There is a sun in the sky, reasonably fresh air and 95% of the folks passing by are ordinary, harmless folk. Some of the passers-by are leaders and heads of state/industry. Unfortunately, those folk are oftimes not so harmless. There are a lot of different folks and It is an ordinary day here in our little town. There is a bit of traffic jam today in keeping with the rest of the world. We are, most of us, engaged in routine, leaving only a few exceptions. A few people are serial killing and getting elected and poisoning the atmosphere and hurting other people but not that many. Those few have a big impact, but they are only the few. Almost seven billion folks are just going about the everyday. Fetching water, looking in the fridge, making some food…scratching something out in order to continue being alive. These good folk are falling in love, raising children, feeding pets, cleaning the windows and building marijuana grow-houses for other people. We are myriad human beings just minding our own business. Almost no one wants more than to live and let live. Almost is a big word, though. There are always the ones who want to ‘Make America Great Again’.

Each era of our time is much different than the last but always ends in a recognizable fashion. We do keep on, though. We have changed much as we manage our virus-like spread around the globe. Starting off somewhere in Africa, as far as is known, by little old me, we rose up. A sweet woman named Lucy was our Eve by most of the agreeing accounts I have seen. From her and hers, we traveled, some of us bleaching out in the woods and cooler climate of Europe, while some of us stayed brown, even though the arctic circle beckoned and the polar bears could see us against all the white. When we realized how easy to catch we were, we put on funny hats, goofy shoes and painted our faces all kinds of colours and patterns. …might as well make the catching of us more fun! We built igloos where we (oddly) stayed warm, pyramids in Egypt, pyramids in the Yucutan, castles on high mountain tops in Peru and finally, enormous cities with towers of glass that scrape the stars. Along the way, we blew an awful lot of stuff up and killed a lot our fellows. We ate as much of the rest of the living things as we could cook. We did more, too. We built vaccines that have the potential to eradicate diseases and keep us alive. We built bombs that have the potential to destroy life on the planet and probably make the thing wobble even more. We have opposing thumbs and just because we could do it, we did it. We even invented chocolate fudge sundaes. (..and cherry pie, thank God!)

We come through a long line of cultures, governments, wars, famines, tragedy, success. Always building stuff and carrying stuff with us. Always, a purse or a backpack and a little house of some kind, a picket fence. I guess that makes us unique, we are show-offs and try to outdo the other life forms on this planet. “See, Mr. Mouse? I have built myself a much grander house than the little hole you call home! I have an indoor toilet and running water!” Most of the rest of the creatures just relax and watch us. They are shaking their furry or finny or feathery heads in disbelief. It is not an amused head-shake, not a jealous one, the creatures can see what we are really up to.

In each new age, we are stronger, there are more elaborate cultures, more stuff. We turn ourselves into birds and fly though the air, we turn ourselves into fish and dive down deep in the water, we dress ourselves up in exotic man-made fur-ish outfits and ‘discover’ the North and South poles. We use sophisticated tin can suits to go stand on the moon for a while or just float around way up high. Trouble is, we get covetous of stuff and blow each other up with ever more powerful explosions. We do it almost every time. We steal each other’s stuff and blow stuff up. Some of the explosions cause whole cultures to fall into disarray and the fabulous stuff gets wrecked. After the cultures rise and fall, none being the superiour of any other, we sift into the background a while but we don’t seem to die out. In all of our measureable time on Earth, we haven’t truly disappeared from anywhere but Easter Island. Egypt, the Mayans, China, the Norse peoples, Rome.. all of it has come and gone but folks kept on living there. Sometimes, we hide in the forest but we keep on a-going.

The rise of Europe, the spreading influence of the royal houses across the globe and the conquest of North/South America are just the latest of the great cultures to glow and fade. Fading is what we are doing now. That time of fighting over stuff and killing people and making pornography in Thailand hasn’t faded completely but is on it’s way out. There won’t be a Facebook when all of this settles down. It will settle. It will settle like the dust it always is. Not very long from now, some scratched up and bruised folks will be wondering, ‘what in the hell?’ as they go about their business, trying to find something to eat and drink and having their new leaders coax them into building stuff to steal from and throw at whomever remains. Perhaps, they will strip the stones off of the Washington Monument to trade for stuff other beat up looking folks have scrounged? Maybe, they will use the abandoned cars and buses for a house to proudly display. “See, Mr. Mouse/cat (it’s probably going to be a mutation due to the radiation), I have a fine house!” Yep. That’s where we are headed. I am packing my backpack now for the trip. Haha

Well, glory be! Folks, since I got my ballot in the mail, a great cloud of peace has settled over and smothered my sleeplessness. Ahhhhhh. I have had several days in a row of full nights. I am rested. Now I can get back to my ruminations about the neighbours and the town I live in. Oh yes, I haven’t been involved in their comings and goings for some time. I have been too caught in the web of international intrigue to see the various interesting things that are right in front of me. It is interesting, here.

