Perhaps the greatest threat to all of humanity is how heavily invested we are in the mythologies that shape our culture. We allow our mythologies to supersede law. We allow mythologies to shape our political views. We even allow mythologies to tell us what love is and who deserves it. Mythologies have such a heavy place in world culture that I wonder if we have the slightest grasp on reality at all.
I’m in an argumentative mood this morning as I’m trying to solve for myself what is the appropriate response to world events. Normally, that might result in an incredibly long missive, but I slept on my left hand some strange sort of way and the pain of moving my fingers to type is offputting. It’s also trash day and I don’t have ours out by the curb yet, so I can’t spend too much time in explanations.
Sitting in my inbox this morning was an email from the Social Security Administration letting me know that I will automatically be enrolled in Medicare on my 65th birthday. The email attempts to encourage me to learn about the program now so that I can make an informed decision when the time comes. That almost sounds reasonable, and I certainly will be taking a closer look at the program.
The problem is that I keep seeing headlines about Musk and Ramaswamy wanting to gut Social Security, Medicare, and Medicaid. What’s going on here? Mythology. The two DOGE members are creating a mythology for their non-existent organization to push the illegal concept that they have any power at all. They don’t. They aren’t a real government department. They don’t have government funding. They are simply two rich guys throwing around an acronym trying to get their way. It’s all smoke and mirrors. Mythology.
[NOTE: AT THIS POINT, EVERYTHING I’D WRITTEN BLOW THIS POINT WAS DELETED BY AN AUTOSAVE ATTEMPT. I’M NOT SURE I’LL REMEMBER EVERYTHING I’D PREVIOUSLY TYPED.]
Unfortunately, the world has been conditioned to believe in mythology. From our earliest forms of existence, humanity has looked to myths and legends to explain what was unexplainable. When the mythologies of one group conflicted with the mythologies of another group then they fought each other for dominance. This backward and unreasonable means of justifying violence against each other has been part of our teaching for so long that we can’t imagine what reality is without them. We’ve allowed mythology to determine our ideas of governance, community, justice, personal responsibility, and medicine. We are so far removed from reality that many are unable to recognize it when its harshness slaps them in the face.
Here’s some reality for you. God is not love. Love is love. Love does not require a sacrifice. Love does not come from any third party. Love does not condemn one to eternal punishment. Love is not eternal. Love is not conditional. No deity is going to grow your crops more abundantly. No deity is going to deny you rain based on your faithfulness. The only ‘race’ is human. There are more than two genders. Earth is not the center of the universe. The universe is expanding more rapidly than we ever thought. Creation does not have an endpoint. This is just a touch of all the mythologies that reality has to dismantle.
Ingrained mythologies cause us to have a warped sense of morality. I found this present in an opinion piece in the New York Times that attempts to argue against vigilante justice. The author’s premise is that murder is always wrong. Therefore, if the person who killed an insurance CEO murdered that individual, then what they did was immoral. This is a mythology-based argument, though, that goes back to the Code of Hammurabi, circa 1750 BCE. That is where the whole “thou shall not commit murder” thing originated.
There are some problems with this form of thought. First, Luigi Mangione is being charged with second-degree murder. If we can assign varying degrees of murder, then not all murder is the same which allows for some forms of killing to not be murder. The School of Law at Cornell University defines second-degree murder as “typically murder with malicious intent but not premeditated. The mens rea of the defendant is intent to kill, intent to inflict serious bodily harm, or act with an abandoned heart (e.g., reckless conduct lacking concern for human life or having a high risk of death).” This requires a judge or jury to imply a state of mind on the part of the defendant even if there is no confession to the act. I’m sorry, but who among you is a mind reader of thoughts that have already passed? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
Secondly, if murder is always wrong, then how do we justify war? Is not war nothing more than the corporate murder of one people group for the alleged benefit of another people group? How is killing one person immoral but killing hundreds or thousands of people, such as those in Gaza or Ukraine not grotesquely more immorally murderous than a single death? If we are going to justify the greater loss of life then how do we not justify the individual loss of life? There has to be a balance here or everything is meaningless.
Article 3 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states that “Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person.” Embracing human rights at this level requires setting aside mythology. The origin of life is no longer debatable because it is irrelevant. Everyone has the right to life. By definition, that means you have the right to breathe in and out. Everyone has the right to liberty, to be free of all incumbrance, servitude, or involuntary subjugation. Everyone has the right to ‘security of person,’ to not live under the threat of pain or death for any reason.
Putting a bullet through someone’s head violates their right to life. Denying a person necessary and appropriate medical care violates their ‘security of person.’ Which is worse? Are they not both equal? What about the encumbrance of debt from medical care? Certainly, that violates one’s right to liberty, does it not? Therefore, if ending the life of one prevents that one from ending, by proxy, the lives of thousands, is that not an acceptable outcome? Or, are we willing to charge both with murder? If Congress cuts funding for poor and elderly people, resulting in the deaths of those people, is not Congress also guilty of murder? If a president sends the army off to do battle, is not the blood of everyone killed on the hands of that president?
Mythology has led us to a grotesque and ill-formed illusion of individuality. The one is not greater, nor more valuable than the whole. There are no ‘bootstraps’ by which one must pull themselves up. We are now, as always, reliant on community. From the beginning of time, women have helped other women deliver their babies and care for their young. From the beginning of time, food was shared with those who needed it with no cost imposed on anyone. From the beginning of time, humankind has relied on the community to provide safety, shelter, and clothing. Humanity is not a collection of individuals, for individuals on their own cannot sustain life beyond themselves. Community is requisite for the propagation of the species.
I have grown tired of hearing people, including the president, state that “violence is not American.” Bullshit. From the moment the first Europeans set foot on this continent, violence has been at the heart of their actions and philosophies because of their belief in mythologies. Mythologies told them that the indigenous people were “savages” that needed to be exterminated. Mythologies told them that people of color were not human and could therefore be rightfully enslaved. The American Revolution required the justification of violence against troops representing King George III. For our entire existence, we have lurched from war to war, relying on it to shore up our economy and further our dominance over others. Violence is American.
Mythology leads us to believe that our system of checks and balances is sufficient to ensure justice. Yet, corruption has been present from the very beginning. That system of checks and balances becomes inept as each branch of government passes and enforces laws that further enshrine the powers of the others. Should “we the people” object to the crimes of government, punishment for such is too cumbersome, timely, costly, and unwieldy to yield any effect. There is no justice for those harmed by the actions of this government or any other. There is no justice for those harmed by the actions of corporations or the oligarchs they create.
Void of justice, what choice does one have but to commit acts of violence in order to protect the life, liberty, and security of person for us all? Do we dare claim that one’s good deeds outweigh the lives they’ve taken? How do we justify prosecuting the crimes of one when we ignore the more numerous crimes of others?
If we are going to survive as a people, we must accept the fact that in the absence of justice, violence against the unjust becomes necessary. Giving insurance companies the right to deny care for others is patently unjust. Giving the government the ability to remove funding for or add barriers to healthcare is inherently unjust. Allowing police to kill without justification is uniquely unjust.
If we cannot have justice, then we must embrace violence to protect our lives, our liberty, and our sense of person.
Don’t argue with me until you’ve brought me more coffee. And food. I’m not in the fucking mood.
The bed was crowded this morning. Queen Bit, licking at my hair, woke me five minutes before the alarm. Solaris was on my head. Gabby was in my lap. Frankie, the smashed-face wheezer kitty, was on my feet. Both dogs were at my side, snuggled in close. Kat had Fat Guy and Kronk snuggling with her. Hunger was the only motivator for anyone to move. Once I’m up, the cats know food is coming next.
Once the cats are fed, it’s time to take the dogs out. Hamilton prances impatiently as I get dressed. He doesn’t understand that with a windchill of 0, I need a fleece below the twenty-pound overcoat. Putting on the coat is a little painful this morning. Once we’re outside, though, I’m glad I have it. The wind blows from the Northwest, pushing the fur from the collar onto my face. The ground crunches beneath each step. Hamilton loves the cold and does a couple of quick laps around the yard. Belvedere does what he came to do and then returns to my side, anxious to go back indoors. A gust of wind tries to take the hat off my head.
