BLOGGING FROM A TO Z APRIL 2013 – LETTER “V”

VISITORS

(A Short story)

She came from a fairly logical, although chaotic background. Her father drank, but was a happy drunk. A former Captain in the Air Force, pilot of B-29s, he mustered out towards the end of the Korean Police Action after 2 crash landings after successful sorties down MIG alley; all shot up. The Captain landed his birds and saved his crews, but the landings were hard and there were injuries. In 1953, with no high school education, he married another Scot in Petoskey, Michigan, took entrance exams and went to college. The kid was an “oops baby” and Daddy was sole caretaker, while Ma worked 3 jobs to get Dad through school.

1st Lt. Glenn Wallace

The girl grew up as kids did in the 50s, semi-happily, thriving on neglect and left mostly to her own devices. Music was her passion from the minute of her birth; it was the only thing that really existed for her; that and reading. Reading was primarily for an escape from increasingly bitter arguments between parents; parents who were no longer agreeing on how to raise their only daughter. Daddy had it right. He'd been with her from her birth and knew the kid was like him. Ma did too, and was trying to do everything to change that. But the kid wouldn't have been happy with that. Thus, the conflict. So, the Daddy hung on.

Unaware of what this conflict concerned at the time, the kid went on her way, started playing the violin, still reading. A few years earlier, a failed suicide attempt on the part of Ma, drove a final wedge between the marriage of Daddy and Ma, although it would be years before the marriage ended formally. Through it all, Daddy and the kid discussed things. They would roam the night and look at the skies, Daddy swigging his Boone's Farm, or more increasingly, Vodka, but never mean or cruel. Ma could be so to the kid. Daddy was the kid's refuge and she appreciated his cold logic as he explained the heavens. He told her about Vega, Mars. He explained Einstein and his special Theory of Relativity. He loved Meteorology and explained the different types of clouds and their weather.

Ma Flying; guess who hates to fly?

As she grew and he ran out of answers for her, instead of mock-shouting “Because I said so!” which always made her laugh, he went to his brother-in-law, the Nuclear Physicist, who worked at Jack-Ass Flats in Nevada. Daddy wasn't prone to confabulation and often thought that Uncle had some wild stories, but then Daddy remembered some of his own hair-raising experiences flying his squadron out over the so-called Bermuda Triangle and was maybe, just maybe, a little less skeptical. So, with Uncle's 2 sons and Daddy's daughter, they explored the heavens and the world around them. Grand adventures.

Ma wasn't always so harsh; she'd had a hard childhood with grifter parents and would try to relate to her only child. She loved her, but wasn't always sure how to relate to her. She did sense an otherness, a logic or something she couldn't put her finger on. She said to the kid once, “you need to keep at least one foot in this world.” Her daughter looked at her blankly, for a moment. If she said anything in response, it is not remembered. Ma gave up. Her daughter was in parochial school, learning from Jesuit priests. In an attempt to find answers about the origins, meaning of the universe, god-consciousness, her teacher said, “Now, see here, you don't need me, to interpret all of this. You have that spark of divinity. You just have to seek it out for yourself. That's what you are, a seeker of truth.”

Hmm, at 12 years old, the girl knew she's not really old enough, but that thought took root, and still dwells there. Over the years, things change, as they do in every life. The girl grew up, made a whole bunch of bad choices and some damned good ones. She married young. That didn't work out, so she married again. That didn't work, either. That fabled 3^rd time is the charm? No, it isn't. But, somewhere along the way, she switched from violin to viola, majored in music and that took off. She never stepped foot in a classroom to teach, but taught privately for 30 years.

She played viola in every type of venue there was for that long as well and loved every minute of it. The 2^nd husband (also a violist; they met on a gig) was sad when the Zither Fairy didn't show up and turn his wife into a zither player, so the wife in a fit of frustration, went back to school and decided to major in something TOTALLY different than music; Computer Science. That is the left-brain talking, ladies and gentlemen, because unbeknownst to her, music is almost completely math, as is comp sci. She got rid of husband number 2 and went to work for IBM, who let her play all she wanted to and work from the road. Sweet deal. 3 years later, in an upward move, Verizon let her do the same thing. She was still seeking.

