Remember what Mark Twain said: "It isn't what you don't know that will cause you trouble, it's what you know for sure that just ain't so".
Our trash is collected on Wednesday, every week.
I know that for sure.
But Labor day came in and, what I knew for sure gave me trouble.
Mine was the only trash can out today.
Tomorrow they will come.
What I know for sure just ain't so.
Bob Woodward's book has been gotten before publication by news outlets. It is damning to the president.
Woodward has tapes of his conversations with the president.
Back in February, the president told Woodward that the Cornia virus was five times more deadly than extreme flu. But he was 'playing down' the danger so Americans wouldn't feel 'terror'.
Terror was what was needed. If we were terrified we would have done what other countries did and shut down and prevented many of the 200,000 deaths!
Truth was what we needed--even if it caused 'terror'.
Terror was appropriate. It would have saved lives as many nations did and we could safely be re-opening society instead of universities trying to re-open and failing.
We would have prevented the motorcycle rally that spread the virus to many states.
Terror, in the face of terrible reality, is an appropriate reaction. And would have saved sickness and lives.
But we, the US, have the most cases and most deaths of any nation because the president 'down played' the crisis.
Lord help us!
And, by the way, why would the president broadcast his lies to a journalist who helped bring down a previous president?
How would a 'genius' had done that?
The virus continues to grow in this country.
What can stop it?
A new president, that's what!
Vote and vote early.
Stop the madness.
I'm not going to be political today.
I want to write about 'waiting'.
(Well, I am waiting for the election...cut that out, Jim!)
Every other Tuesday I go to Waterbury Hospital to get two shots of Zolair. I've probably mentioned it before since it has kept me asthma free for over 4 years.
When I go to the hospital, I park in the valet spots. The valets used to park my car before the pandemic, but I park it now, in one of their spots. There's always one of the valets there just to watch to upper parking lot. I still tip them though they don't park my car these days.
Then I go in and after an attendant takes my temperature, I go to 'registration' to get an wrist band and paperwork. Usually that takes--tops--10 minutes.
Today it took over an hour. When I finally got to Outpatient Therapies for my shots, the nurse told me the hold-up in registration is because most people, even those who maybe should be admitted to the hospital are being treated as 'outpatients'. "You have to be half-dead to get admitted these days because of Covid."
Jarring.
I actually got registered sooner than I would have been because I asked the woman at the desk to call Outpatient Therapies and tell them why I was so late. She did, but told me to wait and registered me there instead of having to wait for one of the 4 registrars.
In that hour, I saw a lot of anger.
People don't like to wait, especially in a hospital.
Complaints, accusations, demands abounded.
The staff handled it all with grace and calm.
I always have a book, no matter where I'm going. Today I'm reading Jame Patterson's Double Cross.
So, waiting for me is simply reading time.
I notice that cell phones calm waiting crowds as well--but in a hospital those are limited.
Often, waiting can make us anxious and angry.
But it can teach us somethings as well.
'Lord, teach me patience so I can wait on your will...."
When the Atlantic magazine published an article that the president passed up a tour of a cemetery in France to Americans who died there in WW II, it was quickly confirmed by other news sources, including a Fox News reporter.
The Atlantic article quoted 4 confidential sources that were in the room when the president cancelled the trip because it was raining and his hair would get messed up. He also, reportedly said those dead soldiers were 'suckers' and 'losers' because they died. Never-mind that they were protecting the country the president vowed to 'make great again' and failed himself.
But now it's come out that instead of the cemetery, the president went to the American ambassador to France's residence and removed art objects to take back to the White House! Even the administration has not refuted these charges.
To make it worse, Francis Brennan, director of strategic response (whatever that is) for the president's campaign, tweeted a video of Joe Biden actually visiting a cemetery and the graves of his son, Bo (brain cancer in 2018) and first wife Neilia and daughter, Naomi (1972--car accident). A reporter outside the cemetery called out, 'come speak to us'.
Joe waved but continued his visits to graves.
Brennan wrote over the video, 'Joe just keeps meandering along.'
