He awakens Me morning by morning;
He awakens My ear to listen as a disciple.
Shabbat morning arrives damp and gray at Pollen Acres this morning. Started a Paul Wilbur mix on the puck to cheer up the sullen bird and remind me that this day is not lived like the other days. After the ugly hate fest of last week, I need a holy day to remind me that I am just passing through.
Thoughts of our fallen nature follow me around the day, and the mystery of the animal skins that clothed Adam and Eve slowly yields revelations of redemption and choice as I ponder the elemental teachings of my faith. Old men have the luxury of pondering. Perhaps that is why we dream dreams while the youth prophesize.
My abused bod is slowly recovering from the last series of maladies. I am almost up for walking again once we get the first frost. Note the almost. I don’t want to get too carried away. Another online friend goes into hospice as her nephew keeps us up to date with her struggles. Sometimes you just have to say enough, and she did.
I look at my desktop and think maybe it is time for me to simplify too. A small laptop sits on my right, a large laptop to my left, a tablet sits under the desk lamp and the smartphone is somewhere nearby. Not to mention the PC that I normally use for writing and entertainment. And they all are on and are communicating.
And so I ponder between the sips and watch the day unfold out my window.
Well, I tried to not watch the hearings, but clips kept appearing on my news feeds so I finally relented and watched Kavanaugh’s opening statement. I was only going to stay for that but got caught up in the drama. I hate that in me just as I hated what happened to me when I found myself mobs during the 1960’s. Rationality goes out the window and I become impelled by the mob’s emotions.
I resent being controlled and manipulated by outsiders, and in those ‘demonstrations’ I quickly saw there were agitators spread throughout the mob, and those same agitators showed up for all the mobs and effectively steered it. I wanted no part of that charade.
But I was moved by Kavanaugh fighting back. He sure wasn’t getting any support from the Republicans, and it wasn’t until Lindsey Graham blasted the hearing that I saw any real support. John McCain must have returned Lindsey’s balls to him before he died.
However, in the midst of all this inner turmoil, dawn came around again and slowly pushed aside the gossamer threads of sleepiness, and the coffee mug soothed sleep swollen fingers as it released its soothing spell in my innards. I can move on to the more important but less dramatic things in my own little world. Happy dogs greet the day with vigorous chasing and games of tug-o-war. Snooks voice raises in comment above the thumping and growling.
And I am reminded that Washington politics is not for me. Reality for me is the mowing of grass, the preparations for winter, the fallen mantlepiece that I need to re-glue and re-hang. Dirty laundry needs to be taken to the laundry basket, and preparations need to be made for Shabbat so that it is truly a day of rest. That is my role in life. Others can elect a judge and engage in reprehensible acts while doing it. That, thankfully, is not my job.
Thursday dawns dark, damp, cold and overcast here in my little corner retirement paradise. It is 63°, but it supposedly ‘feels like’ 62°. Yeah, my finely tuned instrument can tell the difference of one degree. And I am wheezing like a harmonica as the allergens of a hundred species of misery float by in their fall reproductive cycle. Some trees down here have two growing seasons in Spring and Fall, treating us mouth breathers to two wonderful seasons of clogged nasal passages and bucket loads of phlegm. I kinda knew old age was going to be painful, but I wasn’t ready for unsanitary.
And the nomination three ring circus plays on with those humble stalwarts in congress that just wanna be your leaders because, well, they would be so good to you. If anything proves just how unfit they are for the job, the judicial hearings illustrate it. We don’t draw from the top with public overlords servants, but rather from a vast sea of vain narcissists who survive by giving you bright baubles as they enrich themselves. But I rant. Hang the lot of them in a revolution, and a brand-new crop arises.
Big election heah in Texas is a frat boy from El Paso who is running as the guy you’d like to hang with, and Ted Cruz. Better the devil you know is my assessment. I still hold Ted’s folding like a tent in the Presidential primaries against him, though Trump has turned out to be a better administrator than I thought he would be and would have been the wiser choice.
The mistake I make is in thinking that politicians’ matter. I have really got to learn to become more la-de-dah. Save the whales! Global warming is real! Men are tyrants and rapists! All old white males are bigots! Boycott Israel! Legalize pot! Kill legal opiates!
Well … off my soap box.
Time for my annual has rolled around again. I think I am at an age where the rubber finger is no longer required. There is an upside to aging other than the usual dyspepsia. And my health plan has changed again in response to the failure of political ‘leaders’ to expunge that horror that they created. But at this point in life, I am thinking more along the lines of palliative care. So I become an opiate addict? I’ll merely die in a happy fog, not hurting anybody. But getting back to politics, it seems that they even want to rescue us from that comfort. Not that I am using anything like that right now, but I sure would like that to be an option.