I will start with a note about Stubb and Stubb’s Wife. The two are short and stout but equally full of energy. They are always doing something, whether reading in the swinging chair, mowing the lawn for everyone else or barbecueing. I wonder shamelessly about their sex-life. It has to difficult to remain in any one position since they are both so round. It would be like two balls, trying to…well…you know. I hear them huffing and puffing through their days. They seem like okay people. They talk to me and have noticed that I play piano and guitar and sing…Stubb mentioned it whilst huffing by with his lawnmower. He plays piano, too but I haven’t heard it over the noise from here.

Speaking of myself making noise, I am concerned for the Mayor. It seems she stopped attending official duties last January. I noticed that she disappeared for about six weeks, then returned sans cheveaux, wearing a white baseball cap. She walks with a lumberjack swagger, so I thought it was a style choice but I am not so sure now. I think she may be under treatment for cancer? Or something? She holes up for weeks at a time, never going out, then disappears again for weeks at a time? I have to assume that something is up. Perhaps, she is spending time at her official residence?

Miss Twiggy and Shirtless Joe live across the alley from me. They are young and, as they say, full of life. Busy, busy, busy working or sitting out in the yard having a beer together. I think it’s beer, it might be something else. Joe is a craftsman of some kind. I know he works with wood since he is always carrying ‘live edge’ slabs down into the basement and bringing them back up a different colour. Professionally, he might be a mechanic because he wears a ‘work uniform’ when he leaves the house each morning. He must be pushing the envelope about work timeliness, leaving the house at 5 minutes to or 5 minutes after 7 each day. He must work very nearby since he comes home for lunch, goes back at 5 minutes to or 5 minutes after 1 and arrives home from work at 5 minutes to or 5 minutes after 3 each day.

Joe walks delicately about the yard, it is an elegant sort of gait. Very light, as though he were uncertain about gravity. I call him Shirtless because he takes his shirt off after 2 minutes of being outside working. Always, no shirt and wearing shorts. No matter what work he is doing, fixing the brakes on Miss Twiggy’s little red car or weed whipping — there he is with very little clothing on. He must be hot all the time or an exhibitionist. Maybe he is an exhibitionist, he has a tattoo on his shoulder blade. I like that he has a varying beard, sometimes long, sometimes short. During the first lockdown, he became all hair for a while — a real Rip Van Winckle. I was nervous that his beard would get caught in the steering wheel when he drove Miss Twiggy’s little red car to test the brakes.

Miss Twiggy started working from home during the lockdown and only goes in two days a week, now. Sometimes on Monday and sometimes on Tuesday, she briskly carries a cardboard file box out to her little red car and humms away to her work place. Most days, she stays in. Sometimes, she carries her little computer out to the glassed – in back porch and I can see her typing away. I don’t think she is a secretary (if they have secretaries any more), I think she is an executive or something. Maybe she is an engineer? Right now, as I am typing, she is home. I am guessing she is working because she is so thin it isn’t possible for her to be eating pancakes. That reminds me, I am hungry for pancakes. I eat them and I am not thin like Miss Twiggy. I am going to have a couple right now. See you.

This is a backwards day. When a series of things go wrong, just a little or don’t follow the plan, just slightly… it is a ‘backwards’ day. Not a day to curse. Not a day to slap. Not a day to hibernate. It is just a ‘backwards’ day. I tried to get my ballot in the first shipment of mail (I believe it goes at 10a.m.) but I needed a tracking stamp, so had to go in to the office. The office was closed at 8:30 and I had to scoot back to the house to meet with the construction guy. When I was through my meeting and headed back to the post office, it was 10:30. Darn all hecky. Well, okay then, the ballot goes off in the next mail. (1 p.m. or thereabouts) Shoot tooty. Nothing to be done, that’s the way it goes. Sigh. I am over eager, of course. I didn’t accelerate my package the way I planned and that irritates, just a little.

Now, the construction guy is going to charge me $600 to put a beam on a couple of patio stones and call it good. I trust his assessment of the situation and that it will be safe, he does know what he is doing. This isn’t what I wanted but I don’t have the money right now to do more. Crap, darny heck. Well, okay then..I will have my support beam and it will be sufficient. I can paint the deck, replace the skirting and leave it a while. Sigh. Not what I wanted and that frustrates, a little.

To cool my nerves, I settled on traveling to the office for a writing session. I discovered my battery is low and my favourite seat is occupied by someone else. I am trying hard not to send mocking thoughts in her direction. Backwards, backwards, backwards. Now what? All of these frustrations and irritations are brought to me by my unwillingness to confront another soul in even the most benign way. I accepted the construction guy’s cheap fix and I accepted that the U.S. won’t accept registered or expedited mail, I accepted the too-skinny Karen who chose to usurp my place and I accepted that I have to write on a different tablet, the iPad, the one with lots of battery that is difficult to download from…Grrrrrr. Don’t be surprised if I send my bagel back to the kitchen with a few choice words today! There! Confrontation at last!

