New verses to When Johnny comes marching home

Found an old bedside tablet from a few years ago; I had scrawled something, shortly after waking, without benefit of light.

Our troops still fight in old men's wars, hurrah, hurrah
fodder for drones and cannonballs, hurrah, hurrah
They come back blind, they come back lame; their lives will never be the same
We must be mad to keep sending our youth to war

When you left you were proud and tall, hurrah, hurrah
Your goal was "Freedom for one and all," hurrah, hurrah
You may be living on the street, at times you don't have enough to eat
And in many ways, you never came home at all

The cost of being brown

   No matter what small strides people of color make, there are white supremacists and a whole oppressive culture just itching to beat them down. As soon as the Black Lives Matter movement began, some folks felt a need to insist All Lives Matter. They just don't get it: if they did, they would realize that raising persons of color up, does not put light-skinned persons, down. I suppose I should thank these poor dimwits: if they weren't so dense (bless their hearts), I wouldn't have to explain the obvious. Then what would I write about?
   "Affirmative Action" programs, which attempt to redress old grievances, are often met with vehement outrage; at very least, bafflement. Negative reactions result from willful or cultural ignorance and/or a sense of privilege. That's why I so wish the circumstances portrayed in Trading Places, in which a wealthy person and a less-privileged individual spend time living each other's lives, were a real and frequent thing. It has been shown that having darker skin, a non-native accent, an "ethnic-sounding" name resulted in: discrimination, maybe even physical violence; where one was allowed to live; a vast difference in education or employment opportunities. Perhaps a couple years, during which light-skinned people were subjected to the same atrocities that regularly befall persons of color would open the hearts and minds of oppressors. Seven U.S. presidents, from 1890-1952 asked Congress to pass an anti-lynching federal law and not one bill was approved by the Senate, because there was such great opposition by the Southern Democratic voting bloc. Yes, the Democratic party has unsavory baggage; which they are still unpacking.
   Astonishing as it is, there are apparently still people who actually believe that persons of color are somehow inferior to whites. They *know* white privilege is a real thing, believe it is their due, and are scared to death of losing it; they quake in horror at the notion of white people in United States being outnumbered. That is only about a generation away; it is predicted whites will be in the minority, by 2045. Reminds me of a meme with the late Gene Wilder, asking why anyone would be fearful of white people becoming a minority; it's not as if minorities were treated badly (is it?). But I digress.
   Persons of color are more likely than their white counterparts to be punished severely, or even prosecuted, for minor infractions of rules and laws. Studies have shown that Black girls are consistently judged to be older than their years, and therefor get held to a stricter standard than their white age peers. I have cringed and cried at reports of minority children, some with learning disabilities, being handcuffed and treated like hardened criminals for defying and sassing persons in authority - or for even lesser infractions.The list of people whose lives have been brutally extinguished for "living while Black" just keeps getting longer and longer. On 25 May, 2020, the name grew to include George Floyd who was murdered by police office Derek Chauvin, in Minneapolis, Minnesota. The wanton disregard for life was recorded and though Chauvin was the one kneeling on Mr. Floyd's neck - for nearly ten minutes(!), none of the three officers with him, made a move to remove him. All four were fired and Chauvin, at least, was finally charged with third degree murder. [This update made 1 June, 2020 jbd] Perhaps the spotlight will burn a little brighter, as these events unfold during a pandemic and an election year [in United States].
   I know previous administrations don't have exemplary track records on the issue of immigration. Children are now living under deplorable conditions in concentration camps; actually, they are struggling to survive - sometimes they don't make it. There are armies of people, marching under "Right to Life" banners [figuratively and literally], wanting to protect fetal tissue. Where are their outcries in response to the deaths and endangerment of living, breathing, children?
   I'll tell ya something: if I had my way, there would be no new military spending [to purchase armaments] until all children detained in these concentration camps were processed and provided for. The bracketed clause was inserted for nitpickers who would hasten to point out that border security/defense functions come under the umbrella of military spending. But dammit to hell, we don't need more ways to blow people up; we most certainly do need to provide a safe place to house these children - and accompanying adults, and provide adequate food, hygiene, medical supplies, etc.
Anytime we forget another's humanity, we diminish our own.

The alien living with you must be treated as one of your native born...Love him as you love yourself, for you were once aliens in Egypt ~Leviticus 19:34
(In place of "Egypt," I suppose one could insert the border state of choice... 

Letters from June 2016

June 2019
   I have collected June entries from 2016 and edited them into a continuous letter, leaving intact their initial titles but, for most part, dispensing with daily salutations.
jbd

*****

Conundrum 
1 June

'Morning love,

   It has been a long five days and this probably is not the best time to be writing a letter because I am in kind of a pissy mood, but I just don't really care. Unfortunately, that means I am venting at your expense and you didn't even do anything. Much of my attitude stems from the long hike necessitated by parking lot re-paving. Add a few nights away from home and a couple uncooperative neighbors, and things can turn ugly.

   I usually avoid news broadcasts, finding them depressing. Heard one while in my car and didn't have time to change it right then, so I caught this hubbub about a child who got in with some gorilla and the gorilla ended up being killed, to prevent said child from being injured. Jack Hanna, well-known in wildlife circles, offered his opinion, saying tranquilizing the animal was too risky: it might not have acted fast enough to spare the child serious injury/death. Radio guy put in his two cents, that human life always supersedes animal life. Tell that to the family of a slave who was whipped to death for accidentally spooking a prize horse who ended up lame. Hell's bells, if human life is so sacred, why are we killing each other through neglect, abuse, and war? Okay, so it was not a fortuitous situation but why did anybody have to die, much less a member of an endangered species? So one of the parties had 46 chromosomes. So what? Why not choose an option that provided both victims a chance at survival?

   I'm sure there will be those who ask, "What if it were your child/grandchild?" One must evaluate each situation case by case: How and why did it happen; who was at fault? This instance cannot be undone but one would hope it is not repeated anytime soon.

   Alright, that's out of my system. I got to visit a friend not seen for months and saw considerable progress on parking lot. Did ask manager, "Can I just stay home til it's done?" Have a haircut scheduled for Friday, so guess not. Had impromptu supper with friends, with another set for tomorrow. Who knows? Maybe by Friday, we will at least be able to bring our cars back on the lot for weekend. One hopes for best; then reality has to go and rear its ugly head and one makes best of whatever hand one is dealt. Guess I'm ready to pack it in and call it a night. As Scarlett O'Hara said, "After all, tomorrow is another day."

Pancakes with a side of gospel
4 June

   Went out with my "breakfast beau," as I frequently do on weekends. Today the 'cost' of our meal was a donation to local fire department - a winning proposition all around. So we are minding our own business - eating our food, making small talk with tablemates - when one couple gets up to leave. Apparently not content with usual goodbyes, this fellow feels the need to ask if we go to church. Not in the mood to be preached at, I said I was planning to attend local Methodist church but was otherwise affiliated (Episcopalian).

   Now, I guess I admire those who take seriously the admonition to "go forth and make disciples of all men" (Gospel according to Matthew, Chapter 28, Verse 19) but I am more inclined to the *silent* approach of teaching by example. Granted, there are worse things to discuss over breakfast,  but I am quite capable of deciding when or if I want to attend a prayer meeting, thank you very much. As I say, this guy seemed basically harmless but it would appear he's a frustrated televangelist wannabe. Anyway, told my companion I might write up our encounter, just for fun.

