Archive for the ‘Social Commentary’ Category

History – Repeat, Repeat

November 18, 2025

Responding to a comment from a 48 year old person that “my generation is at fault” for a failure to bring African countries further ahead in their economic development, I found myself responding that too few people, worldwide, seem to have integrity and an ethic of community well-being. Instead the dominant motivator seems to be “I will get mine by whatever means necessary” and to hell with my neighbors, let alone those living in other countries.

Yes there are exceptions everywhere, but they are sadly few and far between.

Why has it taken us here in the USA so long to begin to push back against the epitome of greed, corruption and narcissism that is the cabal currently running our government? Yes, the latest demonstrations and elections show there is a new sense of unity (except perhaps in the Senate) intent on reversing the degradation of our democracy.

 Why has it taken so long, and conditions devolved so badly, for that push back to be necessary? Why are dictatorial leaders taking control in more and more countries, while long time ones continue to blatantly steal elections to retain their power?

What is it in human nature that so easily cedes independence of thought to enable a dictator, or cult leader, or other “strongman” to take control without any limits on their ability to then ignore the interests of their followers? Have we learned nothing, over time, from those individuals who wrest their freedom from cult leaders, or overturn a repressive government?

Whom can we hold responsible for our collective willingness to forget history, and therefore be condemned to repeat it, over and over, country after country, worldwide?

I honor the voices, like heather Cox Richardson’s, that daily remind us of how the present debacle in the U.S. mimics earlier periods in our history (the ugly history that MAGA is attempting to erase in order to reinstall its updated ugly version). Paul Krugman does something similar in the economics domain, as does Joyce Vance with the history of law. There are others in different specialties, as well as voices (like Aaron Parnass) that provide factual, truthful updates, often several times daily, of both the brutal and the positive actions occurring which affect us all.

My question is why has it come to this, yet again? What is it in our human makeup that forces a seemingly perpetual swing from compassion, cooperation, and democratic progress back to greed, selfishness, corruption and authoritarian or fascist rule?

One simplistic answer I have read is that the downfall began when we banned religious worship from our public schools. The big problem with that response is that the religion the answer-providers refer to is strictly and only Christianity. They do not espouse respecting and including Judaism, Islam Hinduism, Buddhism, Shintoism, or any of the literally hundreds of other religions, nor the non-sectarian pursuit of pure Spirit, all of which are present both here in the U.S. and all around the world. Indeed, now, classes that might reintroduce a religion-based ethics into classrooms are themselves being banned as “woke”, meaning they deviate from a Christian nationalist world view.

And, by the way, Christian nationalism deviates sharply from Christian values, as firmly pointed out in, among other voices, the recent statement by Catholic bishops regarding Jesus’ teaching on welcoming immigrants. Elsewhere it has been commented that all religions and ethical systems seem to incorporate a version of the Golden Rule. Why is it so hard for so much of humanity to “Do unto others as you would have the do unto you” when the precept is so easily understood?

So many questions, so few answers.

     

Is it Part of Getting Older?

July 28, 2024

Is it part of getting older (old? Golden Ager?) that I am increasingly impatient with so many things? Bad – i.e. nonexistent – customer service. Unexplained, endless delays in receiving what has been promised, bought, and paid for. Packaging that is not only child proof but impervious even to sharp scissors. “New and improved” whatever that is perhaps new, but is the exact opposite of improved. Artificially created obsolescence forcing purchase of new equipment when the perfectly good items can’t be updated any longer because the tech company wants yet more excessive profit. I could go on, but it is undoubtedly a waste of time to do so.

And that most likely is the underlying reason for my impatience – a sense of time running out, that I don’t want wasted on stupidly aggravating nonsense. 

My group of friends who get together weekly for what we call Stitching (to encompass sewing, knitting, crochet and whatever else anyone chooses, including idle hands) are all “mature” women. We all express frustration with time wasters though none of us have, so far, identified what I am considering now, that the very fact of being older and aware that the time remaining in our lives is far less than that already spent, causes much of the impatience. If I have only a limited amount of time left in life I don’t want to waste it on trash.

Perhaps I have also identified the source of the stereotype of old people as grumpy?

Yes, it’s true none of us knows, at any age, how long we have yet to live. But short of a terminal diagnosis, or existence in a war zone that makes one’s end of life salient, not many of us abandon the unconscious conviction of near immortality that is the framework of daily life. Reaching retirement, at whatever age above midlife that turning point occurs, tends to trigger an assessment of achievements and a setting of new goals, but does not automatically shift us (or at least it did not do so for me) into a more conscious sense of time as a precious commodity not to be squandered. It was not until, just recently, I noticed the extent to which I had become impatient that, seeking reasons, I came to understand this as a common quality of older folks arising from an underlying awareness that one’s days (hours, minutes?) are indeed numbered. 

