Cloudy future?
It’s a Wednesday evening as I begin this, the 15th, the day taxes are due. I am on extension, for the first time in several years. This winter defeated me, a fractured ankle, snowed in without power, then layering in the demands of buying for the summer… Just couldn’t happen.
Which makes me wonder, as it does all the time, why our tax system is so convoluted? Don’t the Brits fill in a postcard? Something like that. Our system seems Byzantine, shaped, as I recall, by lobbying activities of companies like H&R Block, who make their living out of our complicated tax code.
While I am coping with the tax code, we are dealing with our president having sent out an AI generated image of himself as Christ, healing someone who looks rather like Jon Stewart – someone I am not sure he would like to heal. According to Trump, he thought it made him look like a doctor. Please? And, no, Mr. Vance, I don’t think Trump thought it was a joke.
It was taken down when the backlash started, replaced by another image of him with Jesus. Really? Trump isn’t a great example of Christian values. [I know there are many who’d disagree with me. It’s okay.]
The two of them, Trump and Vance, have attacked Pope Leo XIV because he has had the temerity to criticize the war with Iran and the administration’s immigration policies. “Unacceptable” is a word used by the Pontiff. Good on you, Leo!
Trump responded by calling the pope “weak on crime” and accused him of catering to the radical left.
Vance told the pope he should stick to matters of morality. Well, that’s what I think Leo was doing, sticking to matters of morality. Evidently, our president and vice president and the pope have differing ideas on morality. In this one, I’m with Leo.
I have been deliciously happy for the last couple of weeks. It feels I’ve been living in the moment, tasting the wonder of simple things, eggs for breakfast, the lightening of the weather, having the door of the store open all day, lighthearted conversations with customers, the softness of falling asleep under warm blankets as the day cooled.
There are moments when guilt seeps in around the edges of my happiness [I was, after all, raised Roman Catholic]; this is not a happy planet, though its beauty was vividly exhibited by the Artemis II astronauts, who sent us photos of the inestimable gorgeousness of our planet, beyond the notion of borders. We are a small planet in the universe, inhabited by small-minded people.
The United States is currently run by men like Trump and Hegseth, more morally aligned with the ethos of Roman rulers than contemporary ones. Might makes right. Isn’t that how Crassus, one of original Triumvirs, richest man in Rome, came to his end? Thinking Rome invincible, wanting glory, ended by being destroyed by the Parthians.
Do not get me started about the Ayatollahs of Iran. Or Bibi! Putin. All are men who favor war over peace.
Orban accepted defeat, surprising me. Personally, I thought he’d do a Trump.
Little can be believed, actually, from the mouth of our president as his habit for mendacity has been long established. [Some will hate me for that remark but, I fear, its truth is pretty inconvertible.]
Is there a ceasefire with Iran? I am constantly confused. [See above statement.] I am now confused by almost everything happening in Iran. Another aircraft carrier has arrived. More pressure. Where will this lead? I don’t know and am afraid.
A ceasefire has been declared in Lebanon; I am grateful. Then extended. I am more grateful.
Birthright citizenship is being attacked by this administration. The current Secretary of State, Marco Rubio, was born in this country before his parents were citizens which puts him in the category of being a birthright citizen. Does anyone else see the irony in this? Or maybe the stupidity? Duplicity?
It makes me wonder about my own ancestry. My parents might have been birthright citizens. They were born here of immigrant parents though I have no concrete proof my grandparents were citizens. Really, on what slippery ground does this put many of us?
We have so often, in so many different times, forgotten we are almost all of us, descendants of immigrants. Recently, a friend told me his father, a child immigrant, holding a lofty position in his community, never actually became a citizen. His father was illegal, very successful, but never left the country because he didn’t have the paperwork.
I wish I had sent this before the White House Correspondents Dinner – then I wouldn’t have to address that piece of mayhem but – I didn’t, so here I am. Scandalous security? Probably. And no this isn’t another reason to build the ballroom. It is a reason to get a grip on guns.
God alone knows with the conspiracy theorists are saying; I am doing my best to avoid all that after reading one post.
Donald Trump and his minions are tatting the fabric of America with no real understanding of what that fabric really is, awash in America the Mighty, which gives us, they think, the right to do what we want.