   Decided to do laundry upon return to apartments; now have clothes in dryer. Afternoon agenda includes taking a friend to see about getting a tattoo. What can I tell ya? Girls just wanna have fun.

Catch ya later; am off for day of *carousing.*

Circles, squiggles & doodles
6-6

   This is a story from the ... oh I don't know ... I guess from the "six degrees of separation" file. Over four decades ago, two siblings pursued higher education in a town several hundred miles distant from their family dwelling. Not everyone is geared to academic life; sometimes one may find oneself on an unfamiliar coast, amid a culture to which one is unaccustomed. But one does not forget everything from one's youth and life has cyclical patterns which can weave strange magic.

   The siblings are now well past the half-century mark, reasonably comfortable and fairly "secure" - whatever that means. A third party is now common to both their circles. The *Twilight Zone* factor is, this third party may have been previously known to nonacademic sibling. But there's more: through social media, college graduate sibling has become reacquainted with old-time comrades. It is through these connections, circles have come to overlap and others, once thought irreparably broken, may again become whole.

   You may be thinking you need a scorecard to know who's who in this little drama, but the names don't really matter. While *happy endings* are never guaranteed and may not even be the point, just bringing the players onto the same stage, improves the odds. Or so it seems to me.

   For myself, need to contact Tecumseh Center for the Arts about this summer's Black Box Series. A call has gone out for "past, present, and future" Tecumseh Players to participate in a segment of the series. This may provide opportunity for my last hurrah as a thespian.

   My illustrated letter project is coming along nicely and I find myself trying to build a tidy little stockpile of pages, against the day when arthritis may render me unable to draw. A realistic point of view can be such a bother.

   I suppose I should scribe actual pen-and-paper letters to a few folks. Actually, a couple are well on their way hither and yon; one to Miami, Florida, another to a community along the shore of Lake Michigan.

   Guess I shall finish out the day with a glass of wine and a good book. Tonight's forecast is for good sleeping weather in my immediate vicinity. Hope you have a pleasant evening.

It happens to everyone
9 June

   I struggled to talk myself out of bed this morning. In fact, had I not wanted to write this, I might still be there. Sometimes there just does not seem to be any point. Ya know? This sense of futility is not new and everyone has that unnameable "blah" feeling from time to time. Eventually I got up, dressed, fixed a bowl of oatmeal and sat down to get my thoughts 'on paper,' so to speak.

   I am fortunate: some people face this dilemma daily; for me it is an infrequent occurrence. I do not know what month has been designated Mental Health Awareness Month, but since so many individuals have so many issues in varying degrees of severity, does it not behoove us [as a whole] to be vigilant?

   I do believe great strides have been made to not stigmatize individuals and bring the issue into the open instead of hiding it. People should not be criminalized for having  faulty wiring. Fear of the unknown creates problems, therefor knowledge benefits us all. To battle an enemy one must  know one's adversary. So it does no good to pretend *otherness* does not exist: ignorance is not bliss, it's just ignorance.

   Whole treatises have been devoted to the concepts of mental health and mental illness. I'm not feeling wordy enough to pose a long-winded harangue. I am not a psychologist, psychiatrist, or even a talk show personality. I have no credentials, just compassion. Pretty sure latter is more important.

   Will not close with "Have a nice day:" some days simply are not nice. That's just the way of life. But if one gets through a day, no matter how disappointing or even downright ugly, one has hope of a better tomorrow. Look at it this way: if you, your family, your boss and co-workers are alive at the end of the day, you must be doing something right. If not, seek anger management.

   Are we good? Are you okay? Alright, see you here another time.

Amble & ramble
11 June

   This morning I woke to the voice of Sweet Baby James, but it was only in my mind. It was not even six o'clock. Anyway, I imagined myself ocean-side, on a balcony or porch. Gulls circled, dipped, and screeched as I sipped coffee and reminisced, occasionally jotting a line in my letter to you. I may never live in the Carolinas but I think it will always be home to my soul. Do you have such a place? I believe everyone should.

   By seven o'clock, the air was already sultry. Awake, showered and dressed, I turned on the living room fan and it has been running, since. Went to breakfast, careful to take a long-sleeved shirt to don in the restaurant. Afterward, took recyclables to township facility. Auto made thirsty noises, so added petrol. Not even noon; arrived home and parked myself in front of the fan to read and periodically doze.

   Lethargic due to heat and humidity. There are letters to write, so I had best make some cold tea and get to it. Needless to say, I am moving at something less than speed of light. Oh well, it will keep. Just like laundry, it will be there til it gets done.

   Meanwhile, shall take another side trip to Carolina, maybe visit J on her porch in early morning hours, wrapped in a quilt, should air have a chill. Down to horse barn with Brother, to converse with Garbanzo, Mary, and Blind Pony. Sun clears horizon, dispelling lingering predawn darkness. Birds sound their notes and I am reminded it is time to decorate more letter paper with their images, as my humble skills allow.

   Alas, I really must put on footwear and make my way to laundry room for water. As if you cannot tell, I have a big old case of the don'ts. They have been known to be contagious and are frequently weather-related. Alright: shall dash this off and get to those things I have been putting off. Think kindly of me, as I shall think of you. 
à bientôt

Party of the first part
12 June 

   Gosh this has been a long day! Forgive me for neglecting basic amenities, but I am pooped. As if this weren't enough, it would appear I have finally gone and done it. Not long ago, I mailed out a couple letters; the response has been the proverbial *deafening silence.* I am left to conclude that Letter A was inadvertently sent to Person B and vice versa. It is the only explanation I have for this prolonged lack of communication.

   The situation is potentially embarrassing but I should think only to me, as the other two people not only never heard of each other, but have almost zero possibility of ever meeting. Future encounters may be initially awkward, yet I believe we will all manage to get through intact. Guess I keep coming back to the bottomest of bottom lines: we're still alive, reasonably healthy, and more-or-less safe. That's a lot.

   Parking lot is supposed to be finished this week. It will be good to have driveway flush with sidewalk again. Hopefully lines will also be in place soon, so folks will not be so prone to place vehicles inappropriately.

   Laundry is done and put away. Have noshed on rotisserie chicken, tabouleh, and garlic sauce and imbibed peach-flavored ice tea. It is important to be mindful of, and grateful for, simple pleasures.

   On this week's to-do list: write Fathers Day letter, have root beer float at Tecumseh Senior Center on Wednesday, get groceries, attend Social Club, take R to get memorial tattoo, and attend Third Saturday. Retirement has been good for my social life.

   It's an indulgence and not a necessity, but there may be a bowl of ice cream with chocolate sauce in my immediately foreseeable future. Will let it go at that.

neighbors and friends
17 June

   It has been a long day, a long week and, given the parking lot project here at the apartments, a long month. (Actually, five weeks but who's counting?) On top of all that, we (I) had the "misdirected missive" snafu which prompted entry dated 12 June. I have taken steps to work things out with one of the recipients. Kind of in limbo with the other. Checking Facebook several hours ago, noticed comments on my *Hoover Queen* post. Questions arose about what kind of life this individual must have. The sad truth is, not much of one.