I think a somewhat similar shift in perspective occurs in what has been termed midlife crisis, the not uncommon mental turmoil that accompanies the first indications of flagging energy and rising uncertainty as to where one is on life’s path. Changing careers, altering goals, returning to school, finding new interests to fill an “emptied nest” are activities frequently accompanied by an awareness of time’s passage, bringing also an increased sense of vulnerability. 

What differentiates this midlife reassessment from the late-in-life one seems to me to be a changed sense of time. In midlife, we focus on how much we still want to achieve in the (perceived as still long) amount of time we believe is left to us. By later age, we instead are aware that we have outlived many of our peers. The unknown amount of time left to us becomes precious, not to be squandered. People, circumstances, attitudes that waste time become highly expendable, and highly aggravating when they cannot be circumvented.

In order not to throw away my remaining time being angry or feeling helpless, I have sought a viewpoint to free me from this constraint, and found it in the concept of eliminating my remaining karmic debt, thus becoming able to exit this life (however soon that exit occurs) without ties that force me to return for another incarnation. One need not accept the concept of reincarnation to benefit from this form of detachment. The act of unhooking from frustration, putting down the impenetrable package, temporarily setting aside the uncooperative software – the fact of distancing oneself in order to come back to the task in a calmer state seems to allow it to flow more smoothly.

Perhaps I am merely recognizing an application of the refrain “to every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven?” 

If so, is it time – finally – for me to be able to get the icing out of its impervious package so I can finish the cake I want to take to Stitching?

O.A.S.?

May 1, 2024

I am woefully ignorant of the texting/social media abbreviations that increasingly occur in the crossword puzzles I used to enjoy as brain stimulation, but now too often toss aside in frustration as unsolvable unless I first take a course in Gen Z culture and textisms. On the other hand I immediately translated my first encounter with OAS – old age syndrome – in an email from a neighbor and friend of my generation even though she used it with minimal context, just saying she was “doing okay other than OAS”.

At about the same time, I interacted with the young woman whose debut website triggered my most recent post. Following from that recently posted reflection has been an extended meditation on the possible benefits of – and my strong inner resistance to – what is now often referred to as Swedish death cleaning.

    (Inserted peeve: the thinks- it- knows- better- than- I- what- I -want- to -say built in grammar monitor is trying to tell me to write “following that reflection” when I do indeed mean following from as in triggered by and derived from, not just coming after in time. I hate the unavoidable, embedded, programmed critics which do not know nuance, nor formal grammar, but try to dictate how I express myself! )

Having undergone the challenge of sorting, selling, discarding or keeping my family belongings after my father’s death many years ago, I fully appreciate the kindness done to survivors by paring down beforehand. Facing the prospect of undertaking such a project myself I equally appreciate how reluctant I am to do so. At first I merely excused myself with the assessment that my energy levels weren’t up to the task (an aspect of OAS). With restricted energy and a goodly number of daily have-to’s, I want what extra energy I have used for more pleasurable activities than sorting and selling or discarding or keeping a lifetime’s accumulations. Having already lost much of what I valued as my personal history to last year’s wildfire, the items remaining seem almost vital to my sense of self.

Yet they are not. Viewed objectively, many of them simply occupy spaces that my eyes are accustomed to seeing them in. Especially the books I have read and will not reread, but keep like old friends, their covers and titles reminding me of the pleasurable time I spent with them in the past.

As I have lived with these conflicting motivations – to simplify and to keep – over the past several days an underlying perspective has emerged. I don’t think the issue is really a tension about things, but rather an inner argument about accepting or refusing to transition from one stage of life to the next. Since retiring something over three years ago, I have not enjoyed the anticipated opportunity to pursue interests that my demanding work life prevented. Covid did not help – nor did the emergence of unrelated health challenges most probably released by my reduction in stress-driven energy. (I relate to the recovering alcoholics who bemoan not being ill until they sober up.)

Looking back over these recent years of retirement, I see a person who achieved (survived) a great deal, coping not just with a health decline but two successive years of wildfire evacuations with extensive losses from the second one, while adding a stepson to my household, overseeing reconstruction of our home, and continuing my role as support to a husband focused on career advancement. Recently several people have described me as courageous. I have not thought that adjective to be descriptive of me – but perhaps they are correct? Is it courageous to push through the demands of each day while trying to be helpful to others whose needs are often urgently disruptive of my planned allocation of time and energy? Or am I just stubbornly refusing to let OAS define me?

