In an attempt to increase social contact and because I ran into an old friend who is music director for a local community theater, I accepted his invitation to join his church choir. This happens to be a denomination that is different from the one in which I was raised, but since my motivation is simply to make music on a regular basis, to fill what is otherwise a long evening, and to meet others, I wasn’t too concerned about my “different-ness.” I’m still not concerned. I feel valued for what I can add as a singer and as a person, and that is what counts. If I felt that holding other beliefs dissuaded me from being my best musician self, I’d find another group. But the group has been welcoming and I am finally learning names.

I find it interesting that in the larger picture, the Lutheran liturgy and the Roman Catholic (RC) liturgies are essentially the same. I learned that in music history class as an undergraduate and have kept that understanding ever since. Pre-Vatican II, the Catholic church did not feature congregational singing nearly as much as the Lutheran church did. A friend related that in the months after the changes Vatican II brought to the RC church, they invited the Lutherans in to help teach the congregation how to sing out and how to discover the joy and community in singing together. Now, 58 years later, I can say that the RC congregation with which I am involved has learned its lessons. While, yes, I can always hope that they sing out more, they certainly sing with some confidence and they sing together. There has even been a moment in which time was take to teach the congregation a new hymn before it was included in the liturgy. What more could I want?

I have to say that my musical interests tend more to the instrumental than the vocal. That’s natural given that I am an instrumentalist who sings rather than a singer who plays an instrument. That’s a fine distinction that speaks to focus. I find that when I listen to vocals, I will occasionally find lines that, if I allow it, will drive me crazy. How can anyone sing that? You may remember “The Wedding Song” that was popular in the 1970s.* It’s a nice enough song and appropriate for the situation. It seemed that most of the weddings I went to at that time featured it. However, the line “woman draws her life from man and gives love back again” leaves me full of resentment. It may be my feminist leanings, but hey, the idea that my life is nothing without a man makes me want to run out of the church and either scream in rage or weep in despair. If I were to write the song, I might write “he and she stand hand in hand and give love back again.” It’s a little off, but the scansion works and is appropriate for the setting. I could live with those words.

What does that mean for the title of this Musing?? Every Sunday the congregation sings a Gloria. “Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth, peace to men of good will.” Here too, the scansion works with the meter and the line sings easily and well. But it has gotten me thinking–sort of along the lines of the difference between “An enemy of the people” and “The people’s enemy.” That’s a translation from the Ibsen title but clearly with a slight difference between the original and the translation. Shades of meaning are important.

So what’s the difference between the current “Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth, peace to men of good will” and the line in the King James version of the Christmas story in Luke 2:14 where we find a heavenly host singing “Glory to God in the highest and peace, good will to men”? Aside from the fact that the Bible refers only to “men,” which is, I think, an obsolete linguistic turn of phrase that I was taught refers to both men and women. This is much in the way that we read “all men are created equal” in the Declaration of Independence, even though at the time, the writers never thought to include women, the enslaved, or indigenous peoples. Still, what gets me thinking is whether the lyricist, in a successful attempt at scansion, managed to change the meaning of the line, similar to how a misplaced comma can change meaning. Consider the riff in Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton: My dearest Angelica, versus My dearest, Angelica. Bottom line: how intentional is this? Is this merely an accidental turn of phrase, one of convenience or an attempt at creating an interesting and (hopefully) clever turn of phrase, or a intentional, separating the good guys from the less-than? It may be that I am one of the few who would get hung up on this issue, but then I must admit that this bothers me. It’s like the English teacher instinct that wants to white-out the misused apostrophes. (Plural. Possessive. What’s the difference? If it ends in “s” throw in an apostrophe.)

So which is it? Do we wish good will only to those who already have good will? Do we wish good things for those who think like us, or do we wish good will to everyone, regardless of whether they are or whether they think like us. Are we generous in our wishes of good will or are we insular and closed? I may not wish you ill, but if you are not already of my mindset, I do not particularly wish you well. Is one reading generous and the other, in terms of others, null? I am not certain. It’s the sort of linguistic rabbit hole I enter when I pay attention to what I am singing or reading. As for me, I wish everyone well, no matter who they are.

In my world, we are all connected. The web of the world is not limited to good guys and bad guys, not limited to your size, your age, your beliefs, or the color package your physique comes in. I wish you well. In those moments of “connected-ness” I have written about recently, I feel the same for the world around me–human or otherwise. I embrace good will and send it out. And yes, it comes back in all sorts of ways, small and large. Today, dear reader, I send it to you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RrTfNTzAvYY: Musings: Good will to men or to men of good will

It seems that not long ago the latest celebrity “thing” dealt with gratitude. Make a gratitude journal. Create a gratitude vision board. Whatever. It all feels like “stuff.” Gratitude journal? Just one more thing to write when really, if I am writing, I would rather be here. Vision board? That feels like “look at all I have to be grateful for.” On one hand, yes, there is much for which to be grateful. On the other hand, do we need to make this a visual entity? Hang it on the wall for others to see? I’m more private than that. Even writing this entry feels a little out there.