   HQ is an asexual octogenarian who lives a highly regimented lifestyle, likely bordering on, if not outright defining, obsessive/compulsive disorder. This is an individual who vacuums her apartment every Thursday morning, for ten minutes, beginning at 8:30 and does laundry every Monday, starting at eight o'clock, when laundry room opens. Yes, she has a favorite machine and if someone beats her to it, she pouts, but life goes on.

   A few years ago, she had a fender-bender involving one of the driveway lights and chose to give up her car. A few of her age-contemporary neighbors drove her to appointments or to conduct her errands such as shopping or banking. As their own abilities declined, they tried to line up replacement help, but no one else was willing to be subject to her demands. Quite reasonably, when one is doing another party a favor, one expects to call the shots regarding time and order; not driving hither and yon at whim of favor's recipient.

   Don't get me wrong: HQ is far from being the worst neighbor in the place, and at least I am inclined to be an early riser. However, I must strive to think kindly thoughts when the recliner in which she sleeps whomps down any time after 4:30 A.M. She begins pacing halls before six o'clock and has appointed herself designated door opener.

   People talk to me; their stories may end up in one of my letters, but their anonymity is protected. HQ had, to say the least, a challenging childhood: her mother died early and the stepmother was demanding, even harsh. This was era of The Great Depression and things were tough all over. Doubtful few persons today could meet the demands of that age. Believe me, for all I may grouse about her, there is a certain respect for the individual. Heck, when I'm eighty-odd years old,  I hope somebody remembers me for my eccentric/unique mannerisms.

   My evening meal comprised chocolate-dipped strawberries and a glass of wine and I have a tentative breakfast date with a couple ladies. Our plan is to meet on the patio for banana bread and coffee. It will be five o'clock somewhere, so I may just show up with wine and cheese, since I don't make coffee anymore. I still drink it, just don't make it. Guess I may as well wrap this up.

Ya wanna start somethin'?
19 June

   Here where I am, it has started out sunny, under cloud-skudded skies. Sorry, my meteorological terminology leaves something to be desired. Anyway, will catch you up on last few days.

   Thursday, newly repaved driveway at apartment complex was open. On my way out to an appointment, told office manager I was tempted to ask for a ride to my car. Commenting on the humidity, she asked if I needed help. Told her I would call upon arrival at dental office. Concluding business there, I proceeded to grocery store, where I spent just shy of a hundred dollars. As has been mentioned on numerous occasions, I loathe shopping, but there are times it is necessary. So, got home with my purchases, schlepped them in and put them away, then had to take a little siesta so I would be ready for Tecumseh Senior Center Social Club meeting at local American Legion post. It was a hot day and I ended up drinking two beers, instead of just one. That evening, had bingo at Orchard Terrace; won some strawberries - destined for a meeting with chocolate and wine - and individual cup of macaroni and cheese, which I gave to neighbor's college-age granddaughter.

   Friday morning, went to breakfast with a friend but kept it light, as I already had a previously scheduled luncheon date. While there, saw a woman whose face was familiar from youth. Called her by her family name and she said "I know you;  you're Jo Ann Baugh." Couple hours later, met a high school friend at Embers. We had a lot to catch up on, not having seen each other for a couple months: another two-beer outing. Fridays afternoons are usually filled with Wii bowling and cards and this was no exception. Coming back to my room that evening, found message on answer machine: Dad's weekend was clear. Returned his call, saying I'd be over Saturday afternoon.

   Saturday morning, loaded recyclables into car, then sat on patio with friends for a while. [I had mentioned in last letter our impromptu breakfast plans.] Then it was time to go into town for Third Saturday alumni lunch. Only two of us showed up. Waited thirty minutes, then went our separate ways. Spent a pleasant couple hours with Dad, who thanked me for Fathers Day letter that had arrived with that day's mail. Cedar Waxwing with which I had illustrated envelope had been recognized. Was asked to come out again on Sunday.

   Rest of Saturday was looking pretty lazy, so I texted a couple neighbors to see if they had anything going on. One asked if I wanted to see a movie. We invited a couple others, but it was so last-minute, didn't get any takers. We went and had a great time. It was still daylight when we got out, so we went cruising. Checked out location of winery of which we'd heard. Evening was still fairly young when we returned to apartment complex and we decided to pool our resources and have wine, fruit, and cheese on the patio. Texted couple neighbors and they joined us for a little soiree. We passed a pleasant couple hours among solar lights and fireflies, laughing and talking. We dispersed minutes before caretaker was scheduled to make evening rounds. Coming to our apartments, my neighbor said she was glad I had "started something" which got us out of the house a while. I bade her goodnight.

   That brings us to Sunday. Started this while waiting til time to go out to Dad's. Got invited to breakfast and you know how much I love breakfast, so naturally I went. One of Dad's "granddogs" was visiting when I got there. We humans enjoyed some freshly baked cake, the texture of which was enhanced by caramelized sugar. Crumbs from Corning ware bake dish were brushed onto deck for birds. Who doesn't like cake?

   Obviously several hours have lapsed since I started but that's an advantage of letters - they can be written and read at one's leisure. Just realized I left some word puzzles at Dad's but they'll keep. I have some correspondence which needs my attention; nothing urgent, so will reply in due course. Guess that's 'all the news that's fit to print.' (Would the media were so conscientious about what constitutes "news.")

Nuts about poultry
30 June

   It has been a while since last I wrote, so let me tell you what's been going on in my life. Will arbitrarily start with Tuesday, because going back beyond that might either strain my short-term memory, or qualify as ancient history - take your pick. Anyway, that was day Tecumseh Senior Center Wii bowlers went to Adrian Senior Center to defend our championship. We have now held the trophy for an unprecedented four months. Afterward, four of us had lunch together.

   That afternoon was the quarterly birthday party at Orchard Terrace, but was still so full from lunch, just had a scoop of ice cream and a little coffee. Come suppertime, thought about going to soup kitchen, but knew there was soup in my freezer. Decisions, decisions. My dilemma was solved by a friend inviting me out.

   Wednesday, didn't have time to cook oatmeal, so had an ounce or two of cashew butter before leaving to catch the bus. This was the day of my long-awaited trip to Turkeyville, which lies off U.S. 127 a bit, in Marshall, Michigan. Went to Cornwell's Professional Dinner Theatre to see their production of Nana's Naughty Knickers, in which an octogenarian is running an illegal boutique out of her apartment. Laughed so hard I nearly had a stitch in my side. The outing included a buffet-style turkey dinner. Am planning to go back in November to see Christmas with the In-Laws. This is very affordable entertainment: dinner and a show, plus transportation for under sixty-five dollars. Ollie is trying to get up a trip to Genetti's Hole-in-the-Wall Dinner Theater for August 18, 2016. The play that day will be an interactive murder mystery titled Murder on the 13th Floor and menu offers baked chicken, Italian sausage, antipasto salad, and more, including cannoli for dessert. If you live in Lenawee County, Michigan and are interested in either of these trips, please call 517-423-2177.