And so tempus fugits a bit more as the morning moves on to its high point of breakfast. I have exceeded my goal of 200+ words for the day. After that, there is nothing else to conquer, so I take a nap.
Wednesday dawns warm and humid as the season grinds on from the equinox to the winter solstice. The summer’s heat finally broke here, but cool is still in the offing. The morning dogpile is in full swing. I don’t know what the primal urge is for them, but seldom does any dog sit one out. But I don’t do dogpiles and watch the joy from the comfort of my $49 executive chair, coffee cup in hand.
The newsies have cooled it for the day now that the next round of political assassinations deliberations are penciled into the congressional calendars. Forget respect and honor. We are talking principles here. Or something like that.
But the pause does let good news seep through. An online friend finds their cat who had gotten out. In this part of the country, cats do not fare well outdoors, so this is a special delight.
My oft abused body has sort of returned to an acceptable state if not perfect state of functioning. It has been awhile. It is hard to adjust downward from my old 2600 calorie lifestyle to 2000 <. The servings seem so small, but sure do make a difference when I go to bed. 2600 calories and suffer. 2000 calories and I sleep. The choice is clear. But I have never governed myself with good choices.
So the morning continues. Coffee. News. Staring out the window and musing.
Waffle Sunday dawns overcast, but there is only one chance in five of moisture. And this evening Sukkot arrives, though this year I will not be building a sukkah. My little porch will suffice and I shall sit out in the Texas heat from sundown until bedtime, then retire to my temperature controlled haven for a nights rest at a perfect 66°.
The drama continues yet another supporter of the lefts abused darling says she knows nothing of any assault by Judge Kavanaugh, and their Anita Hill gambit crumbles taking the “you gotta believe the girl” meme with it. It dismays me that so many are willing to play the game. It probably shouldn’t, though. There is such an evil spirit in the land, and as I read the holy writs, it will prevail eventually.
On a less morose note, today is pecan waffle day. Maybe even a patty of pork-free sausage if there is any left. I have grown to enjoy the Sunday brunch preparations, looking at them as a time of knitting rather than a family burden.
But first, I need to finish the second cup.
Shabbat comes gently after a long blissful sleep last night. A aged cantor reads the ancient liturgy on the google puck. The air filter hisses softly behind me as I peer into this electronic window into your world, wondering what to chronicle.
Old men don’t chronicle great events. We have good days, and bad days. Good nights, and bad nights. We huff at the world’s social upheavals, knowing how easily any given group is provoked to rage by one malcontent, and scoff at the wisdom of the politicians. It is no longer about us. Still, we have our little quiet victories in putting the seeds of doubt into minds of youthful zealots who would lead us into violence.
We truly don’t war against flesh and blood, but with principalities and wickedness in high places. The wisdom of the wise is truly confounded. A raging spirit is upon the land, but no one truly comprehends its source nor its intent. Good has become evil, and evil has become good. My aging eyes shift from the world’s horizon to the horizon beyond the world. As above, so below.
Wisdom lives, but few perceive her, and even fewer truly understand her. She doesn’t stand on soapboxes or pedestals, but rather in gates and intersections along a path, saying one cannot serve two masters. And you can precisely determine which master you serve by the product of your hands and tongue. The dreadful gift of Eve faces us every time we pass Wisdom by. Choose this day whom you will serve.
Oh. And good morning!
It was a glorious sunrise, or so I was told. I slept in this morning again this morning as my latest ailment relented last night and my body returned to near normal. The bed felt so good, except for the every-two -minute checks from the mutts.
Spent a pleasant lunch with a friend but had to cut the visit short because of the malady. Walked away with a load of homemade honey and cheese that I am sure to enjoy. Sure do wish the visit were today now that I am feeling better. But that is life. We deal with it as it arises.
And this is preparation day again. It is about 2/3 of the way through the fall holy days. Sukkot for Jews, Feast of Booths for Christians. I didn’t build a booth this year of blurred days. I’ll compromise and sit on the porch late into the evenings if the weather permits.
The outrage of cynical political strategy continues with the appointment of a Supreme Court judge. A spirit of ugly has descended upon Democrats, and it doesn’t bode well for liberty. Someone or something has blinded them to the horror that they are unleashing. One can argue the legitimacy of a candidate. But that doesn’t excuse the tactics. Enough said.
So the day goes on, and I look at this fluff of a journal, a little embarrassed at how little I shake the earth. But not too embarrassed to post this.
A late good morning!