But gratitude. A few entries ago, I wrote about all the help that has shown up when I have needed it. The list was fairly long. I am humbled to say that the list continues to grow. My son says its Karma. I’ve done for others, I met my vows and cared for The Hubs, I finished the race, ergo, Karma has manifested itself in the actions of both friends and former strangers. I am humbled in light of the fact that when I have had a need, people have shown up. For that, yes, I am deeply grateful.

For me, gratitude embodies itself in a feeling of connection. There are moments, sometimes several times daily, wherein I feel connected to something far deeper and greater than myself; I feel connected to an energy within the universe that I can’t explain. It brings peace and it brings and energy that I don’t really understand, but that I cherish. It feels as if I am filled with light. Does that make any sense? It’s hard to describe, but something I welcome. I want to fling my arms open, lift my face to the sky and simply feel embraced. Yes, I think it’s a form of freedom, perhaps, but also something greater.

Humility is not the same as humiliation. Humility, I think, is to understand how there are things much greater than one’s self. That whatever it is that brings people who are the helpers into my life doesn’t necessarily make me feel small in the way that humiliation might. It enlarges my world. I am amazed, and yes, grateful that somehow these people have found their way to me.

That The Hubs is gone is permanent. This is not going to change. Occasionally I have that feeling that he is just around the corner, something that I have been told will happen, but something that has not happened in the past. This might be because of the length of the relationship–30+ years together is really a long time. But the next thought is that the absence of The Hubs is permanent. It is not going to change. I do hope that wherever he is, purgatory, the Bardo, wherever. He has time to think now, reflect, and evaluate his life. If reincarnation is a thing, perhaps he will have the chance to make the changes he learns he needs to make.

Nevertheless, what I feel most these days is gratitude. I am grateful to wake up in the morning, whole, able to move, able to do the things that are necessary to move forward. Forward. Always forward. I have never been good at reverse, even now with a backup camera. It’s not that I don’t reflect on the past. I try to learn from the past so that the future is better. But gratitude? Every day. Sometimes minute to minute. Somehow when I need something, that something shows up, no matter how small and no matter in what form. Who could not be grateful for something like that?

At last, I have a home computer. I am no longer tied to the library computers. It’s a Sunday, and here I am, tapping away, merrily listening to music on YouTube and appreciating this opportunity to revisit this effort at, once again, trying to write.

It has been some time since I’ve entered anything in the Musings. I have been busy cleaning and repairing. While there is still much to do, the list of things I have accomplished is growing. When I last posted, I was waiting for a pickup from the Habitat for Humanity ReStore people. Mission accomplished. Furthermore, the house has a new roof, the garage has a new door, the bathrooms have new toilets and a new vanity in one. I have hot water, once again, and freshly scraped, sealed, sanded, primed and painted storm windows on the first floor of this two story house.

My magic chair, that lovely rocker that sat in the basement, is at the restorer, I am in the queue for getting my turntable fixed, the bedroom in which the Hubs went on to the next chapter in life is freshly painted with brighter, happier colors. I have a new computer installed and, after a frightening night of clicking the wrong screen and getting hacked, my new computer is well protected courtesy of friends who have that skill. The morning after the hacking, I went directly to the bank and was relieved to discover that all was well. New cards and a new account later, I went on to Social Security and reset the auto-deposit, and then did the same for my pension. It took almost a full day, but by the end of that story, everything is secure.

Yes, trips to the gym took a two week hiatus while I spent time with the storm windows and the painting of the room. However, I am back at it again. There was that adventure as well. The gym I had been going to closed down without warning. This was a state-wide event. Our memberships were transferred to another gym which is much further away, but equally nice. Then last time I visited, two days ago, something else went hinky with Silver Sneakers. With some help from a knowledgeable manager, we seem to have gotten that issue straightened out.

I think one of the things I have learned in these few months is that the second law of thermodynamics holds true: All things trend toward disorder. “As one goes forward in time, the net entropy (degree of disorder) of any isolated or closed system will always increase (or at least stay the same).” Maybe that’s simply a more complicated way of saying that stuff happens. Like the weather here in the Midwest, don’t get too comfortable. It’s going to change.

