POST PANDEMIC DIARY

THE CHURCH BELLS TOLL
October 23, 2023

It is nearly 6 AM in Oxford. A bus carrying no passengers whisks silently by outside our Bed and Breakfast. I hear nothing at all. Like the tail of a comet, dashing lights whiz by like a story-tale mirage, leaving a faint, ambiguous trail and ghost-like impression of empty seats. Not as one might expect on a Monday morning.

A rooftop view of Oxford.

There is not that urban rush as in New York, London, or any major city. Even at the earliest hours in those cities you experience the obligatory “Monday has arrived”, once morning ascends. And, too, following our 60 day journey, this realization that “the end has arrived” is our obligatory morning awakening. We will be taking our unclean and bedraggled clothing and stuffing them into plastic bags and shoving the bags into our luggage. Our toiletries go into plastic zip-lock bags. We stuff our large pieces of luggage with the majority of what we left with calculating what we need for the next day or so that go into our backpacks. We mostly packed last night to minimize what we take onboard with us. We will be driving to Heathrow Airport soon, drop off the car, and head to our room at one of the airport hotels to dawdle and idle away the last hours before boarding early tomorrow morning. I will take that time to review feelings and photos. I will share some of both.

Sunrise from our patio window in East Chisenbury

This has been a remarkable time for us. It is the first time we have traveled since 2020 and the imposition of Covid. We are the fortunate ones. We survived. We are the ones who were hardly inconvenienced despite our inconveniences. We are the ones who laughed and danced through the sequestration. We are the ones who did not feel the discomfort or pain. The ones who breathed fresh air walking the sparsely populated streets alone. We are the ones who, visiting the supermarket with masks, moved sideways, like approaching autos on a narrow street move to the side to allow passage, as another rolled a cart down the aisle. Picking up medications, we stood on designated circles advising us of social distancing. We were the ones who called restaurants for “take-away” [as they say here in place of “to-go”], and who sat in our cars lowering our windows to allow for the bag with our meals to be passed. It was the absence of concern about being close that grabbed me. Our interactions were close. Our conversations were close. Our dining was close. The movement on the streets was close, even crowded at times. No masks. Nothing between you and a breath - not a bob or weave or duck or sideways bobble. I think even the “Post Pandemic Diary” has ended. On to the next phase.

Bibury, considered by many the prettiest village in England.

Another view of Bibury

I am overjoyed by the splendid receptions we received. There is something about the British accent that is so engaging and I suspect, so utterly influential in one’s attitude and demeanor. They are a clever lot. When they want to joke, their accent seems to lend itself to humor. If you were to close your eyes, the British accent would automatically make you laugh at the punch line. There is an acute sideways glance to the intonation. If you were listening to a British woman or man, you might fall in love as they read a John Donne sonnet, so restrained with pent up emotion. This morning I listened to Richard Burton’s reading of Dylan Thomas’s “Under The Milkwood”, and felt the world around me glimmer with hope and salvation. When you meet a Brit, you will be inclined to thoroughly be arrested by the immediacy, wit and receptivity of their grip. They are not merely tolerant of tourists, they are benevolent. They have not been the least condescending. They have always been accessible and wildly helpful.

This edifice is said to have influenced the writing of a great piece of literature. See the next picture after you have guessed author and title.

In attitude I have found Brits to be jovial. Jovial, to me, is happy with an upturned tonality. The British accent is naturally sardonic, curiously empathetic, mildly ironic, if sometimes covertly dark, yet, ending with an upward lilt. A young woman with a British accent is deliciously attractive and alluring; a young man, [so I’m told] is divinely and gently masculine. These are, of course, generalizations, but we were both taken in and even though not a barometer of veracity we were happy to be foiled if that were the case.

J.R.R. Tolkien used these towers as inspiration for “The Lord of The Rings” trilogy. These are The Twin Towers of All Saints College.

The most photographed site in Oxford - The Bridge of Tears.

We have arrived at Heathrow, have checked into our room, and are upstairs at the rooftop lounge. Every plane taking off ticks off the time for which we depart. My brain right now is beating faster than my heart. I must quiet myself knowing that our flight is about one half of the earth’s rotation. Being that I am willing to trust as far as the next day, I will sleep peacefully.

Town center Oxford

Bless you all for having joined us and written me on this blog. It is rewarding to realize there is life on the other side of the mirror.

Castle Combe, Chippenham

Castle Combe, Chippenham

Stonehenge

Cheddar - Yes, where the cheese was created.

Stourhead Garden

Goodbye from Stonehenge

Hope to be with you soon.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

READY? YES, WE ARE.
October 15, 2023

The end of a vacation, whether off for a long weekend jaunt, a weekly, summer escape vacation or an extended journey to a new land have one thing in common, nearing the final days is a bit like mental and emotional gymnastics. As one is about to depart there is a feeling of excitement and anticipation. Then, at arrival the skin tingles with awe and amazement - the awe of new environments and, especially these days, the amazement of having arrived in one piece with all your luggage. Then, as one settles in to whatever the routine demands, you forget thought of work and responsibility giving way to mind and muscle relaxing. Off you go, to the beach, a hike, an ice cream shop, an attraction of historical significance, and while away the hours. As time clip-clops forward and the departure day nears, all of a sudden you, feel a bit of the exhaustion setting in. More of the time away is behind you and the mental “to do” lists begin to enter your consciousness. What in the outset was thrilling now might be boring and repetitive. Ancient stones mutate to less inspiring rocks. Walking paths that invited exploration become gravely over-trodden tracks too long to bother with. The decision at the near end of the day to make that last visit to another town is declined in favor of returning to the Bed & Breakfast grabbing an episode of Law & Order before dinner. Yes, Law & Order and NCIS are still big here.

Stratford Upon Avon - William Shakespeare’s birthplace.

Oddly, the long weekend, the summer escape and the journey all end with the feeling that you are away a little too long. Isn’t that strange. There was not so much as expected to do in this town; the natural wonders were not so wonderful; and “we don’t need to see another”…fill in the blank.

The graveyard at Chastleton House in Cotswold. The house is noted due the the growing poverty of the family inheritors who could not upgrade the facility and thus, left behind a perfect preservation of life over centuries without restoration’s mascara. A fascinating walk through time.

I kind of knew this, so planned for us to execute a deeper dive into the region called the Cotswold. That is somewhat of a strenuous depiction of planning to do a lot of nothing at the end of our vacation. In reality, it was motivated by all there was to do in greater proximity and less distance. With less movement and changing of hotels we have been able to relax and, when we move, travel no more than an hour.

A typical home made of Cotswold stone and slate roofs seen throughout the region.

The Cotswold is about an hour and a half train ride from London, making it the prime location for wealthy Londoners to own second homes. During Covid, the Cotswold experienced the same phenomenal growth that we here in the U.S. experienced - a migration from the city to more scenic, slower environments.

Another example of living in the Cotswold.

What was already the high-end of property went astronomical with the likes of the Bekhams and movie, TV, and rock stars taking up residence. It is easily understandable. The villages are perfect in authenticity, yet maintained at highest quality. And, the surrounding areas as well as the center villages are irresistibly inviting.

The peace and serenity of the Cotswold.

This morning we are off to Oxford for the last three days. It is pouring rain, and reports indicate storm warnings for Northern England and Scotland. The drive is about one hour. Whether it rains or not is inconsequential as we have learned from the Scots and Welsh. You simply get on with your plans. If you decided to allow yourselves to be guided by weather forecasts, the likelihood is that you would hardly ever go anyplace.

Originally a 2,000 acre estate, the family was forced to sell their land holdings keeping a mere 20 acres that is now under the control of The National Trust.

The forecasting engines simply appear to forecast rain in varying percentages and then on the day back off from the forecast to report that days. Even then, the accuracy is not much better. Conditions can vary from minute to minute. Literally. We have had days in which our layers had to be removed and zipped up or pulled over our heads multiple times.

As we ready to leave, the leaves are readying to reveal their autumnal display.

We arrive home on Tuesday in the early evening. We are very much looking forward to our return. This trip was a huge undertaking. One that we thoroughly enjoyed and, as well, one that has asked a great deal from us. It will be good to be home amongst family and friends. Thanks for keeping up with us.

Autumn bloomers in color.

A study in black and white.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

I AM NOT A NUMBER
September 27, 2023

Today we decided to chance the forecast, all day rain and high winds, and stick to our plans to visit Penrhyn Castle. Penrhyn is one of the newer castles in the UK dating from the mid to late 1800’s. That being said, it offers some of the best interiors and interior architecture in its original state.

Study, Reading Room, and Cigar Room

When we arrived at the registration desk we were advised that the castle would be closing early and that visits to the upstairs chambers would conclude by noon. Being that we arrived at 10:15, this exception really did not impact us. However, it did alert us to the fact that the weather might be a factor in our overall plans for the day. Given that the roads are so narrow (How narrow? will be explained shortly) we thought it best to review our days plans so as not to find us on one of the narrow “B” roads that are so designated because they are not major motorways but more rural, typically two-land roads that endlessly wind through the country.

Game and Pool Room

Since we exited the estate after the noon hour, we now had a decision to make. Do we continue on our way, go back to our hotel, or modify our plans? It started to rain as we took in the beauty of the chambers and was continuing even as we were facing this decision. Even as we weighed the likelihoods, the wind picked up and began stirring the trees. We looked at the hourly forecasts and finally decided to do the latter and change our plans. We decided to go to Portmeirion, a seaside village about 40 minutes down the coast and have lunch and hope after a relaxing dine the most dire of the conditions will have passed or subsided.

Greeting Hall and Concert Room

I quickly made reservations at the hotel “Castell Deudrath”, the castle that lay at the edge of the village. We arrived and were escorted into a glass enclosed dining room of substantial size and abundant charm. We dined on a three-course menu taking our time and watching as the weather worsened between courses. As we were completing our meal, timed to perfection, the rain stopped while the wind began to blow the trees sideways. I asked for the bill and was brought the bill along with a pass for two to enter the Village of Portmeirion. As I paid, and with a bit of manifest sarcasm, I said, “One has to pay to visit the village”? To which the really sweet service person said, “You get in for free. If you’d rather not go I will gladly take the passes.” I was told, wasn’t I.

The incongruous design of this elegantly garish village.

Little did we know what we were about to experience. Portmeirion is an enchanted village of colorful buildings, shops, cafes, a picturesque piazza, periodic events and exhibitions and audio displays set on 70-acres of seaside woodlands with miles of pathways that wend through the forests and equally winding streets that thread amongst the multiple dwellings.

One’s first impression is confused delight - orange, white, purple, green, yellow - a garish impressionistic splash assaults first impressions. The architecture further baffles ones sensibilities with pseudo roman platforms, Italianate sculptures, and French Mediterranean facades. What would otherwise be crude and appealing only to the busloads of people on vacation hurrying from one “I saw this” to another, in fact, possesses a most odd appeal.

As we finally finished a walk down to the shore to magically escape the wind taking a second circuit around the village, we ended up, as is inevitably the case, at the gift shop which lies at the end of every round. In discussion with the lady in the shop, the whole of this experience became clarified. But, only the older readers may appreciate this discovery.