   Got home before seven o'clock, so it was still light. A few of us had thought it would be a good night for sitting out on the patio. Don't know what the others opted for but when I got back to apartment, just kicked off shoes, exchanged jeans for capris, and sat in recliner with my feet up. Checked answer machine, learning there was a package for me in the office: it'll keep. Still full from lunch; thought a rice cake with peanut butter might suffice. An hour later, worked up enough ambition to make a couple chicken tacos and pour a glass of wine.

   Thursday, reported to office to collect package, which turned out to be a Dayton Dragons baseball cap. Thanks, Rosanne. (Had told her my Chinese zodiac sign is Dragon.) Saw maintenance man, who asked if I had been home and in bed by nine, tsk-tsking when I said no. To ease his mind about seniors out after dark, assured him I was indeed home by nine, just not in bed.

   That brings us to now. You know how I like to write and you have always expressed an interest in my antics and adventures, so voila!

   If I wrap this up now, can still make the afternoon mail, so I shall. Might get a letter out to Brother too, as well as Naomi in Texas.

Hasta luego, Jo Ann

***

(June 2019)
   Three years can make quite a difference: "Hoover Queen," while still with us, no longer does her own vacuuming, nor is she punctilious about what time she starts her laundry, though she still does her own. Bless her heart, she has great difficulty recalling what day it is. Thank goodness, she has an agreeable nature. One thing she does not have, God love her, is a filter: upon hearing one resident say she was going to re-dye her hair, HQ said, "Good; because it's too red." 
   There have been some personnel changes and, when dealing with a senior population, turnover in residents is to be expected.
   I haven't participated in Wii bowling for over a year, nor am I asked to join card games with the "in crowd."
   And I no longer drink coffee.

Mid-late June 2015

(20 June, 2019)
   These days, I am editing and combining old blogs; hope you will enjoy these reruns. I have always thought of letters as time-travel devices; written in the here-and-now, read in the whenever.
   At lunch today, toasted Summer Solstice with one of my dear comrades; we laughed and sang without need to make apology for our noise lever or other expressions of conviviality.

*****

21 June, 2015
   Summer solstice has arrived. Here in my little corner of Universe, skies are overcast and parking lots with puddles give mute evidence of rainfall while I slumbered. In any given moment, my mind races, as well as toils slow-motion, through the ghastly events which took place in Charleston, South Carolina, evening of  17 June, 2015. On off chance you may be unaware: nine people were murdered in cold blood, inside Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal church. Of course I have opinions, but so does anyone else who is aware of the event. Much of the world caught its collective breath, when hate and fear terminated the lives of nine individuals in a place of worship. The Boeskool, one of the blogs I follow, has published several items in last few days. This likely is an attempt to diffuse the horror enough to survive - because one must, you know. Even though nine lives have been brutally snuffed out, and the lives of those who knew and interacted with them have been forever disrupted, Life Goes On. I do not say that casually or carelessly, but just as Universe, after a time, regained a semblance of equilibrium following the Influenza Epidemic of the Nineteen-Teens, Holocaust, First and Second World Wars, Tienemen Square, and other cataclysmic events, so too will we [eventually] recover from this horror.
   Some allege this incident occurred because "family values" have broken down and will vehemently deny racial tensions or [lack of] gun control had any part. I started this piece a day or two ago and it is time to finish. I hope it will make sense when sent to you.

   *

   Today's Gospel reading came from fourth chapter of Mark, relating the story of a storm which arose while Jesus slept in a boat. God love the disciples: they were awake and terrified, so why should Jesus get to sleep through the storm? Celebrant commented on those who wonder "Where was God?" in the Charleston Massacre, saying God was where God always IS - everywhere. His Grace further remarked on a tendency to deny evil, so as not to give it too much power, but it must be recognized to be combated.

*

  Visited Dad on Saturday, as I had out-of-town events to attend on Fathers Day. Drove to St. Luke Episcopal Church in Ypsilanti, Michigan, to witness/celebrate baptism of nine children. Also enjoyed visiting several friends, not seen since I moved a year ago.
   After church, went to Corner Brewing Company for brunch and Halcyon Sundaze event. I pulled my little notebook from my purse, and was surprised by number of pages used. Perhaps should not have been, since it was purchased four years ago and it has accompanied me to several places, including South Carolina. I made up my mind to enjoy my day, starting with a hearty meal. Ordered a "Proper English Breakfast" and chose Jackhammer, an English Old Ale, to wash it down.
    After eating, went out to Beer Garden, to listen to music, and saw friends - parents of one of those, newly baptized. Spent a couple hours in their delightful company. Then, they wended their way home, to put sleepy toddlers down for a nap, while I came home to play cards. Had debated about stopping at Mediterranean Market, to purchase foods not available at local [Tecumseh] grocer. I love my little town but it is just so white bread.
   Chided myself for thinking county folk provincial, just because there is not sufficient demand for more exotic foodstuffs. If I hope to see tolerance in others, it must first be fostered in my own heart. Forgive wrongs done; seek healing, not retribution. Not easy, but necessary. This too, shall pass. God willing, it will not pass this way again, but it will take our cooperation.
   It is late. May you know peace.

25 June, 2015

Guten Tag, mein Freund.

   It has been an exquisite day. But of course, all days are - if you approach them in the right frame of mind. Tecumseh Senior Center was supposed to have Catch and Release fishing and Kim, center director, had bought worms and everything. It rained and everybody chose to stay inside. So they set up Wii bowling. Realizing there are 'Plan B' options is what "going with the flow" is all about.

   This morning, got to see a fawn from our urban herd; I am blessed to live in a first floor apartment, with a living room window facing a small wooded area. Makes up for noisy, early-rising, - I'm talking four and five o'clock of a morning - upstairs neighbor. [Have become so adept at seeking/finding silver linings, should make Holy Grail my next quest.]

   After lunch, Connie and I went to see former tenant, who now resides in nursing home. She is ready to leave Earth and it will not be too long, since she has not taken nourishment in several days. She was unresponsive when we greeted her, but we opted to stay and keep vigil for a while. Granddaughter came and we had a pleasant visit, also exchanging addresses, to keep in touch. Before we left, I sang a hymn. Not surprisingly, the old lady mouthed the words. It's like Sheldon once observed, "The holy stuff stays with them." I count it a blessing to have been part of this sacred moment. Hugged her frail body, kissed her withered cheek, told her I love her. Only met her when I moved here a year ago, but we played cards together, laughed together.

   As soon as I finish this, need to brush my teeth, put on fresh lipstick and head to Community Room, to call Bingo. Will update rest of our card group on our friend's status.

   Tomorrow, will go to Tecumseh Senior Center, play Wii bowling after lunch - gotta practice for tournament with visiting center - pick up eggs from brother ... you know, "the usual."

   Have received word a missive is headed this way from Great Midwest, but have not heard from "Sister" in Texas since a postcard arrived telling me of an automobile accident, in which she sustained minor injuries. At least she was not at fault. Had best wind this up; natives might get restless if Bingo is delayed.

***

p.s. It is still plenty wet: when the year was only 167 days old, 113 of them had had some kind of precipitation; there will apparently be more work done on parking lot of apartment complex; and tonight is bingo. (Some things never change.)

Blossoms in the wilderness

The original essay appeared in San Angelo Standard-Times, under my byline, back in 2010. Additional material, written for this update, may seemingly bear little relevance to the 2010 piece, though I would ask you to consider it, primarily with regard to hard-won freedom [Juneteenth].

