Just taking a break.

Image from Katiemiafrederick

How could we waste life and energy on sandbox atrocities while Earth is heading for destruction,  not even seriously seeking an alternative?  Forcing women to choose between being hog-tied to home with a bundle of unwanted children and punishing trans children and their parents? It’s energy sidetracked into the trough of humanity. The unwanted youth may live to see the results of this foolishness after many of us are gone.

400 anti-L.G.B.T.Q. bills have already been considered in the U.S. this new  year alone, aiming to surpass the 510 anti-L.G.B.T.Q. bills  introduced in 2023, leading transpersons to scary and perjorative attacks.  

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INSTEAD OF OVERSAYING “No,” when my young children were engaged in an activity destined to end in an accident, I would say “Danger.”  I’m mentally hoarse from thinking “danger” to myself now, as I send you away to read elsewhere about nuclear bomb concerns.  I have to say “uncle,” and as a little (but fat) 88 year old southern-born old lady, I have to draw the line somewhere. so be aware that I’m too scared to think about it, much less write.  (Although I’m still subscribed to the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists).

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Science Daily

https://www.sciencedaily.com › news › space_time › s…

June 25, 2021 — Scientists have developed an innovative way to use NASA satellite data to track the movement of tiny pieces of plastic in the …   PLASTIC IN THE OCEAN DEPTHS AND IN OUR OUTER/INNER SPACE!  And of course along our roadsides. and in our refrigerators.  Is plastic going to take us out in addition to fossil fuels?  And what have  I read about air contamination from charging electric cars?  And the “C” word is the largest exporter of electric cars in the world.

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I’VE ORDERED–Oops, tried to order…Have to subscribe to Foreign Affairs first.
—Rachel Glennerster and Seema Jayachandran, How to Get More Bang for Your Climate-Change Buck,” Foreign Affairs                                                                                                                     ___________________

STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS   (an oldie from my files–date?)

My mind travels its own route when I drive.

Today it was especially alive.

Like…

Two years ago the small carousel horse

vanished one day from its small graveyard source.

Still gone.

I wonder, what is the name of those trees

that stand like a fork without any leaves?

Beats me.

Like baby bottles, the gourds hang growing

along Route 7, where I am going.

Striking!

Glad to see that camera surveillance

in Cheshire is in current abeyance.

Good!

Every “no edge” sign I spot

wears a garbage bag tied in a knot.

I kid you not.

Down home words used to be the mode

like Bear Wallow Ridge and Bone Hollow Road.

I like them.

I always check on that family plot

with 3 small; crosses, forgotten not.

By the highway.

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JENNY JOSEPH SAYS  (U.K., 1932-2018)

…Maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

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>

I DUNNO–will credit if I find out:

Perhaps we might still be able to mitigate the worst effects of climate change, but maintaining our current life into the next century and beyond is optimistic to the point of hallucination. To accept this outcome is difficult because it entails accepting that the future is no longer a space of infinite possibility–rather a house mortgaged to the hilt , a foreclosure waiting. We must create new ways to think about what comes next, but also about what came before. As coastland drowns, as wildfires thin the ground and thicken the air, as changes that used to take centuries begin to take years, it will become increasingly difficult to anchor our memories to a geography, to a stable piece of land. So we must find other anchors–anchors that link memory to people, to relationships, to the solidarity and compassion and resistance that will serve as our only useful lifeboats in this storm.  We have an obligation to document and preserve our stories, ourselves, and we have an obligation to do it now, meticulously, because the stories and the empathy they engender might save us still, might move people to act. And because in time the world in which those stories took place may well vanish, in its place a different, emptier world in which these stories took place may well vanish, in its place a different, emptier world –emptier of nature, emptier of life; the stories, once lost, lost forever….

  ______                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              MY earliest remembered story begins shortly before the age of two, with an early visit to the farm, and the mother bringing out her puppies to show and then my memory extends over time to the sound of coal settling in the grate in the dark, as I fell asleep…the sweetness of fresh picked figs, their pinked flesh awash in milkwhite ambrosia….I can’t describe the special, unique quieting and reassuring smell that gentled over the land after a heavy rain….The closeness of the attic along with the distant droning of an airplane while snuggling up on the cot in the attic, after climbing the steep stairs sleepily….my doll with the hole in her head to accommodate a hair ribbon….what seemed like hours watching the ant parade as it raced all in a line across the red clay beside the back steps, the ants greeting each other as they marched, and the time they left a gift for me: an old belt buckle….The shiny green leaves of a bush out front, which let you make faces on it with your fingernails, and even the wonder of the taste and weight of the scuppernongs hanging from the grape arbor….And the taste of my grandmother’s homemade peach ice cream after the harvest….and the softness of her lap in the rockingchair, the comforting sound of its squeaking, and the dimples in her elbows….