Does anyone remember “The Prisoner”, a 1967 British television series created by and starring Patrick McGoohan? In the series, The Prisoner was known only as Number Six, ergo the title, endlessly repeated by the protagonist who railed against being identified as such and would scream defiantly to the hidden voice that was the ‘control’, “I am not a number”. In fact, Number Six was a former government agent who, in the series, “resigns from his job and soon after finds himself imprisoned in a beautiful and charming-yet-bizarre community — a mysterious seaside village that is isolated from the mainland by mountains and the sea. Presumably wanted for the top-secret information he knows, Number Six is hunted, yet thwarts his captors at every turn. However, he’s still trapped in the village by floating, glowing “rovers”, mysterious, balloon-like devices that capture those who try to escape. As you can imagine, The Prisoner ended with an ambiguous finale as to Number Six’ survival. Today it represents a debated question by The Prisoner aficionados.

The emblem commemorating the series was on the door to Number Six, his residence in the series.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

[A quick note to explain how it is I have not gotten off a blog over the past month. Adele and I have been so on the go, our schedule timed with movement from one town to the other, a morning tour of a city, a planned walk, etc. that I have simply not been able to think about writing. Therefore, I have decided to cram some highlights into a single blog to provide a taste of what’s going on this side of the pond. As always your comments are welcomed. Thanks.]

FALSE ALARM
September 18, 2023

We checked into The Clayton Hotel in Glasgow, a one-year-old contemporary hotel, the likes of which have caught on all over the world - a kind of jivey, cool, youthful vibe that blends well with traditional elegance and warm ambience. It layout is quite clever and extremely well thought out - the bar and lounge right up front so you cannot miss the happenings as you go to the elevators, nor can you miss the young and vigorous people gathering in their most fine threads drinking the latest cocktails, and laughing those uncomfortable, forced laughs that are sure signs or either boredom or desperation, There is lots of recessed seating that keeps you in the game buts adds a bit of privacy. Anyways, our room was quite nice, comfortable and also cool with cool grey walls and multi-hued grey duvet that gave you the impression you were spending the night in a cool hotel…which it was…really. Cool.

View from our room at the Clayton Hotel overlooking Glasgow rooftops.

Adele and I were out carousing the city in lousy weather just bearable enough for us to take our laundry to the laundromat and after three weeks of traveling unload half of what we started with into the wash, soap, rinse and dry cycles. Following this rather long, moist and inclement day, we had burgers and “triple fries” (a thing in Scotland) at the hotel. Sleep was welcome. And, sleep came quickly.

“What the hell”? The alarm was piercing, high-pitched, metallic, pulsing with brief intervals and accompanied by a flashing light. I bounced up from my slumber feeling a sense of urgency although I didn’t have any idea what was happening. Turning to Adele, I said, “Honey, get up”. She still needed a little shaking and a moment to get oriented. “We have to get dressed”. I checked my Fitbit – 4:14 AM – I was in my birth uniform but went to the door to see if it was only my room alarm that was persisting to bleat loudly enough to want to escape. I opened the door only slightly, peering out and initially saw no one, but in the few moments my door was opened other doors began to open with people already dressed and proceeding out of their rooms in quiet, orderly fashion.

Adele and I quickly dressed and like the rest of the retinue of evacuees looked as if the dress code of the day was “grab what you can and get the hell out”. Our room was on the 14th floor. We followed the steady flow of people on our floor directly to the stairwell. The stairwells were already filled, surging in a steady flow of people coming from the two floors above. We joined the stream of folks who were discharging in a most unphazed business-like fashion – some finding humor in the circumstance, some calculating their rest of days’ activities, or making phone calls to express love and possibly convey their last wishes.

Round and round we went until floor #7 when the current suddenly turned and some of the people downstairs began to walk upstairs. “False alarm”, they called to those of us above. The tide then shifted as everyone turned and started heading upstairs and back to their rooms. The next morning, I inquired about the cause of the false alarm and was told that sometimes, rarely, someone might be taking an extremely hot shower, when upon opening of the shower door, the steam is released and sets off the alarm. I know this is somewhat of a blah, disappointing ending. Just know, I too wanted something more dramatic in conclusion. Still, I have to be grateful that no one was hurt and all got to keep their belongings.

Fifty Shades of Green…and Counting

Remember when you were growing up your parents would say that “the grass isn’t greener on the other side” or in common parlance “all is not as it appears”. Except, in Scotland where the grass IS actually greener. Not only is it greener, it is thickly carpeted. It is dense and full and cushiony. And, most remarkably, is the diversity of color of meadow and lark, pasture and hills, mountains and forest - dark, almost emerald; it is light and dirty, almost mossy; it is reflective and neon bright; it is golden hued like straw; it is coppery like rusted metal; it is fruit colored like lime or green apple; and vegetable colored like kale or broccoli. One is endlessly discovering new shades of green.

The peaceful and perfect countryside scene…seen everywhere.

Inverary Castle

Mind you, all this greenery comes, well, I was going to say at a cost. But, Scotland is not like Seattle or Portland where suicide rates are the highest in the nation due to the consistently rainy weather and fewest sun days. No. The Scots seem fully adapted to the weather. Just the other day, we spent two nights at the Trigony House, set in rural Dumfries region. On the way, in the cold drizzle, we saw two older couples out on their lawn having tea, conversing in laughter, having a good old time in shorts, and short-sleeve shirts, as if in the Bahamas.

Weather, like all climates around the world, are subject to forecasts. However, forecasting in Scotland makes Americas’ inaccuracies seem like laws of physics. Scotland’s weather really requires, not day by day forecasting, not hour by hour forecasting, rather minute by minute evaluations. Oh hell. The notion of forecasting is specious. The whole damn thing should be scrapped. We have never experienced variations in the weather as we have here. We are not talking simply of clouds overhead clearing making way for the sun. We are speaking of nearly instantaneous changes from clear to sun showers to pouring rain in mere minutes. Sun that is followed by total cloud coverage that breaks and is sunny once again in minutes. Temperatures that require layers including scarves and windbreakers that must quickly be removed because the sun’s appearance raises the temperature making the incredibly chilling weather hot.

Trigony House Garden Suite

Our private sun room and access to private garden

We took a boat ride down Loch Ness after visiting Urquhart Castle that stands high overlooking the Loch. The castle itself is a ruin in the technical sense - no innards - but the remains are copious and tie together in a way that make the empty spaces come alive. You can imagine being greeted in the grand entry; dancing in the great hall, being imprisoned in the isolation of a stone cell hardly large enough to move. Then the view from the boat speaks to the grandeur, status and nobility of fallen stone.

Loch Ness

Urquhart Castle from Loch Ness

A Loch By Any Other Name
We have finally arrived in England’s Lake Region. Famed for its scenic beauty, the landscape is, indeed, gorgeous. We are spending five nights here to absorb the many towns, villages, falls and lakes. Then, on the fourth day, while a mere 1 1/4 miles from where we were staying in Ambleside, and while a huge double wheeler was passing in the other direction with its wide cab creeping over the dividing line, I veered onto the shoulder which, in this case and commonly, had a dip created by rainfall and drove over a rock or some such when we heard a loud gunshot like “POP”, and in that moment knew I had blown a tire. The car began to wobble as we were fortunate, in a very short distance, to find the generous private entrance to a gated home and were able to pull over.

This is a story of deliverance. We exited the vehicle and stood viewing our flat tire…and I mean flat. We had an emergency number to call and got through to an “AA”, a company partnered with Hertz, to provide emergency services ONLY. That is, they go to the car and bring you to the nearest affiliate garage throughout the UK. However, garages do not necessarily replace tires and they certainly do not stock tires. We were due in Chester in two days, so had this day and the next to solve a problem. We chalked it up without dismay to time lost and got down to business.

I contacted AA and were told that help would be on its way in about six hours. They suggested I drive the car the short distance to a garage I identified as able to get a tire within the day right there in Ambleside. He said that given the wheel’s alloys, there should be little in the way of damage if I proceeded slowly. Which is what we did. We arrived at the garage and put our order in for a tire to be delivered later that day and the vehicle handed over to us in that afternoon. But, then the real crusher occurred. We got a phone call from the garage saying that after the new tire was installed, the owner discovered that the wobble was not related to the flat tire. The wobble was being caused by the front end being damaged, possibly a strut or cross arm. That meant the car was not safe to drive.

Now began a journey of persistence and clever manipulation. Since we needed to replace our vehicle, we would need to take the car, on a Saturday, to a Hertz that was open and had a vehicle for replacement. And, AA would not take us any place without our having a replacement vehicle so that we would not be stranded. It was a Catch-22. This episode now has only begun and extends well into the evening and the morning. Suffice to say, the next day, we were able to persuade AA to take us to the Hertz at Manchester airport where we fortunately were able to exchange cars. Yes, and drive on to Chester a day earlier than scheduled. The owner of the B&B where we were staying even said that he would post the room and if let for the evening would return our charge. The lessen is, “When you journey, anticipate detours.” How fortunate were we to be able to proceed according to plans?

We were rewarded with this room’s view at the beautiful Chester Grosvenor Hotel in Chester.

September 26, 2023
In closing for now, our trip has been whirlwind. Not in the sense of having little time and failing to give due to our visits by scurrying through. Quite the contrary. Our “busy-ness” is having the time to do more and having to choose what not to do. I hope some of the photos below fill in to a degree a sense of the fullness and richness of our journey.

Speaks for itself

The port at Oban

Stirling Castle

Castlerigg Stone Circle - someties referred to as the “mini-stonehenge” - dating back to BC. Even touching ancient stones gives one the feeling of ‘back in the future’.

The magnificent views of hills near Windemere.

What the bloody hell! It rains everyday. Even if it rains for a minute, the clothes get sopping wet. OH well! I guess they can wait until a sunny day. Cheers.

The River Dee near Bala, Wales.

The Abbey in Chirk, Wales

Adele having a casual conversation with a Swan.

We wish you all good health. Until next time.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

From England To Scotland
September 2, 2023

It is five o’clock in Hexham, England. We are at The Beaumont Hotel in the center of town. A small reception area is in front as you walk in. A small dark wood bar to the right. Casual seating to the left. The front is expansive, windows floor to ceiling looking out on the street where “two-top” tables, occupied by townspeople and visitors alike, line the street-side. Yesterday afternoon and well into the evening The Beaumont was reveling. A group of ten were drinking Champagne in celebration of a wedding to take place the next day. Other couples, deep in conversation, exchanged memories, hopes and laughter. The couples outside were people-watching, as Adele and I are often wont to do, a wordless exchange of quiet meanderings and sometimes fierce and unfair opinions of the passers-by - “He could use to lose a few pounds”; “The designer of the bare mid-riff should be strangled with his own excess cloth”.

A small fraction of Hadrian's Wall

Upstairs, on the first level, there is another wedding party taking place. I pressed the elevator for “1” on my way down, forgetting that Europeans have a “Ground” floor. The elevator opened upon the aforementioned party just as the bride and groom were passing by. I commented on their sartorial appearance, but paid additional attention to the bride who was beaming. Soon enough her husband to be walked away toward friends and the bride and I drew out more information about ourselves until a final embrace and wishes for her health and happiness. That interlude was such a delightful surprise. I went downstairs and raised an imaginary glass to her health and future happiness.

