#AMWRITING #BLOGGING – ARE WE PROUD NOW, AMERICA?

 

AMERICAN NAZI

After all of the denial. After all of the normalization. After all of the rationalization and nay-saying and trying to work around the person at the center of the discussion, much like trying to avoid the elephant in the room, our country has finally had to come to the grim realization that Donald J. Trump is merely a thug, and like any thug, he tried to apply muscle to both Houses today to force, stall, or subvert the inevitable.

I have to admit that I've kept him on the outside of my bubble for a long period of time. My bubble is this: my Asperger condition. I'm highly functioning, but like any Aspy, too much stimulation or stress gets all of my other “inconveniences”, like essential tremor going and so, I retreat to non-knowing bliss. Pretty much the last time I dealt with anything Trumpian was the day I returned from Japan and he was doing some of his immigration shit and wouldn't you know it, but, I had to fly into Dulles Airport and... it sucked. It took forever to get through Customs, even being legally blind. Whatamess. I decided that I would check out for a few years and that would be okay.

Trump. And dogs playing poker. I think the dogs won.

So, I went off to play viola, rescue some cats, move to South Carolina and get engaged, rescue some more cats, play some more viola, and then along came 2020. Holy Mackerel.

To say that this year was bad is like saying that Florida has hurricanes, or California experiences wildfires. I cannot believe in the sheer magnitude of the loss of life and the sickness and the blow to the economy that would NEVER have happened had we not stayed locked down for an initial six to eight weeks and flat-lined, instead of a three week lock down and open back up, when diseases don't work like that, especially a NOVEL virus that has never been seen before and is zoonotic (translation: jumps from species to species; a special kind of hell) to boot! I still haven't left the house since last February.

Also, a little reality check here. Does anyone remember in about the 3^rd week of the announcement of having COVID-19 on U.S. soil, that the U.S. Navy said on Twitter one bright March day, “Oh btw, Aliens are a thing!” Well, they did and I totally haven't forgotten, but I digress.

Anyway, as we went through this worst of all years, and experienced George Floyd's murder over and over via video in late May (which was in itself 8 years long) and finally saw people get well and truly fed-up with all of the rampant killing being done by police and #BLM led the charge to protest and make whites 'fess up to the fact that we've never, EVER truly addressed racism, nor made everyone free, safe and equal, we got to take that time to look at ourselves and address our own shortcomings and say “Yeah, it DOES suck to be a black person in this here United States. Now, what are we going to do to fix this?” These kinds of moments are our opportunities to leap forward and to make reparations and acknowledge that we can do better.

History gives us this ability to seize that moment and it came again today, January 6, 2021, when Donald Trump's thugs stormed the Capitol and took over the House and Senate. It was astonishing. It was frightening. It was sad and horrific. This is the United States at its worst, because unlike the War of 1812, we did it to ourselves.

When we voted in November, 2020, we voted in Joe Biden for our 46^th President of the United States. Since that was made official, Donald Trump has sent Rudy Giuliani, his attorney to several Supreme Courts, who turned down his petitions in every case, but one. Donald Trump has tried to get the Electoral College of each state thrown out so that he can substitute his own delegates; that too has been denied. He did manage to get some GOP Senators and Congressmen to question the validity of what was to have been today's final validation by the sitting Vice President, Mike Pence, but just in case that wasn't going to work, he called on his Proud Boys and other white Nationalists and Trumpists to intervene. They did so by storming the Capitol building and smashing things.

This is called "fomenting rebellion". Trump should be impeached immediately under Amendment 25 and arrested for that and his followers should be arrested for committing "insurrection". This is still a country of laws and truth. What he doesn't understand is that if a Revolution DOES come, it may not have the desired outcome and there is always, ALWAYS a Trotsky waiting in the wings.

This is thuggery at its finest and you don't get any more brutish than this. This is shit that was done in the 1^st Republic of Rome and that was a long time ago. When the men and women of the Senate and House were finally allowed to re-convene this evening, Mitch McConnell (THAT fucking weasel) looked shaken, and spoke of the need to have a country that was “Ruled by Law” or some nonsense. Other senators spoke and were impassioned that the American people had spoken; that a clear majority had voted for Joe Biden and that by putting aside their wishes, we would no longer stand as a republic, or a Leader among countries. As it stands, we've already blackened our own eye, and we have a long way to go to repair our image. Let's not go down the road of the “banana republic”.

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE – LETTER “G” - GLENN WALLACE, THE CAT

Glenn Wallace, the cat is a pretty amazing cat, although it must be said, he's actually pretty ridiculous most of the time. He's scary-smart. My better half named him after my late father, who was himself a pretty amazing, and scary-smart man, and also had his ridiculous moments. Glenn came to us in a rather startling way; we live out in the country on a corner parcel. There's just a lonely water tower and not much else around. Part of the land is abutted by forest and that's where Ripley the yodeling dog's imaginary pals live.

I spend most of the day ensconced in a house that is very secure and because of the day and the age, I am very aware of what's going on around me. It's quiet and Ripley will bark if people show up, so we're pretty safe. However, someone managed to sneak a black-and-white tuxedo kitten into our front door, between the screen door and the front door and there he stayed for a full ten hours, while James was at work. Now, the kitten may have wandered in there and gotten caught, I don't know. All that I do know, is when James came home, he said “Mary, how did the cat get out?”, when he opened the door. He was holding a black-and-white tuxedo kitten. I had not been out all day; hadn't opened the door. Our two chuckleheads were inside, busily dismantling the bedroom.

