by

This —or— That

I have always sworn to myself that I would stay away from politics here. Not because I don’t want to be controversial, but because I get so passionate and Crazed. Panicked sometimes. But I’m thinking that a spot or two here or there, a post of this or that—without taking on the full complement—might be sustainable. We’ll see. And here’s my first go.

Osnos-JoeBiden

Osnos-JoeBiden—posted in The New Yorker

Most commentators are pretty focused on the same things, starting with Biden being the only one (of declared candidates running in 2020) who seems willing to take on Trump. This is usually posited as a good thing.

I tend to agree, though I do wonder that Biden might be making the same mistake Clinton made in focusing on Trump’s perceived-as-horrible aspects, and is basically running campaign ads for him. With Biden’s campaign video of “the fight for the soul of America,” he is saying choose “this or that” with the assumption most of America will like “this.”  Biden said, “If we give Donald Trump eight years in the White House, he will forever and fundamentally alter the character of this nation. Who we are.” Well maybe, as America said before, it IS what we want, and the video is encouragement to vote for Trump—and the fundamental alteration of the character of this nation.

On the other hand—because there always is one—it is a direct volley across the bow of the expected Trump campaign and the composition of his base. Maybe some of his followers—and certainly the Democrats and Independents of this nation—do not want “that.”

At least Biden has made it clear. And it is either this or that.

 

by

Happy Birthday Joel

Today is my son’s birthday. It hurts my heart to say that. It’s so easy to picture him here, to see him grinning and laughing. If he were here he would play with the dog, and the cat. He loved animals and was very good with them. He was great with computers and became a computer programmer. He wrote code. And he liked that. He loved Queen and sometimes I play many of their albums. Sometimes I can’t bear to listen to any. Bohemian Rhapsody can tear my heart out. Sometimes I have to listen to it so I can know something—I’m not sure what. But something pounded into me makes sense because you travel somewhere else with grief. He was beautiful.

“It’s funny the day you lose someone isn’t the worst. At least you’ve got something to do. It’s all the days they stay dead.” —Steven Moffat

You just want to take everything back. You want another chance so you can do things right. And you say over and over again: I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You want him to know that, you want him to know, so bad. That you are sorry.

I used to get drunk and cry and drink and cry and drink and write and cry. I didn’t care about any life here, in this world. I wanted to die. That I didn’t was a surprise.

Squeek was his cat. He had gotten her just before he died. He knew he would die, he just didn’t know when, or that it would be that soon. It took a very long time until suddenly it was done.

Joel

JoelasBaby

Joel as Baby

 

by

A Non-Gargoyle Moment

It seems as if everyone is posting at least one gargoyle, oftentimes many. The gargoyles of Notre Dame of course. They are interesting and spectacular in what they represent, but usually they are the same as someone else has just posted, so I thought I’d find something different. And I did, the guy displayed below. I believe him to be just darling and a worthy comment for us. He will now look over us.

Cinou Delcuvellerie Follow · 4 November · David Burnham Smith-Great Britain -

David Burnham Smith-Great Britain

By the way, there were some posts about some people being taken aback by the forms of the gargoyles, apparently not having seen them before. As I understand it, they are to reflect back to evil, (Evil vs. Evil) and drive it away. If there were sweet loving representations on the structure, they would drive goodness away. This is the same principle as the mirrors you will find on some Chinese structures. The mirrors send back to you that which you are.

I don’t think our guy above will drive anything anywhere. I believe he’s just watching with a very friendly and loving spirit.

by

…

tragic

Sometimes there’s nothing to say.

Sometimes there’s nothing to say.

Sometimes there’s nothing to say.

ThinkMinsaThe Gargoyle of Notre Dame overlooking Paris, 1910.smithsonianGettyImages

by

Mum’s Hatbox

When I was a wee child I used to play with my mother’s hatbox, kept in the only storage closet we had, on the second-floor landing of our new home. She said it was something that belonged in every woman and girl’s luggage, something you did not travel without. It was a wonderful and beautiful piece of luggage, black with gold snap hinges for closure. Inside there was room for a few select hats, and small elastic-topped silk pockets for hatpins. It was round, and the cloth that covered it felt like a rippled velvet. Inside were three hats that she had kept through the years.

My favorite was a small black top-hat sort of thing, with a magnificent veil. The veil was black to match the hat, but there were rhinestone diamond-like jewels in place here and there on the netting. The veil itself was able to be lowered in stages, to whichever length was preferred. This was done by hooking the netting on miniature, tiny butterfly-jeweled pegs on either side of the hat. The hat was magical to me. To put it on was to be transformed, to be flown away to a different time, the capture of something ephemeral.

My mother had left me with instructions to be carried out upon her death. The hatbox was to be given to a niece who was in the garment trade, Chanel to be specific. Of course it suited her and was well met to her profession. I gave the hatbox with the only hat left inside, the little black one with a veil, to my brother to give to her.

Still, all these many years later, I long to see that hat, to put it on and pull down the veil, to be thrown into that space that is the metaphysical, transcendent. And to run my hands across that hatbox that every young lady would have among her luggage.

The hatbox that my sister-in-law threw away.