With the dogs fed and coffee in hand, I sit down and wake up the computer. A number of AP alerts pop up from overnight. Biden pardons 1,500. Time selects a demon as its Person of the Year. North Carolina seals a five-year deal with Bill Belichick. Hannah Kobayashi is found safe. The importance of any story depends on what one has at stake. Are you harmed? Are you threatened? Do you benefit?
A shooter arrested for killing a CEO fights extradition. Is he a hero? Do insurance workers have a reason to be afraid? Opinions try to keep some balance on the highwire of morality. The demonization of insurance companies comes easily. Yet, it is legislatures that deal the most damage. Indiana state code could threaten health coverage for 754,000 Hoosiers. Yes, we are included in that number. The US House passed a defense bill that denies coverage for transgender minors. We have friends who are affected.
Meanwhile, CEOs are tripping. Literally. They’re high as fuck.
If killing one CEO strikes fear into the insurance industry, what might it take to deliver the same level of fear to Congress? We complain about insurance companies, and rightfully so, but the solution of Universal Healthcare has to come from the idiots you elected to Congress and the bunch being seated in January isn’t likely to be cooperative on the subject without some motivation. Is targeted violence an answer? Nothing else has worked. We need to look carefully at the options.
Putting this update together is being complicated and painful. I’m sure I’ve seen a story this morning about rising cancer costs, but I can’t find it. That happens a lot. My head still hurts, focus and memory are shakey at best. I sit here struggling with what to write.
Do I care that more teens are looking at porn? Only to the extent that what they’re watching tends to be more violent. When parents fail to provide honest answers and never have reasonable conversations about sex, then yeah, kids are going to look to porn for that information. Teens have questions but they’re finding adults don’t have answers. Want a better outcome? Provide a better resource.
Totally unrelated to anything, the National Labor Relations Board has ruled that reality TV contestants are technically employees. Yeah, that’s going to affect what we see next year.
If you came here from Facebook, you may want to be aware that Meta, FB’s parent company, donated $1 million to the Felon’s inauguration. Google+, where are you when we need you?
Another alert pops up, this time from the bank. They’re insisting that I need to put $186 in my account to bring the balance to $0. The only thing I can do about that is this: Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter. CashApp: $ciletbetter. Other than that, I’m just screwed until the first of the year.
The animals have all settled down for their morning nap. I need some hot cereal and my meds. That means I should stop typing now.
Is this even useful to anyone? I wonder. Maybe I’m just typing words.
-$135. Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter. CashApp: $ciletbetter. Thank you.
Run with me
As we race
Against my brain
While cats stare
At damage
They caused.
Books scattered
Screen pushed
Glasses dumped
Popcorn spilled
Dog pooped
Trash eaten.
Run with me
Grab coffee
Feel the spin
Find a chair
Cat in lap
Dogs in bed.
Government calls
Gets info wrong
Mom’s big fear
Being tracked
Is now real
No retreat.
Run with me
From the world
Bullets fly
Who’s the victim
Russian email
Highway demise.
Dreamers denied
Abuse rampant
Your young child
My young daughter
Are never safe
No matter what.
Run with me
Into the snow
Feel the cold
In your bones
Hear that boom?
The sky falls.
Fetch the mail
Pay the bills
Grace passes
Deficit
No spending
Just more stress.
Run with me
Window glows
Sirens scream
At midnight
Am I dead?
Help passes.
Blizzard dreams
In my sleep
My phone melts
Kat arrives
Head for home
Where’s the road?
Run with me
Grab coffee
Solve puzzles
Eat your food
Take your meds
Sleep for now.
Grace. The bank is giving us 24 hours to cover the now $85 deficit in the account. Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter. CashApp: $ciletbetter. Thank you for any help you can give.
Sleep. I seem unable to keep my eyes open and my brain functioning. My chest tightens, my head hurts, and my eyes lose focus. Caffeine has no effect. I sit and stare at nothing for minutes at a time. I stumble over cats on the floor. Any appearance of coherence is a momentary illusion.
Birthright. The dumpster fire that is our president-elect wants to eliminate birthright citizenship enshrined by the 14th Amendment. This is no slippery slope. This is destroying the dam. If one can be denied citizenship, all may face the same fate. If one is not a citizen where they are born, do they have citizenship anywhere? Shadows of 1938 Germany are looming large.
Literature has lost a contemporary titan. Nikki Giovani has died at the age of 81. “This country is a land mass that could be called anything, and for people to act like this is some kind of sacred territory is an insanity,” she wrote. She also warned, “The tragic loneliness black women consistently face as we stand before judgmental others—sometimes white, but sometimes black; sometimes male, but sometimes female—demands that we have some wisdom, experience, and some passion with which to combat this abuse.” May the resonance of her voice never fade.
Football’s two worst teams met on Monday night and were “Simpson-ified” as Disney/ESPN/ABC played with near real-time animation of the players. Homer threw a touchdown in the first quarter. Players drank at Moe’s juicestand. Plopper (the pig) became the football in the fourth quarter. The game itself was so laughable that it was frequently difficult to tell the difference between the real events and prepared bits. The ending looked like something Matt Groening himself might have written. I only know from watching highlights. I went to bed well before the half.
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Sunday Morning Update: 12/08/24
December 8, 2024
Listen carefully to the sounds around the world. Syria’s al-Assad has disappeared. A 50-year dynasty has been deposed. What began with “Arab Spring” ended with over 500,000 dead. Some celebrate—some mourn. Others worry. Will terrorism return? Who has control of chemical weapons? Where are the Kurds? What happens to foreign bases? Humanity excels at creating complex situations and problems that are not easily solved. For all the wars and conflicts, we remain our own worst enemy.
Step away. Ignore the world and read. Spend more time in critical thought. Let the words sink deep. Mull the choice of vocabulary. Consider the implications. Parse what can be taken at face value from that which hides deeper meaning. Expand the ways you see the world.
Step away. Arm yourself with a fresh view of history. Read the books others want banned, even if you’ve read them before. Force yourself to answer the tough questions. Open more than one text at a time so that the brain in your head does not get lazy. Push your mind into unfamiliar territory. Glean wisdom from sources you’ve never known.
Step away. Give yourself time to think. Write down your thoughts. Wrestle with the words. Scratch out that last sentence and try again. Do not type with speed. Question yourself. Argue against your opinions. Let no conclusion go untested. Check the influence of your native biases. Give no ground to the mythologies of your youth.
Refill the coffee mug. The dogs that woke early now rest comfortably on the bed. Thoughts bombard my head, each fighting to be heard. What does it matter that the Eras tour has ended? What are the consequences of old shoes selling for $28 million? Fools part with money even as their own cupboards grow bare. The songs that linger now are those sung long ago. Cherished memories leave no souvenirs.
Age colours my vision. Depth of field is set by my experience. I wander. Is that the ticking of the clock or the sound of my boots as I pace the hallway? How many circles can I make before my legs collapse? I would dance but the music changes too quickly.
No one is well. We struggle to breathe. Moving brings us pain. Eating makes us ill. Medicine numbs us to the cancer that eats at our bodies. We sympathize. We empathize. Yet, we cannot help ourselves let alone give aid to others. We need… so much.
Spin around one last time. Step away.
Hold me. Close.
Breakfast was being served: coffee and eggs. Some anticipated going dancing, while others discussed last night’s date. It was a normal Sunday morning, until it wasn’t—7:45 AM. Some say the President knew. Some say there had been warnings. Sailors were caught by surprise. Chaos ensued.
49 Nakajima B5N Kate bombers armed with 800 kg (1760 lb) armor-piercing bombs. 40 B5N bombers armed with Type 91 torpedoes. 51 Aichi D3A Val dive bombers armed with 550 lb (249 kg) general-purpose bombs. 43 Mitsubishi A6M “Zero” fighters for air control and strafing. Early forms of radar couldn’t tell the difference. No one sounded a warning.
More than 3,500 military and civilian casualties. 900 bodies remain entombed on the USS Arizona. “A day that will live in infamy,” the President said. Only 16 who were there are still living.
Ask the nearest teenager if they know the significance of this day. I asked mine, one of the smartest kids I know. He didn’t have a clue. He’s not alone. We’ve forgotten what it’s truly like to be at war against fascism. We’ve forgotten the toll the war took on the entire world. Too many still deny the reality. Too many want to bring fascism back.