This is what Glenn looked like his first night with us. James was calling him "Kitler" from an old website from the 00s, that featured kittens with Hitler mustaches, that I had remembered. I was like, "Erm, no."

I pointed behind me to the two hoodlums and said, “I haven't opened the door all day; haven't been out! Look, here are our two goons!” I thought to myself “That trickster. James; he's just looking for a way to sneak another kitten into this household. Ha ha!” And he was looking at me like, “Mary, she's such a card! Looking for a way to get another new kitten in this house!”

Glenn, as he looks now. Don't let the beauty fool you; he's thinking of either his next meal, or what kinda shenanigans he can get into next. His favorite thing is to run rampant under my kitchen cabinets. I've told him that's Chthulu's timeshare, but Glenn doesn't care, much as my father wouldn't have cared.

James came all the way into the house with the new kitten. We could see that he (we checked that out right away, and he was an un-neutered male) was distressed; hot, dehydrated, hungry and rather skinny. He was about the same size as our two kittens. This was in October, so he was about six months old. Our kittens were both inoculated and up-to-date on their vaccinations, so he couldn't make them sick. The first thing we did was call the shelter for the county we now live in. They had no room for a kitten and the earliest they could neuter the kitten was in December. I didn't like that they had no room, and this wasn't a “no kill” shelter, so we decided to keep him.

James bathed him. This wasn't like the epic baths that my father used to give our cat, Oliver, when Oliver rolled in motor oil. My dad would lock them both in the bathroom and the yowling, screeching, and tearing of shower curtains and crashing around would commence. They'd both exit the bathroom, licking their wounds and treated bath time as some type of blood sport. The pair had an on-going feud? game? for ages, which my mom and I both enjoyed.

Eddifer and Glenn draped over, sleeping on the corner of my bed. Glenn looks like Superman or something here. I gave up trying to make the bed, because they all run around under the sheets, like a bunch of worms. Honestly.

Anyway, after Glenn's bath, we introduced Allie and Eddie to Glenn. We still hadn't picked out a name for him. We didn't have a feel for his personality. He was fine with the other cats, but was really, really hungry, so we fed him.

And, continued to feed him. About this time, I noticed that my hamburger buns on top of the microwave had a gnawed corner, in the bag and one of the buns had had some tiny bites taken out of it. I thought we had mice and since none of the kittens had really had mothers to teach them to hunt, I assumed that a tiny intruder was in my kitchen.

That week, when we went to the grocery store and I brought home a fresh loaf of bread, Glenn – who'd earned his name by doing something asinine that amused James, who while laughing, said “I'm gonna name this kitten after your Dad!”, and I, of course, being in on the entire ridiculousness of the situation, said, “Please do!” – saw this fresh loaf of bread and took a tiny, kitten-sized chomp squarely out of the middle of it as I watched, and I realized who the “mouse” in the house really was. I took the old loaf's sleeve and the piece Glenn had tried to eat, gave Glenn the chomped piece of bread, put the old sleeve on the new bread, took the new sleeve with the chomp in it, tossed it in the garbage and put all of the bread either in the microwave or the fridge, for safe-keeping. I give him the heels and now, Eddifer's in on this game of playing with/eating pieces of stale bread, when I make sandwiches. I don't give them much; just a bit to play with, and then eat. They're supposed to be carnivores, after all.

I know this is blurry; a testament to my fine picture-taking and my essential tremor, but this is the saddest pair of eyes I've ever seen. Poor Glenn! He only had to wear the cone for about 48 hours, but it was an eternity in terms of the Drama that unfolded in his mind, I'm sure!

Glenn is also the longest cat I've ever seen; long legs, tail and whiskers. He's almost four feet long when he stretches out on the floor and he's not fully grown yet. Like he's part Cheetah, and he gallops around the house like a little horsey. I think he revels in the sound his feet make on the hardwood floor. All he needs are little horsey shoesies.

He's also the one who goes in for all the weird, odd, and animated toys that James brings home. Glenn will be right on those crazy things and play with them for hours. He knows his name and will heel to hand commands, too. I've only had to tell him once and it's embedded in his little cat brain. Of all the cats, he's most bonded with me, with Misty being a close second. They are the two smartest, but I worry about Eddifer. Sometimes he gets lost in the scrum of life and will go off by himself. I make sure Eddie gets plenty of love. Allie is James' cat and she loves him to death. I'm an okay substitute, but there's no doubting who she loves best.

See what I mean about Drama? Allie is asleep all calm and Glenn is like, "I'M READY FOR MY CLOSE-UP, MR. DEMILLE!"

Ripley just kind of watches it all, bemused and the birds just add to the general life and noise around here. It's a happy house, with the animals, people and the music. We feel blessed. I hope everyone is having a great #atozchallenge!

I hope you stop by on April 19^th, 2020 to meet Andy Toppin, Jr., and learn about his book “Rowan's Chronicle, Volume 1”. He's an awesome person, and a terrific writer!

