Shame

I rarely launch into political issues. Studies have shown that our brains work in the same way when we’re discussing politics as they do when we’re cheering for our teams. In other words, though the Cowboys would never get my vote, I think we should put more thoughtful consideration into discussion of how our nation needs to be functioning than when we are hoping our team pounds another into the turf and screaming to that effect. I ask for prayers for our leaders, not because I approve of what they do, but because I think they need our prayers. I’ve led communities, dealing with different opinions, visions, attitudes, and personalities and I know that any kind of leader, if they are to be anything but exercising their egos must have compassion and a sense of service at the core of all that they do. Our nation was founded on a system of checks and balances that demand treating each other with respect and a sense of hope for reconciliation between differing opinions that would allow them to work with each other as citizens, honoring them even if we disagree with them. President Trump does not approach his job or the citizens of this nations with any sort of respect or a humility that might allow him to serve them. The recent speech he gave in Charlottesville made me ashamed to have him as the president of this country. I don’t think he understands what it means to be humble and I worry that his appeals to the worst attitudes of hate, and violence, and racism in our nation affirms these horrors and gives courage to those who would rather preach and teach and live by these attitudes than work to be a light of hope and freedom to the world. I am proud I am an American. I take the vision of the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights, and the invitation to the world carved into the base of Lady Liberty very seriously. But this President does not disagree with my vision of our nation. He spits on it to be popular. He needs to face himself and what he is doing. This isn’t politics. This is evil. If there ever was a time to pray for our leaders it is now. Pray that our president develops a sense of shame about what he is doing.

Crab

Every year for the past 10 years we go back to our honeymoon. It’s a one bedroom apartment overlooking a beach in Carolina, Emerald Isle. We sit under an umbrella, reading, Chris does needle point. We swim, we walk, we pick up shells, we relax. When we were both working it was a life saver. Now we go on vacation from retirement. It’s a retreat from normality. I was working my way through a Jim Butcher novel, playing in the sand with my toes when I picked up movement to my left. Gulls come in to investigate sometimes. We call them dump ducks. Anything on the beach is a potential source of food, including us. But this wasn’t a gull. Looking over I saw a crab sauntering toward my big toe. These crabs live down in the sand. They have holes dug and they don’t stray too far from them. Dump ducks prey on them. They’re shy for understandable reasons. Yet here came this dude with his eyes up on their stalks, moving toward me as if I was a rock or a plant. I whispered to Chris, pointing to him, or her. By the time she saw him Crabby was within a few inches of my foot, coming on strong. I wiggled my toe, he stopped. Then he took off running across the beach, in crab fashion, that is sideways. These guys are quick, like Zoom. Crabby did a jackknife into one of his holes. I wondered what brought him so close. I think we were so peaceful that we were just a part of the environment. I like that. I think we need to spend more time on the beach, more time close to the nature that sustains and supports us. I hope he didn’t have nightmares of the rock that wiggled.

The Invitation

Yesterday Chris was having a few friends over to play cards. They play what I call ‘Hoof and Mouth.’ I don’t think that’s the real name, but I can remember it, so… Anyway it’s been raining lately, which sounds so lame compared to the Noah-esk deluges that have been falling, accompanied by active evidence of Seraphim and Cherubim (that’s Bible geek for Lightning and Thunder). The aforementioned card game gave me a deadline, which turned into a race to get the expanse mowed not only before the visitation but also to beat the next monsoon. I have a walk-behind mower, much to the dismay of anyone who hears of it. They get concerned and want to take an offering to get me a second hand ride mower. Why should I punish myself? More to their dismay, I inform them that I enjoy it. So, I was chasing the grass eating machine around the yard, sweating in the pre-deluge humidity and glancing at the growling clouds. When the rain came, we’d be bringing in the animals, two by two. I had to get the lawn mowed. A car pulled up to the curb, the driver waving at me with an envelope in her hand. She looked familiar, but it was hard to see through the deluge of sweat in my eyes. I shut off the mower and went over to her. “You look pooped.” I nodded. “Well, here’s your invitation, I hope you can come.” And off she went. I didn’t even look at it. Wasn’t time. I was on a deadline. Shoved the envelope in my back pocket and began chasing the mower again. I finished and ran the mower into the garage as a Cherubim slammed into my house, followed closely by the flash of a Seraphim and about 9 billion gallons of rain falling in 10 seconds. Timing is everything. I was in the house a few minutes when I remembered the invitation in my pocket. Chris opened it. A wedding in September. They’ve gotten to know us on our morning walks. She probably wants her invitation back after my bubbly speech of congratulations. Oh well, we’ll give them a nice gift. We’ll probably have to paddle to the church after we hack our way to the cars with a machete. The grass grows four feet a day when it rains like this. At least one yard’s mowed.

