Monday afternoon finds me sitting here covered in wood chips from the electric tree saw. It is so disappointing to take three days to do what I used to do in a morning. But that is one of the indignities that sooner or later befalls all of us.
One problem with my studio is that it sets at one end of the house, and the central air pipes are not big enough to keep the room chilled when it hits 99° outside. I wanted to get further along, but tomorrow rain is in the forecast, so the tree trimming will be set back a few days. Not that we gripe about rain these days. Five years in a persistent severe drought has taught me a little humility. This time last year we had two weeks of unending 100+ weather, and no rain since January.
I had to give up my little contribution to the synagogue as the janitor. It was a pretty good way to enter the Shabbat by preparing the shul, as we affectionately call our little place. But some rather unsavory developments in my overall health has forced me to scale back my public participations as well. Another indignity.
So anyway … I sit here coated in chips from the chain saw, and try to pound out a little journal. What does one talk about late in the day? Sunlight dappling through the bowers? More like blasting holes in the trees as it burns its way through them!
News in Israel is both optimistic and grim. As usual, the Palestinians and their jihadists are more talk than results oriented. Already, they are asking for someone to deliver them … as long as they don’t have to make any concessions. Israel cannot let them continue to rain rockets down on them, and almost have to go in and pacify Gaza. I can hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth already. I am unmoved.
And … the border. *sigh!* … the one thing this administration was legally and Constitutionally obligated to do, and could have been done without Congressional approval, was to secure the borders. Enough said.
But perhaps it matters not. In a few short years, they’ll be changing my Senior Pampers at the Longhorn Senior Care facility. They probably will do it for about one fourth the cost of a surly unionized citizen, but will buy my diapers from Mexico. Señor Pañales they’ll call ’em.