For decades after, we remained obsessed with the topic of war. Movies from Casablanca to Schindler’s List recounted the many ways the war turned relationships on their ears, gave rise to the question of who to trust, and reminded us of the horrors of evil. We watched with rapt attention. We vowed to never let it happen again.
Then, we elected fascism to the White House. We’ve given the enemy control. The talk is now of tariffs, with no understanding that Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor was in retaliation for US sanctions. We think we’re too big to be at risk. So did every soldier, sailor, and Marine who died on this day. We will never be too big. We can always be brought to our knees.
Under the guise of “freedom,” we now have apps that facilitate mothers abusing children for those who like to watch. The assassination of an oligarch yields both rage and glee. We involve ourselves in affairs as though we have a moral imperative while our choices of leaders reach new lows of immorality and inhumanity.
The men and women who died at Pearl Harbor on this day in 1941 perished in vain if we do not maintain a country that stands against fascism. We’ve lost the meaning of their sacrifice if we allow a felon and his oligarchs to feast on those who are poor, immigrant, and LGBTQIA+. We have no dignity as a nation if we do not recognize the obligation we have to protect the country and the world against hate.
The infamy of this date continues. Remember Pearl Harbor. Remember the souls lost. Remember your responsibility.
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Friday Morning Update: 12/06/24
December 6, 2024
Who deserves forgiveness? Who deserves protection? Why is Leonard Peltier still not on the list of those who may be pardoned? Your screams have been heard. Changes were made. Yet, are you any safer than you were at this time yesterday? What is the true benefit of being angry? If anger is the only thing that motivates us, do we genuinely care about the status of life or only the things that threaten us directly? If our motivations are not pure, then our actions are immoral. Still, we continue.
Vic saw the doctor yesterday and the patch was removed from his eye, leaving a shiner that might give some the impression that his long-suffering wife, Martha, clocked him. I told him it reminded me of the old Tareyton cigarette slogan: “I’d rather fight than switch.” You’ll need to be really old to understand why that’s funny. He’s still face-down until Sunday morning, too uncomfortable to sleep.
Oceans rise. Empires fall. Women struggle through it all. Children die—anger flares. Fear of chaos is everywhere. Do we care? I’m not sure we have the capacity. Who is not overwhelmed when considering the ills the world faces? There are limits in our willingness to fight for someone else’s life. Our own troubles are more than enough.
My bills exceed my income. To whom do I complain? I struggle with the morality of whether to ask for help. That doesn’t stop me from typing, Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter, CashApp: $ciletbetter. G brought me a form this morning to help with Xmas presents for the kids. They’ll be the boxes under the tree we don’t have. Cats and indoor trees don’t mix well. The dogs would be confused.
Perhaps, sometimes, it is better to do without. Are we eating too much chicken? Are we eating too much of everything? We are still the most obese nation in the world. We have difficulty saying ‘no’ to the grumble in our stomachs. A re-evaluation of what we spend on groceries may be appropriate.
As thousands travel to Indy this weekend, our patience will almost certainly be tested. Roads closed. Dining places are full. In return, money is spent, jobs are created. Is the tradeoff worth the trouble? Ask the one whose job depends on the crowd.
My head hurts. My eyes blur. There’s garbage to take out. I need more coffee.
I still love you. I still care.
Wind does not whistle past my window; it trumpets, screams, and roars. Feral cats scurry for cover. Random debris blows across the yard. Each gust feels like ice. One coat is not enough. Sending children off to school in such cold feels like cruelty. ‘When I was a kid’ does not apply here. This is different weather. This is a new existence. Check in at the nearest heating vent, pull a blanket over your head, and sleep.
Vic’s surgery was “difficult but successful.” He is back home but doesn’t seem to be able to relax. The face-down position he’s supposed to maintain is not comfortable. He has to be that way until at least Saturday. He sees the doctor again today. His situation reminds us of our father’s struggles.
You say you want a Revolution Well, you know We all wanna change the world You tell me that it's evolution Well, you know We all wanna change the world But when you talk about destruction Don't you know that you can count me out You say you got a real solution Well, you know We'd all love to see the plan You ask me for a contribution Well, you know We are doing what we can But if you want money for people with minds that hate All I can tell you is brother you have to wait You say you'll change the constitution Well, you know We all want to change your head You tell me it's the institution Well, you know You'd better free your mind instead But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow
Is this 1968 all over again? We dismissed Lennon’s words the first time around. Revolution never came. The Constitution never changed. No one had a real solution. I hear the voices screaming in anger, but anger alone makes nothing better. Assassinating a CEO does not give anyone better healthcare. Shooting at helpless children does not remove the stain of religion. Committing acts of genocide does not justify one’s position.
Screaming about how bad things are going to be does nothing to stop ‘things’ from being bad. We all want to see a plan. Others have a plan. Where is ours? Who is going to lead? Who is going to stand at the front of the line and announce the charge? Be sure, the enemy has a plan; they’ve shown it to us. Over half of us voted for their plan. This is their revolution.
Even the best and most elaborate plans fail. People still die of hunger. Young men are still asked to give their lives. The least of us still struggle to survive. If you say you want justice, you must first show mercy. If you say you want peace, you must first show compassion. One does not merely speak change into being. One must act. Two must act. Together, we must all act. A movement of music might lead everyone to sing, but what motivates us to march?
Milking the cow is messy. The price of coffee continues to rise. Who decides if we should die?
A beautiful building does not make the mythology real. A paper report does not return lives lost to injustice.
Words are merely interruptions in the quiet of nature. What have you accomplished in sharing your memes? Whose life is improved when you express your outrage? We are not prepared to change anything if we are not comfortable with the sacrifices required. Would the Franks be welcome in your home? Would you destroy the infrastructure of the oligarchy if it meant no streaming service?
Do not give me more words. The noise in my head is already too great a burden to bear. Show me your action, your compassion, and your mercy.
Today is a good day to find your emotionally safe place and stay there. Much of the news one is likely to encounter may be negative, and even frightening. Not everything directly affects you, but what does can cause us to feel threatened or frightened for those we love. What we see is that the entire world is in tumult right now. Even those who had considered fleeing trouble at home are now pondering the ramifications of returning. Is there anyone whose life is stable? Can one quell this rising angst?
Today is an important surgery day for my younger brother, Victor. He has a Full Thickness Muscular Hole in his right eye. The surgery won’t “fix” the problem but will hopefully keep it from getting any worse. Post-op requires remaining face-down for some period of time. Appropriate furniture for facilitating this need arrived last week. His long-suffering wife, Martha, will do her best to care for him, but this will not be an easy moment for either of them. Vision lost may never return. Our hopes are for a successful and uneventful surgery.
Life comes with threats and risks; some we control while others control us. Even something seemingly as inconsequential as walking around barefoot may cause us trouble. I would remind you that you have already overcome many obstacles that seemed insurmountable at the moment they were encountered. Learning to roll over in your crib was monumental, as was learning to crawl and then walk. Slowly, you learned to speak, to communicate, and then to use your words as a defense against things you did not like. You went to school and survived maneuvering social situations whose etiquette and instruction only seemed to come after having already done something wrong. You studied subjects that seemed to make no sense. You passed tests that threatened to defeat you. Life is partially defined by the things that threaten us the most. Yet, here you are, still breathing, still fighting, and still doing your best.
Remember, this is December. Of all the arguments made for and against this or that, few decisions will be voiced. Resist the urge to borrow trouble from the future, for that trouble may well decide to withdraw itself from consideration. Being ready to defend does not require keeping one’s finger on the trigger. Those who are wise know to rest, to eat well, and to enjoy time with the things you love. Save the fight for when it is needed for those who tilt too often at windmills are not ready when the real enemy is revealed.
May you find comfort to ease your pain. May you have coffee to keep you warm. May your day be filled with the embrace of those who love you.
A lot of snow is not required for lives to be endangered. Temperatures keep us huddled next to anything or anyone who is warm. Apologies were necessary as staples ordered while the sun was shining had to be delivered in negative conditions. Questions linger this morning with the possibility that buses will not deliver the kids to school on time.
While sitting in a waiting room, my coat and hat still in place, a man approached, distracted by my appearance. Standing before me, he said, “I just wanted to get a good look at you.” He took a seat nearby and continued. “Your look, it’s … what’s the word… ‘legendary?’ No, more like… ‘iconic.’ That’s it, you’re totally iconic.” A nurse called his name as I questioned the man’s mental condition. What are the motives behind compliments to strangers? Politics have taught us to question the subtext of the most simple and generous statements. Kind words are approached with suspicion. Our level of trust in fellow humans grows thin.