*****

   The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;... Strengthen the feeble hands, steady the knees that give way. Say to those with fearful hearts: Be strong, do not fear; your God will come  to save you. (Isaiah 35: 1-3)

   I'd read that passage and reflected on it for several days, wondering how it could be tied to this month's holiday observances and my next column. June has several holidays: Flag Day, observed across the nation; Fathers Day, well known and much celebrated; and Juneteenth, perhaps less well-known and observed than the other two.

   Some fathers of our acquaintance are still full of vigor; they help wobbly toddlers, bail us out of bad situations, coach sports. Others are in physical or mental decline, relying upon the strength of younger generations. Fathers Day is, quite rightly, an occasion to gather with family and honor the patriarch of the clan.

   I'm not sure if there's a card acknowledging Juneteenth; if there isn't, there needs to be. The holiday dates back to the Emancipation Proclamation. To slaves, the proclamation  must indeed have seemed like a blossom in the wilderness. It is a bloom which needs to be nurtured so its beauty will not fade.

   Slavery takes many forms: addictions; bad domestic situations; stifling jobs; but freedom is not always a matter of will power or walking away. Then, there may be a "frying pan to fire" outcome to consider.

   Some use religion as an ostrich uses sand and some tell the less fortunate their troubles would go away if they just had faith. It has been my experience that while faith does not, in and of itself, eliminate burdens, it may provide strength to make them bearable.

   Maybe your dad cannot help your situation; our Heavenly Father can. That is not to say evil and misfortune will magically disappear; we must use our God-given free will to make wise choices, to battle and overcome oppression, depression and whatever evils beset us.

   Be assured; the wilderness is blooming all around us and the beauty waits for us to see, acknowledge and appreciate.

   Meanwhile, you can make a start by taking your dad to a Juneteenth celebration, wave your flag, proclaiming your patriotism and, should you be so inclined, lift high the banner of Christ.

***

[2019]
   On any given day, news stories involve: a rise in homelessness; greater frequency of drug abuse; suicides, particularly among LGBTQ persons; a dearth of affordable housing; mass incarceration of minority populations, etc. If one cares about humanity in the least, it is heartbreaking. It isn't even extraordinary for one person to be affected by several of these circumstances. This is just a "f'r instance" but not at all outside the realm of possibility: a minority kid comes out as trans, gets kicked out of parental home, purchases a small amount of controlled substance and gets arrested. Without money for bail, chances of any kind of future [outside "corrections" system] are pretty grim.
   Several of the Democrats who have decided to run for President of United States, have made affordable housing part of their platforms. I'm glad it is getting attention and dare to hope it will bear significant fruit. Listening to NPR recently, I heard it reported that there are several occurrences of people who become homeless because they simply can no longer afford the rent. They did not start taking drugs or buy a new car or suffer a catastrophic illness - it was just their wages did not increase commensurately with expenses.
   It is my belief these circumstances occur with greater regularity in a "right to work" economy. Getting rid of unions, which protect workers, and making everything about "what's good for business" is a sorry-ass way to run an economy or a country. Short-sighted people cannot seem to comprehend that what is good for business is to make sure workers are well taken care of. Workers are also consumers: they require a living wage so they can purchase the goods they make. They need job security; the assurance they won't be downsized because it is more profitable for their overlords to transfer jobs to a country so poor that what amounts to slave wages in the country of origin seems like a bonus to inhabitants of the more economically impoverished country. We simply must evolve into a global society, focused on taking care of each other; a society in which everyone has a place to live, enough food to eat, body autonomy: in plain language, human rights.
   Right now, we are using resources at an alarming rate and destroying many which cannot be replenished. We must discipline ourselves to become responsible consumers, instead of gluttons. It has been said before, and is probably more true now than ever: the life you save, may be your own.

Politics ain't polite

16 June, 2019
   Anymore, elections seem to run together. United States needs to adopt European ways; in England, persons running for office can only campaign for six weeks. I say if you can't sell yourself in that length of time, then too bloody bad.
   As I continue to find old essays in my archives, I am happy to share them.

*****

9 June, 2012   

   Checked Facebook, evening of 31 May [2012]; a friend had posted a networking opportunity occurring that very night. The event was BEER WITH BLOGGERS. So, I went and met some very interesting people.

   Because this is an election year and because of the times in which we live, many of the bloggers have a political agenda, which, I suppose, can be said of us all. One fellow had been in Wisconsin so long, he was qualified to pass petitions there. He has a vested interest in their election. Since Michigan is a neighboring state, the recall attempt is making big news here too.

   I spent a couple hours just listening, seeing what I could find out. One can glean quite a bit, when people are *ripe for the picking,* so to speak. The subject of unemployment and some side effects was under discussion. A fellow, affiliated with local Gray Panthers, was saying homeless shelters in the area turn away a thousand people a day, on average! That represents a lot of needy people. It seems pretty much the same all over.

   I often wonder what keeps the "haves" from sharing their abundance with the "have nots." Not just the "obscenely" wealthy, though they would never even miss it. Even those of us who think we are "poor" live in what many would rightly deem luxury.

   At work the next morning, made conversation with the night watchman. We spoke of killing machines. At the blogger meeting, one fellow said, If you kill someone with a knife, it's personal. A gun is a little more removed. Next morning, Noel and I spoke of drones which require only "the push of a button" to become activated.

    Killing is now impersonal, sanitized. That is a grave danger, because it robs people of their worth and dignity. At the same time, it absolves the perpetrator of consequence and/or guilt. I believe much of what is wrong with the world stems from the apathy toward the inherent value of individuals.

   We are killing ourselves in to the bargain. When we have little or no regard for our fellow planet-dwellers, our own sense of worth becomes inevitably diminished. It begins by being distorted.

   Many in the Baby Boomer generation feel as if we are in a time warp. There are things we perhaps only imagined, such as cellphones and computers. Other things which seemed a "given," like a weekly newspaper, are slowly disappearing.

   Invariably someone argues this is the price of progress. I would submit not all change is "progress," just as it is not inherently evil. But really, people, let's think these things through!

   But, I digress. We were talking about distortion, so-called progress and the value of life. The point I really want to make is this: those who do not hold the same ideals are no less human than we are. Therefore, we cannot indiscriminately kill them.

   Life in all its glorious diversity should be celebrated, revered, cherished. Can we please just do that? Thanks for trying and for hearing me out.

***

   My late sister's take on progress was, "Onward, forward, ever downward." Sadly, there is still a deplorable lack of affordable housing. A recent statistic shows that many people are homeless because their rents were higher than their incomes. We need unions and living wages.

Ancient Mysteries, Timeless Magic

This story was written many years ago, when I had met an extraordinary young man in Texas. He had some self-esteem issues and set about changing himself. He sort of *fell off the face of the earth,* and did not come back on the scene for quite sometime. Since he had disappeared without a word, I had no idea he was re-inventing himself. I moved on, physically and emotionally: that damned "Catholic timing" left me in a *place* where I felt like the emotional equivalent of a homeless person, sleeping outside a hotel. I still have fond memories.

