knows how much longer. 

Though it seems a bit later to me this year; these remnants of summer flowers mark the changing of the seasons. They appear reluctant to go. I guess that is what autumn is all about; a time of late warmth and glow, while heading reluctantly toward winter. I have felt gifted by these late bloomers, but I am feeling surprised and startled by new garden developments.

I pruned the giant, old rose bush a month or so ago. A lot of dead wood and overgrown canes had to go. And now, as if to say "thank you," a new crop of fat, creamy blossoms have emerged, here at the beginning of November. They look so beautiful, and somehow peaceful, bathed in the easy light of autumn.

Then this morning, coffee cup in hand, I was checking out the backyard scene, when, to my surprise, I discovered a glorious purple and white iris, blooming away. It is accompanied by a host of buds, promising further developments. But how can this be? Why is it here just now out of season and so improbable.

I have been filled with wonder about these developments all day. And then it came to me: the roses and the irises came to me just now for beauty. They came for beauty and to make me happy, yes, and grateful. 

I cut six fat, pinkish-yellow rose buds and placed them in a blue and white porcelain pitcher that belonged to my great-grandmother. They sit on the dining table bathed in the same light which blesses them outside. I look at them and beyond to my yard and I am happy and grateful.

That is all the explanation my soul requires from these out-of-season gifts.

Star Species

Star Species

We are star creatures, you and I,

and that quite literally.

Each hair on my head and on your shining wing

was forged by stars,

"Every rock, plant, animal, scoop of seawater 

and breath of air 

owes its existence to the actions of distant suns."*

We are as old as the universe and 

as recent as yesterday’s refugees

arrived on earth from origins light years away.

My stardust settled into human form 

and yours into dragonfly, 

but we are not different.

We are CHNOPS –  space-born elements blown by

ancient winds into ephemeral amalgamations

with different names.

 I see myself as solid and big in the world,

but the mirror reflects my arrogance not my reality.

Like dust, I am constantly blowing away, 

shedding my elements to regroup into other star creatures 

who don’t resemble me at all.

 I am neither solid nor separate

My body is a process not a fixed thing,

and I am no longer what I was.  

New cells are capable of new ideas,

and in this lies hope.

I am stardust, but

I am not the star species.

You are not outside of me, dragonfly. 

We are inside of each other in an inextricable way

with our own fiery processes

capable of exploding into something new.

*Simon Worrall in "National Geographic"

Awaiting Discovery

Many species remain undiscovered for a reason well understood by field biologists. These biologists have learned that the most elusive species tend to be rare and isolated in narrow niches limited to small, remote habitats, and hence could be much more numerous than suggested by published data sets… E.O. Wilson

Taxonomy, by definition, is the science dealing with the description, identification, naming, and classification of organisms (Global Taxonomy Initiative). In an excerpt from his book, Half Earth, biologist E.O. Wilson, makes a case for the importance of taxonomy to “… the unfinished mission of science to discover and conserve all of life on Earth.” I think he is saying that we cannot begin to protect and preserve biodiversity if we are, most of us, clueless about the vast range of creatures which inhabit planet earth. We don’t know their names, or anything else about them, and so they remain objects of our disregard and carelessness.

I get it. It is a natural human characteristic to want to know the names of things. What will you name your baby? What is the name of that river? And to feel inadequate in saying, “I love those yellow flowers,” when “daffodils” says so much more. It’s why I weight my backpack with wildflower and bird books, and fuss at myself when I forget them. 

As a Southerner, I understand in my bones this desire to name, know, and classify. I grew up fielding questions from strangers who exhibited no shyness in asking me about my daddy, my mama, and any other significant people and places in my life. Satisfied, the inquisitor would sit back and conclude, “Oh, yes, I know your people,” or ominously, “I don’t believe I know your people.” 

As with all insects and critters, what we think we know about a person’s lineage may not completely predict the character and behavior of a stranger we have just met. Such classification can be difficult to overcome.