Maybe I could mean to someone on the phone? That usually satisfies me pretty well. I haven’t made anyone cry but I am pretty good at firing back into the mouthpiece when baited. I could fire an email off to “Letters at the Star” or “Letters at the Globe and Mail.” Maybe, I could wait until exactly the right moment and blast someone with an extremely well planned and amusing fusillade that causes anyone nearby to laugh out loud, bruising the ego of some foolish but otherwise completely innocent person. “Fasten your seatbelts, it’s going to be a bumpy night!” (Bette Davis in ‘All About Eve’.) Is that truly a talent that gay folk have?

Wait, no…there is a young lad here who fits his jeans very well indeed. He is a mite on the short side but very well proportioned and has a sweet little carefully close cropped dust of a beard. He might be chubby but that remains to be seen (clothing off). Don’t care about that, he is too handsome. He took his mask off and a has a lovely round face that is enhanced by the beard. If I had any sense, I would go hiss a bit of “Hi, there…” and offer up a snaky lick. That’s all I needed- a breath of freshness to offset all the botheration.

Interesting, the phrase “Speaking with a forked tongue” has, at it’s root the story of Adam and Eve and isn’t an American English idiom but you already knew that. Well, it is off to work on the novel/biography and finish the rewrites. I am having fun in spite of old age, back pain and minor frustrations. On we go.

I have finished filling in the ovals completely on my presidential election ballot and it will go into tomorrow’s first round of outbound mail. It must be received before 8 P.M. on November 3rd at the Clerk’s office in Redford Township, Michigan. Getting it off tomorrow gives me about six weeks and I hope enough time before the election. More than what I have done will not be possible. With the latest extension of Covid closure to the border, I am not likely to be able to cross, even though I am a U.S. citizen. The border guards have a lot of flexibility in whom they allow and for what reasons. I am not a wealthy Trump donor and I am not returning home so I don’t know what the outcome of an attempted hand-carry of my ballot would be. So, best case is having my ballot in the mail tomorrow. That work is then, done. I shall attempt a withdrawal from politics,Facebook and the news now. There exists nothing more I can gain from those things except worry and that worry is abysmal. The stress, the concern is destroying me and I can’t let that happen…we still have time left to live, books to write, songs to sing and I won’t give my peace of mind to Donald Trump or Mark Zuckerberg, neither are worth it.

Speaking of peace of mind, I have been attempting a Facebook/social media withdrawal for a couple of years. So far, I am not very successful. I will pull away for a bit from time to time but circumstances and the nature of Facebook conspire against my better judgement. Co-conspirators are the events of the last 6 or 7 years. Certain situations have emptied my life of close-human relationships. By itself, that is to be expected in later life. In my case, divorce, financial and work life changes, deaths of family members have ended up multiplying the isolation that is inherent to growing older. Now, Covid and extreme politics have gathered forces against peace and quiet, increasing my isolation further. I just don’t fit in with the strident crowd. I have my definite ideas, I am adamant, I am outspoken but I don’t fit with the name-callers and the haters of Facebook. At the same time, Facebook is sort of like having someone to talk to and share time with. It can’t be denied that a ‘like’ to your post gives you a shot of something sweet. The dark side of ‘like’ is vicious disapproval of something you may have said or something you wholly believe.

Over the last few years, I have been devalued in a thousand ways through ‘social media’. My latest go ’round with a post on Facebook was a dagger…it really hurt to discover or be forced to confront the fact that someone whose education and understanding of religion and politics I value, respect could so easily dismiss and be mean. Why not just state a case with an abundance of relevant fact? Why couch a view in anger, resentment, arrogance? Why do folks do that? Why the anger first? Why insult and degrade? The telephone has become a similar space. I had a misdial situation and the result shocked me. The person whose number I accidently dialed, then immediately disconnected…sought me out. I did not leave a message because I disconnected too soon. He called back after checking his missed numbers and threatened me with a slew of choice words. He was outraged that I didn’t have a name attached to my number…well, it isn’t attached to my number because I am not in his contact list and I don’t have a business name. Why is it so important for him to hunt down a wrong number? Why? Why go to the trouble?

These days, these sorts of angry folk and this sort of technology advancing me toward my golden years? Yeah, right. When I am in my right thinking space, I am able to endure and manage. I have a million friends who respect and care for me, I care for them and we share so much. I have some remaining good health and enough money to eat, stay warm and buy the occasional shiny object. Trying to stay in that space where I am relaxed and able to think, able to write, sing, play is very difficult when I am joined to the fray via Facebook and TV news. So… I am going to try shucking that, giving it up until after the election. There is nothing in that space for me and nothing that my simplish mind can handle. It is an insoluble problem and must be set aside. Today is a lovely fall day, lots of folks out and about. I have a bit of painting to do and piano to play. Maybe I will take some time to work on the new book, too. It’s all good when you step back a bit.