September 3, 2023
Hexham is poised near the Eastern start of Hadrian’s Wall. The construction began in 122 AD “to separate the Romans from the barbarians”. Does this remind you in some remote way of our immigration problem at this very moment? Walls. Walls. Walls. The Roman kingdom had expanded at this point to a population in Rome of “over 1,000,000 permanent residents; Alexandria was perhaps between 500,000 and 750,000. The cities of Antioch, Ephesus and Carthage had populations on the order of 350,000 to 500,000 residents. There were many more cities in the eastern provinces boasting large populations”…and reaching into the North of England. Although estimates vary widely, it can be said with some assurance that the total population was greater of the Roman Empire was greater than 10 million while some estimates put it at 50-60 million.

A Small portion of Hadrian’s Wall

September 5, 2023
In order to control their populations and prevent uprisings amongst its population, the Romans conscripted boys and young men from their families that resided in the countries within their kingdom, having them serve in their legions. Separated from their families, alone with other men in similar circumstances and living well - well fed, well clothed, and well cared for - they adapted to their surroundings and over years married, had children and grew communities. This system lasted for two centuries until the start of the Roman decline. However, of note is the fact that these servicemen were of all nationalities and races.

The extremity of a Roman Village bordering the River Tyne

The Roman Village

Hadrian’s Wall, aside from being an historical marvel, is also simply a pleasure to walk. The Scottish scenery, vistas, and colors are second to none. There are all sorts of visceral responses to the varied topographies found planet Earth - mountains are uplifting and inspiring; plains are vastly unifying…if boring; one stands breathing in the salty air of rocky shorelines - but the assortment of greens offered by the soft rolling hills of the Scottish Borders possess a motherly comfort, a generous, warm embrace that I favor. There feels a succor, a comfort, relief and refuge. A peaceful sense of flowing rhythms - boundless patterns at interplay with the shifting sunlight and, of course, the stone walls that criss-cross the countryside.

Walls distinguish one property from the next.

One hears of Scotland’s uniqueness. Indeed. It is not only the land, it is the people. I am aware of sensations and responses I do not ordinarily feel. I am now speaking of the whole of the UK actually. They are not merely hospitable. That would impugn sincere generosity of spirit. This goes across the spectrum of service folk and stranger. Met an older woman in the wonderful village of Helmsley just as she was exiting her home. She moved from her native home in Wales to this border town originally to work in their local theater. She loved the people and place so very much she stayed on and became active in the development and planning of productions. We walked and talked until she led us to a Saturday market, departing with advise and direction to the best cafe in town. Then, behind a stall of freshly made cakes and breads, scones and muffins, was a young lady with a proverbial bubbling personality. Incredibly sweet, she began to cut small pieces of the merchandise delights including her favorite Orange Almond Cake and a Sheep’s Milk Ricotta Cannoli with Pistachio. I want to make it perfectly clear that she was absolutely the sweetest of the lot.

Adele and I are fine. We have set a strict and active schedule for ourselves and so far are surviving. We have taken in a lot and there is much more in store. For now, be well and I will catch up with you later.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

WE HAVEN’T YET SEEN
September 1, 2023

One of the pleasures of traveling is coming face to face not merely with the unexpected but with the new. And, when I say new, I am referring to a thing or experience I have as yet not encountered. Needless to say, what is new can be informative and educational or purely fanciful, even funny. Already, after only one week of travel, I have without any effort on my part several firsts that I would like share with you.

The first item of consideration is, well, I will let you guess from the below picture if you can resist looking at the second photo. Yes. It is a chair. It is made of plastic that is formed, then tightly wrapped in leather rope. It is a leather chair, unlike any leather chair I have ever seen. At Chatsworth Estate there is an exhibit of contemporary arts and crafts that have their origin in classic design that reflects the objects from earlier centuries. This is one of the contemporary works.

Detail of the armrest of the chair.

A clearer sense of the seat of the chair.

In the whimsical vein, Adele and I stopped off for a spot of tea. Arriving soon after us was a couple, the gentleman of which, and I use the term warmly, struck me as an individual of distinct character. Would you not agree?

Remember I said that benefits of travel are often unexpected. Well, the poster (below) faced me in the men’s urinal.

An important message.

There are times in every man and woman’s life when life feels like it is more than anyone can bear. In America we have (I believe they are called) “Break Rooms” where you can break items by throwing them against walls or smash them into the floor. In the U.K., the emotional outlet is indoor axe throwing. My observation is that axe throwing is more specific to a person and therefore more greatly remedying the problem. Or, it answers the question, through whose heart are you aiming?

And, just in case, Adele’s aim is perfectly on target, I may be in need of a telephone call…and some immediate help. Well, on the corner in the town of Stamford, England, I might give my chances of recovery a greater than even chance.

I hope you were surprised and shared some of my “firsts” with pleasure.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

“IF YOU’VE SEEN ONE…”
August 29, 2023

We are all familiar with the phrase (and the intention behind it), “If you’ve seen one (church), you’ve seen them all”. You may, of course, substitute for church mansion, castle, house, garden etc. all by way of saying that the attester has little interest in history, context, nuance, subtlety, nor has the patience to choose deliberate discernment over imprecise impression. I was one of those who, in my youth, relied on my intuition, simply bored by detail, possessed not the wherewithal to care about nuance and philosophically was more inclined to the big picture than particulate matter.

I have changed in my latter meditative decades, yielding to small things despite child-like intransigence, paying greater attention as if it were forced labor and, finally, extrapolating from the tiniest to the grandest, giving smallness its due and finding surprising joy in that expansion of awareness. This came to mind as we explored one of the grandest of UK estates, Holkham, about 1/2 hour from Norwich, England, near the sea. The building, rooms, carvings, paintings and, finally, the gardens were all things Adele and I have experienced many times before. Originally a 42,000 acre estate, it is now, like all of the historical ‘royal’ land holdings and properties, in family trust and run by a Board that administers the business of all things Holkham et.al.. This is the only way the family can continue to maintain these holdings, by offering them to the Trust and making them available to the public that supports them through significant entrance fees.

Holkham Hall

The former would suggest that there would be great resentment of the owners who still live on these properties in royal fashion. But, there is rightly not. Not only are they upholding a tradition that is uniquely British, but the families have for the last half century been able to provide improvements to the physical properties and all the contents which represent this rich history. As well, the families enable and financially support all sorts of programs for the arts and on behalf of contemporary artists. Furthermore, the estates have staffs of hundreds of people, from landscapists to art restorers, who earn substantial livings maintaining the properties. Then there are those staff providing tours and commentaries. Every two rooms or so a docent, a trained person who literally becomes somewhat of a historian, offers detailed information that makes the visit exceptionally worthwhile.

I hope this visit to Holkham and to the even grander Chatsworth Estate worth your while.

[I took all the pictures as I do in all my blog posts}

Although it is late in the season, the Gardens are still flowering under the care of groundskeepers who actively wander the gardens.

The main greeting hall and staircase at Chatworth

It takes 14 hours to set the table.

It was usual for youthful royalty to mature in their positions by traveling the world and learning by first-hand experience. The purchasing of foreign rarities was a symbol of status. This foot from a giant Buddha is one of those objects. (It’s the one on the left.)

The Royal Bedroom

Our bedroom in a B&B we stayed at that was decorated in what I called the “Neo-Brothel Style”. It was really quite lovely.

A portrait by John Singer Sargent of the daughters.

And, the fabulous scenery.

Post Pandemic Diary

Reality Television
August 26, 2023

Today we started out with a long walk to Grantchester, the town made famous by the Public Television show of the same name. Admittedly, I have only viewed a few episodes. However, not only all over England, also visitors to the UK from the U.S. and beyond, are fanatical about the show and come around the town to visit the sites where the series takes place. We were fortunate on this day that we did not have to contend with a profusion of tourists, so we could experience the quaint charm of this village.

A special place in the village is the rightly famous Orchard Tea Room and Garden, a sprawling, grassy and fruit tree studded space of informal comfort serving some of the best scones and cakes imaginable - orange cake; pear, cardamom and chocolate cake; fruit scones and, of course, tea. Not merely recognized for its tasteful array of delicacies, the Garden (as it was called) attracted many literary, philosophical and musical luminaries of the day. In 1909, while still a student at Cambridge, Rupert Brooke took up lodging and soon attracted the likes of Virginia Wolfe, John Maynard Keynes. E.M Forster, Bertrand Russell, Ludwig Wittgenstein, and Augustus John amongst others to share in conversation and witty banter as members of The Grantchester Group or the “Neo-pagans” as Wolfe named them. Brooke later lodged at the neighboring house, The Old Vicarage, immortalized in his poem “The Old Vicarage”.

“Stands the church at
ten to three
And is there honey still
for tea?”

The Garden at The Orchard in Grantchester

“Inside the church
beneath the steeple
no choir sang
there n’er were people
’cept two ladies fair
pealing snickered pitches
like God’s sweet witches
hung long gray hair”
David Roth

St. Andrew and St. Mary’s Church

We visited the church as it juts on a turn in the road, hardly avoidable as one carriages through to the town center where The Red Lion Inn sits comforting the weary traveler. Of no particular note, the nave is unadorned. However, the stones, throughout the chapel, we 13th century with detailed markings and intricate sculpturing. That really was a delight to see. Just on the other side of the church is the Vicarage.(Just above the number 44) The flowers that hung appeared unnatural, so perfect of form and color, Adele insisted they were fake. But, no. The flowers and the scene were real.

The Old Vicarage

Following our visit to Grantchester, we decided to again walk the way back to Cambridge and spend time with the Queens at Queens’ College. Indeed, the college was built by two Queens of England - in 1448 by Margaret of Anjou and wife of Henry VI of England (the founder of King’s College) and secondly in 1465 by Elizabeth Woodville of king Edward IV of England.

Queen’s College

There remains a myth regarding the “apostrophe” that supposedly was moved from the possessive position before the “s” to the plural possessive after the “s”. However, it seems that apostrophes were not of great antiquity and likely would never have come under consideration at their time.

Details at Queens’ College

Inner Courtyard at Queens’ College

I will close for now. Ta Ta.

POST PANDEMIC DIARY

GOODBYE, HELLO
August 22, 2023

It is Monday night. Adele and I completed our packing in anticipation of our departure Thursday August 24. Yet, we still have much to do. Oh, nothing related to our two-month journey through England and Scotland. No. Today, Adele saw her podiatrist because her hip has bothered her for a couple of months. The foot doc told her she has a significant length difference in her legs, so he packed her right shoe in order to elevate her one side and level her hips so she is no longer compensating on one side causing stress and muscle and joint pain.

And, I will arrive at the UNC Orthopedic Surgery Center tomorrow (Tuesday August 22) at 8:15 AM. For those of you who don’t know, the pinky on my right hand was caught and slammed in my car’s door. I broke the medial bone between the first two joints, after which my finger was effectively pointing in three directions. I will have the surgery tomorrow, post-op on Wednesday, and board a plane to London Heathrow on Thursday.

The lounge at JFK

———————————————-

We arrived safely at Heathrow, albeit 2 1/2 hours behind. Picked up our vehicle at Hertz, a Skoda with 505 miles and proceeded to drive to Cambridge. I had never driven in England or in any ‘left-sided’ driving country. In preparation, and in an effort to allay my anxiety, I Googled “Simulated drive in England” and actually discovered some cites with driving instructors having you, the viewer, sitting behind the wheel with the driver. I left feeling confident and assured, pulled out of the parking area, and began driving like a champ. Yes, no modesty here, I simply did great…if you don’t consider my having driven over the curb within the first 1,000 feet. Otherwise, the drive went well and better than I might have anticipated.