Well, on Wednesday Night….

MY QUESTIONS RECENTLY WERE: Fill in the blanks: 1.  Halleluia I’m a ________ 2.  Jump back turn around ________ 3.  My ______ lies over the ocean  4.  _______  Happy little wash day song  5,  Don’t step on my ___________  6.  Mama Mia, Papa Pia,_________  7.  and on that tree I see, ” __________   8.I’ve got a hot rod Ford and a _________   9.  It gives me a thrill to wake up in the morning on ____________ 10. On the baby’s bottom or the baby’s knee, _________ ?11. Aint gonna study ______ no more. 12.You put your ______ foot in, you put your _____ 13. Who was combing his auburn hair by the light of the silvery moon ?__________  14.__________, where the deer and the antelope play  15. Put your shoes on, Lucy!, don’t you know you’re_________?

THE ANSWERS:  My answers:  1. bum    2.pick a bale of cotton   3.Bonnie  4. Rinso white, Rinso bright!….  5. my blue suede shoes!  6. Baby’s got the diarrhea!   7. “I’ll love you til I die” [There’s a Tree in the Meadow]   8. Two dollar bill… 9. Mockingbird Hill  10. where will the baby’s dimple be?  11. war  12. left foot; right is ok  [and you shake it all about]  13. The old baboon [I Went to the Animal Fair…]    14. …where the buffalo roam [Home on the Range]  15. in the city?

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WHAT WOULD A BETTER GENETIC BUILDING STONE BE?    Not that we can influence it, but at least it’s a positive way of looking at the future…sort of.  Since our primary genetic motivation seems to be survival of the fittest and kinship selection, what else might work?  Survival of the kindest and comfort selection?  Survival of the honest and peace-loving selection?  Your ideas:

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NO ADDITIONS TO LIFE Part One? Don’t be shy…

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WHO SAID THIS?  Bernie Sanders? …

Socialism is what they called farm price supports. Socialism is what they called bank deposit insurance. Socialism is what they called the growth of free and independent labor organizations. Socialism is their name for almost anything that helps all the people.  No, Harry Truman

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JUST BE AWARE THAT…There’s lots more going on than I can cover.  Just topics to be aware of, if interested:

I’m going to ask how much my major stores charge when I use a debit card. Apparently it can be a problem, since New York has a new law that the amount must be posted.

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In my town, efforts to raise goods for Ukraine met opposition with local food pantries’ requests instead. .  My thoughts:

• “Which also has bombs dropping on their heads?”  Just my thoughts, of course. Besides, it shouldn’t be “either…or…”

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OUCH!  What a life…  In Gaza, assistance includes emergency self-delivery items for pregnant women.  Yikes.  Post partum depression?  Difficult to think about it, much less be there now.

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SOCIAL MEDIA TO THE RESCUE:

• In Pakistan,  social media reportedly was used by the party of imprisoned former prime minister Imran Khan to win the most seats in their Parliament.  AI also was used to simulate his voice.

In the USA, President Biden’s campaign has reportedly used Tik Tok to reach out.  (“lol hey guys”)

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WHEN I FIRST STARTED writing about the NRA I was unable to discover how many members it had–at least easily, that is.  Now that it’s in trouble I see that it has lost more than a million members since an earlier peak of 6 million in 2018.  Gun Owners of America is one outfit that considers the NRA “too liberal.”

TODAY  I see there was a 20+ shooting after a Super Bowl party, with several cxhildren being shot.

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THOUGHT FOR THE DAY:

Fill in the blanks….