Actions speak volumes above words. Where one goes, what one does, shows more than character. What is one’s purpose? What motivates a soul to put their interests above others? Words can be a distraction. Actions tell no lies. Threats of what one might do are empty. Look instead at the steps they take, the people they hold close, and the rules they break. Do not stand so close as to become a victim of the shrapnel from other people’s lives.
Still, the words we choose are a reflection of our society. ‘Brain rot’ has become something more than a medical issue. Such language threatens to become a tool of racism. Vocabularies such as demure, slop, dynamic pricing, romantasy, and lore shape the context of who we are, the values we hold, and how one perceives their world. I question whether we weigh the weight of our words before we speak. Even when we fling terms and threats around with no regard, they can still cause damage when they land.
So many thoughts are filling my brain, yet few are worth the pain of typing. Time passes. Whether the page is made of paper or pixels, I still stare at the blankness and question how to fill it. Sometimes life is the same. How one chooses to fill the blank pages of their lives reveals their reality and the flaws of their mortality.
Sitting on my desk is a book I’ve yet to start that ultimately deals with the reality of the author’s death. I pick it up, open the cover, and then return it to the place on my desk from where it beckons to be read. Do I want to open myself to this conversation? Will pondering mortality shape my future reality?
There are cats demanding petting. There are meds waiting to be taken. There are naps hoping to be embraced. I do not care if the snow melts. I am here. I am warm. I do not long to wander.
With great thanks to all those who wished us well yesterday, we move forward into a new week that seems bound to substitute cacophony for content. Yes, a father pardoned a son. For all the screams and howls, the pedantic protests are superfluous. Empty rhetoric carries no consequence. There is no power in a 100-day agenda, either. Rules must still be followed. There is no penalty for time taken. Media desperate for eye-catching headlines stoke fear where there is no danger.
Take a moment. Breathe. We’ve wound our emotions so tightly that we’re ruining the things that should bring pleasure. People have gotten hurt. Fines are being levied. If the loss of a game adversely affects one’s life, does not the consequence belong to you, not the team? Media encourages putting money at risk, but your hands place the bet. The money you lose profits those already rich. Better we watch the games in silence than bring ourselves to hatred and poverty.
Worry gets us nowhere. Already, natural elements fight against the empty threats of a blithering fool. Tree workers with chainsaws are more dangerous to your grandparents than most political threats. Snow threatens more lives than do meaningless embassy appointments. Most of us choose the content our eyes see. If we choose to linger among the purveyors of fear then we create for ourselves an environment of concern. Can we not peruse information elsewhere? Are there no books that need to be read? Solutions are seldom found on a web page.
December offers too many alternatives to fear. Art installations are almost everywhere this time of year. Whose heart is not buoyed by spending time with pieces of beauty? Networks do their best to shove elements of peace and goodwill at us whether we observe a holiday or not. After spending more than $10 billion on Friday, Shoppers are likely to set another record today. Need support? Here, buy this bra. If all you do is sit at home and worry, there is no one to blame for your angst but yourself.
Even as we look toward the new year, perhaps the best response to all the drama is to take an art class. It may well add another seven years to your life. At least, Jane Fonda thinks so. Yesterday’s video is included for your benefit.
Getting older doesn’t mean dreams age, either. Thinking one is 18 again, attending a prom that never happened, fortunate that the vomit wasn’t real, and neither was the rejection, shows how flexible our minds can be.
Although, thinking I’m being kissed passes from joy to disappointment when I wake and find that it is only Solaris nibbling at my face, wanting food.
There are reasons to smile today. Look away from your screen and you may find them.
64th BIRTHDAY EDITION
Today is my birthday, Happy Birthday to ME! I see no reason to be quiet; I fought hard to get this far. Others did not make it. Some survived but not as well. Two years of chemo have slowed my pace and limited my actions, but I am still here. I am still fighting for my existence and that of the rest of the world. There is no reason to not rejoice, nor is there a reason for you to not join me. Grab a piece of pie and some coffee.
Fourteen years have passed since this day was so cold. This year, I am safe, warm, and loved. Whether I am well might be a matter of intense conversation but at this moment, I am surrounded by the animals that love me and trust me enough to sleep without worry. Children sleep in adjacent rooms, their only concern being that I not wake them before the sun rises. My mug is full of hot coffee. Choices for food are substantial. We are blessed with reasons to be happy and obligated by the universe to celebrate this trip around the sun.
Today, there will be music. Today, there will be laughter. Today, I set the course for the coming journey. I don’t worry about the weather for I have endured its trials before. Winds blow, rain and snow fall, and they let no one deter their path. Yet, there is no reason to be deterred. What has passed prepares us for what is to come. We move forward with determination and a smile, or at least a wry grin. There are still cards in my deck that I have not shown. I will not set my rudder to retreat.
Do not attempt to plant your flag on my soil for I am not defeated. I may not win on every battlefield, but you embarrass yourself if you think I am conquered. Plant your flags on your own houses so that we might know and avoid your foolishness. I am not obligated to tolerate willful ignorance. I am not subjugated by your loud rhetoric. There is no reason for me to listen to or be distracted by that which holds nothing good for humanity. Today, I refuse to accept the negative energy of contrary bigots and criminal apologists.
Not everyone gets the opportunities I am given. My privilege requires that stand for those who are injured by the stupidity and blindness of those who cannot see beyond the horizon of their own ignorance. Today has a history of taking a seat when told to stand, holding firm when told to move. The rights of humanity are not subject to political dogma or religious opinion. We walked with those different from us long before empty-minded leaders created the quarrel. Those who stand in the way of our progress are trampled under the boots of history.
Today, I read so that tomorrow I might speak. Today, I learn so that tomorrow I might teach. Yet, what shall I read and what shall I learn? Wisdom is found in the struggle of others for even death is not the victor that it claims to be. What if this is the last day I feel as good as I do now? Inevitably, there is someday in the future when I will not awaken. Yet, I do not let the fear of that day keep me from living this moment and doing with it what brings me joy and understanding. Today, I am in control of me. Today, I am powerful. Today, I am strong.
Perhaps, today, I will visit a bookstore. Perhaps, today, I will watch football. Perhaps, today, I will take a nap when I please. Perhaps, today, you will join me; if not here, then there. Participation options include but are not limited to Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter and CashApp: $ciletbetter. Or, perhaps, today, you will bring me coffee and a biscuit along with your smile. Bring the joy that lives inside you. Celebrate with me.
Today is MY birthday. Happy Birthday to me!
What good does it do to run from here to there as though life were nothing more than a race to see who dies first, or dies best? One may travel the world and still see nothing. Music may surround you and still you hear no tune. Days at the gym without any strength, weeks full of books without gaining any knowledge, years full of life with all motion and no substance, yet all we want is more of the nothing we already have.
Heated seats as we watch a movie, food delivered to my chair, immersed in sound that’s overwhelming, what is the story we’re seeing there? The lines between good and evil are blurred, titles mean nothing, those in power remain abusive, and trust is betrayed without remorse. ‘Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,’ even if he can dance.
Twenty-five days of “What will you give me?” Those who have everything still demand more. There is no love in financial peril. All that is accumulated amounts to dust. No one needs boxes of brightly-colored paper when sitting alone in a quiet room. Give me your time, your presence, your conversation, and the sound of your voice. Please give me your nakedness, the touch of your hands, the embrace of your arms, and the kiss of your lips. Nothing that can be packaged in a box is as valuable as your presence.
Perhaps you grow tired of me sitting and staring. I don’t always remember the stories I once told. I struggle to find words to speak from all the noise in my head. I read something, once, but its wisdom eludes me. How convenient it would be if I could just blame the cold.
Saturday is here for sports and casual matters free our minds from the drudgery of existence. Wilfully inflicted pain of a few becomes the pleasure embraced by many. Score six points for the distraction and add an extra one for the entertainment. We too eagerly await the stretcher that removes the bodies of the fallen.
We invest in the romance of others when there is no feeling in the lives we own. If the matters of your heart were made public fodder, would the content spur jealousy among others? Perhaps some might respond in horror, and many would misunderstand and misinterpret your intentions. Perhaps the screen is best left blank.