We arrived in Cambridge just in time to check-in at the hotel without going up to our room in order to walk for twenty minutes to Cambridge center to meet with our tour group for a 2-hour walking tour. This may sound daunting, however considering that we woke up at 5 in the morning, were picked up by car at 11, and sat on our bums through lounges, plane flights and delays for a total of 12 hours, although thoroughly exhausted, we looked forward to the opportunity to walk and get our joints moving again.

Here are some random images from our tour. I will end it here for now, as it is morning of Saturday the 26th of August and I am waiting for a cup of coffee. I would like anyone within earshot of this blog to feel free to respond with comments, your thoughts, etc. Thanks for taking this journey with us.

Punting on the Cambridge River and the Architect’s Bridge

Good advice even if it is given in the toilet

A Cambridge scene

King’s Chapel Organ Pipes and Vaulted Ceiling

NEW ERA DIARY

One Scary Dude
May 22, 2023

His name is Jason Graber. He is 29 year old. He dresses like he forgot what each component of his attire is for. His beard is not trimmed. His hair is balding and what remains never appears reined in. He has a limited third or fourth grade vocabulary. As you might expect, he is tiresome, pedantic, and unintellectual. What you likely would never guess (and what all seems to qualify him for this particular work these days) is that he is a preacher. He is the Pastor of Sure Foundation Baptist Church in Spokane, WA. A “fundamentalist, evangelical, Baptist, and Reformed” church, located in what is becoming the nexus of a rat’s nest collection of bat-shit crazy extremist religions.

Oh. And (lol), Fundamentalist Pastor Graber just called for the killing by rifle shot to the back of the head of all trans folks, their parents and teachers. [NOTE: The Bible speaks of taking up the sword, so Graber is now suggesting that they put down the guns and pick up the sword and decapitate the enemies of Christ.] Trans because they are a sin against god; Parents because they are “grooming” kids, and teachers who are pedophiles. He is calling for the public execution of these people. You may ask, “On what evidence does he take such a fanatical stance?” Well, I will leave that to you. Here is a brief transcription of his April sermon with the (highlighted) relevant words on which he bases his opinions:

… And apparently… states back East, you know, they’re having all kinds of… this grooming stuff going on in schools today…

… Apparently in schools today, they’re literally grooming the kids to… be just ready to be taken advantage of…

… Any teacher that would… show this type of lewd… I mean, basically what I’ve heard is that
they’re… basically, they’re showing pornographic images to children. To young children. Which is against the law—I’m pretty sure it’s… I think it’s a felony—but, you know what? Preachers need to get up and say… well, teachers that do this, they should be put to death. They need to be taken out and shot in the back of the head. Because they’re… they’re pedophiles!

Any teacher that’s gonna show pornographic images to young children, they are a predator! And the reason that they’re doing that is because they want to take advantage of young children…

… And these teachers, they’re showing these pornographic images to these young children, and literally grooming them, those teachers need to have the fear of God put in them. And you know what? That’s what the government is for. In Romans 13, the Bible talks about that the government’s job is to execute judgment with the sword, okay? So maybe… we need to put aside the guns and we need to get the sword back out. And we need to make these executions public. We need to find these teachers that are showing pornographic images and grooming children, we need to find them, try them, get the television out, we need to get FOX News, CNN, every YouTube channel out there, put it on television. We need to show them being publicly beheaded.

That’s what needs to happen to these people. Because you know what? Otherwise our nation is gonna turn into a literal Sodom and Gomorrah.

“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord…” I am pretty confident this nut case is not what Jesus intended. Sadly, I don’t think any of us anticipated this. It appears as if so-called preachers are attempting to gain notoriety, much like the Republicans are doing, by calling for more and more extreme and radical measures in the name of the Bible, or whatever is handy on random days. And, it is all a desperate, last ditch attempt to prevent a mixed-racial, liberal democratic America. In their eyes, if you have not been baptized, if you don’t believe in the resurrection, if you don’t speak in tongues, if you don’t worship snakes, if you don’t spank your children, and if your wife is not solely utilized for procreation and otherwise working to maintain the house, you are damned. You are the damned ‘other’. There is simply no place for you in their white Christian America. To help us understand what’s at stake: “Robert Jeffress, the head of 14,000-member megachurch First Baptist Dallas, a contributor to Fox News, and one of the earliest evangelical leaders to support Trump, presided over a congressional meeting. In Jeffress’ final argument, he reminded everyone — in apocalyptic terms — what their support would mean. “What I want to say in closing is this election is not a battle between Republicans and Democrats. It’s a battle between good and evil, light and darkness, righteousness and unrighteousness. . . . This is the last chance we have, I’m convinced, as a country to turn this country around.”

I find it ironic, and you will surely notice, that those who “sayeth” and “speaketh” the words of the lord, are purposefully, unapologetically, and as the foremost part of their job description, literally “grooming kids”.

Have you noticed that the definitions or qualifications for ‘other’ have widened? I am reminded of the ‘quote’ from Pastor Martin Niemoller. (Originally, cited as a poem, First They Came, is actually taken from a series of talks he gave after being freed from a concentration camp. His quote is now memorialized at The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum since its opening in 1933. it serves as an indictment of passivity and indifference. In his many speeches and lectures, Niemoller confesses his own inaction and indifference to the fate of the Jews and all victims of the Nazis. He stood by…until they came for him.

First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out-because I was not a socialist.

Then, they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out-because I was was not a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out-because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for me-and there was no one left to speak for me.

Niemoller fails to mention that they came for homosexuals, the frail, foreigners, mixed-race individuals,
dissenters, political opponents, and ‘degenerate’ artists. The reason I include the group of degenerate artists is that the treatment of this group poses an exacting example of how discrimination works…then and now. “In a sense, the concept of “Aryan” art was defined by what it was not: anything that was ideologically problematic (that did not fit with the extremist beliefs of the regime) was removed until there little left but an academic style that celebrated youth, optimism, power and eternal triumph.”

This process of selection by elimination is happening today. Republicans are attempting to eliminate anything they oppose in defense of what remains…whatever remains. There is no ideological basis. There is no philosophical thesis. There is only destruction, civil unrest, and internal war. Whatever scraps remain, at least they and their compatriots will be in control. That seems all that matters. Then, cruelty will be defined as necessary, killings will be explained as cleansing, racism as purification, and so on.

It is not that pretend pastors or corrupt politicians exist. That has always been the case since the beginning of human history. It is that we waited too long to speak out. To act. To say NO. I beg of us all to undertake one task a day to speak out. Call you Congressman. Call your senator. Join an organization that supports your values. Our future depends on it.

NEW ERA DIARY

AGING AUTHENTICALLY
May 20, 2023

I was shocked and not a little bit unnerved at my first glance of the latest cover of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit 2023 Edition. It has a picture of Martha Stewart, at the age of 81, clad in a bikini top that plunges in front displaying the better parts of her equally aged breasts represented by the magazine editors as “celebrating an aging woman”. The problem is that the woman does not reveal decades of graceful aging rather an air-brushed photo of a woman enhanced by years and surely millions of dollars of surgical touch-up to her face and body. She appears to me a virtual reality of herself. This is Martha Stewart’s life long interpretation of aging, or as Jessica Define writes in her Substack on May 1`9, 2023, “My general takeaway: It doesn't count as “celebrating an aging woman” if you're celebrating her for still looking young and fuckable.”

What struck me as most sad were the responses to Define’s article (a woman who has excoriated the media, the male dominated structure that messages and defines female standards, and the degree to which women have either allowed themselves to buy into or naively accept those absurd notions of beauty that so gravely impact women. This ‘enhancement’ is sold as beauty augmentation and lifestyle improvement, like a soldier who loses a leg in a war and can now receive the latest in prosthetics. One doesn’t have to lose a limb nowadays for this aesthetic refashioning. One only has to lose their soul… and possess an adequate bank account.

Martha Stewart as she wishes to display herself.

And, did I say impact women? How dare I. Men have not only gone along for the ride, but are at the helm. There is an adorable parlance describing this phenomenon: “When a man marries a woman, he wants her never to change. And, she does.” / “When a woman marries a man, she wants him to change. And, he doesn’t.” Sadly, I get this to be the case. Society accepts a man’s aging - sagging belly, wrinkles, disheveled, unkempt, rickety body and all. But, a women is expected to defy gravity. A male who attends to aging remains agile not pretty, is flexible not fawning, is healthy not harnessed. Contrarily, female health is associated with youthful appearance, unnatural attractiveness, keeping any show of aging at bay. Or, as Define insists, this is “ageism masquerading as age inclusivity.”

This is commercial phoniness, selling the idea that a woman near death should not only care about what other people think of her, but at all have in mind a desire to project any ambition to appear like a magazine idol or young swimsuit model under the pretense of making women feel better about getting older. The egotistical slobber is beyond belief. Really, how many women can afford (if they had any inclination in the first instance) the sheer quantity of injections and length of “scalpel-ing” (my word) and healing that goes along with the look of un-natural aging. Not to mention the extreme risks and consequences to all this surgery or implementations - appearance-related anxiety, depression, dysmorphia, disordered eating, self-harm, and worse.

And, what is natural looking about that? Or, as Matt Labash states in his reflection on the MS look, “And now, of course, Martha Stewart is doing the sexy grandma act, with her drooping décolletage and strategically placed upper-arms wrap, meant to cover the skin that slackens in us all as we age, part of nature’s cruel and inevitable process. I don’t like the Laws of Nature, either. But I didn’t write them, I just have to live by them. As do we all.” There is nothing self-empowering about resisting this inevitability.

Adele’s graying and my belly on full display in Santa Fe.

Then, she had the unmitigated gall to tell Variety Magazine in an interview that she has never had cosmetic surgery. But, whether true or not, who needs plastic surgery when technology can falsify every reality with Apps that can lift, shine, shape, tighten, and hide…oh hell, make you look exactly like Elle McPherson if that’s your desire. Who cares how you got to look fake when you look fake? Who cares that a piece of you is destroyed when you believe you are better for not being you? And, this is not to say that a man or woman cannot or should not pay attention to their aging process as a reflection of health and well being which can imbue a positive outlook, or provide personal pride in attire, and the like. But, who the hell and why would anyone want to emulate being a kid, a twenty something when no matter how you present yourself it is, in the end, an embarrasment.

A passage in the book Light Years by James Salter stands out, “The light was mild. A mole near her jaw had darkened. There was no question, she looked older, the age of one who is admired but not loved. She had made the pilgrimage through vanity, the pages of magazines, through envy itself to a vaster, more tranquil world. Like a traveler, there was much she could tell, there was much that could never be told. Young women liked to talk to her, to be in her presence. They were able to confess to her. She was at ease.” To be at ease is to be greatly admired.

I would be remiss if I pretended the mass of media messaging had not affected me. It had. Adele named it: Delilah. Delilah was everything from allowing myself to be distracted by other women, to feeling that Adele was not enough, or that she needed fixing, or someone else could fulfill me more or was more compatible. I don’t believe it was immaturity alone. My sense is that the pervasive and invasive nature of these ideas solely for advancing profit becomes societally absorptive. Repetition lends a banality to thought and blind acceptance. It is dangerous in that we lose how we are perceiving and treating ourselves in the process.