We have a word in English to describe the situation, it is ‘dilemma’. My beautiful actor, painter, singer/songwriter and artist friends are without work. A vicious infection is spreading about and has closed down the opera house, the gallery, the movie theatre. A rapacious on-line attitude by the likes of YouTube and Google has usurped copyright and further emptied out the wallets of most creative artists who work in music. For a while, the concert hall saved musicians a bit after Youtube stole their material but now? We are in dilemma, the state of ‘there doesn’t appear to be a way to go’. WPA-style handouts, the sort of thing that saved Woody Guthrie, are not even being discussed by government. There exists no political will for those programs. What to do, what to do?

Better minds than mine are working away at some kind of solution but nothing is on the horizon. The great promise of the internet, that anyone can step up and do their art and find an audience, didn’t pan out. The internet based companies end up stealing the work, monetizing the art of others and paying nothing for it. We are going to pay a huge price for this. Interesting and new voices are not able to make a living from art. They are forced into obscurity. In order to live, they have to spend their energy and time on activities that rob the creative spirit and dull the skills. As one who has struggled to earn a writer’s notebook. I can tell you that NO, you cannot burn the midnight oil and be a good artist. In defeat, I accepted what work I could get when I was young and had to live. I spent 40+ years in a job that had nothing to do with who I was…simply because, “You have to make a living, write in your spare time.” You cannot be a musician/poet/painter as a ‘sideline’. It is a full-time, energy consuming activity. Tillie Olson wrote of this many years ago in her book, “Silences”. Check it out.

I can point fingers and blame but that is not a useful thing to do. Whom do we crucify? A modern music and entertainment industry that shied away from using their power, influence to convince government that internet providers should pay for content? A greedy, lawless and unethical world of tech-heads who flood the air with illusion: that music is free, that to read, listen, watch everything costs nothing while at the same time, reaping the rich fields of advertising money? What good is blame, now? Without political will to solve the problem, blaming is spitting in the wind. So, what do we do kids?

Marvelous Mother Nature. Today is a definite fall day, air cool, a bit of breeze, a bit of sunny and clear sky that is only slightly forest fire hazy. The day is so pleasant, you can hardly hear Donald Trump lie. The last little flying creatures are buzzing around every open soda on the patio and the remaining birds are making a racket as they pack their bags. Pumpkins are piled at every fruit stand and in a last, mad dash to finish, the road crews are out in full. Every route slows you and you are forced to settle down, ease back, chill out. I smiled nicely at one of the road crew guys as I passed and he gave me a bewildered look. Perhaps, I used the wrong bag of smiles smile? He might have thought it was a ‘spider to the fly’ sort of smile. Haha. Perhaps, it was. Maybe, I am suffering a delayed spring, a delayed ‘merry month of May’? No, I am not dead yet. Further proof is that I noticed not only the young lad on the road crew but the young, built guy at Starbucks.

“I am not dead, yet,” is what Ed’s mother used to say. She really appreciated a handsome man and did so to the very last. After her final, ultimately fatal stroke, she was ensconced at the emergency room. She was in bad shape and could only move one arm, one hand. Early on as events were still unfolding, she was yet able to connect and respond with the world. A very good looking young doctor was assessing her condition. At one point during the interview, she kept raising her arm and wiggling her fingers with a gripping motion. The doctor appeared puzzled and looked at me, as if to ask, “What does this mean?” I responded, “Take her hand, she likes you.” He did so but with an odd look on his face. When he took her hand, she smiled that certain smile. It made me feel so cheerful. I guess it gave me courage for my own time of decay, incapacity. That time is rapidly approaching.

I was out in the back yard last weekend, doing a bit of work on the summer-long project that should have been finished a month or two ago. As I worked, my back began to give way. It wasn’t long and I was out of commission, in the house and flat on the sofa. I hardly did anything strenuous at all, it was a ‘just one of those things’ kind of injury. Sigh. Since I was knocked out, I had to prolong the project yet another week or so. I needed time to recuperate. Recuperation time seems the biggest problem. “Oh, well,” do the other things I can still do,” I thought. I struggled into the car and drove to Starbucks for a tea, a bagel and a rant on Facebook. Getting out of the car, I noticed that there was a low tire. “Crap.” Aiyiyi. With my back gone, I simply could not lean over or squat in order to refill the tire. It dawned on me that I was going to have to take the car in and have a mechanic check and refill the tire. Wow.