Wolf, Mary and Bernadette Peters

But, no one gets to have their cake and eat it, too. There's always a price to be paid, or scales to be balanced out. Our girl was also partying hard and making bad choices personally. That is not what caused her current predicament, but it didn't help either. Eventually, after a disastrous 3^rd marriage and 5 years of living with some guy who's abusive and capricious, she ends up in the hospital. She's already blind in one eye. Now, she's got malnutrition and COPD and CHF. She gets better after 2 months in the hospital and is placed in a homeless shelter.

After receiving her Disability and moving, she has a psychotic break and starts to manifest symptoms of Parkinson's Disease and they're pretty significant. She's legally blind and has dealt with that, so this is really not that big a deal. Once in a while it gets frustrating.

The interesting thing is this: with each sense that is damaged, other things come along that increase awareness of things not normally seen. She can feel someone's distress from far away. If she is still and quiet during the day, she can feel that, but faintly. It's stronger at night. She used to love the night time. After the psychotic break, she feared it for several months. She had what is known as “night terrors.” She would see things flitting around and it bothered her. About 2 months ago, she opened her eyes and they were there. Six of them. Shimmering, beautiful, the closest description would be almost like sunflowers, with appendages and digits.

I run this at night; my computer is in my bedroom.

They were in a semi-circle around the bed. Even the air shimmers and is golden. This house has always had a presence. Something jumping on the bed; nothing malign. But these 6 don't come all the time. They were fearsome at first. They only come when SETI@home isn't running at night; once a week at most. The girl become woman is logical, you see, but she remembers her Daddy and Uncle and their discussions about Area 51 and things thought to be preposterous. She shares the skepticism, but like her two relatives, she has an open mind. During the last visit, as she thought “I mean no harm and will protect you,” the smallest one, barely 2 feet high, put it's hand upon the edge of the coverlet. Three small fingers.

It's not an answer, it's more a piece of a large puzzle. We are born seekers. I don't know what anything is sometimes. I can't speak to anyone else's outlooks or zeitgeists, I only know that as I've aged and as I've had to deal with more and more physical challenges, I cease to be as alarmed by things that would have raised the hair on the back of my neck a decade ago. Scots are by nature, a fey group. We may be hella mathematicians, ship builders and doctors, but then, there's Nessie. Need I say more? 

Nessie is our claim to fame!

BLOGGING FROM A TO Z APRIL 2013 – LETTER “U”

UBIQUITY

ubiquity (noun) The state or capacity of being everywhere, especially at the same time; omnipresence; the ubiquity of magical beliefs. Okay, that's pretty straight forward. However, I maintain some things are more ubiquitous than others. Or maybe they're just more irritating. Paris Hilton comes to mind, as does Justin Bieber. I think I could do with a little less of their ubiquitous presence.

How about this?

                                          We seek him here, we seek him there,

                                          Those Frenchies seek him everywhere.

                                           Is he in Heaven, - is he in Hell?

                                          That damned elusive Pimpernel.

Now, of course, I'd probably side more with the proletariat, but it's a fun romp!

When the play, The Scarlet Pimpernel, written by Baroness Emma Orczy and adapted for stage by Julia Neilson and Fred Terry first opened in 1903 at Nottingham's Theatre Royal, The Scarlet Pimpernel was not well received. With a re-written final act by Terry, it reopened in London in 1905 and ran for 122 performances. It has been the template for spy novels and television shows. So, in it's many different iterations and over the generations, the Pimpernel is ubiquitous and will pop up here, there, and everywhere!

A member of "They?"