Aging, to me, is a gift. It is an astonishing and extraordinary experience I have come to accept. It has changed my relationship with my wife and with women. I used to think that despite my age I could be cool in the presence of young women. But, not only was that inauthentic, it was humiliating. I wasn't fooling anyone. My superiority routine, my success pretense, my semblance of sophistication and worldliness all were coverups. Charades of insecurity. Being myself has made me available to all the beautiful aspects of aging - greater acceptance, growing wisdom, the ability to express honestly my thoughts, a willingness to expose my heart. I view Adele through that prism. She is so much more to me now as I appreciate fully all that she means to me in her complexity. I have taken responsibility for the dance between us being made aware of the third entity in every relationship - the WE. The ineffably concrete presence that we are both accountable to.

And, yes, I still think Adele is lovely, attractive, has the softest skin to the touch…and looks great for her age. But, most importantly, she has been a devoted mother, an absolutely committed partner, and my friend. She is wise and smart. She is the person who I love doing absolutely nothing with. She is the person with whom I can say nothing to and communicate. She is the person who has no expectation any longer of who I am or could be. Thus, my desire is simply to sink more deeply into all aspects of her and our lives.

NEW ERA DIARY

BABY, IT’S COLD OUTSIDE
April 23, 2023 (6:30 AM)

Sedona started our trip with the gift of cool morning temps (45-50) and warm afternoons (70-80). Santa Fe, on the other hand, has been downright cold in the AM (30-35) and cool in the afternoons, reaching the low to mid 60’s. Yesterday, we took a drive to Ski Santa Fe, a forty-five minute drive through the Carson National Forest with an approximate 5,000 foot rise to an altitude of over 12,000 feet. At the start of our ride, the temperature was 42 degrees. By the time we reached the top, at the base of the ski lift, the temperature was 30 degrees with a wind chill factor of 21 degrees.

This morning, as you can observe below, the temperature is 29 with a wind chill making it feel like 22.

Screenshot of this morning’s temps

We are taking the ride to Bandelier National Monument hoping that upon our arrival at 9 AM the temperature will be @42 degrees. Neither of us really planned this level of cold weather. Still, it hasn’t prevented us from doing what we must. And, when I say must, I mean yesterday I had to pee terribly. Adele also had to pee but decided to wait and find a ‘port-a-potty’ down the canyon trail. But, there was no way I could forestall the call to nature. Suffice it to say that I learned what the phrase “frozen in time” means. I got back in the car with a stalactite in my pants.

Stalactites

Santa Fe is a special place. The evidence lies with the people you meet. We have spoken to people over breakfast, waiting for dinner seatings, shopkeepers and other customers, on and off trails, all of whom are now residents of Santa Fe. And, they all tell a similar story. Not originally from here, they arrived under a variety of circumstances - with a friend on a trip, following a divorce, taking time off from work and exploring, on a ski trip, even a reluctant ‘plus one’ - and immediately decided that they did not want to leave. That was the consistent theme. There is something magical about Santa Fe. They fell victim to its charms. Undoubtedly, there is a dose of New Age permeating the air…but not like Sedona, NM. People here feel more grounded, are friendly, there is little pretense, everyone seems available and open, and everyone has a story to tell. Of course, nature comes up frequently in conversation as it is such an integral element to the surroundings and a primary reason for relocation.

Winter was hard and long this year, remembering that Santa Fe is 7,500 ft. high in altitude.

We decided that a return would be either later in April or May, or in October for the changing leaves.

A typical Adobe structure.

5:15 PM
We traveled to Puye Cliff Dwellings and took a Guided Tour of the mesa cliffs and caves. These Native Americans, who lived and thrived here since 900 AD have a sophisticated culture. They built summer and winter dwellings. all participated in decision making, the chief had ceremonial duties but did not rule other than to be a tie breaker if the population could not decide upon a final determination.

Winter dwellings in the caves. The walls are thick keeping the rooms cool in summer and toasty in winter. The facade is South facing for day long sun. The rock outlines you see are where a connecting second room would have been, along with a second and third floor.

The people’s who lived here average 21/2’ - 4’ in height.

This is a view of the winter cave dwellings from down near the valley floor.

Remains of the summer dwellings and a nearly complete single family home. They were all connected with a dense wall between homes.

This is the starting point of our exploration.

Looking down from the village onto the valley floor. Apache and Comanche tribes would attempt annual raids on these people of diminutive size thinking they could not defend themselves. But deep into the valley were lookouts who waited and once spotted would run back to the village and warn the population of imminent attack. Captured tribesmen and women would not be harmed or killed. They would be invited to live with the population. They were willing because they wanted to live a peaceful existence themselves and typically stayed to become integral with the population.

A local scene

Our guide and all-around good guy. I did a little photo editing on this image.

High-steppin’ it in Santa Fe.

NEW ERA DIARY

STARTING NOTES
April 14, 2023
Damn. It’s been a long time. Twenty months to be precise since my last entry in August 2022. It has been a challenging year for me for reasons I don’t wish to go into now. Just know that I miss you and I welcome me back. You will also notice that I have officially ended the ‘PANDEMIC DIARY’ phase, as well as completing my editorial engagement with Trump leaving his prosecution to others more capable than myself of putting the bastard in his place. As such, and because there is movement in the political air, I am starting afresh with the name NEW ERA DIARY, anticipating a major aspirational, philosophical, and political shift for the remains of our lifetimes. Welcome to the New Era.

April 16, 2023.
You will excuse the one day hiatus. That was on account of my birthday. Yesterday, I turned seventy-seven, or more accurately completed my 77th year. On to seventy-eight.

Adele and I are celebrating my birthday with a Southwest vacation. We started in Sedona, moved on to Winslow, Arizona. Traveled to Albuquerque where I am now writing this. Then, we drive to Taos, returning for one week in Santa Fe. It has been a wonderful trip with promises of more to come.

The Endless Horizon
What is level? Of course, the definition depends on its usage. Take for example, “Be on the level with me”. It suggests you want an honest response, not slanted one way or another, or colored by personal opinion, or a response with information withheld. “Hand me a level, please”, suggests a carpenter’s tool called a ‘level’ which measures the degree of inclination of a horizontal or vertical surface. Then, one kid on a see-saw may say to the other, “Let’s get it level and keep it level”, meaning the seesaw is not tilted one way or the other, implying balance and equality. In sports, two opponents can be at the same level, in this case suggesting of equal skill or evenly matched. But, until you drive through the Southwest High Desert you cannot imagine the true meaning of level. It is a land mass without growth or green or natural obstruction, that is flat and repetitively boring with endless horizon. There is an ‘other-worldly’ stark beauty that brings some closer to nature and may leave others cold from its brutality. It is nature in the raw. It is primal desert and petrification of the primordial. It is survival and finality.

At the same time, the Southwest gives a sense of the eternal. The eternal provides us with an aura and insight to life’s continuity…if not in our form, if not as we know it. Nature proceeds. It knows no mistakes or errors, despite human’s best efforts to disrupt and dominate. It offers humility to those willing and strong enough to accept our own smallness. For try as we might, nature adapts to the horrors of our interventions and produces grandeur and inclusivity out of it all.

The Endless Horizon

Dry, native brush

I’m not one to think about death, at least not in any prolonged manner. Yet, at 77 years, still healthy and active, one wonders how many years are left to take on the dare of living fully with all one’s faculties. That question was answered creatively by Adele. In my birthday card was a folded piece of paper, a reservation for Adele, Alex, and myself to go tunnel sky-diving. “WOW! I thought.” This is great. And, having taken on Devil’s Bridge, The Bell Tower, and Airport Mesa in Sedona, three significant hikes, I felt that my time to procrastinate and doubt myself has not yet visited upon me.

The Bell Tower. The view from The Airport Mesa.

Hiking the rim of The Airport Mesa in Sedona

15 million year old basalt lava formation

While in Sedona, Adele and I and another couple hired a Pink Jeep Tour Guide. The Pink Jeep company has unique access to the rocky roads that you would otherwise not be able to enter. The unpaved, craggy, rugged and rough roads wind their way around to the tops of peaks and plateaus.

The tires are balloon like and under inflated to be able to climb boulders and steep, rocky inclines on the way up and to keep from slipping on the way down. The ride is not smooth…which is an understatement. We were violently tussled and thrown to and fro and side to side. There was a lot of delirious laughter going on. You know the kind that substitutes for fear. Yet, we were quick to adapt and everyone had a fun time.

A Stop on our Pink Jeep Tour

Cairns are all over the hiking trails

PANDEMIC DIARY

THE GOAL IS AVERAGE
August 3, 2022

If someone said to you, “You are average” would you be insulted? A Dutch person would not be. In fact, that would likely be taken as a compliment. At the very least, it would be an acknowledgement of a truism that we here in the United States know but are unwilling to admit to ourselves. The most basic statistical model is the “Bell Curve”, a graph depicting the normal distribution, which has a shape reminiscent of a bell. The empirical rule says that for any normal (bell-shaped) curve, approximately: 68% of the values (data) fall within 1 standard deviation of the mean in either direction. 95%of the values (data) fall within 2 standard deviations of the mean in either direction. This model has proven itself to be rather inflexible. That is to say that regardless of the subject of analysis, the model generally holds true.

Put simply, you are average. We are average. Americans are average as is the rest of the world. Despite this self-evident axiom, here in the United States, due to many factors not the least of which is the mythology of The American Dream, we adhere in practice to a belief that everybody can be financially successful…everybody can be rich. This is a fallacy. Worse, is the harmful and hurtful idea that because the opportunities exist for these goals to be attained, failure to do so is a personal failure, a defect in character, a lax effort, leaving you undeserving. In the average mind, being average is a deficiency. So, not only do those who have ‘made it’ stand out as glaring examples of what the average person has failed to accomplish, so does the average person stand out as exemplars of meager attempts at success or even incompetence.

This contrasts with the standard practiced in the Netherlands. In a July 29 New York Times article, “The Country That Wants To Be Average”, we learn of a dispute between Jeff Bezos, the Founder of Amazon and one of the richest men in the world and the ‘average’ citizens of Rotterdam. Traveling on his $500 million yacht, Bezos wished to sail his yacht through the Kings Harbor channel and out to sea. In order to do this, he had to pass the Koningshaven Bridge or ‘Hef’ as it is affectionately referred to. However, the bridge, at a height of 230 feet, could not accommodate passage. Bezos and Oceanco, builders of the ship, requested that local government approve the dismantling of the bridge which has not been in operation since the 1990’s when a tunnel was completed. The bridge is shaped like an “H” and its dismantling, by anyone’s estimation would not be complicated and the associative costs would be paid for by Bezos and Oceanco. “Fast, free, and disrupt nothing. So why the fuss?”

“There’s a principle at stake,” said Mr. Lewis, a tall, bearded 37-year-old who was leaning against his bike and toggling during an interview between wry humor and indignation. He then framed the principle with a series of questions. What can you buy if you have unlimited cash? Can you bend every rule? Can you take apart monuments?” This was a question of competing values - the Netherlands’ preference for modesty versus American extravagance. Even as the request seemed reasonable and the task taking a day or two, there was extreme opposition to this proposal and illustrated by Ellen Verkoelen, a City Council member and Rotterdam leader of the 50Plus Party.