I am aware of the often advised benefits to older people that they interact with younger ones to stay engaged and vital. For those with children and grandchildren this sort of interaction often comes naturally, especially when retirement is accompanied by relocation to be nearer to one another (the move usually also producing a paring down of things to the basic essentials). Having no children and hence no grandchildren, my recent acquisition of young step-children feels simultaneously appropriate to following this advice, but also intrusive and an interference with achieving the flexible and free “me” time I had anticipated as a retirement reward. 

“Man proposes, God disposes.”

Now I wait, trying to do so patiently, for inner guidance on how to balance my desire to still be the younger version of myself, physically active and energetic throughout the day, meeting the needs of family – with also taking time for myself and my long postponed travel and new learning interests that were the promise of retirement. Often, so far, it seems that I am that courageous “doing” person from my 6AM rising until about 2 in the afternoon, when I become an exemplar of OAS,  using the description to excuse resting on the couch, reading and extending my Wordle and FreeCell streaks. Not the image of myself I would choose – but apparently the one I need to accept. 

For now, so be it.

The Cruelest Month

March 13, 2024

March is the cruelest month. Despite years of knowing it is full of false promises of spring followed by bitter cold, often heavy wet dumps of snow, and chilling winds, I am unable to find balance as the temperatures swing from highs of mid sixties to lows in the teens and clouds chase away early morning sun even before I get out to feed the chickens. The persistently inconsistent weather has pushed the replacing of my septic system back and back and back again, as four consecutive days of dry weather are needed to do the work – and the delivery driver bringing the new tank has been unavailable twice, in the only weeks when those four days could be predicted. A lesson in patience that I don’t really need, after the past 9 months of being patient with an untimely contractor restoring my home from its damage in last May’s wildfire.

But maybe I should call May the cruelest month, as the Hermit’s Peak/Calf Canyon fire catastrophe of 2022 that smoked but didn’t burn me, and the 2023 Las Tusas fire that destroyed chunks of my property and damaged the house both occurred in early May. This year’s May should not be a threat, as there is not enough vegetation left to feed another wildfire. Not that insurance companies recognize that it is quite safe to insure my neighborhood now… but that’s a topic for another day.

Maybe it’s November that is cruel, forcing us out of daylight saving time and back into darkness at the end of the workday, just when we most need a bit of extra daylight to shop in preparation for the winter holidays?

No, I’ll stay with March. The hope-followed-by-disillusion cycle occurs annually and repetitively throughout the month, aggravating my already unpredictable ability to function on any given day due to an autoimmune triggered depletion of energy. 

Yes, I hear you. Appreciating the immediate present is a way to cope. Detach from planning, go with the flow, all those fine sounding suggestions that do sometimes help. They don’t produce a new homeowner’s insurance policy that depends on completed restoration of the property that depends on consistent enough weather to do the exterior finishing work.

April, please hurry up and get here! Thank you.

Why I Resist Change

October 11, 2023

Three AM is not the best time to be awake, when a good night’s sleep is needed in order to have the energy for the next busy day. But three AM is when, on some nights, my inner self alerts my mind to what it is misperceiving, or not giving sufficient attention to, with subsequent unaddressed emotional stress further depleting my already age-limited energy. My most recent three AM wakening first brought out a well of anger at banks for forcing abandonment of payment by check, through outrageous fees for using checking accounts as they were originally designed to be used – to pay monthly bills, for non-local purchases, and daily expenses when carrying much cash is putting oneself at risk.

Apparently we are now supposed to set all regular payments as automatic withdrawals from an account. I have already experienced the humongous hassle of trying to stop one of those when it is no longer appropriate, and swore I would not go that route again for anything less than a gun to my head. A few current monthly expenses are paid by direct withdrawal, but only as I initiate them each month – nothing automatic. And every time I do provide account information online I cringe, too aware of the risks from hacking, fraud and phishing that we are constantly warned to be alert for.

So what is left? Constant use of a credit card – while monitoring the totals so it can be paid off in full each month, obviating fees. That carries some risk, however – in that the issuer can put a hold on the card at any time, if they suspect there may be a fraudulent charge, and apparently there is no requirement that they promptly notify the legitimate card holder of the fraud alert hold. I was left stranded overseas, my card refused, in one such case. It took three days of long distance calls to get the hold released. And just recently a similar silent hold prevented local withdrawal of cash from an account, again without any notice to me.