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE – LETTER “E” - EPHEMERA

I know this isn't about my new life in the carolinas, or anything about my animals, but it's a word that's been popping up in my head a lot lately. This probably has to do with the world's situation, and my internal dialogue is always “on”. My brain seems to have a running conversation with my moods, my reactions, how I interpret and analyze things and it never shuts off. So, just lately, “ephemera” has been coming to mind. I like the sound of the word; it's a beautiful word, much like “tintinnabulation” or “harmony”. We write and read for the beauty of the language, as much as we do for the import of the words.

I realize I am applying the definition to people, when it was originally meant to be used in the context of written or paper items, but our existence, on this earth, in context to the entire span of the universe's length of time is rather short, so I chose to use the term to describe our time here on earth.

By our very nature, we are ephemera, when compared to the rest of the universe, in terms of the length of time we exist, the amount of space we occupy and the things that preoccupy us. We have a tendency to focus on things that are less than monumental as a species and we haven't even figured out how to feed and house the entire planet peacefully. Rather, it's easier to make war over perceived slights and wrongs, than it is to work towards a peaceful resolution, that might garner less than the aggrieved party had hoped for. But, I digress.

Although, our corporeal beings are ephemeral, our ideals, passions and values are not. These things, abstractions really and any physical things we've created, as artists and people will exist after we leave this place. We'll be remembered; at least we hope so, and in a good light. So, in some manner, I guess, we do continue existence; my father and mother return every time I tell a story about them. There are their pictures and things they held that have been left behind; burnished by their touch.

In the time of the existence of the universe, it is less than we can even imagine – I'm being poetic, because although I know there's a hard number, it's still hard to grasp, because it's so minuscule in proportion to the age of the universe itself. In the time span of an epoch, it's a bit easier to grasp; however-many-score-years man is allotted to tread upon this mortal coil. It comes down to, “hey, we only get so much time. Make the most of it!” I'm really bad at this kind of sky-larking, but I couldn't get “ephemera” out of my head! Have a great #a-to-z-challenge!

Please, please, mark your calendar for Sunday, April 19^th. I will be doing a blog tour for Mr. Andy Toppin, Jr., author of “Rowan's Chronicle, Volume 1”. Andy is a good friend of mine and a wonderful person. He is finishing the edits for Volume 2 now!

#BLOGGING #AMWRITING – CURSES AND CATS, AMONG OTHER OBSERVATIONS

“May you live in interesting times...” is a curse that has been attributed widely, from the Chinese to the Arabs, to Robert F. Kennedy, of all people. Originally thought to be a beneficence to the person it was bestowed upon, when parsed down, that “interesting” was definitely NOT meant for good times ahead. Good times are generally uplifting, giddy, and stamped with a tinge of amorality, if you think of the good ol' roaring 20s, prior to the Depression, but “interesting” is not high on the list of adjectives I would ascribe to that era.

For me, the “interesting” part in the 20^th Century begins in Western Europe in about say, 1933, when Hitler begins his climb to power and the really interesting geo-political things begin to happen. Russia had already been “interesting” when Lenin showed up, and brought a feudal country into the 20^th Century and greatness. Their more “interesting” times were ahead of them, in the form of fighting off the Nazis, which they did in epic style and with their typical heroism and grit.

At any rate, I'm not here to take a trip down memory lane, as much as I adore history and continue to learn new and more salient things about the parties who all participated in WW II. I'm here to talk about this “interesting” time we're in now, and why we all need to ignore the gibbering fool, who appears to be the Ringmaster of this Circus and stay hunkered down, until the CDC and/or Dr. Fauci says it's all okay to come back out from under our rocks.

Trump cares about one thing only: himself. He cares that the stock market is rising, that he appears to be in charge and that he's right about EVERYTHING. COVID19 is like Honey Badger (if you've seen that silly video). COVID don't care about a little cobra biting it in the neck. COVID don't care about a Big Leader of the Free? World telling us that if we go back to work sick with a mask on, it'll be okay (it won't; it'll just add to mortality. That's how disease vectors work, and this is not as bad as measles, but worse than SARS). We could kill 2.2 million Americans, by doing what we're currently doing. WHERE would we bury all these people and what about the sick ones?

They will absolutely overload the currently bad state of our medical system. This means that people with heart conditions, strokes, cancer care, dialysis and diabetes will be pushed back and ever-higher mortality rates will occur. The ability to look at the long picture has completely over-shot this administration and this joke of a President for too long and this really should be his Waterloo.

I had to make the terrible decision to bypass an infusion for the osteoporosis that I have in my right neck and shoulder and my lumbar, from all those many years of playing viola, but both my husband and I are high-risk. This can wait; I'm gonna hurt for a few months, but it's preferable than contracting some illness that I'm pretty sure is gonna take me out.

So, with that said, I truly wouldn't be surprised if the Pinheads of America elect this dolt once again. There seems to be truly nothing that will stop him. Had I been head of the DOJ back in 2016, when the first of the Russian collusion issues came to the fore? I woulda clapped those teeny hands in irons and frog-marched his ass off to gaol. He never had any business being on the GOP ticket. My ASS!