“When I was about 11 years old, we had an American boy stay with us for a week, an exchange student,” she recalled. “And my mother told him, just make your own sandwich like you do in America. Instead of putting one sausage on his bread, he put on five. My mother was too polite to say anything to him, but to me she said in Dutch, ‘We will never eat like that in this house.’” Her children were stunned and a little jealous. At the time, it was said in the Netherlands that putting both butter and cheese on your bread was “the devil’s sandwich.” Choose one, went the thinking. You don’t need both.

For sure, there are billionaires in the Netherlands, however Dutch norms and attitudes towards wealth remain Calvanist at root, a respect for conscientiousness, frugality and discipline. The rich do not flaunt it and the powerful do not highlight or relish in their cachet. There still exists a premium on equality and an enduring ethos that no one is better than another or deserves more than the next. No wonder the Dutch are always near the very top on the list of the happiest people on Earth.

Back to Bezos, it is not surprising to learn that Dutch critics contend that employees at Amazon are underpaid. Worse, given his fortune, the disparity between his wealth and the wages of his employees is considered grotesquely unfair and immoral. Their accusation is not so much that he is a tax cheat as the fact that Bezos is not fighting inequality by sharing his success and wealth. This is a moral question that transcends the tax code.

It is sad that in the United States we accept a notion that success belongs to the successful. We reward the wrong goals. Instead of prizing wealth as a beginning and end all that belongs solely to the ‘winner’, we could offer accolades and special status to those whose contributions to society are commensurate with their wealth. That achievement is not a measure of dollars rather a barometer of those aided, assisted in their growth, educated and provided opportunities for themselves to achieve. And, it is not just for Bezos to realize this end. It is a cultural shift that places modesty, humility and community ahead of extravagance, luxury and indulgence.

PANDEMIC DIARY

STUPID
July 19, 2022

“I wouldn’t mind being 14 again so I could screw up my life differently. I have some great new ideas.” I saw this remark (or some facsimile) somewhere recently, laughed out loud and forgot it. For some reason it comes to mind this morning. Politics has taken such a hold on us all, we seem not able to meet with friends and avoid talking politics. A preamble to social gatherings begins with, “We are not going to talk about politics.” Yet, we inevitably do. We have allowed the mundane and stupid fringe to become relevant and part of the discourse of American life. People deserve equal time, for sure, but that demands a degree of rational discourse, both sides relatively informed as to what they are speaking about. The difficult way invites us to take the time to educate ourselves. The easy way is to allow others to frame the argument for you.

“Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the former.” attributed to Albert Einstein

From where does stupidity derive? Is it innate in the human being? Humans are indeed stupid - silly, absurd, goofy and crazy - as distinct from ‘can act stupidly. I think Frank Zappa got it right. “Some scientists claim that hydrogen, because it is so plentiful, is the basic building block of the universe. I dispute that. I say there is more stupidity than hydrogen, and that is the basic building block of the universe.” Napoleon (Yes! as in Bonaparte) said, “In politics, stupidity is not a handicap”, to which I would add religion. But even if you disagree with me, would you then disagree with Pope John Paul II, “Stupidity is also a gift from God, but one mustn’t misuse it”. So, can we all agree that either as an inborn trait or a gift from God, stupidity is with us human’s in equal or greater measure than intelligence. And, if so, that stupidity should be observed carefully, monitored, and defended against so we do not do ourselves harm.

Sadly, we live in an era of stupidity dominance. I believe this can be tested by what I call the “Truth Indicator” (TI), an arm of a pendulum that swings from one side to another, the extreme measures being “Absolute Verifiable Truth” AVT to “Absolute Verifiable Falsehood” AVF. Forgetting for the moment political partisanship and dealing strictly with an objective reality check, the current TI has swung almost entirely to the AVF. Although the truth or falsehood phases have always existed, I cannot remember it ever being so stilted in one direction. And, given the nature of politics, stupidity has always been utilized in equal measure by all parties to appeal to their discreet base of voters. It also appears, as a general statement, that the arm of the pendulum has swung far more to the AVF ever since the advent of the phrase, ‘Alternative Facts’. This seems to have given permission for one party, in particular, to effectively disregard and, dare I say, disparage reality. Where there was once debate there is now intransigence. Where there was once compromise there is now resoluteness. Where there was once flexibility there is now calcification. Where there was once movement toward progress, as defined by enlightenment, openness, and freedom, there is now regression defined by narrowness, diminishment, and retaliation.

“Against stupidity the very gods themselves contend in vain”
Frederick Schiller

Stupid is winning.

• Stupids insisting that Stupid is right;

• asserting that Stupid need not be analyzed or explained;

• demanding equal treatment from TV, journals, commentators, opinion pieces, etc.;

• insisting that those on the fringe of the non-stupid plane take non-stupid way too far;

• claiming the unfairness of and objecting to attribution of “Stupid-privilege” charging that non-stupid people are actually the ones being treated preferentially;

• challenging whether books by non-stupid people should be read in classrooms where our kids might be exposed to non-stupid truths and ideas which may have them think and act non-stupidly as adults;

• believing that non-stupid people think that ‘facts’ are incontrovertible;

• or, that stupid people don’t have a right to claim ‘alternative facts’ as facts;

• accuse non-stupid people of allowing kids to read non-stupid books that stupid people wish to ban because continued exposure to non-stupid information may be influential and have vulnerable minds impacted such that they grow up as non-stupid adults thinking non-stupid things and acting in non-stupid responsible ways;

• are threatening non-stupid people with harm for their non-stupid opinions, citing their attitudes of arrogance and superiority, believing that stupid people should not be questioned.

• reserve the right to make up shit like Robert Kennedy is returning to lead the movement of stupids.

“In one recent experiment, Paul Glimcher, a neuroscientist at New York University, and his collaborators asked people to choose among a variety of candy bars, including their favorite — say, a Snickers. If offered a Snickers, a Milky Way and an Almond Joy, participants would always choose the Snickers. But if they were offered 20 candy bars, including a Snickers, the choice became less clear. They would sometimes pick something other than the Snickers, even though it was still their favorite. When Glimcher would remove all the choices except the Snickers and the selected candy, participants would wonder why they hadn’t chosen their favorite.”

This is, I perceive, the Republican strategy which, to their credit, derives from their insight that humans are innately stupid as confirmed by Pope John Paul as previously cited. Therefore, Republicans have come to understand that if you throw as much sh_t as possible against a wall the result will be one of two outcomes: 1. already stupid people will not bother to consider how stupid what being asked of them is and will reliably be counted upon to remain and act predictably stupid; or, 2. people who are not stupid will be confused about being non-stupid and question their own non-stupidity, ultimately and likely making a perfectly stupid decision to only later realize how stupid they were.

Now here’s the thing: to believe that when you see or hear something stupid it is an aberration would be a severe error. It is not. This needs to be shouted from the rooftops. It is human to err. It is also human to be totally bat-shit stupid. It is this awareness and only this truth that can provide hope and solidarity. It is all our responsibilities to call out stupid how, when and where it occurs. And, that goes for when non-stupid people are stupid.

“In view of the fact that God limited the intelligence of man, it seems unfair that He did not also limit his stupidity.”
Konrad Adenauer

“Irrationality may be a consequence of the brain’s ravenous energy needs”

At the core of the model Glimcher designed lies the brain’s insatiable appetite. The brain is the most metabolically expensive tissue in the body. It consumes 20 percent of our energy despite taking up only 2 to 3 percent of our mass. Because neurons are so energy-hungry, the brain is a battleground where precision and efficiency are opponents. Glimcher argues that the costs of boosting our decision-making precision outweigh the benefits. Thus we’re left to be confounded by the choices of the modern American cereal aisle.

The brain is an evaluative elimination organ. It divides choices according to their value, eliminating the lower value choices to make decision-making easier. One way of doing this is not bothering with prior negative or lesser valued entities. In this instance, you eliminate any evaluation or comparison of worth and value, staying with the choice you know and prefer. Receiving benefits that are more advantageous to you are also dismissed in this process. This stagnation can get worse over time and can be reinforced by your environment. Energy reduction in the brain, the elimination of any conflict-resolving and choice making, also deprives us of a prime gift of the brain. This irony can explain a great deal about stupid.

Buddhists have gone to mountain tops to meditate in order to realize that our attachments cause us suffering. The religious retreat into silence also. They pray, sing, dervish, daven, and repeat mantras in hopes of finding wisdom and oneness with the universe. Enlightenment does not come easy. But, the desire for easy seems part of the pillars of our neural construction. All easy must be fought against. This may be why human intelligence is losing to stupidity.

Ignorance can be educated and crazy can be medicated
but there is no cure for STUPID.

PANDEMIC DIARY

THE JANES
JULY 14, 2022

The Janes were a heroic collective of young women activists running a clandestine operation providing abortions to 11,000 women of Chicago between 1969-1973, prior to the Supreme Court decision that granted women the right to abortion memorialized in Roe vs. Wade.

“Social progress can be measured by the social position of the female sex.”
Karl Marx

Last night Adele and I saw the movie, “The Janes” on Martha’s Vineyard - a documentary of such profound significance, so important and timely with the authentic voices of the women who began and joined The Janes to perform “illegal” acts of affirmative protest. These women, now in their late sixties and seventies reminded me of my early activism and participation in protest and marches. I am remembering how useful I felt during those times. Whatever cynicism I might have had over the political process, however much I disdained our representatives, while ‘on the march’ I knew that these social militant compatriots and these pro-active movements meant something and were influential in educating, shifting attitudes, and changing policy.

The Janes focused on abortion as an issue but knew that abortion, as a political tool, was integrally related (there is now a word for this understanding - ‘intersectionality’) to race, gender identity and other social issues foisted upon political landscapes by white male leaders. All opposition to efforts to enhance the lives of the disenfranchised, to prevent abortion, to denigrate any class of individuals, to limit access to resources are all related acts. Any action, statement, or law which opposes, impedes or prevents one of these issues impacts all the others.

The recency underscoring these events of the sixties and seventies cannot be overstated.

I URGE YOU TO SEE THIS INCREDIBLE FILM

PANDEMIC DIARY

LIVING WITH PAIN
July 11, 2022

Your pain is largely subjective.
Your pain is basically invisible.
Your pain is difficult for people to understand.
Your pain makes other people uncomfortable.
Your pain tests relationships.
Verbalize your discomfort too much and you are a complainer, a burden, a whiner and crybaby.
Hold in your unease and hardship and you are a martyr, a quiet sufferer, and ‘how do you expect anyone to assist you’?
You are told:
“Give it time.”
”Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”
”This too shall pass.”
”Here, take two Advil, Tylenol, Alleve.”
”Be grateful. At least you can walk.”
”It can’t be that bad.”

This last comment can be a soul crusher. You would do anything you can to reduce the searing Pain. Rid yourself of the pain. Expunge it permanently. Pain stands in your path’s way like a dark warrior preventing any movement forward unless you are willing to go up against it and risk its consequences. The question is do I live with the pain I have or try something else and add to it. Pain seeks to take over and envelop you, have you need to anticipate your every next move…and your next. Pain denies your ‘carefree-ness’ diverting your Presence to its Existence. Its absorption seeks to be complete. Pain is resolute, interceding you make a sudden, even subtle move to the side, or when you twist in the slightest way, or walking on the shifting sand, or rising from a rocking chair, or removing dinner from the oven. In particular, in the morning when life again rises and greets, as you receive the cool morning freshness and anticipation of sunshine, as you smell the ocean’s salty spirit, as you hear the chirping of the Black and White Warblers, Great Cormorants, Purple Martins, Sooty Shearwaters, and Eastern Meadowlarks, it is then the smile bringing daylight’s aspiration fades, attacked by an electric jolt, a whole-body concussion of torment and I collapse and attempt to draw breath from the excruciating, agonizing affliction.