It was a bit of a blow to my indoctrinated sense of masculinity that I had to have a mechanic fix a tire on the car. I even apologized and offered excuse to the mechanic. I thought about the making excuses bit. I am more than old-fashioned. I am still living in the social time of the dinosaur. For me, it is the manly thing to do, fixing my own stuff. I don’t ask for directions, I don’t ask for help. I am like many men of my age and if I can’t do a thing, I usually leave it undone rather than confront my incapacity. As concerns the building and fixing, it is silly, but I am having trouble accepting that I have declined physically. It isn’t a dangerous situation yet. I can still do most of what I always did but there are those days, like yesterday. I had to have the tire working and I couldn’t do it myself. Sigh again.

Along with my physical limits are other new boundaries. My romantic boundaries are pretty apparent, now. I can wink and smile at the construction worker, but that’s it. I have gained a bit (a lot bit) of saggy weight and am completely grey now. Someone just told me that I don’t need to lighten my hair…it is already pure white. Haha. I am not desireable, exactly and romantic escapades are gettin’ fewer and further between. That has to be ok because that is the way of the world. It’s Mother at work. We decline, all of us. It can be a matter of degree and we can do some work to delay the inevitable but the destination is the same for all. Letting go and accepting what we cannot prevent or change isn’t so easy. Young is a nice place to be. The smartest ones of us do let go and let life be what it is, easing in to the new times, the conditions. It can also be seen as a relief to be having some nice young person fix your tire, a relief to toss a spider/fly smile at the little sweethearts and not have to deal with relationship drama. Ah yes. Better warn the ER doctor that I am on my way. Hahahahaha

Oh, my goodness. Msr. Trump is now discussing out loud how he is ‘owed’ a third term? His buddy Roger Stone is advising him to declare martial law and take over the government if he loses? I wish I could laugh. I wish I could laugh. The impossible is happening, the U.S. is going down to dictatorship and chaos. I wish they would just get it over with, I am tired. What a sad scene. I found a nice political cartoon and shared it on Facebook. In the cartoon, Canadians are sitting near the U.S. border, watching the action and eating popcorn. It’s funny but implies that we might not be doing enough to stop the shit. Yeah. Never was there truer confusion and noise. Msr. Trump and his persistent hyperbole have indeed created a ‘never before seen’ situation. My poor family remaining in the States are thinking, “This is supposed to be the way of life elsewhere, not here.”

My growing to old age was to a backdrop of third world revolutions and a stable, somewhat moral government to live under. The world economy was growing, technology held out promises, there were safety nets if you hit a bump. We were not a wealthy family or even middle class but, because we were white, we had opportunity. It was not a completely moral government, not an honest time socially. Prejudice abounded in the system. Whiteness made a huge difference in the kind of America you lived in. There was Nixon, there was McCarthy, there were endless wars fomented and presided over by the U.S. Still, it was a luxury to be able to sit on the sidelines and watch the collapses elsewhere, the local wildness of the 60’s and 70’s notwithstanding. Now, I am elsewhere and watching the collapse of my former home.

There is little I can do to stop it or slow it down. I could write letters to congress, the newspapers. I could get involved in opposition party politics. I could march in the streets. I could make that sort of noise, but no one is listening now. I am tired and the truth is, to write letters is to get your name put on a list and a target printed on your back. To involve yourself in party politics is to play with dynamic, hierarchal fire. To march in the streets puts your physical safety at risk. With all of the noise created by social media and the legitimate press, no one can hear you anyway. I can vote, I will vote but the orderly transfer of power that was a hallmark of U.S. elections is done. Trump has proved that the election system can be violently corrupted, usurped. It IS possible. Of course, that hasn’t happened this year yet, it is the word of his mouth so far.

The utter silence of the Republican party, save a few rogue members is astonishing. They are allowing Trump to hijack democracy. They want to keep their seats, so they are being quiet, stealthy. Wow. Isn’t that somehow immoral? Yeah. Mitch McConnell and his other cronies seem to believe that they must win, must keep their jobs no matter the cost to the country. The news media have whipped up the flames as well. Their financial bottom line was under stress with the advent of the internet and the loss of subscription sales. They have, in Trump, a goldmine. The “I can’t look away” sense that is in human nature, has offered them a greedy public eye, hungry for more photos of apocalypse. It is, therefore, ‘the love of money’ that brings this all about. It brought us Trump. It brought us Mitch McConnell, Steve Bannon, Rudy Giuliani and so many others. The train wreck that was orderly democracy is making a few people an awful lot of money.