“They” are also ubiquitous. “They” are responsible for everything and have been for years. “They” are not “us.” “They” are the ones who've canceled your favorite TV show, “Zero Hour” even though it sucked out loud. “They” are the ones who towed your car even though you parked in front of a fire hydrant. “They” are the ones who wrote that horrible software that is unusable and crashes every five seconds. “They” are first cousins to “Them folks who...” “They” are going to raise taxes, take away your right to own bazookas, blimps and keep you from strolling through Area 51. “They” are everywhere. “They” have microphones in your ceiling fan and “they” are not going away. “They” are also transmitting music in your head. “They” are ubiquitous. Don't look in the mirror. You might see one of them! Just know that they are here, there and everywhere!

BLOGGING FROM A TO Z APRIL 2013 – LETTER “T”

Лев Троцкий

(Lev or Leon Trotsky)

When I was in college studying, I took Russian History and Languages for 2 years. Ever captivated by them, their art, their sheer heart in the face of adversity and completely fascinated by the Bolshevik Revolution. Trotsky was born Lev Davidovich Bronstein, but as all Russian Marxists soon found, it was easier to remain out of the clutches of the Czar's secret police with noms de guerre. Lenin was born Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov and Stalin, a Georgian, was born with Iosif Vissarionovich Djugashvili. He deliberately chose the moniker “Stalin,” because in Russian, it means “steel.” Harbinger of things to come and not good things.

Here, artist; you must make me look MORE evil. Draw some fangs and a tail!

Trotsky, was initially a member of the Menshevik party, a more loosely-organized and liberal party than the Bolshevik party. Although he and Lenin quarreled and often times had out and out splits over dogma of true Marxism, prior to the 1917 revolution, they both recognized the other's worth. Neither, however trusted Stalin, although he too was part of the inner circle.

Stalin doesn't even look like he's having a good time here. Spoilsport!

Trotsky initially came to prominence in 1905. A peaceful strike was held at one of the shipyards and grew into a general strike in St. Petersburg. Father Georgi Gapon led a peaceful procession of the participants and citizens through the streets to the Winter Palace to plead with Czar Nicholas for food and relief for the oppressive government. The Palace Guard fired upon the peaceful gathering, causing the deaths of a 1,000 of those gathered. This has become known as Bloody Sunday.

Trotsky was picked up, arrested and put on trial, a “show trial.” He was allowed to speak in his defense, although the resulting verdict was a foregone conclusion. It is said that he gave the “speech of his life.” A superior orator, dynamic, forceful and an incredible writer; impassioned, logical and understanding of what was at stake and how to communicate to people who were not necessarily the most literate, Lenin understood him and wanted him on the Bolshevik's side. Stalin feared him.

Trotsky and his daughter Nina in 1915, France

After these events, Trotsky secretly returned to Russia from imprisonment in Siberia, and set up shop in Kiev. He had been printing leaflets in Kiev, but soon decided he needed a wider audience. He went north, to St. Petersburg, was discovered and had to flee to rural Finland. During all this running and fleeing, he managed to found the newspaper Pravda, Truth.

The Menshevik and Bolshevik parties were still at odds, but slowly gaining strength and also consensus about what they wanted to achieve for Russia. It was decided at one of their many gabfests that they would unite as one. Zinoviev, Bukharin, Bulganin, Plekhanov, Kirov and others, to a man, all lined up behind Lenin. Lenin and Trotsky continued to spat, but again, they all argued over dogma. There is a scene in “Reds” that depicts it accurately. It just sounds like a lot of yelling.

This was probably taken after a yelling session in the Politburo.

While all of this is going on, the country is literally falling apart. In 1914, when WWI breaks out, Trotsky is in France, once again in exile. Then, France deports him to Spain for anti-war activities. This has come about, because when Lenin declared the Third Internationale, he adopted it as written by Trotsky, which excluded Russia from WWI entirely. So, Spain, says, “well, we can't have any peace-mongers here,” and they ship Trotsky to the U.S. The U.S. lets him stay and teach or write or play chess, for a while, and then in 1917, the Russian Revolution breaks out. Czar Nicky gets tossed and Trotsky hops a ship under Swedish registry which gets waylaid by the British government and sent to Canada. Trotsky gets detained for a month in an internment camp in Nova Scotia. All because Lenin, as head of the Bolshevik party, pulled Russia, who at that time was an ally, OUT of the war.