In the urgency to complete the naming and classification of all creatures “yet to be discovered”, I can’t help feeling concerned. What if we don’t get it right? Are there really undiscovered insects and critters waiting to be named “harrisonfordi” for lack of enough names which we think appropriate? What do such names tell us about them or them about themselves?

I worry that so-named, they come within our purview, and we develop a sense of responsibility for them - dominion of a sort. Taxonomy, Wilson says, is necessary to manage and protect these creatures, and ultimately to save them. Are the vast numbers of species on board with that?

We humans don’t have a good track record with those goals. We fall short of either the will or the know-how or both. The consequences of human intervention on the species we already know are devastating.

A principle of physics, called the observer effect, states that “simply observing a situation or phenomenon necessarily changes that phenomenon” (Wikipedia). While our intentions are good, I fear for the hidden, unknown species as we find them, observe them, and classify them. You have to lift up a rock to find the creatures that live beneath, and when you do, others will also want to look under that rock. Newly discovered beings cannot escape our attention unscathed. They may not escape at all. It is a conundrum. If we don’t find them, we cannot save them, and yet, it is our finding them that might destroy them.

I believe these beings have evolved just as nature has intended. They are the perfect embodiment of themselves and fulfill their purpose, in their niches, just as they are meant to. We might only dimly imagine that purpose and what role it plays in relation to all other beings. 

Wilson calls these unkowns  “elusive… rare, and isolated.”  I think this, too, is as it is meant to be. Rather than “awaiting discovery” - a strictly human perspective - maybe they are meant to remain hidden, undiscovered, and untouched. Their elusiveness serves a purpose. Rather than awaiting discovery, perhaps they are busy fulfilling their destiny - billions of years in the planning - to save the planet when our unholy dominion has failed. 

Oh, elusive soldiers in the soil, the earth thrums with your industry. Can you complete your task before I step on your home?

Gladioli

I am surprised (and delighted) by gladioli in the garden. I didn't plant them. Some previous tenant placed these bulbs deep in the fragrant soil with hope, for their own joy and for mine. And now they are here.

I count eight awkward, tilting buds in the planter box. I don't yet know all the colors, but they have thus far revealed peeks of rose pink, moon white, and butter yellow. The others are still a mystery.

Now is my time of anticipation and impatience. Oh, when will these awkward buds open to their full extravagance? Will my intense gaze coax them open like the sun? Their unfolding is maddeningly slow, but fully worth the wait! 

One Thing Leads to Another

Tried out the A/C for the first time and discovered that it's not putting out any cool air. We have not needed it until now - I keep bragging about that - but humidity and increasing temperatures are starting to make it feel sticky at times.

The led to a conversation this morning with the maintenance man for our rented house. Nice guy; liked to talk. It turns out that he and his son have worked together for 29 years, and they renovate houses, ours included.

He told me that this house was built in 1910 and was very solidly constructed. I had already learned from a friend that this had been the home of the Lyles family forever. Ray, the maintenance guy, told me about what the house had been like and what they had changed. He said the his  son and he were proud of how this one had turned out.

I had the chance to tell him how much we love the house; that it suits us so well; and we love how the essential character of the house had been retained, while updating it to be more livable.

I think he liked hearing that, and he told me how pleased he was to know that someone lives here who appreciates the house.

Ray is going to have to call the HVAC guy. His name is Ray also, and he works with his son. I hope he too will have some stories to tell me.

I can't quite say how, but encounter just made me feel happy and all the more glad to be living in this little place that now is home.

Out of the Dumpster

Ok, I let myself get into a Trump Slump. I think that is understandable, human, but regrettable. I sometimes feel that there is no place unstained by him, but that is dangerous thinking and part of the problem.

I know that despite my moments of wretched feelings, I am not stained by him on the inside. I will not be stained by him or the "me first" mentality that he represents. What I believe about the unity and equality of all living beings and our imperative to be loving and compassionate, cannot be sullied by him. 