It is an awful lot of hot air blowing through the masks about ‘populism’. What exactly is that? Wikipedia says it is, ‘a range of political stances that emphasize the people and often juxtaposes this group against the elite’. Which people? Which elite? I don’t see a legitimate populism movement. The billionaires and power brokers are for the people, for the most of us? Since when? Aren’t the persons of power, control, the true elite? It is a standard line of the tyrannical autocrat that education and the arts, sciences, the free exchange of information are the reserve of the elite and are enemies of the people. Artists, philosophers are the elite? No. The elite wear Brooks Brothers and ride around in armoured black monster vehicles. The ‘elite’ are Trump and his counterparts on the world stage. They serve only themselves. These folks have not got the best interests of their constituents in mind at all. They want power for themselves and tax breaks for their billionaire friends. How is that ‘populist’? Yes, they are currently appealing to a backlash against extending rights and freedoms to all. They are appealing to the inertia of resistance to social change but that isn’t honestly FOR the people, for the majority and against the elite. These folks are USING the people. Just as the Bolsheviks did.

I believe this situation is impossible to resolve peaceably. I can vote and I requested my absentee ballot but I have little hope that it will be received at the polling place on time. My ballot request took 2 months to arrive at it’s destination. The State of Michigan doesn’t print the ballots until September 15 or so. If it takes me two months to receive my ballot, there is no way to get it in before the cutoff date. I will, in fact, not even receive my ballot before the election. My option remains to travel to the U.S., quarantine, vote in person, travel back and quarantine again. This option may be not possible either, as the Border agents have a lot of lee-way over who can travel across and when. So. I can still do my best to get the thing in the mail and hope it gets there in time? Yeah. That’s the best I can do. Otherwise, there is my remaining life to live and I must live it.

In order to live my life, I have to step back from the fray. Stepping back is not being immoral or lazy. It isn’t ignoring the truth. It isn’t settling for less than you might have done. It is doing your best and accepting that won’t be enough. Now, I have to accept and move on. As the pretty stewardess or handsome steward says “Put your own mask on before assisting others.” I have to save myself before I can do anything to save this beautiful earth home I have been gifted to inhabit. To save myself means to put my own peace of mind front and centre. This means to indulge my creative mind, to sing and play, to write, read books and stare at sunsets. I have to step away from fear and worry. There isn’t much I can do beyond what I have done and continue to do. Things will go as they go. It won’t be pretty. I can’t worry, worry stems the flow. I can’t be afraid, fear chills the heart. That’s how the Nazi’s and the Bolsheviks kept a lid on people. Those sorts of Blue Meanies cannot be allowed to destroy my little Pepperland. We can’t let worry, fear rob us of the colour. We can’t deny our betterness. The Beatles are gone, I will be my own Beatles. I will write the silly poems, songs and be joyful. Give your attention to brightness. That doesn’t mean you are ignoring the darkness. Save yourselves, in order to save us all.

We have to earn our freedom by exercising it. yes, it’s true…I will keep on speaking up, I will keep on trying to get my voice heard, I will keep on trying to get my vote in on time… but, I will also try to step back and keep my head clear. Allowing yourself the luxury of living the best way you can keeps the species alive. Yeah, keep an eye on the bad guys and try to thwart them. Always watch out for the heavy traffic from Capitol City but ride your Yellow Submarine as best you can and please, don’t listen to the folks who say, “I am going to save you.” They only enslave you with their noise. Put your mask on, save yourself. Sing, dance, paint, vote — make a record of your soul, of your being. We aren’t going to be physically here that long.

I started my day of writing with an odd observation: breasts are trouble. Breasts are trouble for everyone, not the least are they trouble for the women who have to wear them. While on my way to the office, I noticed a woman marching down the sidewalk. One of her breasts was a bit askew under her shirt and it caused me pause. I was trying to figure out if the errant boob was deflated? Was it free of it’s containment device? Was there a containment device being worn? Is any of it my business? I idly considered stopping the car to inform her of the situation, thinking she might prefer to know that she was not presenting as intended. The other half of that consideration was whether or not to invade her personal space with such a comment. It could be easily misconstrued and in fact…it is possible that she was presenting as intended. So, this became an observation, a passing thing and disappeared (other than it’s reappearance here.) The observation did set other thought in motion, however. I quickly remembered a scene from the early days of Ontario’s finally allowing women to be bare-breasted in a public setting. Though few women avail themselves of the freedom, the law did change and that was a good, necessary thing. I wonder now if people even remember that it is legal to do. I digress.

The scene I am remembering from the first days of ‘legality’ was of a woman striding purposefully, briskly along, head held high. I thought that she was wearing a t-shirt printed with a pair of breasts and thought, “Wow, she is clever in her protest!” On another occasion, I had seen a similar sort of printed sweatshirt being worn by Raylene Rankin. The bright red shirt had an image of a pair of glasses, printed such that a large lens was situated over each breast. I thought that was very clever, too. It was as though she were saying, “My eyes are up HERE, dude!” In the case of the t-shirt marcher, I nearly immediately realized that it was not a printed shirt she wore – those firm and resolute breasts were HERS and were totally exposed. It shocked me.