*****

   Several years ago, a Highlands woman gave birth to a great, bonny boy. The child was christened with the name borne by the eldest son in each generation of his clan, Hamish MacAffee. To avoid confusing the multiple Hamishes, the lad was known throughout the village as Jamie. His great-grandsire was Hamish the Elder, his grand-da was known as Hamish the Younger and his father was called James.

   Young Jamie possessed an attribute not fully appreciated by either his family or the local populace. He had a brilliant mind that went beyond a mere capacity for the acquisition and retention of book knowledge - he figured out how and why things work as they do. Sometimes this was accomplished by deconstructing and rebuilding things around the house or the surrounding area, hence the lack of appreciation and enthusiasm for Jamie's talent. But as often seems the way of things, such a gift is sometimes accompanied by something less desirable. Jamie's curse was a touch of madness brought on by the voices in his head. They were loyal companions, who wished him no harm - and though he never mentioned them, Jamie thought everyone heard voices inside their mind.

   Jamie grew to be a very stout and sturdy lad, who longed to play rugby and cricket with his mates at school, but his mother feared that her only child would sustain an injury, so she forbade it. This avenue of social contact thwarted, Jamie withdrew from his fellow students and spent more time in conversation with The Voices.

   Still, in the usual course of events, he met a young woman who accepted his affections. She was rather pretty, slight of form and stature, and Jamie was in love, altogether smitten. The two wed and, about a year later, his bride bore twins - a bonny little lass and a fine, ruddy boy. Unfortunately, the woman to whom Jamie had given his heart proved unkind: she broke it and the damage seemed irreparable. Wounded and bewildered, Jamie tried to gather the remnants of his life and put them back together, but shattered dreams are very fragile. This fragility seemed incongruous to one so physically strong.

   Jamie moved to a cabin on his grandfather's property, leaving his children to live with their mother in the home he had built for them. He walked into town every day to work, earning what he needed to support his family. Finding him alone, The Voices again came to reside inside his head. They did not chide him for having abandoned them whilst he dwelt in a state of marital bliss, being only too glad to come fill his emptiness and make the interminable silence a bit more bearable.

   Quite some time later, Jamie heard of a wee, fey woman born many generations past to the people of the North Country. She lived a goodly distance away in a quiet village in the Lowlands of one of the eastern counties. Jamie had seen her image, and perceived that she had a comely smile and kind, hazel eyes. He also noticed she had chestnut-colored hair and a soft, amply-endowed figure. He had heard her voice, and was intrigued by its sultry melody. The Voices, too, heard the musical lilt and concurred that here was a woman who would understand them.

   Jamie began a correspondence with Bella Blum, for that was the faerie woman's name, and after several weeks, it seemed time to arrange a meeting. Now, this decision was not without risk: Jamie feared that his sheer enormity, he stood six-and-a-half feet tall and weighed twenty-five stone, i.e., about 350 lbs, might overwhelm or perhaps offend the woman. For her part, Bella wondered if her advancing years would discourage gentlemanly attentions. Loneliness persuaded them to take a chance and they appointed a time. Jamie had business with one of the Lowlands merchants, during the second week of the following month. Concluding his errand, MacAffee followed the directions Miss Blum had given him and called at her house.

   Inviting her guest in, Bella offered him a glass of iced tea. They sat and talked for a while, of nothing in particular. Then Jamie said he would like to go down to the creek he recalled from his youth, as some distantly related kinfolks resided in the area and he'd visited the region before.

   Bella packed a hamper with several thick slices of homemade bread, six slices of smoked ham, the remains of a peach cobbler, and a gallon of hard cider. Taking a worn blanket from a cedar chest, she patted her hound and left her at home as the poor, wee beastie was old, arthritic and nearly blind.

   Jamie set the hamper in back, as Bella climbed into his truck, then he got in and they drove off. It was a few miles to the creek and Jamie commented that the surrounding countryside was not as he remembered it and he told her how things had been when he was a boy.

   Following a path frequented by campers, they found a secluded, shady spot high on the bank. They spread the blanket and settled themselves to enjoy their picnic in relative silence, now and then commenting on some inconsequential thing or another, as the cider mellowed them.

   With the warmth resulting from sun and drink, came a growing desire to touch each other. Brushing a crumb of bread from Jamie's mustache, Bella's hand lingered a moment and she leaned in to kiss him. Surprised at her boldness, she blushed and started to back away. Jamie drew her close, returning the kiss and sliding a hand inside the scooped neck of her peasant blouse. She smiled becomingly and yielded to him as his kisses trailed down her neck onto her pale, creamy breasts. Desire kindled long-suppressed memories: was she not one of Goddess' own priestesses, and did she not bear the mark of the crescent moon upon her breast? Bella had lived within the confines of this society's pleasure-smothering  mores for so long, she had all but forgotten Goddess was honored by the art of earthly love.

   It had been such a long time since Bella had experienced the touch of a man; knowing he wanted her. She drew her knees up and Jamie knew it for what it was - an invitation for him to explore under her skirt. Instinctively, their bodies moved is the sensual nuances of a dance as old as time, leaving garments cast off. Whispers and kisses filled the afternoon. Time lost its relevance, seeming to expand. Hands grasped yielding flesh, faces were pressed into intimate places, and the heady perfume of musk was intoxicating, as well as invigorating. Bella's full, pendulous breasts, hung over Jamie's face, the taut nipples inviting his mouth. Her own mouth sought his swelling manhood, and she eagerly received the oblation of his masculinity. As he laid her on her back, seeking entry to her depths, he paid homage, kissing the mark of yin and yang, below her navel. It still surprised her to find it there, though she had tended what was, in reality, a burn scar, anointing it with aloe, to help it heal.

   There were lulls in conversation, filled by the whispers of the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees around them. Jamie even spoke of the voices he had heard most of his life, Bella smiled and inquired about them. Mildly astonished and somewhat pleased that she accepted their existence, he spoke of them quite matter-of-factly, saying they served him variously as counselors, advisers, and friends. He told her on occasion, especially when he was tired or perplexed, they did not seem quite so benevolent. Not so much that they nagged or scolded, just that they would not be still long enough for him to think.

   A passerby might have seen what appeared to be a swarm of dragonflies hovering about, but it was The Voices. They were delighted to realize that this fey woman knew Them, understood Them: not merely as a corporate entity, but individually! There were lights dappling the water too, but it was not a reflection of the sun, as some might suppose: it was a sacred entity, awakened by sacramental copulation. The Voices rejoiced that Bella would not banish Them but would welcome Them. They recognized in this unprepossessing woman the presence of ancient wisdom and blissful sensuality of women like Igraine, Morgana LaFey and the priestesses of the mystic Isle of Avalon. Indeed, Bella had read the old stories and was very fond of them. She found magic in the commonplace because she sought it, knowing it was there, if one truly wanted to find it. Indeed, she held the belief that the Goddess was honored by enjoying sensual pleasures. It had been a long time since opportunity presented, and the mores of the times in which she lived had dulled her passions. Those passions needed only a bit of tinder, to re-ignite.

   The man and woman passed the time most comfortably, pleased to have found in each other a kindred spirit who was good company. Just passing the time without having to do anything particular, Jamie noted that Bella, though no longer a maiden, evinced a youthful character that kept her young at heart. He found her easy, musical, laughter enchanting; her body enticing, and he experienced a lightheartedness he had not felt for some time.