For me, remaining clear about who I am and how I will live my life is the most important way to resist Trump and his minions. If I allow myself to be pushed into anger and despair by all that is happening and to let the chaos inside, then I have given myself over to what they represent. 

It is not impossible to know the truth about things. It is right there in my heart and in my own wisdom. Compassion, love, respect, and the golden core of goodness that is our true nature cannot be tainted without my permission.

I don't need six talking bobble heads, shouting to be heard over each other, to tell me this. I need quiet reflection and going to my sources to restore my faith in people and in myself. I feel that i am sailing through troubled waters these days, but constancy will keep me on course and unstained. I think this is one of the biggest challenges I have faced in my life. Here is where the rubber hits the road, as they say; to live what I believe despite adverse circumstances.

To Donald Trump, I say: "May you be filled with loving kindness."

Give Me A Break

I find myself deeply longing this morning for one day unstained by Donald Trump, but where on the entire planet might one go to find a place unstained by him? Turn the radio off, go outside, drink in the beauty of nature, but he does not rest and things will be worse when I get back. 

I've heard some people express that he is God's Man, his representative on earth. Oh, no. What kind of hate-filled, spiteful, deceitful, self-serving god would that be? I have no doubt that the Dumpster believes himself to be a god, but far from being God's representative, he has been called to serve and promote the dark evil that lurks in the hearts of mankind. God is not amused with us. This is a sad time from which we all are going to suffer until we rise up and claim goodness and love for each other again. None of which can be found in the likes of Donald Trump, our Predator in Chief.

I don't believe that we deserve suffering, or that it is imposed on us. It's just that we have chosen it for ourselves.

Opening My Eyes

I'm enjoying waking up each morning to a surprise. My mind still grapples with finding myself immersed in the familiar and the new. Here I am in my usual bed, and I see my own things, but the setting and the arrangements are still new and not yet invisible. Is this us yet? Or are we just posing in this house, soon to move on like we do from a vacation home. The tension is delightful, as I continue discovering myself in this place. It is wonderful to see things in a new way.

Good Morning

How delicious to open the door in the morning and take a deep breath of cool air. That this day begins at 56 degrees on June 7, is quite a welcome phenomenon. That first cool breath is an act of "yes" to the new day for me.

Morning sun floods the backyard, and my first task is to take the bird feeder and suet outside. Our previous feeder met with an untimely end at the paws of an Urban bear the second night after we hung it on the pole. Now we take it in at night, and I've noticed that the early birds are waiting in the trees for it. I'm glad to live in a city where birds of many varieties live in abundance. Squirrels too, but they seem to sleep a bit later than the birds, though their gluttony quickly makes up for lost time.

Chili Dog, G-man, and I left for a walk about 8:50, and I shivered in my short sleeves. We walked along the greenway and wooded paths beside the rocky creek at UNC-Asheville. The campus is green and shady, and we saw birdhouses; bee hotels, tribute and memorial gardens -  indicators of the presence of people who care for and about environment and the people who live in it. Plentiful park benches tempted me with respite from my aching knee, but I soldiered on. 

The pitiful state of my left knee is a bother for the outdoor activities I want to do. No doubt I will soon have to find someone here to do a repair. In the meantime I am determined (most days) to keep going with my knee brace.

In this, I am inspired by an older neighbor I knew when we lived in Polk County before our coastal interlude. Miss Margaret lived in the fork in the road down the hill and around the curve from our house. She was 70, at least, quite overweight, and troubled greatly with arthritis. Yet, everyday, she took her tall walking stick and headed up the long, substantial hill that curved upward. She walked some distance past us, and back down to her house. It took a long time for her relatively short trip, and I winced to see her go. 

One day I asked her why she took that difficult walk. "Well," she replied, "if I didn't, I wouldn't be able to." Her husband eventually bought her a gym membership to get her out of the traffic, and I wonder if her walking remained a daily event.

