Woe to the grandchildren…

It’s been a while, folks. I know.
Tempus fugit, you know.
There has been a clatter of demands on me which have kept me from putting fingers to the keyboard for this particular task. Busy getting the store ready for “the season,” a spot of computer trouble, toss in a storm of bookstore issues, mix it up with an allergic reaction to a new medication which had me overnight in the emergency room, pumped full of Benadryl, in whose haze I lingered for days. Well, it’s been a time.
So, here I am, crashing into the reality “the season” is actually beginning to wind down even though August, our biggest month, is about to unfold, only a few weeks until Labor Day, a summer which has zoomed by though not on Zoom. Lived in real life, real time. June seemed to last about a day.
There are those who say there have never been more people on island and those who say visitors are down, worried about the ticks, inflation, the economy, what new horror might come out of Washington.
Whatever the truth is, the bookstore, knock on wood, thank God, is doing okay.
The island has had a beautiful summer, causing “old timers” to remark it has been like it used to be, temperate, a place where air conditioning was not needed. There has been a plethora of sun kissed mornings, glorious sunsets, laughter in the streets, the sound of Vineyard Voices, an all-male acapella group, singing in the park next to the bookstore. Idyllic.
In the “real” world back on the mainland…
We have a president who said he’d bring down inflation but has only fueled it. He said he’d keep us out of foreign wars. Not happened.
Washington has decided to cut subsidies for Medicare drug coverage, raising prices for seniors.
It seems even die-hard Trump supporters are becoming disenchanted. Can you blame them?
I am Trumped out. He sucked the life out of the 250th anniversary of this county. The UFC bloodying the lawn at the White House, not far from the ruins of the East Wing? This celebrated America?
The Reflecting Pool repair was a complete disaster; American Flag Blue began to peel days after completion; the water turned algae green in days, the project a triumph of incompetence.
Since February, we’ve been locked in fighting Iran. There’s been no regime change. No complete destruction of Iran’s nuclear program. Now the Houthis are weighing in with a Saudi blockade of the Gulf of Aden. Saudi Arabia and the U.S. coordinated a strike against them, raising the stakes the war will widen. Ukraine blew up an Iranian ship in the Caspian Sea. War heat rising.
Bush started the endless wars that have consumed us since. Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran. We have flexed our muscle over and over to no avail. Twenty-five years of war and what do we really have to show for it? Not much. National treasure poured down the drain. Wars fought with muddied goals, lacking exit plans.
Trump has ordered military action in how many countries? 8?
Pete Hegseth slobbers misogyny and racism, blocking the advancement of men of color, of women, based on race and sex. He wraps himself in a Christian blanket. Is this all really Christian? Not to me.
Now he wants a testosterone test for soldiers over 30. Makes me suspect he’s doing testosterone himself, making him pretty angry, which he is, all the time.
Donald Trump spends his nights ranting on Truth Social, many posts incomprehensible, spewing invective, hate, lies. His grasp of facts is just that: a grasp. But then this is not a president whose ever has had a close relationship with truth.
We need to hold this administration to the hot irons of an age which had more respect for the laws of this land, for the expectations of the behavior of a president.
No president has created more wealth in his presidency as Trump.
Trump has grifted his way through life. “The Apprentice,” solidified his reputation as a canny business man while probably saving him from bankruptcy.
Estimates of his financial gain for his first year in office this time come in at about $2.2 billion. It seems to be grating to some of his constituency, those who voted for him, now finding themselves counting pennies, squeezed by inflation. It raises eyebrows. As it should.
We are tainted with the smell of corruption, seen as a capricious country, led by a capricious man who does not understand nor respect the underpinning of the institutions which have sustained this country.
If it can be done, it will take years to undo this mess. Or Trump may have tipped the balance, beginning the long slide of the American Empire. Woe to the grandchildren.




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
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