Now that I've vented my spleen, I can move on to much more pleasant topics. My babies. My dear, dear friend sent my an insane video of cats having a fashion show and it's every bit as kooky as it sounds. Let me show you some snaps.

 courtesy: krsvideos/facebook.com                                        

courtesy: krsvideos/facebook.com                                         

courtesy: krsvideos/facebook.com                                       

So, right away, my husband said "N.O. No!" to any hare-brained idea I might have about a feline fashion show, although I think it would be hella fun! I could dress up the little tykes and after 3 hours of them trying to walk backwards and hopping, being entertaining and all and then, lying around like lumps and just being generally awful, they might be persuaded to walk in a straight line for a few seconds. Long enough for me to record them, swap out cute little pope outfits, a nurse outfit, and a John Lennon get-up, edit it all with some stupid music and throw it out there on YouTube. You just can never have enough idiocy on the internet in these trying times and I'm full of it.

Although, I'd probably have to sew outfits, and I can just about manage a hem and a button, in an emergency. I tried to make a pair of pants once when I was a girl and I sewed the legs together; I ended up with a really messed-up evening gown. My mother thought that was hilarious. 

My mom flying (EGAD) an airplane. Both of my folks flew. I can barely stand to get in the death-traps, but if I had my preference, I'd fly with my father. My mother was an amazing woman, but not so much, a pilot. She'd crab and yaw down a runway. My father was an artist in a plane.

All the kitties and the dog and the birds are thriving; it helps that the cats aren't too sure what the birds are. We got most of them when they were so young, they didn't have mothers to teach them to hunt. Misty is just an enigma. I suspect she was with an animal hoarder and had very little attention as a kitten. She seems frail at six years old, but gets on well with the others. Being toothless, she needs soft food, so the three black-and-white tuxedos have learned that she eats by herself and don't bother her. 

It's hard to tell how small Misty is here; and I take lousy pictures. My essential tremor gets in the way. At least you can tell it's an animal.

Other than that, she's healthy and joins in their little games of "Viet Nam" and mouse hunts. Glenn is the smart one; I caught him getting into my cupboards underneath the sink and I yelled at him. The second time I saw him making a run at them, I shouted "Glenn! No!" He made a sharp right turn and ran head-long into the cabinet that was at a 90° angle to that cabinet, then sat down and licked his paw like "Uh-huh; I meant to do that." Cats. Just great.

Here's Glenn; an entire 3 feet of cat sprawled out on my bed. He's at least 4 feet long. He's got long whiskers, legs, toes, body. I'm not even sure he's all cat.

Eddifer is the supervisor of the kitchen. He very politely comes up and watches everything anyone does in the kitchen, like he's taking notes and will get back to you. He was my 2-month old foster and is just the sweetest, most biddable cat. He's just there for the company and is happy on his own, or sleeping on my chest.

For some reason, Eddifer is resistant to having his picture taken; so here is a picture of a couple of cats, who either got into the catnip, or are re-enacting a scene from "The Purrates of Penzance". All they lack are little tri-corn hats. I laughed like a goon for half-an-hour when I ran across this. God Bless the corners of the innerwebz!

Allie, or "Kitten McGrabbyPaws" is my husband's cat and she waits all day for him to come home and she just loves, loves, loves him. She is by nature, a very, loving and happy cat. She is the one who makes up weird games and invites you along for a Magical, Mystery Tour. She's also frolicsome and just a kick to watch, when she starts some wild game of her own devising in a box. Cats and boxes are the best!

This is Allie, with the most bewitching eyes ever! Still, she is a whole lot of fun and she loves my husband to death. She is a good and happy kitty, who will try to hold your hand!

I have to say that I never expected my life to take this turn and I am immensely grateful for the quality of my life. I was doing okay before and had the things I needed, but it's certainly ramped up in my opinion. Gratitude is something we can never express too frequently, nor is love. I want to know how all of your Apocalypses are going, as a friend asked me last night. Yes, we all still play Runescape. I'm leading a clan, with two others, (SpiritZ) that is now 15 years old and I've been there for 14 of those years, as have most of the members. To say, we're richly bonded, is to paint that faintly indeed. We're another branch of the family. Stay safe, stay happy, and remember, this too, shall pass. All my love to (almost) anyone reading! 

P. S. Don't forget! The #a-to-z-challenge starts 4.1.2020! This is going to be a great year!

#A-TO-Z-CHALLENGE THEME REVEAL KIND OF

Well... shit. Here I was going along, having survived stupid mopes invading my home. Beating up two muggers, getting past essential tremors and burying a companion who was one of the best people I ever knew. I had generally just stopped writing, because my viola playing had more or less taken off again, and I was getting to play challenging things in orchestras like the Tampa Bay Symphony. I was also getting out and about again; I'd recently become an Inspector for the Clerk of Elections of Hillsborough County and was working all of the General, Primary and Special elections, when one of my online viola students, whom I'd been teaching for several years, thought we'd make a pretty good team in life together. I wasn't averse to this idea; I'm not someone who wants to spend the rest of my life alone, but I'm not looking for just any old body either; we share much of the same outlooks and values and have the same quirky sense of humor. Since irl match-ups have been so horrible, I thought this might worth a shot.