Still, the cat watches out the window at birds it cannot reach.
Breathe. Cough. Chilled air jolts our lungs back to the reality that plagued us before and haunts us again. We realize that past follies were of little pleasure. Bank accounts are tighter. Confidence is narrow. Shortages loom on the horizon—brows furrow. A deep sigh breaks the silence while the children are nestled, all snug in their beds. Uncertain visions dance in our heads.
Ours is not a new experience. Science uncovers today the remnants of someone’s yesterday. We know nothing about what they had, what they wanted, whether they were happy. We only know that they were. Our existence is the same. Who can tell if we got along, gave the best presents, or cooked the most food when we are laid in graves? Does not one set of bones look like another?
Governments flex their power, anxious to send someone else’s children to war. Why should we listen? If governments can replace a house with a crater, then can we not also replace them with a void? Do not forget the power of your own will. You control the path on which your feet walk. The bad intentions of others are not the pavement on which you are obligated to trod.
From ancient realms of infinity, we did not request life. Breath was not our pursuit. Once it was ours, however, all others lost control. Should I decide I am happy, there are no flames in hell that can wrest what I have placed in my soul. Should I find for myself contentment, no angels from your heaven can force my immigration. My heart is not governed by anything outside of my chest.
Now is the time to pour wine. Soon enough this body becomes the clay that forms the cup from which another drinks. Do not waste time saying prayers for there is no mosque, temple, or cathedral that is more than a fairy tale. Instead, give yourself fully to love. Let your desire for peace be the force behind your steps. Scream ‘I LOVE YOU!’ in the face of hate and see if it is not consumed by its own rage.
Do not ignore those who would befriend you. Can another heart control where you place your love? Enemies dissolve before us when we take their hands with compassion. Those who step with you soon enough crush the army that marches against you. A lover’s sigh of happiness topples towers of hate.
The path from fear to love is but a single breath.
THANKSGIVING EDITION
Welcome to a day designed to give thanks for… something. Everyone’s list should be different. You know the mountains you’ve climbed, the dangers you’ve faced, and the audacious ridiculousness you’ve had to endure. Some of you trot through today, others wobble, and me, I’m going to sleep. We did our turkey yesterday. I cooked all f’n day by myself. The results?
If you’re having trouble finding something for which to be thankful, let me make a few suggestions:
- You woke up
- I woke up
- The food you eat today probably won’t kill you immediately
- You didn’t have to broker a cease-fire to make it to today’s dinner
- You’re not marching through Manhattan in the rain being chased by a massive balloon
- There’s not a cat in your shower
- You live in the same universe as ME
And now that we’re done with the whole turkey thing, you know what comes next? Let me give you a couple of hints.
TAKE THE FUCKING HINT!
MY BIRTHDAY IS SUNDAY!
I have expectations. Don’t disappoint me.
Without the wind, the morning doesn’t feel quite so cold. My gloves stay in my pocket. The dogs feel no rush to get back inside. The whine of jets carrying holiday passengers sounds as though we live at the airport. Without the wind, 36 degrees doesn’t chill the bones. Wearing my heaviest coat seems excessive. Leaves look as though they’re glued to the ground. No one else is moving around. The world seems to be on vacation, without the wind.
“Snow coming,” warns the alert at the bottom of my monitor.
Do you believe in cease-fires? Toys from Santa may be the safer bet. As families gather under the guise of giving thanks, one wonders who will be the first to fill their mouths with unkind words rather than turkey and mashed potatoes. Some families require signing contracts before admission is given. One spouse threatens the other not to disturb the peace. The air is tense as conversation struggles. Football unites us better than familial bonds.
“You’re not invited,” sounds too much like “No one wants you.”
Simple drinks work the best. Can there be too many pies? What do you mean you don’t like leftovers? Fragrances carried on warm air from a hot oven stir automatic responses in our brains. There aren’t enough chairs for the table that doesn’t exist. Sit in the shadows. Chew quietly. Did we think this year would be any different? Don’t give your table scraps to the dog. Clean your plate and no one asks any questions.
“I need a nap” is holiday code for “I’m tired of dealing with these people.”
We’ll celebrate today so that others can celebrate tomorrow. Take out yesterday’s trash so that there’s room for today’s. Are we being thankful for the abundance or showing off our excess? Don’t wash the turkey. Wear gloves when handling the food. The meal will be ready around 4:00. Try to be awake.
It’s only Wednesday.
Wind from the North fuels my anxiety about changing weather patterns that will leave us cold and dampen the holiday’s pleasures. Are we prepared to shiver and shake as we prepare our turkey and the desserts that we bake? Do we need a feast at all? As a nation, we’ve become so obese that paying for weight loss is now in the country’s best interest. The turkey is fine, but the potatoes and casseroles are not. Already, we plan for excess, making sure to mend our ‘fat pants’ after sutures burst at their last outing.
Perhaps we would do well to honor the day with less. Such suggestions are treated as though they are treason. Today, I plan for more pies than we need, more food than we can consume, and more dishes than anyone wants to wash. Tomorrow, we cook for one feast is not enough. There will be two, though not everyone participates in the second. We’ll stream the parades and the football between bites of stuffing and yams. Then, we’ll sleep.
First, we must have the party before the feast. The child who does not like having his picture taken turns 16 today. The wild little boy who liked to play on the roof of the house has become the young man who plays the violin, creates new worlds for his friends, and sings in Japanese while playing a game. His math skills are exemplary. He would find a better way to organize the air if asked. There are no leftovers when he cooks. For all the days he tested our patience, he has repaid us with smiles and sarcasm, compassion and comedy, thoughtfulness and thoroughness. We may not be giving him a perfect world, but he is determined to bend this world to his will. Happy Birthday, G!
I’ve looked all around me, the news and the headlines, and found nothing that necessarily inspires me to be inspiring. Too many people are busy being disappointing. There are no genuinely new revelations here. Companies run by old white people who inherited their wealth still behave like slave owners. No one is surprised and their profits continue unhindered. The best thing we do is reduce the number of children introduced into this mess we have created. Those who spare innocent lives by not creating them in the first place may be those who have the most gratefulness in their lives.
When war yields diseases that we do not understand and are unable to cure, perhaps it’s time we just stop everything. No more bombing, no more feasts, no more domination, no more parties. No one has any excuse. Those who only exist so that they may hate others have no reason to celebrate. Why would we include them in our revelry? Those whose religion gives them a reason to hate have no prayer of achieving forgiveness. What are we expecting?
If this country was indeed founded on the sinful smugness of spiritual superiority then what is the basis for our thanks? Are we thankful for the genocide we inflicted on indigenous peoples? Are we thankful that our economy continues to keep people enslaved? Are we thankful that we’ve given hate a political party all its own?
Perhaps, when all is done, we should be thankful that history is not likely to remember us at all. This time, this age exists as nothing more than an embarrassment to humanity, a bad story that those ten generations removed will have no reason to remember.
Our only hope is to replace hate with love.
One turkey dinner is not enough.
Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words… Words will cause fear, incite panic, fuel anger, spread divisiveness, and create a breeding ground for disease that consumes one’s own body. Guns may cause some to freeze, others to seek shelter, but words… Words cause us to hide inside ourselves where no one can find us. Words cause us to retreat from life, pull away from friends and family, take remote jobs, and turn off all external communications. Words cause us to become stranded within ourselves at the very time the world needs us the most.
Over the weekend, I passed the second anniversary of filling my body with this radioactive poison called chemotherapy. Three months and fifteen days of this “treatment” remain. Every morning, I have taken these four monstrous pills. Every day, they seek to save my life by ruining it. I am a recluse within my recovery.
The warning on the bottle requires gloves to be worn. The poison can be spread. I remain for all intents and purposes, radioactive. With time, my body has adapted to this condition. So now, as we contemplate a life without poison, we wonder how my body will respond. Will I return to my previous activities or will my body long for a return of the poison? So many people chose the poison this month.
