Robin and I have a delightful guest for a few short days, granddaughter Elsa flew in Wednesday night from Washington D.C. Wednesday was a chilly and rainy day here in Paradise. Not a doom and gloomy one, just enough to make us happy to have a non-leaking roof and central heating. Willow the cat, however, took the rain personally and stayed indoors where she complained in her own subtle ways. Thursday morning she was properly indignant when nature’s demands forced her out into the back yard. We used to keep a litter box in the laundry room when we had two cats, but while Poco would use it Willow never got the habit. Ergo = wet feline from time to time.
There is a fair amount of rain that could fall over the next several days, but we will run between the drops and explore our surroundings. Elsa has never been a hard one to entertain. I hope that isn’t because she has low expectations, but I’ve never had the courage to ask.
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Our national politics are daily becoming more savage, with new lows being hit nearly every day. Our triumphant and omniscient leader, Donald Cluck, is leading the pack by taking umbrage at anything and anybody who isn’t constantly singing his praises. Every day a new video is published showing him walking into a meadow or saluting a helicopter or something else just as daft.
But our man on the way to Hell, Vivek Ramaswamy, has set a low bar that will be hard to beat. Candidate Amy Acton was sexually abused as a child by her stepfather and the courts had to remove her from her home, along with her brother. At the time Amy’s mother sided with the abuser, not her own children.
Now Vivek’s people (may his name be spoken only when one can spit freely afterward) have put out a campaign video where that same warmhearted and pedophile-enabling mother is recorded saying that her daughter has been a terrible liar ever since childhood.
I believe that I will file this episode under “Ugly moments I could easily have skipped.”
My, my, my. The Republican Party has completed the move toward becoming one with that material which one scrapes from the bottom of one’s shoes after walking through the dog exercise park. No difference at all.
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There are rare days when even the composition of one of these perishable posts seems very difficult. Sometimes those reasons are clear, sometimes they are invisible. Such a moment came along this morning. I do not remember the content of all of my dreams, or if I do it is for the briefest of times before they slip away, but I do know that dreams can created a mood, an emotional leftover.
The brain never stops working … most of the time it goes about its business willy-nilly whether we are conscious or not. Buddhists are fond of calling it “the monkey mind,” swinging from tree to tree. The purpose of all this swinging is certainly unclear to me, with all that monkey-swinging, but there is always the possibility that I’m just not wise enough to perceive the meanings.
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Dreaming, I lost track of where you were
And the ache
Stayed with me all morning
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