   For her part, Bella, who had a fondness and an affinity for wild creatures, found Jamie's ursine qualities rather endearing and she loved taking his great, shaggy head into her lap. Thinking again of how his thick red beard had felt against her fleshy thighs, Bella shivered and felt her nipples harden. Later, she would touch herself, thinking of how she felt with his mouth on her clitoris, of him turning her over, swatting her bottom and entering her from behind.

   The pair realized the passage of time when they observed the nearly transparent image of the full moon in the twilit sky. Gathering things, and pulling her disheveled self together, Bella commented that the lunar orb had seemed to retain its fullness a couple days longer this month. Jamie smiled, saying he had also noticed. They got into the truck and drove back to town, silently content to see the moon take on a deep, rusty-orange hue, as it dominated the horizon. The emerging stars were complemented by the twinkling of fireflies.

   Home again, Bella asked Jamie to sit on the porch swing with her and take a cup of tea before leaving. Etiquette deigned that each thank the other for a lovely day and when Bella extended her hand for Jamie to shake, he brought it to his lips and ever-so-gently kissed it. She smiled and stood on her toes so she could brush her lips against his. Even though he'd spent the afternoon in intimate, carnal knowledge of her ample, desirable flesh, he blushed, and got into his truck. Before he left, he said he would like to return, if he may. She replied she hoped he would come back soon.

   Taking her dog out for a short evening stroll, Bella pondered musingly on the spark, which might well become a consuming flame. Bella had known the great, roaring blaze of passion, and was not averse to the notion of being so consumed yet again. She began to look forward to Jamie's next visit, whenever that might be.

Of diamonds and dragons

10 June, 2019
I knew I had written a piece several years ago, which was again seasonally relevant. Searching my archives, I found it.

*****

6/6/2012

   By the time this posts, my sixtieth birthday will have come and gone. It has been my good fortune never to have dreaded my age. I think I never shall - I enjoy life and it's all good. The first thing that marked start of June was schlepping rent check over to the office, then putting new tags on my car. Gotta stay legal. Saturday night, I went out and sang karaoke. It was the first time in a couple years I'd been to a karaoke joint and I had fun.

   Sunday, 3 June, after church, I went down to visit Mom and Dad. Had a nice little visit and shared a brownie as sort of a birthday celebration. That night, there was an email from my Argentine correspondent, asking that I please post all blog entries on one site, to avoid confusion. I readily acceded to his request, as it had seemed somewhat ill contrived anyway.

   After work Monday, stopped at St. Joe's Hospital and got lab work done. Tech asked if I had an arm preference for her to draw blood. Kind of wished I was an octopus. She did wish me happy birthday. Got home and changed clothes. Dropped off water payment and saw Antonio, one of the maintenance crew. He said he was just admiring the clouds, and commented that not enough people take time to appreciate the beauty around them. Definitely agreed with him on that point. He has a poet's soul.

   Then went shopping for a new blouse - my roomie's birthday present to me. Made out great: three pretty T-shirts and a pair of denim capris. Then we had lunch at Applebee's. Came home and received calls from my two out-of-state sisters. Then had to put phone back on charger - between the two of them, must have talked about three hours. Laughter and tears: they season one's life.

   One has to admire a classy dame like Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Not wanting to tromp on my birthday, her Diamond Jubilee was scheduled for 5 June. Oh, you and I both realize I didn't even enter the equation, but I hope it brought you a smile.

   I got to thinking, if the Queen were 84, instead of 86, she would be a Dragon, like myself. Then I realized she's the same age as Dad and is, therefore, a Tiger. Quite auspicious, I believe, as Her Majesty is guarded by two powerful totems. Born in Year of the Tiger and crowned in Year of the Dragon.

   Thanks to my Facebook friends, I received greetings from around the world. I felt nearly as celebrated as the Queen. I wouldn't trade my life for anyone else's, because I would miss all of you.

   Missed Full Moon - I would at least have howled. Hope Goddess of Night sky did not feel slighted. Saw Moon in afternoon sky as it started to wane.

   Tuesday night's agenda was Opera on Tap at Frenchie's in Depot Town in Ypsi (Ypsilanti, Washtenaw County, Michigan). Theme was "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." Good music and good food. How sweet is that? Had hoped to be joined by friends, but had a burger, a beer and a very good time. If only I were famous, I could have had my meal comped. Events of this nature will head the list of things I will miss when I move. Meanwhile, I shall enjoy them to the fullest.

  The very recognizable "Habanera," from Bizet's Carmen was the second number in the first set. The second set was sung primarily in English. Included were: "So In Love" - from Cole Porter's Kiss Me, Kate; "Embraceable You" - Gershwin's Girl Crazy and "If You Go Away" - Jacques Brel.

   Admittedly, I had difficulty making the connection to the evening's theme, but that may have been because I couldn't hear the introduction.Nevertheless, I passed an enjoyable evening. Maybe a number from Damn Yankees would have tied it together. Next show is scheduled for 3 July, the theme is Dog Days of Summer.

   The Dragon presides over the remainder of the year and Queen Elizabeth II's Diamond Jubilee has been noted for posterity. Every day is cause for celebration.

________________

This year, eve of my birthday marked the New Moon. I am not your typical anglophile, but I sincerely wish Her Majesty continued good health. God save the Queen.

Dueling proboscis

7 June, 2019
Hello my dear,
   While driving toward trail where I take my morning hike, a mosquito came into my field of vision. Wasn't sure my swat was effective until a glance at my T-shirt revealed, not a booger but the corpus delecti of my would-be assailant. Guess I showed that little bloodsucker. Upon arrival at my destination, noticed a couple other vehicles in the car park. I exited my conveyance, unloaded my walker, and set off along the trail. Occupants of other vehicles met and one asked the other, "Why have you got the truck?" The reply involved a spouse getting an oil change and some minor grousing about the inconvenience of not being able to drive one's own automobile. I made a comment of thanks for pointing out an upside to single life: not having to drive someone else's car. Speaker added, "I bet you didn't have to get somebody's dirty underwear off the bed, either. Stick with me; I'll give you a whole list of advantages." Since I figure I'm doomed to "life in solitary," I'm always looking for levity in the situation.
   Proceeding in a southwesterly direction, my goal was to traverse the distance between Green and Occidental Highways, on part of a bike trail in Lenawee County, Michigan. Though unsure of the distance walked, it was accomplished in about fifty minutes: this included time to phone and check a sibling's location; swat at a few mosquitoes; see a baby bunny; and notice a toad. There was also a fellow of indeterminate age that I would have mistaken for the elder of my two brothers but the dog with him was not a schnoodle, and besides, the color was wrong.
   Around nine o'clock, I made it back to the car and went about the day's other activities. High on my list of priorities was changing socks and shoes. Then, laundry and pick up produce from the vegie truck. Early in the afternoon, I indulged in a bit of "self-medication" - which, anymore, consists of red wine and dark chocolate.
   This evening, there was a community potluck, at which I ate my fill, without overindulging. I managed to talk myself out of a meat sale at Busch's, telling myself I would be healthier if I reduced the amount of animal flesh in my diet. Whether that is actually true or not, I do believe it is inarguable that eating more plant-based food is in my best interests.
   Just came indoors a few minutes ago, before the mosquitoes got thick enough to be a hazard. My invited guest has made her way home and leftovers are stored in the fridge. May have a cup of tea, prior to retiring for the night. On weekend agenda: lunch with a friend; taking delivery of three dozen eggs; updating the travel bag kept in the car; wash dishes (definitely low priority); visit the old homestead and inhabitants thereof; make a significant dent in the correspondence demanding reply.
   And now, as Fagin's troupe of orphan's sang in Oliver! -"So long, fare thee well; pip-pip, cheery-oh," (be back soon)

Jo

Remembering when ...