"Wolf" was the unwitting matchmaker

Since we were very familiar with one another and talked several times a week, I thought “why the hell not”; I packed up my computers and my viola, “Wolf” and headed to South Carolina, to live with a man, I'd never met irl. Being legally blind, I was having trouble getting rides to the TBSO, and fed up with all of that, I quit. My newly-minted fiancé assured me that all the rides I ever could need would be provided happily and he's been great with that. We set up house in the country, filled it full of cats, with a dog for security and three birds, just for the hell of it. We run a sort of half-assed cat rescue for tuxedos, in memory of my poor Bootsie, ("Bootsie's Retreat") who was so cruelly treated by my ex-husband, that he died of starvation, less than a month after I got him out of the house that I was forbidden to enter, when we divorced.

My ridiculous dog, Ripley, wallowing on the bed, I just spent 20 minutes making. He's also a riot.

The cats are a hoot; tuxedos HAVE to be the clowns of the cat world. We fostered one tiny two-month old kitten, named “Eddie”, or “Eddifur” as I call him. The night we brought him home, he was introduced to our husky-hound mix, “Ripley”. Eddie looked at Ripley and did the puff-up-walk-sideways and backed into his little kitten house. He was so tiny, he couldn't figure out how to un-puff himself, so he circled around backward about three times, before he figured that shit out. Later on that night, after James had fallen asleep, this tiny creature proceeded to cavort all over James and turn somersaults, when his itty-bitty claws got caught in the blankets. James slept on, and I cackled much like Muttley in delight, as quietly as I could; it was so funny.

Eddifur, in front, photo-bombing Allie. Eddie is the sweetest boy and I call him "son". He's really a gentle cat. His favorite pastime is to "supervise" in the kitchen.

A week later, we adopted another tuxedo, named Allie, for “Allie Cat”. She too, puffed up and walked sideways when she saw Ripley. The most notable thing that she and Eddie did together, other than multiply exponentially in the mischief department, is they showed me the meaning of good housekeeping, and by that, I mean, unplugging appliances, when you are through using them. One calm evening, when all was quiet, James, Ripley and I were all tucked up nice and snug in the bed, snoozing away, when HOLYMOSESONACRACKER! SOMEONE DROPPED A 747 ENGINE IN MY HALLWAY!

"Allie", alias "KittenMcGrabbyPaws". This is the squirmiest, grabbiest kitten I've ever had. She tries to stand up and walk on her hind legs like a little person, and she made up this game one day, where she grabbed my hand, walked me over to a box (sorta on her hind legs), sit down, and then grabbed my hand and led me away from it, only to repeat said action. I know not what the object of the "game" was. She looks like she has wool on her hind legs, so naturally, all of our little darlings suffer terribly from "catwool", whatever that is...

Nope; it was just two tiny kittens assing around the vacuum cleaner and they turned it on. This is one of those big ones, that will suck up the entire living room, if you're not careful. The kittens, of course became ghosts. My hilarious friend, Alex, asked, “Did you turn the kittens into ghosts for that, or did they just evaporate?” Ha ha. “They just evaporated”, I answered. James observed “At least this is different than them Singing The Song Of Their People at 3 am!” Sort of, I guess?

A short time after that, James came home from work, and as he opened the front door, he says “Mary! How did the kitten get out of the house?”, and he was bent down picking up a tuxedo kitten, about the same size and configuration of our two. I hadn't been outside the house all day, so I at first thought “Hmmm, this is James' sneaky way of getting another kitten in the house!” I said, “Look behind me, here are our two chuckleheads!” and he looked. He was probably thinking, “Hmmm, this is Mary's sneaky way of getting another kitten in the house!”, but he brought this kitten in, who was about the same age as the other two. The kitten was in distress; hot and frazzled. James gave him a bath and we called our county's ASPCA. Both of our kittens had been vaccinated, but this one had not, so we weren't worried that this new kitten would make them sick. When it was apparent that the shelter had no room for him, we figured we were in for a penny; in for a pound and added him to our brood. James named him after my father, “Glenn Wallace”. The exponential quality of mischief-like behavior continued, only instead of four, we now had nine little busy-bodies and boy, are they something.

"Glenn Wallace" or just "Glenn" or "Chucklehead" or "Asshat" (which applies to all 3). Smarter than hell. He knows his name and he bonded quickly with me. His idea of a good time is to snooze in my lap all afternoon, even if I'm practicing.

About this time, I thought up the idea of a “Tuxedo Rescue” and mentioned it to James as we were driving off to the Walmart. He smartly returned with, “Hey, we're really close to the Harris Psychiatric Hospital! Would you like a short stay there?” After a good laugh, he said (being the compassionate soul he is)
“Maybe there's something to this idea....”

We started looking at all the shelters in our area for tuxedos. We found a blue-and-white one recently. Her name is “Misty” and she was in a situation where the people hoarded animals. She has no teeth, and must eat soft food. She's just the sweetest thing and will play if she thinks no one is looking. She and Glenn are the smartest, with Glenn being scary-smart. He knows hand commands and they all know their names. I guess this is my dotage. Not bad, coming from the 'hood and a horrid situation. We look constantly; they are few and far between...

Misty is tiny, tiny, tiny. I'm not sure if she was malnourished when she was young. I do know that she was only spayed a year ago -- she's six years old -- and has had at least one litter of kittens. She's really a good cat, and sneaky fun. You have to catch her at playing. 