I am beginning to experience for myself the phenomenon of "If I don't, I won't be able to." I'm glad for the beauty and cool of such as morning as this, which calls me out and rewards me so abundantly. I have all those roads not yet taken ahead of me, and I want to be able to go.

Settling In

A place for everything, and everything in its place.

Anyone who has sampled my housekeeping would snigger at the idea that I take this proverb to heart. I am not a tidy person, and a cluttered look is the essence of my decorating philosophy.

I do, however, feel, in a visceral way, that things and people have their natural and optimal place. Moving, as I have done recently, triggers a cataclysmic upheaval in the natural order of things and in me.

Well meaning friends, with absolute correctness, advised me not to hurry about unpacking. It is a big job, and it will be completed in time. It is not to stress over.

I know it. I just can't stand the disturbing effects of my things sitting around out of place - God forbid in boxes! For me the art of unpacking and setting up a new household is discovering each object's natural place. The urgency of this task is that until things are in their natural order, the place just doesn't say home to me.

I am persnickity about this, obsessive even. I try to be agreeable and compromise, with G-man obviously, but as soon as my back is turned on the offending placement, I can feel the dislocated object glaring at me with distain. "Fix me," the refrain rings in my ears the live-long day.

Why is this blue bowl just right on the coffee table, and glaringly uncomfortable on the desk? Why doesn't this comfortable chair belong in the den? I can't say. It just isn't right. I feel it somewhere deep in myself. It is similar to my response to the color orange, which causes a disturbance in me at the cellular level. I can feel it, and never, never, never could I live with it.

I seek harmony in this process, and harmony and serenity is what comes of allowing the right order to reveal itself. It is not, unfortunately, always the same placement of objects as in our previous home.

We are nearly there. I hear my things humming with satisfaction as I walk through the house. It feels like home - almost. There are those few bits lying around waiting to be served. They are either unhappy in the spot where I think they belong, or sadly, there is no place for them. These I have to give some time. My perception might be slightly out of whack, and I might wake up one morning and see things differently.

I have a strong sense of place for myself as well. I knew this was the right house for us when I saw it. I looked across the bright green yard and into the snug corners inside, and I felt it. The property manager was quite surprised, because she also showed us a sparkling new house that was frankly House Beautiful inside. I appreciated it,  but I said "No, I would not want to live here." I want the little house.

I'm that way about the mountains too. When I arrived the first time, I drew a deep breath and something inside opened and was nourished - the same now that I have returned. We went walking on a Parkway trail yesterday, and with each resonant thump of my walking stick on the packed, rocky trail, something inside me hummed with gratitude. "I'm back. Here is where I live, and it is my true place." Order is restored. 

Cognitive Dissonance

While we slept, a bear destroyed the bird feeder we hung in our backyard. A bear in the backyard.

(This photo is not our bear, but this is exactly what our bear did to our feeder, except that the pole was bent 90 degrees where it emerged from the ground.)

Limping Toward Paradise

My husband and I have spent the last seven weeks moving. It began with getting the house ready to put on the market and to show. When it sold in two days, we had six weeks to find a place to live more than 350 miles away; prepare for and conduct a yard sale; pack and clean; drive to Asheville; and then attack the monumental task of unpacking and squeezing our already downsized stuff into an even smaller space.

On the subject of moving, I have this advice. Don't do it! It is brutal. 

Granted, there are times when it cannot be avoided, and one of those times is when, like us, something deep in your heart requires you to leave. Still, moving is majorly challenging in so many ways. 

My second piece of advice is don't move from a three-bedroom house with garage and storage room over the garage to a two-bedroom house with neither. Better still, start getting rid of your excess stuff now in case a move might be in your future.

I think the emotional challenges of moving are pretty straightforward, especially if you have decided that you just want to live in another place. We wanted to return to living in the mountains. We were not forced to go. Inevitably, I had  to let go of some people and things I wish I have could taken with me. I had some of the best neighbors possible; a wonderful church family; and a volunteer job as a kindergarten helper with a fabulous teacher and friend and children whom I love. I also hated to leave my hydrangeas.