Yes, this is happening to me. This is now my world. It is called Chronic Pain. However, that says nothing unless and until you realize that the synonyms for the word chronic are: incessant, constant, continual, deep-rooted, habitual, lingering, lifelong, persistent, protracted, sustained and, most disturbing to me, incurable. Advanced degenerative disease of the SI joint or sacroiliac and L5 L4 joint is what the MRI report states. After reading the profile, I had to go to the internet to understand the medical terms. It read like a disaster warning, a foretelling of doom, anguish, misery and finally paralysis.

And then I went to a Physical Therapist here on Martha’s Vineyard.

“Sometimes I think I shouldn’t feel the way I do. When I start thinking this way I tell myself that feelings are neither good nor bad—they simply are. In the midst of intense negative feelings, whether fear, anger, depression, etc., it can feel as though they will last forever, like they will never end. It promotes emotional balance to maintain an awareness that all feelings are temporary, and that they always change.” —From Pain Recovery: How to Find Balance and Reduce Suffering from Chronic Pain.

Upon our meeting, I handed Susan the MRI document. She made believe she was reading it when this two-page document was summarily dismissed, put down in twenty seconds, saying “Let’s see what I come up with and then we can see what this says.” Susan put me through a series of movements to assess whether the pain is originating from the SI joint or from L5 L4 compression. After determining that the source of pain was SI joint, Susan educated me, explaining how my right gluteous muscles have seized placing extraordinary stress on my left glute. She hypothesized that either I had an accident (which I did not) or unbeknownst incurred some form of trauma. Upon reflection, I realized that weeks before I played Pickleball for the first time. It was only after that event that I began to feel the onset of these issues.

Consider this, this same medical report was shown to and read by a chiropractor, a physician, and an orthopedic PA, and each in turn interpreted the data differently. Furthermore, each had a different take on what the report’s implications meant. And, each had advice particular to the orientation of their own practice. Lastly, each suggested they could help, they could work with me and improve my condition. It took for a wise, experienced, multi-disciplinary practitioner to investigate all the available data and come to a diagnosis that would be considered “outside the box” by the traditional medical community. I had sprained the ligaments of my SI joint as a result of the stress. “Let’s get to work”, she said .

I traversed from a doomsday scenario, technical words offering days, weeks, or months or years of extended pain and restricted movement leading to the potential for surgery to a diagnosis that was conservative, reasoned, and hopeful. This is the end of the first day following my PT treatment. I am experiencing the kind of relief that, although I remain painfully sore with infrequent shocks, is so markedly improved over what I have been living through these past two and a half months.

I am relived and grateful. Not knowing what your future holds and projecting from a place of misery and suffering does not bode will for tomorrows. I certainly have a greater understanding of what chronic pain means to those afflicted. Meanwhile, I will continue on with my anti-inflammatory, acetaminophen, and yes, the occasional edible to soothe and round out the edges.

Cheers from Martha’s Vineyard.

PANDEMIC DIARY

THE CURSE OF PRIVILEGE
July 1, 2022

Privilege is defined as “a right, immunity, or benefit enjoyed by a particular person or a restricted group of people beyond the advantages of most”. It is a word that has come into full use of late with greater frequency. I would like to examine what privilege infers socially, how the concept of privilege is being twisted, how this usurpation is linked to religious beliefs, and how religion and politics are coupled.

The derivation of the word privilege is anglo-norman from the middle ages. The middle ages (476-1520) expresses a period ranging from Constantine to Leo X who reigned during The Protestant Reformation and the era of Martin Luther. Leo was a spendthrift and nearly bankrupt the church. His answer: to bestow favors on well positioned donors. These ‘blessings’ were able to restore church coffers to the benefit of the wealthy by increasing their influence. An Ecclesiastic quid pro quo. If ‘privilege’ derives from the middle ages, the word ‘blessing’ is earlier from the Old English, Latin and Greek and contained within the earliest scriptures. Originally, its sense was ‘to speak well of, to praise’. In Hebrew, blessing brk, is “to bend (the knee), worship, praise. A semantic change took place over time and blessing became reference to a special ritual act - ‘to sacrifice’; worship; bless - and, finally, “pronounce or make happy, prosperous, or fortunate”. Now it was an act to “invoke or pronounce God’s blessing upon”.

EVERY BLESSING IS A PRIVILEGE. Blessing is “a special favor, mercy or benefit”. In religious terms, these are “acts bestowed by God in the form of favors or gifts” (thereby bringing happiness) . Blessings, privilege, favor, and benefit are inextricably entwined. Blessings are like human dog treats. “Sit”, says the owner of Pooch…and Pooch sits. What follows is the benefit: a morsel, a reward, an acknowledgement of a task well done. After the heavy panting is done, the dog habitually seeks more of what brought him happiness. The reward is intended to elicit a preferred behavior that otherwise would not be repeated or generalized. If you want the dog to lie down or turn around, you must start from the very beginning.

In every day parlance, God is the source of all good gifts, of all blessings. The Bible reminds us, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17). God is the owner; we are the Pooch. God doles out blessings in order that ‘his children’ shall repeat acts of faith, generosity, healing, etc., God wishes his/her spiritual gifts manifest in us, in this body, in this form, in this life. Therefore, the function of blessings as recipients is to acknowledge God as the source of all blessing. Your gain is not only of profit to you personally, it is also a gain for he/she that bestows the gift. How so? “A person who speaks for God or a deity, or by divine inspiration” is a ‘profit’. God benefits as those who receive the blessings speak the word of the Lord. In fact, the first blessing from God to man appears in the first chapter of Genesis (1:28): “God blessed them and God said to them, “Be fertile and increase, fill the earth and master it.”

Here is where this all goes terribly wrong. God is conveying to us we are special - to multiply, to spread and occupy the Earth, to “subdue” and “master it”. This directive is in violation to Nature itself. It infers being of an ‘exceptional’ nature. It suggests that humans possess a unique and superior place and role on this planet. God wishes for us to be preeminent rulers of the Earth. Of course, this is disputable since it is not stated specifically as such but is an unfortunately unavoidable inference. The word ‘master’ has the regrettable presumption of being overlords. There are those who would wish supremacy, as in an owner of a plantation and slave holder. Mastery is not earned from practice, learning, or earning rather is an ENTITLEMENT. That is what we are witnessing today, that humans are the recipients of an advantage. That advantage is a superiority that makes us ascendant over someone or some thing - all advantage provides one with the “state, circumstance, opportunity, or means specially favorable to success, interest, or any desired end”.

“White Privilege” is a battle being fought on many fronts and is the prime example of the danger within this message. The simple fact is that privilege can become so ingrained, that one fails to see the privilege for what it is worth in the first instance. Privilege can easily decline into a sense of entitlement. If I deserve what I have, there is not guilt, no responsibility, no chance involved. I am special. For those who use religion as a scapegoat, God becomes the proof which confirms the individual as being deserving, “God chose me (us), so he must have intended for me (us) to have these favors and advantages”. In other words, there was nothing random about it. We got it, because we are special and entitled. This is the current state of the religious extremists and conservative right in this country. The sense of entitlement, laying claim or having inherent rights that others do not have, is justified by the very fact that ‘we have it and you don’t’.

Furthermore, the faithful’s zealotry is far greater than the general population since their interpretation leads the fanatic to believe this is God’s inheritance. That representing God in this way is ‘good’. It is God’s work. This is God’s directive to adherents. There is nothing that can convince them otherwise. This commandment makes warriors of a segment of the population that has pitted them against the rest of us, a battle between their perceived good against evil.

Religion is politics now more than ever before. A recent Supreme Court ruling has allowed a coach to have his team kneel at the end of a game and pray in the middle of a stadium. It has allowed certain religious thought to be taught in schools and is allowing other subjects to be restricted that are in conflict with certain people’s religious beliefs. This movement is dangerous and toxic. We must guard against this because it is leading to the institutionalizing of religion in our everyday lives. Worse, this license has given permission to hate speech, bias, prejudice that is condoned under the guise of religion.

From marriage equality, to gun control, to immigration reform and the threat of war, religion
plays a fascinating and crucial part in our nation's political process and in our culture On a Florida State road, Rte. 207, hangs a banner that proclaims. “Work Hard, Trust in God, Vote Republican”. At a conference where this was noted, a Chinese student responded by declaring, “All this superstition can’t be a good thing for American life”. I agree.

PANDEMIC DIARY

“BURNT ONIONS AND ‘THE MATRIX’”
Part 1: THE MATRIX’ REVISITED
June 14, 2022

In 2001, I completed writing my staged performance piece “Surviving Pearl” [SP}, a kind of tribute to the memory of my mother. At that time, I was briefly a member of a playwrights group. We held monthly meetings as each member would bring a current project they were working on. We read a portion or the whole of the written script, finally asking for questions and comments of the group-at-large. It was at such a meeting that I presented ‘Surviving Pearl’ for the first time…its dry run.

SP is a performance piece, a one-man play in which I play myself and my mother in one-sided conversations where the other character’s responses are inferred by the dialogue. At one point during the performance, I break the ‘fourth wall’, the imaginary dividing line between what is occurring on stage and the audience, by speaking directly to the audience. At that moment, the audience and I are one. I tell them about my mother’s potato soup and describe its preparation. The first step is to cook the onions - “…saute them until they are brown, very brown and caramel in color. Don’t let them burn, otherwise it will taste bitter”. To this author’s memory, I had no intention here other than to share a recipe and have direct contact (intimacy) with the audience.

I finish reading the play to the applause and accolades of my peers. Then it was time for their critical observations and recommendations. One of the writer’s told me that she particularly liked when I broke the fourth wall, addressed the audience as a means of gaining empathy and trust, and then went on to describe my brilliant use of “burnt onions as allegory” …for, well, everything… in the world. I feigned acceptance of her insights and profound interpretation. To be honest, much of what is created in art remains unconscious to the artist and is left to the viewer to establish their own rapport with a work. Furthermore, her reading of that scene was, in fact, adroit and clever. It simply struck me as odd, and a little bit humorous, that of all aspects of the script writing product she would isolate and identify with ‘burnt onions’.

Recently, in conversations, the movie “The Matrix” came up, as it has become an unintentional allegory for…well, just about everything. It began for me in 1999 with the film’s release. To this five decade old cinema aficionado/conspiracy theorist, its message told of powerful forces that have constructed a world of deception, a duplicity of senses, a deep deceit upon which is layered a veneer of material wants, wish fulfillment, not enough’s, dulling dreariness, and arbitrary, distracting appeasements and indulgences. Add to that, the complexly insidious and invasive computer programming within a computer program in which life itself is a simulation, where what we see and what we think we know is a simulation of reality. That human culture is formulated by those ‘in control’ (in control of natural resources, finance and wealth, governments) of the computers and impose all messaging in the form of media, religion, advertising, etc. that ultimately determines our view of the world: how we perceive and experience ourselves and our environment, how we define our plight, and how and what we project onto others. A world of predestined, preprogrammed androids in human form.