After some fum-fawing, and fooling around, the Russian foreign minister Pavel Malyukov demanded the release of Leon Trotsky as a Russian Citizen, and the British Government released him on April 29^th, 1917. When he arrived home, although he agreed with the Bolshevik position, he didn't join right away. Eventually he did, and sided with Lenin against Zinoview and Kamenev to overthrow the Provisional Government headed by Aleksandr Kerensky. Stalin wrote of Trotsky's particular prowess as a Military Leader in his memoirs, a passage Trotsky later expunged from his own works; the enmity between the two that great even then.

Trotsky was not only a wizard on the battlefield. He was the consummate politician, securing Lenin's primacy in the Soviet, keeping the power centralized and by the end of 1917, Trotsky was the number 2 man in the Bolshevik Party. He streamlined the organization and centralization, which had been Zinoviev's task. Zinoviev did feel the slight, but soldiered on; he had been with Lenin for over a decade.

The yelling ranged from distribution of goods, to whether or not Russia should recognize other countries at war.

Trotsky went on to experience more brilliant achievements, became Head of the Red Army in 1918 and several reversals (losing his beloved army in 1925) in fortune. It is no secret that Stalin hated and feared him more than any other man. In Lenin's last will and testament, he literally beseeches the heirs “Stalin is too coarse... becomes intolerable in a Secretary General.” Of Trotsky, Lenin says, “...is distinguished not only by his outstanding ability. He is personally perhaps the most capable man in the C.C. (Central Committee) but he has displayed excessive self-assurance and excessive preoccupation with the administrative side of his work.”

After Lenin's death, Stalin reclaimed every copy of this testament that he could, killed the recipients and hounded Trotsky and thwarted him in everything the man tried to do. Trotsky and his family, after running for several years, ended up seeking asylum in 1935 in Mexico City. There he studied, wrote, and published “true” histories of the Bolshevik revolution. He lived quietly in a house that belonged to the painter Diego Rivera. On August 21, 1940, and undercover NKVD agent, Ramon Mercader broke into his house and hit him in the head with a pickaxe. Trotsky was rushed to a hospital and operated on, but died a day later. He was 60 years old.

I always liked Trotsky; the pen is mightier than the sword, he proved that. It would have been a far different USSR or CCCP had Trotsky and not Stalin succeeded Lenin. We never really stop to think that Lenin was in power, REALLY in power from 1918 until 1922, when he had his first stroke. There are rumors that Stalin had Lenin killed. Who knows? But Stalin ruled from 1924 until 1953; that's a long time to instill a zeitgeist of fear, paranoia and utter hatred for anything outside of yourself. Djugashvili started his career at a Jesuit monastery. I too, was taught by Jesuits, but it just deepens the mystery. One of the first things Stalin did was treat his own SSR, Georgia with immense cruelty. Part of the Harvest of Sorrow.

He has his own Facebook page, "Imaginary Trotsky." Like all animals he graces us with his presence, even if he is no longer here.

On a happier note, in 1987, I inherited a little blue ball of fluff. He squawked when I took him home. I was in the midst of taking some Russian Language and Russian History classes. I didn't know what this little guy was; I named him “Trotsky.” He turned out to be a stunning Russian Blue when he grew up. Smart as a whip and a one person cat. Very protective; all 20 pounds of him. He also had this weird Siamese yowl. I didn't think much about that. He really wasn't a talker. We went pretty much everywhere together. He died in 2002 at the age of 17. I miss him; I found out some cool stuff about these cats. The Arkangel (Russian Blue) cats as they're called, are from Leningrad. During WWII, the breed almost died out, during the 900-day siege by the Nazis. They've been infused with Siamese blood to keep them going, hence the yowl. I learn new stuff all the time. Here's to you, товарищ Троцкий (pal Trotsky.)