With no children going to school this week, there was no reason for anyone to set an alarm. Pets, accustomed to a specific schedule, do not understand the concept of ‘sleeping in.’ I woke to find dog shit in front of my door, a clear message that I had failed to meet their most basic needs in a timely manner. A chorus arose from the cats demanding to be fed and given fresh water. Their communication skills are considered primitive by some, but yet, do they not ensure that they get what they want? I fold my arms in front of me and Solaris immediately fills them with his presence, quite sure that my intention was to stop typing and hold him. Hamilton also requests to join the cuddle, but his size exceeds my lap space.
The beginning of the holiday season beckons millions to leave their homes and spend time with loved ones. Perils await. Not all airports are welcoming. A denial of service on the part of some may result in the loss of service to others. Inhospitable weather still looms large for much of the nation. Getting where one wants to go may be easier than leaving. More than emotions may cause one to stay. Cheaters are not welcome, though there are always those who try. Travel makes us weary, uncooperative, and stubborn. Making sure one packs plenty of grace in their carry-on eases the pain.
While some plan for great revelry, there are many others who struggle with how to buy groceries for less than $100, and others who sit alone, unknown, thankful for a bowl of instant soup. Not everyone is welcome at the table. Not everyone who has a seat deserves it. Many seats are empty this year. Many chairs are filled with new faces. Food may not feel welcome for the one who has never seen such outlandish displays. Compassion is the appetizer to giving thanks.
Still, there are words that pursue us. We don’t need to hear the consonants to feel their sting. We know they exist on the lips of those who deny our humanity, who have labeled us ‘sinners,’ and dare to pray for our souls while selling their own. They hope that we’ll feel small, that we’ll hide away in some corner, or perhaps leave and pretend we are not all one people, one bond, one personhood.
“Bless your little pea-pickin’ heart,” is the response I choose to combat hatred this season. Words needn’t be combative. What comes out of your mouth is as important as what goes into your ears. We needn’t apologize for being, but neither should we be so quick to point out the inhumanity of others. Leave the faults of others to eat away at their own souls. Pass the rolls with fervor for bread does well at filling the mouths of those who should not speak. Justice is a desert that fills everyone’s plate equally.
Words dance merrily through my head wearing spiked high heels so that I feel every stomp of their jig. I fear the day that the words stop, that I no longer hear nor speak, that my eyes cease to see the pictures, for that is the day I can no longer tell you that I love you.
Or that I need more coffee.
This Sunday is Charles’ birthday. Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter CashApp: $ciletbetter
The words of a long-dead Persian poet, one who disliked growing Islam as much as you might dislike growing Evangelicalism, reads today with all the poignancy of a morning newspaper. “Your hand can seize today, but not tomorrow; and thoughts of your tomorrow are nothing but desire. Don’t waste this breath, if your heart isn’t crazy, since “the rest of your life” won’t last forever.” Omar Khayyám wrote in quatrains long before any Brit picked up a pen. Yet, his writings are not taught in high school, when they might do the most good. They distrust both religion and government. They embrace math and science. One might think that the agenda would change over the course of 1,500 years or so, yet, here we are having the same conversations.
Jeneen Interlandi wrote earlier this week “We tire very quickly of being told that everything is on fire.” Those who are not dodging bullets care less about senseless wars as stupidity has trouble finding an ending point. Sick people are more likely to trust a life-saving vaccine while the well debate its efficacy. Those with the least grow angry at those with the most.
This is the week that launches many into a flurry of holiday activities. Over the next 35 days, more than 300 celebrations fueled by faith and tradition occur. Does this bring us joy? The chance for snow on Thanksgiving Day is increasing for Indiana. Washing your Thanksgiving turkey could spread germs. Using black plastic kitchen tools exposes you to toxins. Science shows giving thanks has been part of human survival. Yet, many already dread conversations that no one has started.
Can one ‘seize the day’ and still ‘pick your battles?’ If we choose the actions for today that make a difference for today, do we not keep ourselves in a perpetual fervor? Have we only succeeded on days where we managed to put out the fires that threatened… someone, somewhere? Why do we think that wishing a happy birthday to a growing child is any less important than the cost of hosting their party?
Alice is gone. Her restaurant closed long ago. Chuck is gone. His ‘love connections’ were often fantasies. Do we mourn their passing or do we express outrage at the fact that, in this day and age, women are still being burned for the accusation of witchcraft? Exactly which part of the day is it we’re supposed to seize?
Drink your coffee. There are those who claim that instant coffee has gotten a lot better. Don’t believe them. Instant gratification can never match the flavor we earn by grinding the beans and savoring each temperature-controlled drip. If only the rest of the day was as easy to grasp as the handle on a coffee mug; perhaps then seizing days might bring us more joy.
But we’d rather worry about tomorrow because those concerns only involve words, not actions. Seizing the day requires us to do something. Sure, some may be seen as gathering kindling, but we cannot fight a blaze that has not yet been lit. A poorly planned fire may well put itself out before we’ve unfurled a hose. Our fears give credit to the undeserving for actions they’ve yet to take.
Fear and trembling seize nothing but rob us of the joy found in what is happening right now. Let the at-risk person know you love them, invite them to your dinner, and give them space to feel welcome in your house and among your company. Grandiose speeches are not what save lives. We must take people by the hand and lead them to safety when it matters. It is the steps we take more than the words we say that change the world.
There are times when we best seize the day by staying in bed and giving ourselves rest.
Where do we go from here? One of the struggles we all face is that we don’t always get to determine what happens next. We are more frequently pushed across thresholds than we are carried across joyfully. Even when an invitation seems like a good idea at the time, once we’re involved we discover that we’re trapped, unable to go back. Neither do we all share identical experiences through the same time portal. One shuts down an office while another prepares for new life. We may look through the same window yet see different pictures. Is what happens to us next a good thing or will another 350,831 of us die?
Who am I to judge the guilt or innocence of another? Someone must, for there can be no justice without judgment. Am I impartial enough to hold another’s fate in my hands? We may never know, for once again, my service has been declined. What I do know is that justice, no matter how measured, is a highly opinionated beast. Are courts best suited to determine when one begins thinking and acting like an adult? Are schools best suited for religious indoctrination? A country run by criminals has little care for justice.
I look across the bed at the dogs sprawled out, sleeping; they are warm and well-fed. They are not aware of changes until they happen. A differently flavored treat is still a treat. Water outside apparently tastes the same as water inside. They are not bothered by incongruities or worried by idle threats. They do not care what I might cook next week nor how many presents I give next month. Neither do they look at my dwindling account balance and worry whether they’ll be fed. Their food has already been purchased. The dogs sleep blissfully unaware of my angst.
We have transitioned into being a country that champions criminals more than heroes. Perhaps that explains the election outcome. Our desire to see an underdog win outstrips our need for justice. We care less for the number of bodies left in their wake when we have already convinced ourselves that, on one level or another, they deserved to die. Knowing that the wizard has no real power does not keep him from being revered in Oz.
Stubbornly, I dig in my heels. There are thresholds I do not want to cross. Yet, how can I hold your hand if we do not step together? I cannot help those in danger if I’m left standing behind a closed door. I walk into the future not because I care for my own but because I care for those around me. The adventures we face are different than those behind us, but together, we both survive.
I have met my minimum word count. There’s coffee on the other side of the door. This threshold I walk through without hesitation.
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Friday Morning Update: 11/22/24
November 22, 2024
Rain washes away the snow, leaving only a hint of the momentary wonderland that existed across the yard. An old song suggests, “Forget your troubles, come on, get happy; You better chase all your cares away.” But there is no rain that washes away the pain of cancer or removes the struggle to breathe. No river removes the stain of poor decisions. We struggle to find words, any words, that might communicate the density of the cloud over our mind. None of the pictures I’ve ever taken portray such chaos as that which consumes my being. Temptation urges me to give up, go to bed, and sleep until the world is better, but the world only declines the invitation to improve.
Drama capped Tipper’s trip to Purdue. The bus driver was ready to leave at one time, the guides were expecting to leave later, and their final departure was too late to return to school on time. Waiting parents were upset. Students were frustrated by the apparent incompetency of adults. Who will tell them that too many of the issues they face in high school continue to plague them into adulthood? Is this all they will remember of the trip? No one was left behind. No child was endangered. Everyone returned home. The lesson is to acknowledge the mistakes and move forward.
Trouble makes for an interesting conversation. Anger pushes passion into our speech. We use our words to make trivial issues matter. In the blizzard of emotion, we lose sight of reality. I am not dying today. Control over tomorrow is still mine. Whatever complicates my life is but a nuisance to my existence. Politicians make imaginary threats to pique my fears, but can I choose not to be afraid?
Words fall empty when there is no genuine power behind them. I fuel my own life, such as it may be. Attempts to diminish my existence are folly. The feet in my boots are still mine; I control my path and the steps I take. If I need assistance I request it, but the denial of that request does not keep me from moving forward. When I cannot walk, I will crawl. The day I can no longer crawl, I will employ a mobility device. Frequent naps do not hinder my progress. I choose to move forward, and the world will adjust accordingly.
Warrants may be issued. Threats can be made. Weapons might be aimed. Still, when darkness falls at the end of the day, do we not ask ourselves what has changed? I might question whether I could make a difference, but when I cannot, I accept no blame for the outcome. I am not required to follow a leader I did not choose and do not trust. My loyalty lies not with those who do not know my name, but with those I love, those whose care and existence matter to my sense of humanity. I can protect what matters without ceding an ounce of power to any despot.
Sixty-one years ago, a president was assassinated. Who shot who matters little. The consequences of those actions cannot be changed. Lives taken, no matter where, are not returned. We cannot change what someone else chooses to do after the act is done. A moment that has passed immediately becomes part of a history from which we are obligated to learn. We must answer the questions of how we might stop the bombs from falling and the bullets from being fired. Yet, we cannot change the conscience of those whose minds are committed to evil.
Our choice is to follow paths that magnify our own power. M.I.T. offers free tuition to help a new generation stand on their feet. In California, a 17-year-old woman became the youngest person to pass that state’s bar exam. US overdose deaths have dropped, even though no one is exactly sure why. Better paths exist, though perhaps not lit by neon signs. We choose to find those paths. We choose to make our world better.
The fogginess that clouds my mind and leaves me staring at this page does not prevent me from refilling my coffee cup, giving belly rubs to a dog, or cuddling a cat. My bank account may be empty, but there is enough food to feed the family. Each step may be taken with trepidation, yet do I not still walk? I will eat the food that I prepare. I will take the medicines and endure the poison. My day will continue. Naps shall be my fortress of solitude.
Forward is the path I choose.
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Thursday Morning Update: 11/21/24
November 21, 2024
Watch the snowfall, the glimmer of tiny flakes reflected in the street lights and headlights of passing cars. Shiver as a northerly wind caresses the one tract of skin left bare while the rest of your body attempts to snuggle deeper inside a heavy coat. Even the dogs do not linger here. This first hint of the coming winter reveals how accustomed we’ve become to our planet’s warming temperatures. Like the proverbial frogs in slowly-heated water, we prefer that which leads to our demise. A snow shovel sits ready and waiting; it will see no action today, possibly not all season.
Tipper “borrowed” her mom’s heavy coat as she slipped out the back door. On a school excursion, she would visit Purdue University for her first glimpse of college life. Her mind goes back and forth in an argument with herself over whether she needs post-secondary education. Already tired of classrooms, she ponders a possible life as an artist. Surely, one doesn’t need a diploma to sell a banana for $6.2 million. But then, how long might the market for bananas taped to walls remain so bullish?
G does not harbor such fantasies. His mind struggles with the various choices that take advantage of his creativity and genius. Last night he bemoaned the imagined frustrations of a fashion designer interrupted. Today, he takes on the media world in a video interview. Perhaps tomorrow he’ll be nominated for a cabinet position. He is as well qualified as any of the others awaiting confirmation. Nothing is outside his grasp. Yet, so many choices create a different problem for his ADHD mind. He feels no rush in making a decision. There is still time to explore.
Kat struggles still with the limitations imposed by diminished breathing ability. She does not want the kids burdened with the knowledge of how close she came to no longer being present in this world. She powers on through the exhaustion. Her sleep does not last long. Both cold and hot, her body struggles to regulate temperature. Cats long to snuggle but their weight diminishes her breathing capability even more. G asked whether her lungs would ever recover their full capabilities. She had no certain answer to give him, only that time would move slowly as she inches back to her normal routine.
More poison arrives today. Only three more deliveries remain. Who knows my future after chemo? Will my energy return? Will my mind clear? Will I stand without falling? I sit here struggling to grasp at words that slip through my mind like water through a sieve. What were we discussing? Did I have anything important to say? Minutes pass into hours and I don’t recall my last thought. My coffee grows cold as it sits in the mug; I forget the most routine part of my day.
Kat asked last night if I am planning to visit the boys over the holidays. Her question caught me by surprise. No doubt, seeing the boys would be a wonderful treat. Two years have passed since I last saw Zach, Meg, and Ren. Three years without seeing Ben. Yet, I struggle to cover expenses until the end of every month. The lowest round-trip airfare is $542 plus taxes and fees. Lodging would be another $50 per night. Factor a reasonable amount for additional expenses and the total exceeds more than an entire month’s budget. My body cannot handle a long road trip; even from here to Chicago is too much. Train service to Chattanooga doesn’t exist. There is no choo-choo there. The idea has been planted, however, and a dream has begun to sprout. I fear that disappointment is the only yield.
I cannot tell if snow is still falling. With daylight, the delicate flakes become almost invisible. The thermometer warns of conditions below freezing. The dogs wait for me to return to bed.
Meanwhile, the universe asks, what is Google without Chrome? Does Jaguar still make cars? Does Campbell’s still make soup? What’s to become of MSNBC without NBC? What is rhetoric without meaning?
Solaris gently places his paws on my chest. He, too, wants me to return to bed. Still, there is food that must be eaten and meds that must be swallowed.
Will I remember to drink my coffee?
What, then, shall we make of today if it comes to us bearing nothing but trouble, sacks full of heartache, luggage with nothing but wrinkled misery? Do we confine ourselves to the pinhole vision of old men and bitter women teetering on the cusp of death, or do we dig for them their graves so that we might gleefully push them in and cover their decay with dirt? Is there any good found while cowering in fear? Rather, let us take to the feeble a battle they are unable to fight; for the noise they make is the sound of broken swords, clanging meaninglessly in scabbards fastened loosely around protruding waists.
I’m finding little use this morning in attempting to recount for yet another day the perils of my health conditions. Rain is in the offing for this morning and colder temperatures follow behind that. Even if I weren’t on chemo and my head wasn’t screaming this would still not be a day likely to etch itself into my memories for any good or pleasurable reason. Brief respite is given by those familiars who look on silently, rubbing a nuzzle against my hand, not conscious of the aid they provide. My shirt, pulled fresh from my closet this morning, is already covered with hair that is not mine, making me a walking allergen.
G came home from school excited about a D&D campaign he is planning for his friends to enjoy come January. His dreams are lofty and to achieve them I’ve recommended the works of Huxley and Asimov so that he needn’t reinvent what has already been so beautifully created. Alas, those volumes that were once on my shelves are no more. I am continually mystified at how pages filled with ink can disappear into some special ether that consumes nothing but that which I most urgently desire to read.
Tipper gleefully announced her intention to spend Black Friday in the company of her boyfriend. Their intent is to visit a Hot Topic at one of the remaining malls in the area. They are employing a strategy that assumes waiting until the afternoon when more eager shoppers have exhausted themselves, will provide them with greater access. He has promised to buy her whatever it is that she desires. I am hopeful that what she desires is on sale.
Familial lives change around me without my interference. I am of little use to any of them except as a source to share their syncopated excitements. As they grow into their own experiences I am freed to spend my time on other goals if only my body would consummate the intentions of my mind.
Perhaps the news of the day should worry me more. Does a television doctor threaten the health and wellness of my future? Will one steeped in the art of frivolous deception steer education into a mythological abyss? Can the assemblage of a privileged few threaten the humanity of those our ancestors embraced? Malfeasance has a short life and its demise is hastened with the raising of our voices. Are the streets not ours? The wind carries our objections and determination in gigabyte packages to audiences whose faces we never see. Political pyramids topple from the vibrations of marching feet today as surely as did the mythical walls of Jericho yield to the stomping and shouting of homeless nomads in antiquity. Even under perceived threat, our lives, your lives, are more powerful than the heated words of a company whose foundation is pretense.