The list of losses sounds deceptively simple. With each, I left a piece of my heart and entered into a state of anxiety about whom I might meet in my new home and whether new relationships would sustain me as well as the old ones. And, oh boy, am I doing the right thing?

I don't completely know the answer to that question. We love Asheville; we think we will be happy; and I hope those relationships will come in time. Not to replace those dear ones, but to expand my life with new people I hope to meet.

I have experienced two major epiphanies during this move. I started to say I learned two lessons from this move, but "learned" isn't quite right. I have been confronted with information about myself that still bears contemplation and future assimilation and change.

The first is, "Ok, I get it: I am old."  My overworked body has screamed this at me for seven weeks now. I don't know what I have been thinking about my age, but the physical labor and stress of moving has nearly finished me off. The day after the truck came and packed us, I finished several tasks in the house and made the wise decision to leave my capable and caring neighbors to finish the cleaning themselves. They are professional housecleaners and could wipe it out more efficiently than I could. I believe this decision saved my life.

I left home about 10 am and arrived at my new house around 6 pm. My body literally felt like I had been beaten with a large stick. I limped into the house whimpering and immediately lay down on my temporary cot bed. It took me about three days to get back up and speak coherently. The enormity of what we had physically done in such a short time settled in my bones and in my joints, and disabled me for a period of time. Why wasn't it just yesterday that I could carry a sleep sofa up a flight of stairs single-handedly? Hyperbole, yes, but a still a real question. I don't have the stamina and strength that I used to have. It's real and where did it go?

Second, no two people (for any reason) should own as much disposable stuff as we did. We had an enormous yard sale; donated a van full of leftovers to the church yard sale; donated stuff to the local thrift store; sold furniture; hauled endless bags of trash to the transfer station; moved a truck load of stuff; and have made two additional trips to Goodwill since we have been here. I feel physically ill thinking of all that stuff we owned. By the end of it, I felt myself wanting to trash perfectly good stuff just so I wouldn't have to find a place to put it. And the shocker is that I don't think I will miss any of it, and I have truly made great strides in letting go of stuff. This includes some emotionally-laden objects that I thought I would always have.

I feel good about this. I feel lighter and unburdened. Someone told me, "Memories are not contained in stuff: they live in your heart." I visited these things as I packed and discarded, and said good-bye. Also, I think I know now that no matter how cute or cheap of self-expressive stuff is, I will only need to purchase it on rare occasions. (And yet, have you seen all the cool stuff they have in Asheville???) Working on it; still in transition.

So, here we are. Gerry, Chili Dog and I. We are beginning something new fairly late in our lives. I'm kind of proud of us, that we followed out dream back to the mountains and it didn't kill us.  Still, I have that anxiety about new things. Time will tell. 

Looking back over these last weeks, I will just say, "GET RID OF YOUR STUFF NOW!!"

AGGGGHHHH!

No wait, the text About Me did change. Oh, phooey. There has got to be a better way to blog.

Head For the Hills!

Since this gosh-darn blogger won't let me change the text in my About Me Section (boo! hiss!), I'm just writing it here. Things are changing around here, regardless of whether I receive affirmation from Google!

Not to change horses in mid-stream or anything, but after seven years of working on my tan (to no avail), I have moved back to the mountains from the coast of North Carolina!

 I live in Asheville now, my long-time dream come true. I look out and see green, not sand, and my soul feels nourished. What do I think about all this? That's what I'm here to write about.

I'm a coffee drinker. It's how I work things out, over a good cuppa'. NO SEE THROUGH COFFEE PLEASE! My husband doesn't even drink coffee, so I'm reduced to pouring a big mug and sharing my coffee thoughts with the stratosphere.