People exploded on twitter calling Brennan everything he deserved to be called and more.
One man not visiting the graves of American heroes who were, in his mind, 'losers'. Only to kidnap art instead.
One man visiting graves of 3 people he loved with all his heart and not wanting to be distracted by reporters.
Which man would you respect and vote for.
(By the way, while Biden was going to church and visiting graves on Sunday, the president was golfing!!!)
Enough said....
(the opinions here are mine and mine alone)
It's part of life, right?
Here's something I wrote a while ago about Sadness, personifying it as a woman I did not know.
SADNESS
I've noticed you before, over the years, the decades,
standing in the corner of those rooms,
passing out the door I was coming in,
walking down the street outside my house
with an umbrella and a dog
whether it was raining or not.
You are not unattractive--in fact, there was a certain
fascination about you in your calm and stoic look.
I liked that you would hold my glance when I would
look away, How I would remember your eyes before I slept.
It was you eyes, you know, that made me nod
and maybe even smile as we almost touched
in the hallways of my life. Nod and smile, that much
and never more before turning away to speak to another.
Your eyes troubled me,
frightened me, brought me night terrors,
because you saw into the soul of me and did not flinch.
Recently, our hands have almost touched, both reaching
for some cheese or a slice of melon at a party where we
both felt out of place. And I saw your eyes all new,
in a different way--and fear you less.
So I invite you into my home, my thoughts, my heart,
to learn what dreadful and healing things you have
to tell me, whisper into my tears and to feel you
lips against my own, kissing and tasting and giving life.
Yesterday was our 50th anniversary. We thought we were spending it with 6 close friends, but at the very beginning Mimi, Tim and Eleanor showed up--a complete surprise!!!
We'd told the kids not to come because of Covid-19 and since Josh and Cathy and their girls live in Maryland, I was sure they wouldn't come. He's a lawyer and she's a judge and to obey the law of CT, anyone traveling from Maryland (and many other states) would have to isolate for 14 days before interacting here. I knew they wouldn't break the law.
But Mimi, Tim and Eleanor are living in up-state New York (out of their apartment in New York City, working from home). No law about them coming. And so they did! What an amazing gift to see them. They spent the night with us and went home an hour or so after I did zoom church.
What a joy to have them with us on such a joyful day.
I found a poem I wrote about Bern 16 years ago. In honor of our anniversary, I share it with you.
June 4, 2004
I watch her mow
From the deck of our house, I watch her mow.
This is a woman I knew as a girl
And loved as only a boy can love—
Selflessly, nakedly, longing always.
I watch her mow and learn not the pattern
She fulfills. It’s beyond—like her—my ken.
Her hair braided, tossed about by movement,
Is almost as long as I remember
When we first met—teenage children, yes—
Tasting love like new dew of the morning—
Her hair was like a dream I dared not have
And she the wondrous dream my life might be
(Never mind any nightmares along the way!)
So I watch her mow the grass in our yard,
Noticing the muscles of her brown arms,
The sweat clinging there, glowing in the sun—
A woman whose love I’m not worthy of—
Who loves me never-the-less. And it’s that love
That creates my worthiness: makes me real.
I go cut cucumbers and boil the corn.
I ‘ll saute the soft-shell crab, drink some wine,
Remembering how that late sun did shine
And how she shone, mowing grass and my heart.
On September 5, 1970, Bernadine Pisano and I were married at the Catholic Church in Gary, WV. An Episcopal priest was there, but it was short and sweet.
Tomorrow is 50 years since that day.
Oh, my Lord!!!
50 years together.
And she still surprises me from time to time.
And I surprise her.
On and on it goes.
Imagine that!
We know each other so well, so deeply, so profoundly.
And yet we still surprise each other from time to time.
My love for her is beyond expression.
We'll be with 5 or 6 best friends tomorrow.
I'll take our wedding album for people to see us half-a-century ago.
My heart is full of joy and wonder and thankfulness.
Two children, 4 grand-daughters, a life spent together.
I'm amazed.
And so very, very thankful.