Condensation

This morning the windows are covered with water, condensed from the humidity around us, probably close to 100%. I wonder how it can be so wet and not be raining or under water. Nemo would feel at home. Beads run down the panes, small rivers and their tributaries. Plants are wearing jewelry, celebrating. The ground as wet as from a storm. Yet when I walk, I don’t gather jewels. Plowing through the watered air, I leave it behind. My warmth vaccinates me from gathering the water that surrounds me. Such an intricate dance of temperatures and humidity. It creates the clouds, the storms, the hurricanes. As intricate as a butterfly’s wing. Each bit and part finding a fit with another and creating a wonder on the window pane.

Coffee

Coming downstairs in the morning’s dark hours, when dawn is still a suggestion on the horizon, opens the house in a way no other hour allows. There is an intimacy then, an aloneness that is not lonely. Only the mocking bird sings then and the street is still empty. Then I make my coffee, a latte. And I contemplate the universe.

Asking for Directions

As you might have noticed there have been no posts in the last few days.  That’s because yours truly has been sunk in the mire of technological difficulty.  I pushed a wrong button and lost contact with my blog.  Thanks to my friend Ted and my son Benjamin, I found my way back. 

To tell you the truth, I felt ripped off.  And slightly paranoid.  My experience with computers has not been stellar, more like black holish (I get near them and am sucked in while being smushed by their power).  My son told me that they are dumb machines, capable of doing all kinds of things, but as with any machine, you turn the wrong widget, it reacts badly.  He told me to keep pounding (I don’t think he used that word, but it sounds good to me) on them until they give you what you want or you throw them through a window and start over.  He also said that you have to defend yourself against their seemingly whimsical reactions.  Save, Save, Save. 

So, I’m taking some steps to do just that. 

But in the midst of all the fireworks and gesticulations, I discovered again that the best asset to have in the midst of a problem is a friend. 

So, thanks to Ted and Benjamin. 

Blessings be upon you.

Isn’t Hypocrisy Fun?

 

To the north of our house is a gazebo, about 12 by 12, roofed, electrified, cement floor.  It’s a lovely place to sit in the shade during the heat of the day.  It’s a wonderful place to put your feet up after working, or a place to have a drink, whether you’re smoking a cigar or not. 

Today as I sat there considering a toad who was working his way under the table that supported my feet, a wasp, black, nipped in the middle, stinger hanging out the back came to rest on my shoe. 

Bees are part of God’s plan.  Wasps are one of Lucifer’s additions to the plan.  Bees sting at the cost of their lives, so rarely do so.  Wasps sting if they have a bad hair day.  They punish the closest bit of protoplasm for the barometric pressure.  They are builders, they make paper and mud homes to raise more nasty little black terrors. 

And here was one of the devil spawn on my shoe.  Then another came buzzing down to join his compatriot.  Oh goody two of them, communicating about how to torment other beings, having a meeting right there.  They took off together, flew in tight formation up through the rafters up to the roof beams to a clump of vines, where there was a formation of other living nasties crawling and buzzing there.  It was a headquarters for a network of assassins!

The logical reaction to such a discovery is to go to the garage and find some sort of chemical that would destroy them.  I mean, I hate ‘em .  I kill ‘em right?  That’s logical. 

Large but.  There is nothing logical about killing.  There is nothing logical about putting chemicals into the environment that poison things.  I mean, this is not inside our house.  This is part of the great outdoors.  They were here before we got here.  Where do I get off treating them like they have no right to life?

I wouldn’t be surprised if there were Native Americans in our family tree.  Maybe it’s the Druid thing.  Who knows?  But in spite of my difficulties with killing we’ve got a problem.  If they nest up there, we can’t rest in peace.  It’s like Orcs setting up a nest next to my Elven home.  Ain’t happenin’. 

Ok, no chemicals.  But water is natural, isn’t it?  So, I moved the cushions, got the hose with the best pressure, made sure there were no kinks in it, set the controller on ‘power wash’, and blasted the living crap out of the headquarters.

Call me a nasty non-environmentally aware idiot, or call me a hypocrite, why didn’t I use poison?  Go ahead, call me names.  But this is the best I can do to make deals with my better angels and my demons.  The wasps can build in my trees, down by the creek, just not here. 

I wish I could talk wasp.  I could explain the whole thing to them.  I doubt they’d appreciate my argument.  They’d sue me after they stung me.  And then they’d laugh.  I wonder what a wasp laugh sounds like.