This morning, as I was waiting for the shuttle bus to take me from Edgartown’s long-term parking lot into town, I watched the morning’s grey clouds whisk deliciously across the sky, a ferment of grey cotton candy after a stormy night. The beauty of it awed me as I watched them swirl and scud.
Sitting on the covered bench, I did my best to do my day’s gratitudes, speaking softly to the universe, glad for another day this side of the sod, relative good health and a calm life, at this moment, in an un-calm time.
On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I am generally not at the bookstore. Tuesday, I lazed my way through a lovely day, doing errands, going to the chiropractor for a final visit after wrenching my back three weeks ago, stopping at the end of it all, for a sandwich at one of my joints, Edgartown Pizza, for a gyro and a Diet Coke.
While eating, Donald Trump was on one of the screens, walking back his Helsinki comments, reading from a script, about how he intended to use “wouldn’t” but didn’t. As if I believe him; I did believe what he said at the press conference with Putin. That seemed real Trump, walking it back was patently awkward and painful for him. Trump’s face seemed screwed with discomfort, as if he were someone being forced to say what he didn’t want to say. Which is probably true.
The only thing I believed was when he said: it could have been others – or whatever exactly he said to prevaricate his walk back.
My mind was full of images of people staying up all night, fueled by caffeine [and hopefully only by caffeine (I know someone in DC who claims to know one of the big cocaine suppliers to Republican aides)], pouring over what Trump had said in Helsinki, thinking “how do we get out of this?” while the president was flying his way home.
Monday was appalling; Tuesday simply lame. Wednesday followed with Trump reportedly saying that Russia was no longer targeting us while shortly after that report Sarah Huckabee Sanders said that Trump hadn’t said that the Russians weren’t targeting us.
The circus continues.
To take a break, I read at breakneck speed, “Crazy Rich Asians,” by Kevin Kwan, before the movie comes out next month, plunging myself into the wealth obsessed world of Singapore where everything seemed silly and I laughed out loud. Now I am plunging into “The Alice Network” about female spies in World Wars I and II.
Both books recommended.
I need a break from the circus.
Letter from the Vineyard 
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