1.  Halleluia I’m a ________

2.  Jump back turn around ________

3.  My ______ lies over the ocean

4.  _______  Happy little wash day song

5,  Don’t step on my ___________

6.  Mama Mia, Papa Pia,_________

7.  and on that tree I see, ” __________

8. I’ve got a hot rod Ford and a _________

9.  It gives me a thrill to wake up in the morning on _____________

10. On the baby’s bottom or the baby’s knee, _________

11. Aint gonna study ______ no more.

12.You put your ______ foot in, you put your _____

13.Who was combing his auburn hair by the light of the silvery moon ?__________

14.__________, where the deer and the antelope play

15. Put your shoes on, Lucy!, don’t you know you’re_________

THAT WAS FUN FOR ME!  How’d you do?

Nan

LIFE – PART ONE

Is it a negative hallucination

that we mortals cannot see?

All around us

what linking knot has come asunder?

What forces have come undone

or made invisible?  Who are we?

Is the Anti-Christ real after all?

The wind whispers around me,

fresh and cool for now, but moaning.

Or are those tears?  “Bugs

have invaded my hair!  And

I am running out of air.”

Our dark velvet skies, brighter but not

healthier.  The effusion now includes

“space junk,”  which is tracked.  To which

space will it be delivered,

along with us?

I can remember being gentled by the wind’s

soft kisses.  How long will the memory endure?

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P. S. LETTER TO READERS:  What more can we say or do other than to stir the pot of our knowings, even if it’s too late now to change results?

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YOUR ADDITIONS?

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News Item:

ROBOTIC SPACE PLANES The United States and China currently have reusable robotic spacecraft regularly in orbit: two X-37Bs, built by Boeing and operated by the U.S. Space Force; and a vehicle believed to be operated by the Chinese Ministry of National Defense. Combined, the two X-37B craft have flown six times in space since 2010, most recently landed after 908 days in November 2022.

AT LEAST WE HAVE LOVE FOR ANIMALS

My heart drops when I see vicious remarks aimed at groups of people–transgenders, refugees, non-whites–but I am encouraged at the news stories about the rat hole hero in Chicago; Flaco, the freed owl in New York City; and the pediatrician who volunteers care for the pets of the homeless in California.  Some of us can still be touched by what we consider beauty (I wish there was another word for what I mean), but my rotten feelings get so easily swept along in the path of manipulation, dishonesty, elitism, and so much more I don’t want to remind myself of.

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Socrates believed one should be skeptical of everything, and he practiced what he preached regarding democracy. Socrates was an outspoken critic of the Athenian government. Two of his biggest criticisms of democracy concerned the majority rule’s lack of knowledge and the potential for a demagogue.  Sound familiar?
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REPRESENTING THE LAND   Earlier this month, the Board of Trustees in Nederland, 45 miles northwest of Denver, authorized the appointment of two guardians to represent Boulder Creek and the watershed for purposes of preparing annual reports about the ecosystems’ health and to make recommendations on improving water quality, wildlife habitats and wetlands protection.

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HANDS OFF THE  HELPERS

Given a reported shortage of doctors, due in part to high insurance costs and to encroaching attempts to stomp out their professional oaths, including standards of care  being set by some state legislatures, the public is aimed at many being brutalized by the movement, be they women conscripted to parenthood, as well as the transgender treatment situation, both of them overlaid by volatile, uninformed emotions often twisted and shoved like a painful colonoscopy.  The abortion camps seem to have clarified themselves, but the question concerning Transgenders remains as murky as ever.  National uninformed pressure appears to be taking its toll on doctors, and therefore on patients.

For those with overwrought views on transition treatment for children, pro or con, I reviewed several articles on Google and did come away with the idea that maybe “Gender affirming treatment” misleads and possibly promotes less careful evaluations.  Just from my selective reading it seems that the first task of treatment is a joint approach by medical and psychological experts to determine an inclusive assessment prior to proceeding with “gender endorsing treatment.”

From the Autobiography workshop in 1985:

When I’m depressed, nothing interests me.  At other times I enjoy many things:

Among these are drawing, sketching, cutting and pasting, writing, browsing in the library or second hand thrift shop, singing, looking for Indian artifacts in plowed fields after a rain, brainstorming  or discussing ideas with a friend, smelling the earth after it rains, looking at rainbows, feeling the warmth of a purring cat, exchanging soul gazes with my pet dog,  sharing food with friends, laying out under the stars, reading aloud with an intimate, snuggling under the covers while the rain patters on the roof, singing Christmas carols, the lit Christmas tree, walking on the beach collecting gifts from the sea, attending a Quaker meeting, viewing a sunset, picking and enjoying flowers, speculating on strange encounters, genealogy, watching a heart-warming movie, a good mystery novel…

More recently: blogging.