George Washington would be appalled, I suspect.




Letter From Claverack 11 25 2016 Thankfulness after Thanksgiving…
November 25, 2016Outside the window, it is grey, darkish and chill. Judy Collins is playing on my Echo [Alexa! Play Judy Collins! And she does.]. It is the day after Thanksgiving, the kind of day to curl up with a good book, a blanket and a fire, which I will do after finishing this missive.
My friend, Sarah, sent me something she had received from one of her dearest friends, who now lives in a Buddhist monastery. “May you enjoy a peaceful day of gratitude for everything that is good and right in the world.”
A great thought for the day after Thanksgiving. There is, after all, much that is not right in the world.
The list of things wrong in this world is endless.
And so, too, is the list of all the things right in the world. When I wake in the morning, I do my best to take a moment to be grateful that I have awakened, that I live, that I am surrounded these days by the soft winter beauty that is my little patch of earth.
Yesterday, Lionel, Pierre, their dog, Marcel, and I wandered up the road to Larry and Alicia’s home, with a view down to the Hudson River. We ate, drank, were merry, and grateful and then gathered around the baby grand piano and Lionel “bashed” out tunes to which all but me sang along. I cannot carry a tune; sitting instead on the sofa, I listened with joy.
We stayed last night at the Keene Farm, Larry and Alicia’s guest house, a wonderful, smaller house than their home at Mill Brook Farm, which is the main residence. That is a house with its foundations in the Dutch settlers in the 1600’s, added onto in the 18th Century, restored in the 20th, added onto again in the 21st. As we left there today, I was thinking I have what I have and I am happy with what I have, content in this third act time.
One of the things I have in this world are wonderful friends.
On Holidays, I have a tradition of texting everyone I have texted in the last year with a “Happy Thanksgiving” or a “Merry Christmas” or “Happy New Year.” Yesterday, my friend Jeffrey texted back he was grateful I was in his life and tears sprung to my eyes. We’ve known each other a long time; been a constant in each other’s lives. It felt so good to know.
Kevin, my nephew, texted me that he loved me as did my godson. Smiles played on my lips. Two such wonderful men; so lucky to have them in my life.
After last night’s feast, we brunched today at the Keene Farm; Lionel and I cooked while Pierre walked, Marcel sniffing around, enjoying the wonders of a new place.
The world is scary. Terrible things are happening and I know that. I am sourly aware that a bomb exploded yesterday in Baghdad, killing Iranian pilgrims. In Iran, a train derailment took 43 lives. Refugees are pawns in the political war of wills between the EU and Turkey.
And outside my window, the Claverack Creek slowly makes it way to the pond at the edge of Jim Ivory’s land, full this year of geese, after their absence for nearly five years. It feels a little order has returned to the universe.
Yesterday, a bald eagle swooped up the creek and took momentary residence on a tree limb across from my window. Then he spread his wings wide and soared up creek, to the north, seeking I know not what.
The bald eagle, symbol of the American Republic, a troubled Republic we all know, yet I quote my great friend Jan Hummel: we will survive this. We survived Warren G. Harding, after all, and Grover Cleveland, who was a scoundrel of the worst sort.
Google it…
Dried, dead leaves scatter my deck, an Adirondack chair sits looking lonely over the creek, the dull grey of the skies has continued now for two days. Now I am listening to Joan Baez, thinking back, gratefully, to those days in my youth when I first heard Judy Collins and Joan Baez.
We are all tender right now. Being grateful for the good things in our lives will help us heal, I think.
Tags:Alexa, Alicia Vergara, Baghdad Bombing, Bald Eagle, Buddhism, Claverack Creek, Echo, Healing, Iran, Iranian Train Crash, Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Kevin Malone, Larry Divney, Lionel White, Paul Geffre, Pierre Font, Sarah Malone
Posted in 2016 Election, Claverack, Columbia County, Daesh, Entertainment, European Refugee Crisis, Iran, IS, Life, Literature, Mat Tombers, Mathew Tombers, Media, Mideast, Political, Political Commentary, Social Commentary, Syrian Refugee Crisis, Trump, Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »