Thoughts

Thinking out Loud & Making Comments

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The What? Factor

Did you know:

Copied from a Facebook post. And, oh my. Good grief—what?

I’ve been around a few years and let me tell you—I was totally unaware of this. I also wonder why teachers (even in grade school) don’t tell students such things. Imagine. It could have made percentages interesting! I would have been joyous to know this. It would have given me the thrill of being a secret agent. A holder of secret knowledge. But then I would have told anyone who would listen. Of course I had to check this out by multiplying a few numbers. And then it was obvious.

What? number two: I ate breakfast at a restaurant this morning before going to the grocery store. I love restaurant eating. Not only because I don’t have to cook, but for the theatre of it. I’m sure that I must have discussed this previously. I must have as I so enjoy the sense of almost being a voyeur—and in public. Usually I hold a mental discourse to include myself in the drama I am witnessing. Not today’s fare. Today I watched a woman sitting alone in a booth. For the longest while nothing out of the ordinary happened and I couldn’t see anything of note occurring around us. I turned back to my book, [Run, A Novel by Ann Patchett] an after-dining habit I indulge while drinking my coffee. I glanced over the book just to check in with my subject while expecting nothing, and was met with a surprise.

She was sitting there rolling up remnants of the paper products—napkins, the sheath from a straw, the wrap from the eating service, and so on. Then she tossed them over the table to the other side and floor of the booth. Let me complete the picture by telling you she was an old woman with completely white hair and a blue sweater wrapped around her shoulders to keep her warm from the cold of the air conditioning. The kind of woman whose mother would have slapped her hands at such behavior. The kind of woman who never would have allowed her children to do such a thing.

I started to laugh but stopped the moment I began to think of reasons. Could she be drunk? I thought not. Was she angry with the service? No, she had chatted easily with the waitress earlier. She might even have been a regular customer.

What then? The words we dread to use as we get older or have older loved ones. The words that float in and we push them away. Alzheimers. Dementia. But no, I thought. I couldn’t end with that. Good theatre wouldn’t end with that.

What the hell. Maybe she was just having fun.

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Oops

Ohhhhh…did I ever drop the ball. Somehow I managed to miss several comments that were made regarding past posts. One was actually from 2022. Four years ago! I am so embarrassed.

I have spent the alloted time for the blog today in remedying the situation. Of course I cannot. All I can do is offer some very late responses. A 4-year delay in responding! In my defense, I did not—absolutely did not—ignore the comments, I did not see them. And I did not see where I was notified. I can only promise that it will never happen again.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

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Confliction & 2028

“Don’t worry about the situation of the world. You must be happy – very, very happy! Only through happiness and waves of bliss, you will be able to help your country and the entire world. You will remain ever invincible when you don’t allow anything to obscure your happiness.” ~ Maharishi Mahesh Yogi

On a separate but related note I’ve been following the works and words of Thich Nhat Hanh for some time now. Sometimes I can even make it work, this in the now thing. At least for awhile. Sometimes I can even feel at peace–for awhile. I consider getting back to meditating and even have my own zafu and zabuton. But then I have also purchased a Yoga mat and hand weights. I’m sure I’ll get to them too.

This is all to say and finally speak to the cliched elephant in the room–Trump. The Trump world of Republicans and sycophants and followers. And I swore I would never bring him up. But like the huge festering boil of old, there it is. And the biggest scream factor that I have is my inability to understand the people who still see him in a good light, even a positive one. Those who still can see a green reflecting pool as blue. Or now as it turns out to admittedly be green, turned so by vandals.

Actually I do understand it. People don’t want truth, they want to feel safe. This sentiment is lodged in works by our pal Fyodor Dostoevsky, who wrote, “People don’t want truth; they want comfort dressed as truth” and in Kafka’s observation that people “rent illusions” to avoid the weight of reality. I understand it but I don’t. Feeling safe can kill you.

I mostly wonder what will happen to those who have to know, yet say the words and kiss the ass anyway. Marco Rubio, JD Vance, et.al. When I see them I want to cry. How could they betray us so for personal gain. Is there no integrity at all?

For God’s sake! Eating pets? Litter boxes for toilets in schools? A war!

It’s the weight of it, the sadness, the frustration. And the just plain exhaustion. As I try to picture the goodness in others, say the metta for all, and move the mala beads that were once rosary beads, I wait for the election of 2028. Will the revolution come then? Who can believe the ‘great he’ will leave peacefully. Will we be ready for the chaos this time or will we again be taken by surprise? Know this much: they will certainly be ready even if we are not.

In the new Zen, the Zen of Thich Nhat Hanh, there comes a time when the monks must not stay silent or inactive. It is an involved Zen. And the now of it will soon enough become 2028.

Copied from internet under photos of Thich Nhat Hanh.

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Back to Jotting

I have had to come back to revive my site and do some posting as I keep thinking of things and wanting to jot them down. For instance this morning (long ago now)—as I accidentally consumed the last gingersnap cookie—I thought that was just wrong. You should never have the last of anything without being aware of it. What an unsatisfactory ending. Like falling into a pit because you didn’t know it was there. (Only a slight exaggeration psychologically.)

In the interval—that is, between when I started the above first sentence and now—I had to go out to refill the frog fountain on the patio table. Because when I stood up from here I saw the watering jug. That’s how things start. That’s how I ended up with a garden on my patio table in the first place.

Here are some photos to show you the Before. Before the deer come to drink from the frog pool and eat the pink blossoms off the fuschia and make it so that I have to go out and bemoan the fact that I ever made friends with mama deer in the first place.

This is mama deer:

This is mama deer with Zeus:

Now mama deer has told all her friends. Last spring she brought her twin babies to show them to me (or me to them). All of the deer come now, many at night. I know this because the fountain is dry when I check in the morning. And most of the lovely buds are gone. I picture the deer lining up at night for the buffet. I have put away the deer spray that is safe for pets. It is also safe for nature. It only makes deer stay away. I can’t do that as mama deer brought her babies to meet me.

This is all of the jotting for today. I hope people will come back to see me. Maybe even some new people. Although I wouldn’t blame anyone for staying away. How awful to not talk (or jot) to friends for so long.

[I keep trying to add some tags but don’t quite know how or remember. That’s how long it’s been. Maybe I’ll figure it out for next time.]

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Retired

Until further notice.