So ... Sit down; take a load off; pour yourself a cup.  "Would you like a warmer, hon?"

It's About the Man

I am in mourning for my country today.

Recently, in response to my thoughts about Donald Trump, I have been called a sore looser, angry because a Republican will be President; un-American; and someone who wants to kill babies and sell their parts. 

I have noticed that none of these people actually ask me why I oppose Donald Trump. They just go ahead and assign these criticisms to me. When I ask, and I have asked, supporters to talk to me about the man, to inform me about the positive qualities that make them support Trump, I get a barrage of talk that is about President Obama; Hilary Clinton; the Democrats; the Liberals; and poor old immoral Bill Clinton. No one seems to be able or willing to actually discuss the merits of Trump, not within my hearing at least. Though the right to speak rudely and hurtfully to anyone we choose does seem to be a very popular asset.

This is my blog, so I am going to use my time and this space to say exactly why I can never support Donald Trump ... for anything.

For the record, it does not matter to me which party he represents, right or left, or any of the other reasons. To paraphrase James Carvell, "It's about the man, stupid!"

First, he is colossally unqualified. He has never served in government; served in any kind of public work; never held any job, except in his own company. He is pathetically and doggedly uniformed about, well everything; and he is proud of it. He has said that he doesn't need advisors: he trust his gut: and recently that he doesn't see the need to read briefs too much.

I suppose the reason for this is, as he proclaims, he knows more than anyone about, well, everything. He knows more about the tax code; freedom of speech; hacking; ISIS; and I am certain that I missed a few. I cannot take seriously anyone who actually brags that he knows more than anyone else. Such a person is a fool. It has always been my experience that people who make such claims are delusional.

I can't find any history of Trump doing anything in his life but promoting Donald Trump. Where is his public service record; good works; care and concern for others; actions on behalf of our country, poverty, the environment, or anything philanthropic? Oh, yes, he did begin renting his properties to minorities after the Justice Department forced him to. Even his foundation has been under investigation for giving funds to guess who, Donald Trump. One item is to have a portrait painted of the Great One.

The chief qualification most often cited by his supporters is that he is a great businessman. I call that into question. First, he is awfully secret about his dealings and his taxes. I have read quite a bit about his business career. It is rampant with business failures; bankruptcies; lawsuits; unethical business practices; cheating; and lies. He owes masses amounts of money to people and countries all over the world. People who have done business with him have come forward to say that it is standard operating procedure with the Trump organization to welch on contracts and refuse to pay for work done. 

His father staked him to start with and bailed him out financially numerous times. Banks have bailed him out to prevent losing even more money on the loans they have given him. His businesses regularly fail and go into bankruptcy: casinos, Broadway show; Trump University, steaks, airlines, wines, etc. etc. He makes most of his money as a TV character and by selling his name to other business ventures.

Donald Trump is untruthful. He has been caught in countless lies and misrepresentations. He has been caught on tape and in interviews making statements, then denying that he said them, when they become inconvenient. The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, I guess. 

He doesn't bother to use facts when he makes outrageous claims: one example of this is that he claims that thousands of people voted illegally and the election was rigged. Well, I guess he and his comrades would know about that.

Trump is a confabulator. He has a serious lack of knowledge, so he makes something up in order to have something to say. He also has to confabulate to support his outrageous ego and his need to believe that he is indeed "The Greatest."

Example of confabulation: We are going to repeal and replace Obamacare with something that is going to be so much better, and we are going to do it simultaneously. Well, maybe not simultaneously, it has to be in stages: possibly the same week; maybe the same day, actually maybe the same hour. He is making it up as he goes along. Never mind that no such plan actually exists.

So, what happens when the press, trying to do their jobs, point out his untruthful statements and practices or even to get him to give a straight out answer to a question? Donald Trump attempts to discredit, control, and silence the press. A free and independent press is one of the cornerstones of a free and democratic society, and we are in danger indeed if he convinces the public that only he speaks the truth, and EVERYONE who disagrees with him is a fake, a liar, and an enemy. Control and suppression of the media has been the cornerstone of Fascism. Look it up.