We older people are persistently urged to “keep up with the times” as technological “advances” flood our lives. This older person appreciates some of the benefits of interconnectivity, and as a writer I most certainly appreciate the ease of editing and rewriting online, compared to using the typewriter with which I began. Not all the changes and supposed helpers that change my words or think they know better than I do what I am trying to say and how I wish to express it. I still turn off every autocorrect that I can. My grammar remains far superior to that which is programmed into current software.

What I don’t appreciate, and I think gives rise to the misperception that older people are resistant to change, is the present conviction that change is always positive. Nope, sorry. Especially not when the changes are rooted in a serious shift in ethos, values and worldview.

I am far from alone in pointing to major changes in how politicians, pundits, the press and the now fashionable “influencers” present themselves, and their perception of what matters – or should matter – to the rest of us. If I were given the right to name the current period of time I would call it the era of personality cultism. How many followers can I collect, in order to sell their information to advertisers and thereby support myself without having to work for someone else? How do I acquire power to use as I see fit, without regard to the good of others, not even that of my constituents (Mr. Manchin)? How loudly can I scapegoat, point fingers, deflect blame, vilify and generally disrespect anyone who doesn’t bow at my feet? How high can I raise narcissism as a virtue, making it the norm rather than an aberration?

In company with many elders, I resist change when it goes so dramatically against the values I have lived by – that respect and a following are to be earned by honest conduct, thoughtful engagement, respectful listening to different viewpoints, and the search for collective wellbeing. I resist the marketing of absolutely everything, and the abandonment of a belief that not everything has a price. If that makes me a “stodgy old fogey” so be it. I suspect I am still in quite good company, though I accept that the current ethos, especially online, deprives me of the opportunity to find and connect with most of that company.

Would that we had louder voices, more stamina and energy to make our presence, our values and our concerns not just heard but listened to! With awareness that the years ahead of us to act and perhaps make a difference are rapidly diminishing, it is difficult not to despair. If all I can do now is stand firm in my own life, for what I perceive is right, that is what I must do.

So bank be advised – if you won’t let me write checks, I will close my account and go elsewhere!

Mixed Signals

February 17, 2023

Sitting on my couch, looking out at dense snow whitening everything except the hyacinth tips which are peaking out of soil in their pots on my enclosed porch. 

Wondering if the flowers are as confused as my hens, as to what the daily shifts in weather mean. Two days ago it was sunny and warming spring, yesterday there was high wind, today it is full winter snow all day and nighttime temperature predicted to hit zero.

Will egg laying, which had begun after the hens’ short-winter-day hiatus, continue or will the ladies decide to keep their potential progeny to themselves until more favorable temperatures become continuous?

I do welcome the snow and its much needed moisture in our arid climate, and I appreciate that its timing means I only have to cancel one appointment today, instead of three yesterday. I am grateful that my days, overall, can be flexible enough to accommodate disruptive weather. What I am not yet at ease with is the seemingly permanent state of uncertainty about everything, from weather to egg production to mass shootings, local water shortage concerns and world tragedies, mental health crises and trophy winners. Big and small, meaningful and insignificant, all of it blasted at us repeatedly over multiple internet channels.

Yes it is very true that the only certainty in life is that things change. And yes, it is a frustrating aspect of human nature that we seem compelled to seek to impose stability and structure on that ceaseless change. I, and my flowers and hens, will do as we must if it is winter, and also if it is spring. What none of us manage well is the uncertainty of what we will face each new day.

Take my intention to write about trees, my personal relationship to them, the way that they are presented as vitally engaged with Native tribal life in Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, and the mystique surrounding some of the most ancient of individuals or their seeming ability to communicate via underground links. My thoughts were taking form, ready to be presented here – when in my morning news feed I encountered a new study that denies that there is any contact from tree to tree, the linking fungal networks discounted as providing a means of communication. Do I continue to believe the spiritual yet scientific vision in Kimmerer’s work, and the delightful concept of trees talking to one another via underground networks, or must I accept a conceptual shift due to this new, challenging research study? 

Many years ago in a modern dance class, we were  assigned to compose a dance that would render an “inanimate object” through motion, leaving the work untitled, and the class members to name the object once they had seen the performance. I chose trees, and presented a pine, a willow and a maple. My classmates did “see” the subjects and named my choreography “A Walk in the Woods”. As I composed the dance, I felt the essence of those three entities and had no doubt that they were both animate and friendly. 