My health is better than it's ever been; I've put on fifteen pounds and I feel great. I'm playing well (I'll get to why I'm writing now in a moment), after I fell and cracked my elbow. But, I fell and cracked a rib and I broke my hip and had it replaced in October of 2018. I had the fastest recovery and rehab EVER then, as I lived alone and you cannot show weakness in the jungle of Nebraska Avenue. I can still kick the shit out of people, but have no reason to do that anymore.

Glenn is also the longest cat I've ever had; he's a full four feet, when stretched out. He has really long whiskers, so I sing to him, "Scaramouch! Scaramouch!... CanyoudotheFandango?, in a high voice and he looks at me like I'm an idiot.

Anyway, I joined a new orchestra, here in the Carolinas; the Foothills Philharmonic, conducted by the wonderful Kory Vrieze. we were practicing “Scheherazade”, much to my delight. We did such an awesome job with it in 2015, with Mark Sforzini and the Tampa Bay Symphony, and we were going to do just as fine a job here.

Alas, a thing called a pandemic intervened. Coronavirus shut down the orchestra, along with the rest of the country. I've worked at a tertiary care facility, and did so for four years. Virology always fascinated me and I understand disease vectors. I knew six weeks ago, that I would be in a quarantine of my own making. I'm at high-risk, and I've survived too much awful shit; had so much good luck, that I cannot continue to bank on that happening indefinitely, so I ran right to my doc's office and we did our shorthand discussion: “triage”, “shortages of supplies”, “out-of-date infrastructure”, “lack of leadership” and so on. I was supposed to take a trip out-of-state to meet my fiancé's parents, later on in the summer. Since they are elderly and since I am high-risk, none of this is happening. It's no one's fault; it just is.

However, now that I am blogging again, I can also freely express my total dismay and contempt for what I see happening; not only in our own government, but around the world. I do feel that our so-called President has finally found himself in a position that he cannot possibly lie or backpedal his way out of and his actions, even before his taking of office have been treasonous, illegal and immoral. I will never accept what he has done to our Supreme Court, and his minions within the Senate and Congress, should all be held liable. This is the kind of thing that in times past, would bring about Revolution; line 'em up against the wall, shoot 'em and start over. Lenin had it right.

Anyway, I'm back, and while I'm happy in my life and having a great time, I fear for our WAY of life. Looking forward to #a-to-z-challenge!

#AMWRITING #BLOGGING – BARBARIANS AT THE GATES?

With less than a month to go in 2018 and reflecting back on the last several years in this country, as well as globally, it would seem that ideologically speaking, our planet is taking a pretty direct veer to the right. Rather than being aligned with the Allies, it would seem that we have more and more nation-states auditioning for parts as a member of the Axis team, which we all remember fondly from World War II. Do we remember that, or teach it to anyone anymore, and the harsh lessons that were learned there?

It would almost seem that is not the case. I remember pretty vividly comedian Jay Leno, on the “Tonight Show” in one of his “Jay-Walking” exercises asking random people who had been some of the Axis leaders. One answer stands out pretty well. Apparently, Tim Hitler led Germany into war against the world. I bet he was a fun guy!

Seriously, we seem to have forgotten the principles that make up ANY democratic, or pluralistic society. Y'know, those ones about people striving to be free? This would also encompass being equal and safe under the law, but we've pretty much thrown all of that out the window with the abrogation of our III, IV, V, VIII, IX and XIV amendments. Lest you think I'm just getting all fancy with my Roman Numerals, let me assure you that I do know some Constitutional Law and I've also spoken to some law officers who've agreed with me. They're also concerned that we've violated Writ of Habeas Corpus, as well. Shit. The only thing we lack in this fun-house are snappy uniforms and jack-boots.

I realize too that I've whined down this road before and I'm never gonna say “I told you so”, because in the end, any country gets what it deserves, when it votes stupidly. I truly believe that. I've been working as an Inspector for the Hillsborough County Supervisor of Elections and this election was remarkable, especially here in Florida.

We had three very close races that ended in recounts and manual recounts, and even ended up with Miami-Dade County's Election Supervisor resigning in disgrace (honestly, she shoulda gone long ago; that whole county is crooked as a dog's hind leg, in my opinion).

I was already mad at Senator Bill Nelson (D), because one year ago, last September, when I was calling people like mad, and other Senators, Congressmen and all kinds of people to rally the vote for Net Neutrality, I couldn't even get my own damned Senator to set up a Town Hall meeting, 'cause he was worrying about re-election. He did absolutely NOTHING for us, the men and women who spent years building and improving the internet. I set up so many Town Hall meetings for other Senators and people, but I could never get Bill Nelson to do something this important. So, when the General Election came around, I wasn't surprised that he and Rick Scott, our soon-to-be ex-Governor, who has all the charisma of a crowbar were pretty much neck-and-neck and it was RECOUNT time! Not just for the Senate race, but the Governor's race and the Secretary of Agriculture. (Rick Scott DID win for those keeping score at home.)

All of these too-close-to-call races came down to a bunch of school-yard name-calling, neener-neener-ing and the usual shenanigans that always seems to devil Florida politics, but this almost the worst yet; the worst being the year 2000, when we had no President for what seemed liked an eon; I early voted in N. C., where I then lived, went on a concert tour, moved back to Florida, after celebrating the New Year and we STILL had no goddamned President. It took the Mary Kay of Political Nonsense, Kathleen Harris to throw the vote to the GOP, after months of flap-doodle about hanging chads, bushels of ballots being thrown out of the backs of moving vans on I-95 and more chicanery than ever existed in Huey P. Long's imagination when it came to rigging politics.