I was shocked by a movie on Netflix a few nights ago, as well. Within minutes of the titles being off, her top was off and the tits were flopping. The fellow who was co-starring was equally exposed, I had two bare chests competing for my attention. No question which I was drawn to… but… What shocked me was more my own opinion of the scene than the relative moral merits of the cast running around shirtless. I was shocked and surprised at my reaction to this particular kind of nudity. My puritanical ideas came fully forth and I didn’t like knowing that part of myself.

The idea of sexualizing a woman’s breasts is incredibly deeply ingrained in western society. That a man’s bare chest is not so much sexualized is horribly unfair. The situation is so bad that even I, as a ‘sworn to the membership’ gay man, am offended by bare breasts/chests. That is how perverse our indoctrination is. They are breasts, folks. Nothing more. They may play a role in sexuality for some? (can’t imagine why) but they are otherwise just a body part. Just a body part, a hand a foot, a knee, a breast. (oooooh, a little bit of fur?) These are body parts with a function, a good purpose for existing. Simple. Nothing more than that even remotely intrinsic. Any connected musing is all subjective. It is in the beholder and is not thrust from the outside upon said witness.

The choice of a person to expose or not, is theirs and the exposure or not implies nothing whatsoever beyond that. This is the core of whether or not a person can or should wear revealing clothing. Wear what makes you comfortable, excepting in cases where sanitation or physical danger is an issue in public. (Masks, underwear, hairnets, or… Don’t bare it, if it bothers me..) Somehow, we have to get past ourselves. A bare body part has nothing to do with sex unless the owner of the part is whispering something in your little ear to the contrary. We humans are wacky, the little animals only sniff when the pheromones are ripe, otherwise allowing the relative nudity of each other without incident. We are not better or more than the beasts, we just know that we exist. We have eaten the fruit of the tree of the knowledge or our nudity and that’s all. Actually, I think the beasts did, too but they have a better attitude about existence. They just accept what is and deal with it. They don’t mind if little ‘Chloe’ has no pants on. When ‘Bowser’ sprints by, stops and lifts a leg, it is what it is and not a major social incident. Little Choe does not turn her head nor does she call the police. Since that is true, I am taking these now restrictive pants off in a few minutes! Whew! I can match dingle for dangle with the rest of the kingdom. “Are my breasts even?” Laugh Out Loud

I tried. I did , I did. I am weak and I am hooked on Facebook. Perhaps, I can return to the on-line world very carefully. No scrolling anymore. Just an occasional peek? Hahahahahahahah. Best of luck with that. I am so intensely worried about our end of days that I can’t look away. It looks as though Facebook is part of my life until the servers are shut down during the mass rioting, looting and property damage that is coming up in November. Other countries have exploded at election time, happens regularly, has happened before in the U.S. but not like this. Now, a right wing religious organization that has already been involved in voter suppression is training ‘volunteers’ to oversee mail-in voting in the ‘battleground’ states. They are ‘saving the country’ from SATAN. That is unconstitutional. There is, embedded in the U.S. Constituion, a statement that ‘Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion…etc.’ There is, throughout U.S. history, an unwillingness on the part of any Supreme Court (conservative or otherwise) to disregard the founders’ obvious intent to separate state from religion. As far as I know, there are laws in place to prevent the very sort of thing – the vigilantes holding the door closed – that the right wing are now advocating. There are rules about how close to the polls a person can be when they are advocating for a candidate but ‘religious group volunteers’ can be scrutineers? Um…no. Someone, some organization that is not trained and does not have official status (election worker – state official) CANNOT review the documents and may not monitor the mail. Looks like they intend to try no matter what the consequences. It is a dangerous thing to brag about. Trump and his people are guilty of treason in a thousand ways. The end result of all these news stories and threats is that people will be deterred from attending the possible violence at ‘monitored’ polling sites.

The very idea of an evangelist presence at any polling place is chilling. My fear was that this would be the tactic the right wing would employ during the election cycle. They cannot do what they are suggesting but… they are spreading fear so that people won’t bother to vote. I can hardly wait until the lawyers get going on this. I have it half in my mind to return to the U.S., quarantine and then go to monitor the monitors. That’s unwise. Far better to shelter in place, safe in Canada (although only safe for the time being, I understand there is a serious problem of far-right activity amongst the Canadian Forces. So much so that I believe our elected government to be at serious risk. That is a whole ‘nother blog.).

All of this would be no problem excepting that I am an out gay man with socially liberal politics. I haven’t been shy about saying so. That becomes a problem. They know where I am, who I am and I am the one they are shooting at. Conservative politics and church rhetoric has either not been kind to me or has stood silently by and allowed the unkindness. Since none of my readers or my people have any right-wing bent whatsoever, you my friends, are in the cross – hairs of this ‘new populism’ with me. The educated folks I know are state enemies as far as the right wing is concerned. The artists, the teachers, the readers of books and the thinkers for themselves are all on the crap list with me. Those banging the drums are familiar. They are our former neighbours and friends, our former community. They are the people we thought we could trust. Maybe, they ate too many twinkies and watched too much ‘Judge Judy’ or ‘Maury Povich’ or ‘Survivor’. Maybe, they went to the local ‘mega-church’ and fed millions into the coffers of hate. They didn’t realize they were doing it, they are reasonably innocent. The problem is: They don’t stop. The problem is: The problem is….. how do we stop them from destroying us all?