I still feel akin to trees, and to many other plants, especially those living in my home. We have history. One ivy, now over 40 years old, was a new spring in my office in the New Mexico Penitentiary when I taught there. Together we survived the 1980 prison riot. A poinsettia gifted to me more than 25 years ago put out two blooms this past holiday season. A petunia given me this past summer, supposedly an annual, died back to just one small sprig due to both onset of winter and a bug infestation. Sprayed, watered and talked to, it now has new growth and multiple flowers. 
So I will continue to hold beliefs compatible with those in Braiding Sweetgrass, enjoying the sense of spiritual connection to the world around me, and accepting responsibility for an interaction that appreciates gifts given and requires a return of respect and care. Oh, and I thank the hens for their willingness to give me eggs despite the bitter cold.

In Passing

January 19, 2023

Yesterday I was informed by a dear friend, Jay, that she had rather suddenly lost one of her close friends to death. That friend had apparently been relatively healthy, but in only a matter of a few weeks went from active and engaged to departed.  Jay stated that mentally she understood what had just happened but emotionally she was not coping well because of the suddenness of the loss. 

A few hours later I received a packet of writing from a dear friend of mine who has been living with a progressively deteriorating health condition for many years. He has soldiered through the  steady decline with an amazing adaptability and retention of positive attitude. What was evident, however, in what he sent me was the fact that the core elements that he has retained as his sense of identity are now under attack. He is experiencing difficulties with all forms of communication and becoming an unwillingly isolated shut-in.

In my initial response to Jay, I spoke about the difference between losing someone suddenly and watching a steady decline, the latter situation giving one an opportunity to adjust emotionally as well as mentally to what is coming. However, that latter situation also implies or imposes awareness that the friend suffering the decline is indeed suffering over an extended period of time. What I mentioned to Jay in my initial response was the ambiguity that I have lived with for many years over the “better” way for a life to end. It seems that for the person who is departing this life it must be easier if the departure is relatively sudden. No living with pain, no agonizing over things undone, not really any time to guilt trip oneself, which I realize may or may not be the case, there being no means to ask after the departure whether the person did in fact experience regrets, or depart in peace.

For those of us left behind after a quick death, similar questions can nag at us. By contrast, when there is a lingering illness and progressive decline, the person experiencing the challenges may or may not value the time provided and the advance notice that whatever activities or communications have been neglected can be put right before death. The friend or family member standing beside or watching the decline also has time to sort things out if they choose to do so. Working in home care for many years, I watched all sorts of variations of the slower passing and saw family member caregivers who treasured every moment of their connection to the dying individual. I also saw family members impatient for the end to come, feeling overwhelmed or angry or just immeasurably sad that their loved one was suffering and in pain. 

For myself, I have tried to live by guidance received from my grandfather when he was near the end of his life. He said then that he had only two regrets, one being that it would have been better for my mother, his daughter, if he had remarried but he never found a woman he wanted to commit to. His other regret was that he never learned to play the mandolin. At that time, when I was in my late twenties, I undertook to try to live in such a way that whenever my end came I would have no more regrets than he did. 

I’m comfortable in saying that at this moment I have achieved that goal. I recognize that the goal is a moving target and that I need to be mindful to stay in this space of no more than two regrets. Doing so helps keep me honest in my interactions, respectful of others, and sufficiently self aware to keep myself motivated in pursuing my own next steps.

I cannot speak for those who care for me with regard to what they would prefer, my rapid and unexpected passing versus an anticipated steady decline. That choice seems to be a very individual one for each of them. I do think that living by the mantra of minimizing regrets (making prompt restitution when we err) can benefit us all, so that however an end comes, whether our own or a loved one’s, the transition can be smoother and less emotionally painful for all who are involved in the passing.

May it be so.

Asinine and Insulting

May 14, 2021

I have not been motivated to write lately. I have instead been enjoying my artistic pursuits, balanced with part time work for the NM Caregivers Coalition. But the untenable position I have been placed in – experienced in spades today – by the latest CDC pronouncement cannot go without response.

Setting aside the broad guidelines in place in New Mexico according to county by county statistics that put us in color categories, none of which as of yet allow unrestricted or undistanced indoor dining or shopping, and acknowledging that the CDC indicated local level decisions must still be recognized and adhered to, it remains beyond stupid to issue a statement that “vaccinated people can go unmasked indoors” when there is absolutely NO WAY to know if the unmasked person standing just behind my shoulder and breathing into my face is vaccinated, or one of the far too many individuals who refuses vaccines and denies that there is a pandemic infection still active here.