Throughout our history, we've tried to burnish our political wheelings-and-dealings with a patina that it doesn't quite deserve. We may mouth plenty of good words about how we stand united and how equal we all are in the eyes of the law and flower it up a bit to make it sound really pretty, but the fact is, we've really done a pretty shoddy job here, pretty much since our inception. Our performance is patchy at best, but, in the past, we were able to fend off such icky things as tyrannies and treating our Leaders as Cult figures – although we're skating on thin ice in this area right now – because we had this remarkable capacity to sit down and discuss our differences like the rational humans we purported ourselves to be.

Yes, we did live through the era of President Obama and to a fault, I never heard an African-American say “Obama's OUR President!” - I voted for him - I was thrilled that he was elected and never saw the type of behavior that has been witnessed with the election of Donald Trump. No one on “the other side” behaved as though they were some found member of a long-lost Wu-Tang Clan bandsman crossed with Jesus, nor acted with the kind of superiority one sees from the Trumpkins. By the way, I vote principles, NOT platform; put your crayons away, you haters.

Is this just the kind of ass-hattery that occurs to simpletons who find themselves on the right side of the so-called rising tide of some ill-gotten demagoguery that will most surely come to a bad end when Robert Mueller finally does subpoena Donald Trump? Trump cannot possibly think that he is going to pardon himself on these charges of malfeasance and payments and kickbacks and bribes to shut up mistresses and I could go on and on and on, but you get the point.

I rather think that Trump will resign and then paint himself as a sort of martyr, rather than ever have the bald facts surface and have the countless naifs see him (well, maybe) for who he really is. The truth is, it will be one more excuse to see the truth through the prism of their own ignorance and once again, cry “fake news!” and completely mis-read everything that has gone on in this country for the last decade or so. To say that we have just insulated ourselves within our own echo chambers, via the internet and like interests is also to say that we have truncated our own ability to discern what the real truth is.

It is completely easy and understandable to go ahead and say “nay!” to anything that is in opposition, when we have Balkanized ourselves so completely. To truly educate ourselves, we MUST reach out, must go where it is not comfortable, must expose ourselves to thoughts and ideas that expand what we think we might hold to be self-evident. There is no certainty any more and we must get used to that.

We need to face one another in this time of near-crisis; for ourselves, our planet, our future and our sanity and most importantly, for our grace. For if we do not do this thing and come to accounts with each other, we will surely perish and soon.

Rant Over!

#IWSG CHECK IN SEPTEMBER 2020 – AMERICAN NAZI (REPOST)

NOTE: I started this on August 13, 2012 and for some reason never finished it; it needs to be told now, as all we seem to be lacking are the snappy jackboots, parades, and apparently, we don't even need someone who can hold an audience in his thrall for seven hours or chew rugs. . . yet.

One of my fascinations has always been history and current events; I've been wanting to blog about it. Just about any history will do. The unfortunate fact that I am starting with White Supremacy, American Style has a LOT to do with Charlottesville three years ago and my own uncomfortable experience several years ago, when Hartline #2 and #18 took me to the Doctor, while I still lived in Tampa. I was one of the few white people around, and I found myself looking at the day’s TBT, Tampa Bay Times**, a rather fine, free bird-cage liner, with that Wade Page shooter and a Swastika emblazoned on the article itself. Since I couldn’t very well stuff it in my mouth and didn’t have my backpack and a only a very small purse, I had to proudly carry it. I hate that kind of shit. As if, possession of a newspaper with a swastika implies that I, a fair-haired, blue-eyed person somehow approves of such goings on. Racial guilt.

** I recommend reading this article for a quick who's who, and what's what.

courtesy:nytimes.com      

Shooting outside Sikh mosque on August 7, 2012. 

Anyway, my headlong immersion into history began with a bath in the events leading up to WWII, via my own father, who lived some of them; but he himself was quite the armchair historian and we didn't make shit up; we verified. All events, starting with the end of WWI, right on through Viet Nam (“Robert McNamara, that son-of-a-bitch!”, I heard my father growl every morning, as he shaved. I can also attest to the fact that directly after Charlottesville, I climbed up out of a sick bed, after having been in the hospital for a week with bradycardia and a low bp (I was probably dying, but was too stupid and stubborn to realize that), I got up and went on a protest march, were we listened to some very inspired rhetoric given by members of the Islamic-American community, The Tampa Communist Maoist Collective and #BLM, along with the Tampa Police Department. We were all one and we all marched and sat in several downtown intersections, snarling up traffic, while people honked in, what I hope, was solidarity. 

I've had quite an eduma-ca-tion. I would be intellectually deceitful if I said there wasn’t a powerful fascination in trying to understand why one group, race, nationality could so coldly, precisely and methodically shovel another group, race, nationality into ovens like so much coal, based on a RELIGION(?).  I am sad to say, that after 30 years of trying to figure out from so many different angles, artistically, culturally, economically and historically I still don’t. But ahh… there’s that nasty bete noire, religion. God, what nightmares. If some superior being were ever to show itself, we would be cinders. Seriously. We would be deemed unfit to continue our existence. But I went back to study and learn, because the roots of such deviant behavior don’t just spring up; there is a reason. Turns out I had to go all the way back to the Diaspora.