Donald Trump is immoral. HIs sexual escapades are notorious. His play buddy, Jeffrey Epstein, is a convicted pedophile. Of course Trump now claims that he doesn't know the man, despite ample evidence and witnesses that they partied together at Trump's Florida estate and elsewhere. Trump is on tape on the Howard Stern show talking about no holes barred (sorry about the pun) sex with Russian girls. He was married at the time. He was also infamously recorded about how he could get away doing anything he wanted to women because he is rich and famous - also married at the time. All previous marriages ended because of infidelity, which I believe is considered a sin in most religions.

Trump does not hate women. He objectifies them as sex objects and uses them.

Donald Trump hired an avowed white-supremacist and misogynist as his chief White House strategist. So, what do you think his chief strategy might be? I believe this has been his hidden agenda all along.

I do not believe that Trump gives a damn about working people or has any intention of doing anything to help them. He has lived a life of privilege and wealth and lives only to increase his wealth. He is filling his cabinet with other millionaires and billionaires with a vested interest in keeping the upward slide of wealth in this country into their pockets. He announced to his millionaire buddies on New Year's Eve, that he would cut their taxes by 35%. Has he offered any tax relief to working people, who actually need help as they fall further and further behind? And finally, the man who would bring back jobs to the US, sends his manufacturing jobs to China and other countries and hires illegal immigrants to work on his construction projects.

I ask you. Are we not to judge this man by his actions, not by his words? Why does he continually get a pass on the outrageous things he says and does?

Then there is the matter of Russia. Trump has an abiding affection, admiration, and support of Vladimir Putin that is beyond explanation. He clings to this even to the extent of choosing Putin and supporting Putin over the United States. He doesn't trust our intelligence services, but he trusts Vladimir Putin. I don't know why this is, but it scares me to death. I do know that Putin does not love the USA. He is bent on re-establishing the Soviet Union, and will use any means at his disposable. Having the President of the United States of America kiss his ass is an asset indeed. The Donald, so anxious to make his mark on the big world stage and so in need of having his ego stroked is only too happy to oblige. At what point do we finally call this treason? People have been black listed and had their lives ruined for WAY less than this. Explain this to me, please. Anybody???

Finally (well no, but my last point at least), Donald Trump has a Narcissistic Personality Disorder. This means Donald Trump is the center of Donald Trump's world, and the world and everyone in it serves their purpose only to the extent that they serve his purpose. He is profoundly incapable of putting anyone's needs ahead of his own. 

His ego, which serves for his character, has to be constantly stroked. He has to unceasingly, in answer to every question, tell us how great he is and how great everything he does is. Why he could run the Trump organization and be President at the same time, AND do a great job. He said that, not me.

If you are for Donald Trump, you are great, but if you doubt him or don't believe him, or God help us, don't think he is the smartest and greatest man alive, then you are an enemy and you will suffer his wrath and revenge. A man who cannot tolerate any criticism and seeks to denigrate and destroy anyone who criticizes him is dangerous. But, he can't help himself. It is an illness and a dangerous one for a man with power.

His is the type of personality that leads to authoritarianism; fascism; and the death of opponents. His deep, inadequacy must be over-compensated without ceasing, and that can only happen when he is crowned King. Trust me, he says, I am the ONLY one who can fix it.

Donald Trump is mentally and morally unfit to be the President of the United States. He is a danger to our country. I am told that we are supposed to give him a chance. We have given him a chance. We have been listening to him for more than a year, and he has proven time and again to be unfit. I do not want him to have the chance to fulfill his hate-filled, self promoting; immoral, and unethical agenda in my country. He is just too dangerous. 

I am in mourning that on this day, because evil has been given the place of power and glory in my country. I pray to God too, and I am asking for help to protect us from Donald Trump. In the meantime, I will resist. 