I am vaccinated.

Wearing a mask to protect myself from the deniers and anti-vaxxers and mask resistors, I become subject to ugly accusations from others that I am a coward, that I don’t care about my neighbors or I would get a vaccine, that at my age (I qualified for and got my vaccine in the first tier) I should know better than to refuse a life saving treatment.

Is the CDC going to hand out masks imprinted with I AM VACCINATED, ARE YOU? for those of us who feel the need to continue to protect ourselves from the heedless, thoughtless, careless multitudes?

REALLY!

Who Knows? I Don’t!

November 25, 2020

Why is it so hard to do nothing?

And equally hard to use mandated “do nothing but rest” time for tediously aggravating projects like emptying Dropbox or deleting old email?

Shouldn’t the latter give some focus and purpose and sense of accomplishment to the former?

Sadly, I am not finding it so.

Doing nothing has come to mean relaxing on the couch either reading books or playing solitaire and word games on my phone. I did label and file some emails that I will want to reference in future. And I thought about scrolling through Coursera for any classes that might interest me – but didn’t even do that.

Is my current lack of energy so pervasive that sedentary mental activities are beyond me? Or does it take a particular type of motivation to tackle those ever-on-the ‘to do’ list organizing chores that so many of us keep postponing? I don’t know.

I do know that I don’t have the motivation to find out why I don’t know.

Enough of tangled sentences. 

What I do know is that I just read an essay by Bruno Maceas of the New York Times (How Trump Almost Broke the Bounds of Reality) that delightfully answers the tormenting question of how so many decent people can continue to support – and just now to vote for – our current president. It has given me much to think about and the realization that implementing any bridges over the deep divides in our country will require both sides to develop a common language, something we do not appear to possess at this time.

The essay explicates Trumpism as a cult, and to my mind effectively supports this hypothesis. Sadly, what immediately came to mind was 900 people committing suicide with poisoned Kool Aid, at the behest of their cult leader. It seems now that too many elected leaders in both houses of Congress are drinking political Kool Aid at the behest of a man who does not deserve that devotion. What cult leader ever does?

If people can continue – as they have done – to lie dying of Covid in ICUs while insisting the virus is a falsehood promulgated by left wing media, how can we possibly succeed in freeing their compatriots from the illusory cult world to which they have committed themselves.

Again, I don’t know.

Reading in the NYTimes about women who have made new opportunities of the pause Covid has imposed on their lives, the consistent message is to accept the need to slow down, recognize an opportunity to reset, refocus, redirect the course of one’s life and draw on historical strengths to find motivation to move forward. For some those strengths were the voices of older family members, or of cultural traditions. For others the strengths came more immediately from their own prior achievements. In all cases, the main thrust of their new efforts was toward some form of engagement with others. Isn’t that what women do? Nurture and care for others in whatever manner they are able to?

Filing or deleting old emails does not support caring for anyone at all, not even myself. No wonder I consider it an unnecessary chore. The emails, mostly newsletters from various groups in which I have some interest, have accumulated because somewhere in each is an item or two that, at first reading, I thought would be relevant to a future writing project. Only in that sense can they be conceived of as having anything to do with concern for others. Does that slanted view of the value of organizing them help motivate me?

I don’t know.

It looks as though 2020 will be recorded in my personal history as the Year of I Don’t Know. 

So be it.

RANT

November 19, 2020

For the first time in all my years of writing posts, I am not reviewing, editing or striving for a reflective balance in this essay. It is purely, as the title states, an expression of my fury at the thoughtless, selfishly ugly hordes of people who are collectively responsible for the new Covid surge. As one of those who has followed health safety practices consistently since last February, mostly staying home, avoiding indoor groups, minimizing my social interactions with close friends and doing all I can to protect both myself and my neighbors/community, I am now forced once more to do without acupuncture and massage which have been essential to maintaining my health over years, and are even more important to my well being in these times of severe stress and risk.

Because of you ugly, vicious, lying deniers I have less energy, a recurrence of bronchitis that had not troubled me for decades, increased frequency of headaches, and once again curtailed access to the treatments I have relied on to keep active and employed into my late seventies.

I blame you – and I do not think I will be forgiving you any time soon. With your blind cult devotion to the idiot who has misled you for four painfully long years, you are destroying my quality of life, you are dying in high numbers and still you are denying simple truth.

SHAME ON YOU ALL. (That is the mildest thing I can say without resort to “improper” * words.)


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