I start each day with a variation on the following statement: “One of the worst things about getting older is…”. After that opening, I just fill in the blank. I am boring myself with it. On we go. When my mother was in her forties, she complained about the arthritis and I didn’t believe her. Now that arthritis is a major factor, being in most areas of my structure, I understand. Oooops, sorry for the unvoiced dismissal of your situation, Mom. I don’t want to believe that stiffness is getting in the way of piano and guitar playing. I would rather put that down to a lack of regular, efficient practice. Well, the lack of practice IS the bigger factor but arthritis is also making a difference in my flexibility, agility. No doubt about it. So, in hindsight, I apologize for not fully recognizing another’s suffering or my own. Again, sorry, Mom.

I am a dismissive sort. Yesterday, I was outside doing a bit of minor landscaping. Within minutes of starting, my back went out. I spent the rest of the evening and all night flat on my back. It was a very minor task that put me out of commition. I did a bit of hoeing and within seconds was nearly doubled over. Of course, I dismissed the fact that I have had a chronic back problem since I seriously injured myself at age 25. I put my struggles down to obesity and an extremely sedentary lifestyle. Well, yes… I am obese and sedentary. I also have a damaged back that rears it’s ugly head at the most inconvenient times. I cannot now deny it. No, I probably won’t surrender to my easy chair, the way Mom eventually did but I will likely struggle to recognize my affliction and accept it.

Recognizing and accepting limitations is a difficult thing to do. I feel as though I am ‘coddling’ myself when I admit there are things I cannot do. I think I am taking the easy way out and not trying hard enough. Hmmm. Funny that this attitude permeates my living. If I can’t sing a G#4, then I blame my untrained voice. I accuse myself of weakness, sloth, what have you. Well, I have only a bit of training and I don’t work as hard as many do but I am just not a tenor. My vocal cords will NOT produce sound reliably at that pitch. Ain’t happenin’ without the help of Helium. I envy those who can easily sail right up there but I am not one of them. That said, G#4 is not necessary for me to be a good singer. I am cool with my little baritone. I am beginning to appreciate it and what it can be. I will capo the guitar up three half steps and sing down the octave! Hah! Fie on you, Freddy Mercury! I am going to go with my strengths on this one. I will see you, at times, a perfect fifth away…haha. Somebody has to do harmony! Don’t fry yourself! Do you have enough oxygen up there?

I am limited in so many ways, friends. Are we all in this shape? Yeah, I guess. The shape is different but we are all facing limits. The adage, “You can do anything you put your mind too,” is only true in a sense. You CAN do anything, if you realize that what your mind pictures, is not exactly what is going to happen. Yeah, reach for it, try for it, work hard for it but accept that what you will get is what you are capable of, not always what you believe you have earned. You will be capable of what you are capable of for all the reasons. The reasons that make you individual. They are not negatives, they are evidence of uniqueness. You, I, am not/are not bad at being people because we have a bad back or can’t hit G#4. We is okay.

The idea floating these days that people shouldn’t be given a prize just for showing up and trying is faulty. That we only get out what we put in is a blurred statement, only partly true. I struggle daily to toss that crap on the heap. Yes, I should be recognized (at the least, by myself) for my efforts. My name belongs in the list of chorus members, right up there with the rest. I am not excellent but I am making an effort. Excellence is not the be and end of all. Excellence is lovely but it isn’t perfection, it isn’t the way things MUST be.

If you don’t achieve excellence, you are not – as in the paraphrased meaning of the words of Barbara Streisand – wasting your life, being unworthy, taking up valuable space. Sure, you should try. It’s probably best to go for everything you desire in life. Excellence is a nice thing but the love of excellence over any and all else is the root of evil. The love of it…the love of money…etc. Is what causes all the problems. We can’t have all the money, all the excellence in exactly the way we desire it. That is a misconception. Chillax, enjoy what you can do without destroying yourself or others. That is what our time here is about, enjoying it. You want a boyfriend? Say hello to the good lookin’ guys. You want to sing? Sing. Go join a chorus or step into the shower. Work as hard at it as you can. Enjoy the work. It is just that easy to enjoy life. If you can’t hoe much in the back yard…‘sokay. Hoe what you can and sit down a while. If you never hit the G#4, hit the G#3 and call ‘er good. If you want a damn bagel, have the bagel and don’t fret about the fact you are fat. Fat people are good people. G#3 is a good note. Life is good. A little bit of hoe is in each of us and it is good.

Gosh, I need to lose weight…