This idea originated with Jean Baudrillard, a French sociologist, philosopher, cultural theorist, political commentator, and photographer. Baudrillard’s magnum opus is ‘Simulacra and Simulation’, the book taking center stage in the opening scenes of The Matrix when Neo opens a hollowed-out copy of the book where he stores cash and his important and illicit computer files. Baudrillard refers to images and signs and how they relate to our contemporary society, wherein we have replaced reality and meaning with symbols and signs such that what we know of reality actually is a simulation of reality - “a world saturated with imagery, infused with communications media, sound, and commercial advertising”. These simulacra - copies, clones and counterfeits - are the signs and imagery that infuse and saturate our society, surpass the ‘real’ world and become ‘hyper-real’ or more-real-than-real. In such a world apathy and melancholy permeate human perception. Empathy is lost to self-interest. There is no room for ‘common good’ as entitlement settles in and each person is in it for themselves.

Now, were this not confusing enough, Baudrillard ‘borrowed’ an analogy from the work of Jorge Luis Borges. “In it, a great Empire created a map that was so detailed it was as large as the Empire itself. The actual map grew and decayed as the Empire itself conquered or lost territory. When the Empire crumbled, all that was left was the map. In Baudrillard's rendition, it is the map that we are living in, the simulation of reality, and it is reality that is crumbling away from disuse.”

[As an aside, The Matrix was not written by The Wachowski Brothers but closely adapted from a story by Sophia Stewart, an author who in 1981 copyrighted a work called “The Third Eye” upon which The Matrix is based. Stewart sued the Wachowski Brothers, Joel Silver, and Warner Brothers, et al charging copyright infringement and racketeering. She won the case six years later receiving damages cited as one of the largest in copyright infringement history, the settlement based upon gross receipts from The Matrix I, II, and III of in excess of 2.5 billion dollars.. Of particular relevance to this discussion is the fact that then Warner Brothers’ parent corporation is the GIANT, “AOL-Time Warner which owns 95 percent of the media business: New York Times newspapers/magazines; People Magazine; CNN News; Extra; Celebrity Justice; Entertainment Tonight; HBO; New Line Cinema; DreamWorks; Newsweek; Village Roadshow and many, many more outlets.”] At the time of this writing this monopoly has been split into its parts.]

And so it continues, a disintegrating reality, greater reliance and trust in the manipulated illusions and misleading messaging based upon false assumptions and lies. It is these assumptions upon which we create worlds. The lies support the fake assumptions. In this process we create ourselves as projections of the adopted realities composing and fabricating the illusions of a distinctive ‘me’…and ‘them’. Shakespeare would be shocked to learn that in today’s world “To thine own self be true” would be a state so divinely to be wished as to be near impossible. What does it mean, ‘to know thyself’ when with so many outside influences we create for ourselves a being [self] so prescribed, dictated and indoctrinated to that our ‘true’ selves, our heart center, the human core from which emanates our original life force lies beneath an overt, yet somehow diffuse, invisible cloak of money, business, gain, fashion, etc. This onslaught of information is like a storm from which there is no shelter.

This passage was, some time ago, submitted by a dear friend and seems relevant at this juncture. I will close here to end Part 1 of this discussion:

There is this Magic Show…
And, some people live in the Magic Show…
And, some people are the Magic Show…
—————
And, some people wonder what the Magic Show is all about…
And, some people wonder what Magic is…
And, some people never wonder at all.

(to be continued)

PANDEMIC DIARY

MYTH IS ALL THERE IS
(dedicated to my friend in Montana)
JUNE 7, 2022

We are approaching an anniversary. The anniversary date is June 21, 1988, and since June 21 is the day Adele and I leave for Martha’s Vineyard and The Berkshires I thought it important to commemorate the the momentous meeting and discussion between Bill Moyers and Joseph Campbell - Bill Moyers having been the highly regarded and trusted news anchor and current events reporter for the Public Broadcasting System; and Joseph Campbell, the prolific author and expert in comparative mythology and mythology’s ongoing role in human cultures and societies.

Bill Moyers (left); Joseph Campbell (right)

Loosely speaking, myths are allegorical narratives. Beyond that simple definition things can get fairly hairy because there are different categories and types of myths - fables, fairy tales, folk tales, and legends. The myths I am referring to today are more in the category of epic myths or parables that appear throughout history, have a universality in that the fundamental story-line is repeated amongst varying cultures and possess relatively coincidental timelines. The similarities suggest preexistence, as if the stories are inherent in our brain stems, for so long in our history have myths been related and retold. Maybe, aside from what we know of human consciousness, there is something to the notion of a cosmic consciousness. (I am not prepared to get into Quantum theory just yet)

Campbell defines mythology in “The Power of Myth”, the companion book to the interview and television series as “the provision of a cultural framework for a society or people to educate their young, and to provide them with a means of coping with their passage through the different stages of life from birth to death.” This definition, to my thinking, is highly esoteric in nature and does not address the origins and functions of myths. It deals with the more ‘cosmic’ nature of myth and not the practical. I sense that at their most basic level, myths answer a need. “The need exists before the myth, which arises to fulfill the need.” (Robert A. Segal - Sixth Century Chair in Religious Studies at the University of Aberdeen) Hegel suggests that myth is appropriate only for the “childhood in mankind” and when reason has grown up and matured, they become obsolete. If that is so, given myths have persisted for thousands of years, is mankind still in its infancy, childhood, teens? Have the needs that fostered the creation of the myths not been met? Do we need so deeply and beyond any power of myths’ ability to satisfy our cravings? Or, do we simply find the need addictive and would rather look to the future with wistful hope than face our demons and grow out of the need.

A mythology is inevitably bound to the society and time in which it occurs and cannot be divorced from this culture and environment. By this measure, contemporary society has failed to pay attention to the great myths of yore - the Hero Myth; the Journey Myth; the Myth of Reconciliation. Campbell in dealing with the universality and evolution of myths in the history of the human race and the place of myths in modern society suggests “that modern society is going through a transition from the old mythologies and traditions to a new way of thinking where a global mythology will [eventually] (my addition) emerge.”

This may be true, however, what immediately grabs my attention is the importance of keeping level-headed regarding the passage of time. It has taken tens of thousands of years and throughout the history of upright beings that walked the Earth, and before language, that there exists evidence of the presence of myths, no matter which era, which region of the globe, which culture or which society. These stories are regenerative, handed down from generation to generation, and form the practices, observations and rituals that still go on today. At the core of these stories are the recurrence of certain themes that portray universal and eternal truths.

Can it all be an illusion? Human existence is a struggle. God told us from the time of the expulsion from the Garden of Eden (myth) that humankind will pay a high price for consciousness, that is awareness of one’s own presence as distinct from other things in the universe. At that moment, humans acquired an internal existence…self-reflection. And, that internal awareness separated mankind and womankind from the rest of the natural world. That phenomena of consciousness was ‘selected’ for survival, as Darwin along with Materialists, would point out. But, all consciousness, as we know it, is allegory, metaphor, a representation of a reality, not the thing itself. And, that’s where language comes in to play. “Speech is more plastic than wax and other such media” (Plato’s Republic IX, 588 D) We spend a lifetime in our brains ‘describing’ experience, ex post facto, translating into words the lived experience.

If “function is the flip side of origin”, as Segal indicates, “the need that causes myth to arise is the need that keeps it going. Myth functions as long as both the need continues to exist and myth continues to fulfill it at least as well as any competitor. The need for myth is always a need so basic that it itself never ceases.” Included in those needs are basic needs such as the need to eat, and no less basic to the conscious mind the need to understand and explain the world we live in, to express one’s unconscious in the material world, and, to provide meaningfulness to life.

These latter needs are panhuman or apply and affect all humanity. It is these needs from which religion arises. However, unlike food which physically and literally can satisfy a need and thusly eliminate the need for myth, religion’s whole raison d’etre is to accomplish the impossible. That is, fulfill a human need with myth or an insubstantial attempt at a satisfying answer. For many throughout the world the gathering of like-minded individuals provides a level of confirmation of truth. Yet, while the myth has been historically powerful and unifying, it remains inadequate to satisfy the need. In other words, the need from which the myth arises is the need that keeps it going, like the ‘Duracell’ battery.

Will the need for myth be with us always? Here is a poem I wrote a paper on in college that (by the way) go me an “A”. It is by Stephen Crane, author of The Red Badge of Courage. It will not go down in the pantheon of great poems but is marvelously applicable here.

A Man Saw a Ball of Gold in the Sky
Stephen Crane

A man saw a ball of gold in the sky;
He climbed for it,
And eventually he achieved it --
It was clay.

Now this is the strange part:
When the man went to the earth
And looked again,
Lo, there was the ball of gold.
Now this is the strange part:
It was a ball of gold.
Aye, by the heavens, it was a ball of gold.

The need for myth seem basic to human life’s attributes - striving, ambition, pursuing, inquiring, seeking - while the answers do not always appear evident. However, even consensus reality may not satisfy a particular human need. In the poem, the answer is obvious - a ball of gold - right there in the sky. That should satisfy and quell a need. But, all is not as it seems. For all the effort to achieve the intended goal and satisfaction, nay, it was a deception. Or, was it? Was it, indeed, a ball of gold, and we, the seeker, could not appreciate it? Was it devalued the moment it was held/owned? Was it worth all the trouble in the first place? Yet, there the answer remains, oh so near.

As long as the need does not cease, myth itself will never cease. One has to ask, is what we are witnessing today in the world the expression of a need without a myth capable of any satisfying answer? Is that the origin of upheaval, revolution, terrorism, even international crime? Will science, which itself can be likened to modern-day religion, supplant myth? Is the concept of myth already obsolete in this modern society?

Myth has been a reliable resource for mankind and should not be dismissed “as mere myth” as Segal states. If you read myth literally and in an historic context, it may provide meaningful insights into human desires and even provide insight into a course of action. Myths can certainly have a hold on large portions of the population worldwide…and do. The problem is that once a myth takes hold and there exists consensus agreement, true or otherwise, the story holds strong for those who accept it; they are not willing to let the myth go. The resistance to giving up or the absence of persuading one to give up a myth is a clear testament to its power. Richard Dawkins, famed atheist, renowned scholar, author, Biblical scholar tells us, “Religion is about turning untested belief into unshakable truth through the power of institutions and the passage of time”, but insists “The universe we observe has precisely the properties we should expect if there is, at bottom, no design, no purpose, no evil, no good, nothing but blind, pitiless indifference.”

Is that the bottom line of existence? Is Dawkins suggesting we should give up the ghost. Absolutely not. I believe he is saying that we are making a mess of things. Our inability to fess up to the truth about life and death keeps us attached to myth, illusion, false gods, and hope. These dependencies shift our reliance from the love and trust in one another to the unattainable ‘pedastelized’ virtues of a Christ and Brigadoon-like places akin to heaven, which is like moving the goal-posts to another city from where the game is being played.

Will humankind be able to break away from our own actions and their creations cannot supersede the needs and beliefs we impose upon ourselves. Our lives mirror our beliefs, projections and structures we create. Maybe it is time to look at our creation and write new myths? Maybe we need to examine our needs and determine what among them is vital and necessary, not merely desired as ‘pipe-dreams’? Until we satisfy our human needs, anticipate more myths, stories and conspiracy theories to fill the void.

Let us try to teach generosity and altruism, because we are born selfish. Richard Dawkins

Religion institutionalizes mythology. Religion is the intentional manipulation of myths to control populations.
David Roth