Home Again

We are back from South America; back from Chile Days; and home to our own showers, our own beds, Coffee Mornings, and our own country. There is pleasure and nourishment in all these things. We are home, but we are not unchanged.

The best part of travel, for me, is the people I meet, and the way that seeing the world and meeting these people changes my perspective. 

Access to travel and technology truly make the world seem smaller and smaller. I feel more and more that divisions are artificial, and we all live in the same world together. As small as it gets, however, it is so much larger than my own life, my views, my needs. That is what happens when I travel. I grow smaller, but larger in understanding and compassion (at least I hope so). 

A small example is the two women from Moscow we met at a hostel in Pucon, Chile. We chatted for several days, and I discovered that almost none of my assumptions about their lives were accurate. I hope they felt the same. I like to think, that at least in the virtual world, I now have two friends in Moscow.

I have challenged myself, yet again, not to travel boldly in the world to confirm my suspicions, but to muster enough courage to go and discover all the ways in which I am probably wrong. I hope that I do return with greater understanding and compassion.

I am also returning to my country, whose fate concerns me greatly right now. I am working to apply my compassion to these concerns, rather than my alarm and anger. Compassion is always the correct response, even if I have to dig hard to unearth it from beneath my fears, and believe me, right now I am digging.

I have many things that I want to say about current affairs, and I work things out by talking. I can't not talk about things of interest and concern. While in Chile for three months, I was addicted to Facebook, both because I was lonely and estranged and longed for contact, and because the news today is like the proverbial train wreck. I could not stop looking.

I have said many things on Facebook, the reasons are stated above. I will continue to have many things to say and hope to discuss with others, but I am going to cut way back on my Facebook use and attention.

First, the daily shouting of the "ain't it awfuls" gives me indigestion, literally, and provokes a tendency toward knee-jerk reactions. I have tried to curb them, but it is just so much easier to "like" and put up "hit-and-run" comments than it is to soberly investigate the news and take time to think and assimilate. I need to move myself closer to sober investigation and critical thinking. As I have said on FB, the news is shocking and dismaying enough in reality; I don't need the hyper-spin and fake news. I fear that our reality is now too closely pinned to sound bites and outrageous statements that we have failed to seek to confirm. Please don't tell me that it is impossible to find out the truth: it just takes more work and more sources.

What I hope to do now, is use this blog to help me think through what I have read and heard and try to make sense of the information I have gained. I will share it. If anyone wants to read it, fine, but it primarily serves as a way for me to put on the breaks a bit and work through the horrors.

I won't say that I will never visit FB again. I want to hear about friends and family. I just have to cut back. I will share this blog, but having to take time to go to my blog and read it cuts down on the "in your face" aspect of what I have to say.

I will be talking about Donald Trump. I believe to my core that his election is a threat to our nation and an affront to everything that I believe in my faith, my morals, and my ethics. Writing about it is one of the legitimate efforts that I can make to resist him and the way that he is pledging to lead our country. I strongly feel that it is my moral and patriotic duty to resist him and his henchmen in every legal way that I can. I do not yet know all the directions this might take, but I do know that I have to speak out when I see and hear wrongdoing and the wrongful manipulation of facts.

I no longer feel that FB is the best venue for expressing my thoughts on this. I do think that it will be a way for me to link up with anyone who wants to read what I have to say. 

So, we are back. The work of being a good citizen begins. A president, who I feel is mentally and morally unfit, is coming to power this week. This is not yet a totalitarian government, and those of us who oppose him, can and will use our freedom of speech and freedom of choice, to work  to limit that power and toward replacing him as soon as possible. I have said to friends, in a previous e-mail, that I pray that our system of government and our constitution will stand, and that we will work through this time of trouble together, even if not always in agreement.

I will say again, I have a greater sense of how small I am, but we live in a country whose greatness resides in the belief that all people and all opinions matter. They have worth, and they need to be heard.