Memories from 2015, previously sent as a cyber letter.

***

Ah my dear,
   Sometimes I want so much to see your face, kiss your cheek, hug your neck, breathe in the smell of another human, I could weep with longing. But really, what would that accomplish? - Naught but red puffy eyes and clogged sinus passages. Who needs that?
   On a recent visit to see Dad, I marveled, both at how much and how little the place had changed during the six decades of my memory. Landscape has been altered vastly over the years, as has the layout of the structure itself. Dad built the stairways to upstairs, which used to be just attic space, and to basement. Latter included a removable bottom step, which impeded toddler escape. When I was a child, the front yard had raspberry briars, where my grandmother would leave hair taken from her brush, that birds might use in building their nests. There was a hickory tree that yielded hard little nuts for us to eat, after we had exerted ourselves, breaking their shells. Decades ago, tons of earth had been moved, to create outside access to the basement. My younger siblings are now the only ones who can navigate the steps to either basement or upstairs floor; Dad has not been off ground level in years.
   That is not uncommon. Years ago, while married to a quadriplegic, I realized the obstacle stairs pose to navigability. Seeing churches designed with great flights of steps, because up represented "closeness to God," make me sad [and maybe a tad angry] to think of those denied access. Anymore, I spend a lot of time thinking about "privilege," and how to make life better for more people.
   After spending a couple hours with Dad, talking during muted commercials of whatever *How Do They Do That?* program one of the science channels offered, I got ready to leave. Outside, spent a few minutes visiting with Sister. She spoke of facilitating a butterfly hatching. A Monarch cocoon had been attached to the house, but was in partial shade. She realized it would not get warm enough long enough, for butterfly to emerge. So she bent some metal, creating reflectors; that did the trick. Then she used a bunch of clover to entice it off the house, and carried it to a patch of milkweed. Not everyone has a sister who is a butterfly midwife.
   Confessed to sometimes feeling bad that I am not more in tune with family dynamic. She gently shook her head and told me not to worry about it. We spoke of aging not being the *horror* some perceive it to be, and I told her how it seems life rewards me for being grateful. We made mention of Pontiff's visit to United States and his admonition that comfort is the enemy. We share this belief: it is excessive comfort that is humanity's downfall. People cannot be content with a mere sufficiency - they feel compelled to demand more. It is that primary evil, Greed, rearing its ugly head. Greed will be the death of us, and when humans finally destroy themselves, Earth can heal.

Alright my darling, know that I miss you and love you and will soon write again,
Jo

What's for lunch?

   Four years ago, I had already been in my HUD-subsidized apartment for one year. Reminiscence is a lovely practice and I hope you will do your own "time-traveling," after you have read mine.

*****

6-6-15

   Such is today, my heart is positively singing! Last night at dinner, Connie remarked we would not have to worry about cooking Saturday supper, as we had been invited to a graduation open house. She did concede we may need to fix breakfast, whereupon I mused on possibility of receiving invitation to breakfast. and don't you know - that is exactly what happened. As buddy Cecil regularly affirms, life is good. So today, all niggling aches, pains, and disappointments, though not totally forgotten, are at least pushed to bottom of the pile; which is where they definitely belong.

   Reviewing old correspondence, electronic and paper - (some going back a quarter century!) - I see it has been a while since I last wrote. These trips down memory lane are delightful, sometimes poignant, excursions; reading messages written to and received by my much younger self. There are: letters from cousins who served in Vietnam; Christmas cards from people known from community theater days; cards and letters from family; and missives from foreign penpals. In this age of Facebook, several people have posted to my "Timeline," links about letter-writing.

   There are a handful of us who still practice the art and it is one of my life goals to see the practice revived. I have been told it is making a resurgence and that makes me glad. Perhaps World War Two was the last great era of written correspondence, but I can assure you, there is a special bond between individuals who give themselves to this form of communication. Keeping old cards and letters has enabled me to reconnect with long lost acquaintances - such a delight in a culture that seems to withdraw from personal involvement. Last time I was at an airport, I remember talking to a child; my sister said, "You can't do that, Jo - people will think you're a predator." How sad.

   Anyway, hope you are making the most of any opportunities presented. This isn't a long letter, but know that it is jam-packed with love.

   The ocean could draw me away from Michigan; the Atlantic, more than the Pacific - though Oregon and Washington have their attractions. Still, the Carolinas speak my language. It is probably a nonsensical language, the type one speaks to imaginary friends: of chairs on porches, a cup of tea at sunrise, a gentle breeze that whispers in a soft Southern drawl.
   Thinking about I will set up in my new apartment: writing desk with all my stamps, stationery and address book, room for teapot because, as a lady of leisure, I shall write letters and drink tea, or sip wine, while listening to chimes and watching birds and bees flit among flowers. I go through the backlog of my material, searching out *pearls of wisdom* with which to decorate my letters.
I have been invited to visit the South and explore a vocation of "loafering." This noble pastime is vastly misunderstood, denigrated by non-practitioners. One of our more lamentable traits is to demonize those things we do not understand. In a very short time, I have come to think of my new-found friend Eddie as a brother, a kindred spirit, and a 'cohort' - the latter in only the kindest of ways, like two kids who grow up as best friends, exploring the vast, wonder-filled world, inadvertently getting into harmless mischief.

   Hey, didn't mean to sound like an ingrate, referring to Council of Government [in a previous missive] as "damned idiots;" it's just that it seems foolish to insist that we serve meals based on nutrition needs of a 51-yr-old male and then say that our program is geared to needs of "persons over 60." Also, the median age of our participants is probably about 83 and more than half are women. (Anyway, the main "ingredient", or "seasoning" these folks are looking for in a meal is the company.) The [alleged] nutritionist obviously used a "one from column A and two from column B" approach to her meal planning. (I already told you about the chili dog/sweet potato fiasco.) Many of the people who come to the Center can't eat as big a meal as we serve and there are also things we throw out a lot of when we do have it on the menu. Especially mixed greens - no amount of pepper sauce can change them into anything else. (I'm telling you, if Jesus came to dinner, your dad would probably ask if he would please change the greens into gravy and add that half the work was already done since they both begin with "gr.") Then there are those times when soup is on the menu: it's not a real problem on-site, but we are supposed to send the home-delivered meals in a 3-compartment aluminum tray! Who are they trying to kid? So, while I do appreciate the fact that without government subsidy we would be out of business, and I'd have to find another job, [not easy, over age 50], I also feel strongly that some additional thought could have gone into the planning. Perhaps it would be less harsh to refer to the Council as "well-intentioned, but seriously misguided idiots."

Very well - I'll get off my soapbox. Hope y'all have a good weekend.

JoAnn