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FUN TO IMAGINE —  Here are the stones my daughter brought me from the beach in Washington State (my middle name is Stone), and my daughter just reminded me that my son-in-law’s name is Carpentier, and he’s a fancy carpenter.  Just fun to think about outrageous things:

(Continued from Daddy)

Stoically I got into the black ’35 Chevy, and we headed towards Berryhill High School.  He drove and stopped. A little driving and a lot of stopping and drinking.  “Hand me the bottle. If you practice what I teach you, you can grow up to be a champ, and maybe play at Wimbledon.”

“It’s getting dark, Daddy.”

“It’s getting dark, the lady said. Better hurry.”  He ran the car onto the berm, then back on the road.

“Watch out, Daddy! Watch out! Do you want me to steer?”

“Yeah, you steer. I’ll just operate the little pedal down there.”

The old Chevy continued toward Berryhill High School, slowly at first, with me nervously steering. I reached across him turned the headlights on.  “Daddy! Don’t go so fast!  Take your foot off the gas!”

“Can’t. I’m paralyzed.”  I grabbed at his leg as the car swerved.  It was rigid.

“Take your foot off the gas!”

“Paralyzed,” he said complacently.

Some hectic maneuvering followed, and finally the car pulled off the road with a jerk, and shuddered to a stop. Summer crickets sang in the field about us, but there was silence inside the car.  He began searching his pockets for a Camel and a match.  It was dark now, but his pale puffed face was momentarily illuminated in the match light. His blue eyes stared ahead, at nothing.  His faded red hair trailed down over his high, perspiring forehead.  As he flicked out the match I saw him lift the cigarette to his lips, which were not smiling.

I sat very still, my heart pounding, angry and frightened.  He had pretended to be paralyzed  in order to scare me.  In the process, we could have wrecked.  He was part of the night  next to me. “You could have killed us!”

“Didn’t. though, did I?”  His words were slurred.  He turned his glazed blue eyes toward me and stared emptily into mine.  With fearful fascination I watched this unpredictable man, my father,  as the darkness enveloped us again, and the silence, except for the night life of the fields alongside the road.

Then suddenly: “Watch out for those sons of bitches! Those rich capitalist bastards.  They’re out to get the poor man.  Sons of bitches!!”  Suddenly he struck out at the night, contacting not the sons of bitches but the windshield, which splintered loudly in the night air.

I got out of the car. The air was damp, and this was North Carolina countryside.  There was no moon.  We had never reached Berryhill High.  I didn’t know where we were. The only lights were about a half mile down the road.  I started walking down the deserted road, hugging my chilled arms to myself.

It wasn’t a house.  There was a high fence,  a gate, and a building. Signs Keep Out and No Trespassing==some kind of prison camp.  A dog began barking furiously nearby. I had to keep on.  I approached and called out:  “Can I use your phone?  We’ve broken down and I need to call my mother.”

A friendly response from someone looking out into the night.  Fearful that they would return with me to help, and find my drunken father passed out across the steering wheel amid the glass fragments, I spoke quickly, almost in code, to my mother  and left as quickly as I could, not knowing where we were, my directions were vague.   I was afraid to ask the men for the location.  Big men, with revolvers, let me back into the night, to return to the Chevy and to wait.

It seemed like a long time, but an empty stomach, the silence of the night and the lostness of us blended into a kind of  timeless enduring,  Was that a light on the road’s horizon?  No…yes!…It’s turning around! Frantically I ran toward the lights, waving both arms, but quietly, wishing still to hide our plight and location from the uniformed officials inside the high fence.

The lights stopped, then slowly approached.  Was it a stranger?  A new fear?  The car was not familiar.  “Nancy?”  My mother’s voice.  “Nancy?”

It was warm inside the taxi. As I climbed in beside Mary Mott, our neighbor, my mother was climbing out of the front seat of the taxi to find my father.

THE END

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Almost 40 years ago when I took that autobiography  workshop at the Friends General Conference at Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania,  my memories were much more….memorable?  We didn’t really share very much aloud. I only remember that we briefly shared memories we had of living through historical events. A very enjoyable and successful workshop!

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Quote From the Depression:  “Use it up, wear it out, or do without.”