This is not getting to the bus and my embarrassment. I talk to everyone; and had a good time with the usual folks. I am a rarity here; a white person. I am very comfortable with this. My parents, being from Scotland, were completely color-blind. My Grandfather Wallace, with his kids in the old flivver, saved a man from a lynching during the Depression. His kids had no idea what was up. The man was on the back roads of Michigan looking for a job. Grandpa Wallace took him back for a meal and a helper for a few weeks. My folks never understood that fuss.

I worked, went to school and lived in the equivalent of the UN. I had an Egyptian neighbor. He would be taking his daughter for a walk. I’d say, “hi, how are you?” He’d say, “We are just only sleep-walking.” One night, there’s pounding on my door. It’s the Iranians from across the hall. “Can you come look at this, please?” they ask. I look. “Is this supposed to be funny?” It’s the 3 Stooges. “Trust me, it’s hilarious.” I say. The next morning, I am called to prayers. Well, actually the muezzin blows his tinny little horn on his portable tape deck. I watch as the men bow and pray, bow and pray.

At the teaching hospital, where I pretended to work, but just asked a lot of questions, because the docs there love to teach, Indian Dr. Das, the Head of Cardiology stopped me. “”You are good with sounds, you play viola.” Since when, but okay. He’s babbling at Dr. Stepniewski, who’s Polish; another Cardiologist. I’m like, “you guys need a translator, you're going to kill a patient”. I ended up translating their conversation; the patient survived; I just hope she didn't end up with two left arms, or something.

This is all leading up to this: the "otherness" and how white supremacists play to that. There are approximately 100 to 150 active to semi-active bands, such as Panzerfaust Records(now defunct, but follow the link; those assholes need to be put out of business too) that promote hate music. They will actively try to recruit junior and senior high kids as they are the easiest of targets. The thing I found interesting is that they are using music to inculcate these hate values into people, particularly the young. Death metal particularly. I love music, the harder, the more metal the better. Despite the fact I am a classically trained violist means nothing. Beethoven is my god. Were he alive today, he’d be writing and playing metal. Beethoven also believed in the brotherhood of man. Think very carefully about that.

There are other groups of skinheads who are diametrically opposed to these ideals and should be promoted. They refer to themselves as SHARPs, or Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice. I love music. The fact that it is being used by people like Wayne Page, now deceased and his ilk is anathema to me. Peter Simi, who is associate professor of criminology at the University of Nebraska met Page in 2001 in California. Professor Simi’s specialty is hate crime and hate groups and I’m paraphrasing.

What is most alarming is the rising rate of proponents of white supremacy in the military. Because of lower recruitment rates, standards were lowered and white supremacists were allowed to join. Evil begets evil. I know from several people who have been in prison, done hard time that white supremacy abounds there. It should also be stated in the interest if fairness that an equal number of Latino and Gang Bangers reside there as well.

Here the original post ends, but I think that the gangs in prisons, by and large, exist as protection (see the wonderful “OZ” if you have not done so. It fully explores this subject.) and once out, most people who are NOT career criminals – and I can speak with authority -- having been housed with felons, leave that life behind. They return to normalcy.

Yet, today, we have one of the most anti-semitic, and if not yet, we will see, jew-baiting, hating Presidents as a Leader of the Free World. We might expect something like this from someone like Vladimir Putin, but guess what? Putin is above all, a statesman and he will not stoop to this sort of rhetoric. I am NOT a Putin apologist, by any means, but, BUT, when you have a Holocaust Memorial Day and do NOT mention the Jews, you are not far from calling out the the SS, the SA, and getting the ovens ready. I am inflammatory and I mean to be. Bring your shit on, Trump. 306 electoral votes my ass! YOU are our American Nazi!

God Bless anyone who has read this far, and I truly hope you have, because what I have to say next is said out of fear and hope. I'm going to provide two links that talk about the recent RNC and the events in Kenosha, WI. I see a country running dangerously close to the tipping point of madness. If, IF we wish to have an election come November 3rd, and a fair one, which seems to be less and less likely for a myriad of reasons -- USPS being sabotaged; Trump deciding he will not accept the terms; Law Enforcement, not including Military, stupidly getting involved; Barr's gang of ne'er-do-wells showing up uninvited and shooting random people; any number of any other things, not to mention Dems deciding "we've got this; may as well stay home!", we ALL really need to collect ourselves, be calm and do ... NOTHING! Stay home! Don't protest. Don't go out and do something that will provoke the authorities. 

I admit, there's much to be changed, up and down the line, but RIGHT NOW, sixty-four days prior to the election, we need to NOT give Trump an excuse to declare some bloviation of an excuse to declare Martial Law and keep his fat ass in the White House. We need for an orderly (as much as possible) election, and as fair as one as possible to occur, so we can get him OUT. The damage he's already caused is immense, and we need no more! I'm going to stop talking now; I think you're all smart enough to understand the danger our Republic is in and that we ALL need to unite and take a deep breath. Let's worry about fixing messes and addressing wrongs, after this election. If we don't settle down, 2016, may have been our last Presidential election. Have a great #IWSG! Here come the links! 

This Was the Week American Fascism Reached a Tipping Point

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