All prayers are meaningless when there is no deity to hear them. No deity ever conceived gives an ear to the desires of hate. My love for you is infinitely stronger than imagined characters formed by willful ignorance. Your love for each other, open and unapologetic, demolishes the fear-fueled diatribes of those who clutch pearls in the shadow of a temple, a mosque, or a cross. Stand up. Clothe yourselves in flags of your own making. Set foot to the demolition of abhorrent attitudes and loathsome schemes.
Who can stop a nation whose will is to love as one loves without boundary or exclusion? One cannot make a mortar of hate. What is formed of execration crumbles like dust. Stand up. Blow your horns and stomp your feet with pride and defiance. The graves waiting to be filled will not hold you but the corpses of those whose faces turn orange as they scream into the winter wind.
Stand the fuck up. No one has put your feet in cement. The visions of threats are nothing more than a mirage. Your voice cannot be silenced. Your humanity cannot be defeated. If love does conquer all then all shall fall before you. Stand. Move. Yell. Scream. Defeat.
And do not bother to lay a wreath at the grave of hate.
Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter CashApp: $ciletbetter
Funny how I can sit down at the desk first thing of the morning and think of all the things I’m going to get done, but by the time I’ve read through the news, my brain switches to, “We need to lie back down.” Anything that needs to be done outside needs to happen today, while the temperatures are near 70. Thursday’s high is 38, which will feel even colder if it snows. Seasonal temps are upon us for the rest of the week. It’s time to get ready.
Hopefully, today will be better than yesterday. I struggled to stay upright for as little as an hour and ended up spending most of the day in bed. At one point, I thought I was hearing voices again, but it turned out to just be the program that Kat was watching. I did finally get through to the neurologist’s office but the soonest they can get me in is January 29. I’m on a waiting list should a cancellation open a spot before then. The insurance company, however, still hasn’t called back. I’m not surprised.
The big news for this week, month, and year is that my oldest, Zach, finally got around to asking his girlfriend, Meg, to marry him! We knew this moment was coming, we just didn’t know when. Of course, she said yes! This brings about an exciting new season in all of our lives. No, they’ve not set a date yet, but I expect that to be coming soon. I stop now and remember that precious little tow-headed boy I once carried on my shoulders. I couldn’t be more excited!
By the way, I still have two more adult boys living with their mom. Please, feel free to take them off her hands. They’re nice guys, and perhaps that’s part of the problem. Nice guys still have a problem getting noticed because, as much as anything, they don’t want to bother anyone. Well, that and they spend an inordinate amount of time playing video games. Blame their grandparents for that. I never wanted them to get started.
Kat was finally able to see her PCP yesterday. The news is cautious. He told her that she would likely have difficulty breathing for months. That means everyone is going to have to be patient with her. Even with a schedule of only taking two clients a day, she comes home thoroughly exhausted and often falls asleep before she’s had time to eat dinner. Stress over the cumulative holidays and birthdays doesn’t help, either. She discovered yesterday that she and the kids will be doing two Thanksgivings. We’ll have ours early, probably Wednesday depending on how she and I feel next week. I think we have everything we need from a food perspective.
Paying the bills coming due is another matter. Everything hits all at once here at the end of the month and I don’t know when my check will arrive. Kat’s still waiting for a check she deposited last week to clear. I know I have nearly $200 in bills coming out before the first of the month. The way holidays hit the calendar this year, I may not get paid until December 2 or 3. We greatly appreciate the help we’ve had so far. If anyone else wants to contribute, my Venmo is @C_I_Letbetter and CashApp is $ciletbetter.
Today would have been my father’s 95th birthday. I’ve mentioned in previous years how disappointed he would be in world events. As I was combing through local news this morning, I saw this headline: ‘I have fallen short’ | Indiana Sen. Taylor addresses sexual harassment allegations. I was reminded of Poppa’s response to a tearful Jimmy Swaggart apologizing for a cheating scandal. “You can fool people all you want, but you can’t fool God.” I miss his balanced wisdom. In his honor, there will be ice cream today.
With winter rapidly approaching, it’s not surprising to see escalations rising in Russia and Ukraine. In the short time since I sat down here, Ukraine has apparently fired six US-made missiles into Russia. On Russia’s side, Putin has signed a new nuclear doctrine, lowering the bar for the conditions allowing the use of nuclear weapons. What might be more terrifying, though, is that Russia has increased production of radiation-resistant mobile bomb shelters. Why would they do that if they weren’t planning on needing them? Winters are notoriously difficult in both countries, so don’t be surprised to see them making aggressive maneuvers before the end of the year.
Lebanon and Hezbollah have approved the draft of a cease-fire agreement, but it’s unclear yet whether Israel will go along. So far, Netanyahu has been ferociously against such moves, firmly stating that there would be no rest until their goals are met. Knowing that he has staunch allies in the coming Republican administration is likely to bolster the Prime Minister’s defiance. Meanwhile, aid has been stripped from 100 trucks carrying food into Gaza. Looters are to blame. This is further proof that war brings out the worst of humanity. They are like cockroaches crawling out from under cracks in the molding.
There is so much more we could discuss, but I’m feeling the pressure from this damn headache closing in quickly. Among things worth noting, a Judge struck down Wyoming abortion laws, including an explicit ban on pills to end pregnancy while Orders for Morning-After Pills and Abortion Pills Rose After Trump’s Election. The NYC priest who allowed Sabrina Carpenter to shoot a music video in the church was further stripped of duties. Oh, and part of the roof at AT&T Stadium collapsed last night, foreshadowing another Cowboys loss.
I apologize for not having more stamina. The persistence of this headache has worn me down.
If only more coffee could be enough to solve all the problems.
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Monday Morning Update: 12/09/24
Monday morning, crisis check. Thinking back to the brief time I spent in the C suite, Monday morning came with a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door. Reports were gathered. Metrics were checked. Progress factored. We met at 11:00 over lunch. Numbers were totaled. Projections confirmed. Consequences addressed. The staff would be told on Tuesday.
Were I to perform the same checks and balances on the world this morning, the results would show that we have a crisis; specifically, a crisis of leadership. The United States. Syria. South Korea. Europe. Israel. Haiti. The planet. The compiled bullet points for the presentation would be:
Try choking that down with a dry sandwich and a weak soda. Pass the Scotch.
We have walked ourselves into a global oligarchy run by billionaires. Billionaires are inherently corrupt and bad governors. They cannot comprehend your concerns. Looking at the world through charts and graphs, they don’t see how their policies affect lives outside their elite peer group. When challenged, their defense is, “You voted for this.”
I see little stomach for protests. In his essay “A Poem of Difficult Hope,” which appears in his book “What Are People For,” Kentucky naturalist Wendell Berry argues that the success of any protest should not be measured by whether it changes the world in the way we hope it will.
“Much protest is naïve; it expects quick, visible improvement and despairs and gives up when such improvement does not come,” he wrote in 1990. “If protest depended on success, there would be little protest of any durability or significance. History simply affords too little evidence that anyone’s individual protest is of any use. Protest that endures, I think, is moved by a hope far more modest than that of public success: namely, the hope of preserving qualities in one’s own heart and spirit that would be destroyed by acquiescence.”
I’m not sure I buy this “save yourself” attitude. Others are. There are no massive marches planned. My newsfeed and emails all say, “We’re going to fight them in court.” What good is that if the courts themselves are corrupted? Have you looked at the Supreme Court lately?
What oligarchs understand is money. Finance is where the battle is fought. Switching investments from the stock market to bonds could offset bad economic plans. Organized national work stoppages, like those being utilized by VW workers in Germany, cause oligarchs to panic. We hold power that we’ve yet to test. Senate confirms a bad appointee? We don’t work the next day. Just one day. Tariffs cause prices to skyrocket? We stop buying. Just one week. The effects would be immediate and stunning.
Having the power doesn’t mean we have the will. Can we tell ourselves ‘no?’ Can we hold back on our holiday spending? Can we stay home instead of eating out? Can we cook instead of ordering takeout? Can we make last year’s coats and sweaters last another season? Can we put off buying a newer vehicle?
As I’m typing, I received an alert from my bank. Overdraft -$65. Not buying just got very easy. There are no presents to hand out. The food that we have will last until January. We will endure. Venmo: @C_I_Letbetter. CashApp: $ciletbetter.
No crisis comes with an easy or painless solution. Progress requires more than sheer determination. Tell me when you’re ready to proceed. You’ll find me at the coffee pot.
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