For example: I went with a helper to the other property we own to get into the garage to look over yet another car we have in storage. The corner of the garage has been boarded up since a neighbor went on a bender one night and crashed into it, so it took a little bit to get the screws out and the boarding moved enough to slip in. And yes. Another surprise. I had written earlier about how our garage here at the house in which I dwell was full of junk and usable stuff. Here we go again. I have yet another garage full of “stuff” to clean out. If I could get into it easily, I’d be on it now, but it may take two to gain access on a regular basis. Nevertheless, I am not completely dismayed. I did it once, I can do it again. An extra car; a commercial sewing machine; several rolling clothes racks; a new electric stove; a cast iron wood stove. The list goes on.

At the moment, we are in the middle of an unusual heat wave. The next few days are going to be atypically hot for September. Frankly, I am sticking inside with the fans and the window air on. I have the air conditioner set at 78⁰ in order to save at least a little on the electric bill. I turn it off at night, though I leave the bedroom fan on. Because of this, I haven’t gotten much done. I confess that these days of idleness bother me only a little bit now. I may have learned that an occasional pause is a good thing.

What have I done for myself? I have auditioned at a local community playhouse for a part I didn’t get in their presentation of The Little Mermaid. I didn’t expect a part. It’s what I think of as a “young” show. No room for us seniors in the cast. I am undeterred. The next big show is The Best Christmas Pageant Ever and in that show there is a part for an “older woman.” Once again I am going in to audition, perhaps more to have the fun of singing out than to expect a part. On the other hand, though, it’s hard not to get one’s hopes up. We shall see. If wishing could make it so? Or. . .be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

Over and over, though, what I feel is gratitude more than paralyzing grief. The Hubs was doing so poorly at the end that I was seriously considering getting a home health aid. Helping him up to the computer room was beginning to become scarier than I wanted to deal with. The last day was a struggle to deal with his physical needs, then get him back to bed to rest until he could join me in the rest of the house. There was no way he was going up to his man cave. He rested, then never got up.

Sometimes I wonder why I don’t feel worse. When my parents died, when I buried Hubs number one, I thought I was going to go crazy. I was prickly all over and felt that I was walking through an atmosphere of wet wool Such is not the case this time. I don’t know whether practice makes things easier in the sense that I have lived through this before, I can do it again. I don’t know whether the anticipation of the Hub’s passing over these many years has steeled me against such deep grief. I don’t know. I simply am moving forward. Maybe when repairs are done, the garage is emptied, the properties settled, and goals are accomplished, I will feel something more. I will just have to wait to see what happens. In the meantime, there is much to do and miles to go before I sleep.

Things have been moving right along since I last wrote. I wanted to take time today simply to reflect on what I have learned through this experience so far.

I have learned that while life is complicated and sometimes I feel alone (as opposed to lonely), I certainly am not. I have learned that when I put out a call for help, my friends respond in spades. I needed to remove the bed on which the Hubs died. Within two days, the mattress wrestlers came in and took out the mattress and the box spring.

I have researched the wish lists of groups who are the helpers in our world so that I can help them do more work.

But took some time last night to think about the people who have been around me since the Hubs moved on:

• The solidity of the firefighters and the police officers who came to the house after I called 911. Because my landline had a gounding buzz and my cell phone still needed a program enabled and was inoperable, the police who let me use their cells to call the funeral home and speak with the medical examiner that night. They were so patient and helpful.
• My circle of friends who have surrounded me with their care. They wrestled the Hub’s mattress and box spring out to the trash within 48 hours and have continued to simply be present.
• I think even of the after-dark alley scavengers who picked up anything useful to them–things mostly of metal, but other things as well. When it comes down to it, where would this world be without scavengers?
• The salesman at the Ford dealership took back the Hubs’ new truck with no problem. When I came back to deliver the extra set of keys, he even ran my car through the car wash. We had a good chat. He too made sure I was Ok. Not having to make that payment saves me almost $600. a month.
• The neighbor and his son who also wrestled mattresses and box springs and bed frames into the living room to prepare them for pickup by the Homeless Veteran’s Initiative.
• I washed every pair of jeans that was in good repair, bundled and labeled them by size and delivered them to the local Rescue Mission. The kindness of the man who helped me unload was even better than his gratitude at seeing so many pairs of jeans.
• I delivered clean old blankets and towels together with hand sanitizer and soft soap to the local Humane Society.
• The men from the Homeless Veteran’s Initiative picked up mattresses and box springs as well as other things that can be used to furnish small apartments to house homeless veterans while they get support to reintegrate into civilian society. They had to make two trips.
• I had arranged to get a new garage door installed. When we finally got the door open I was both shocked and dismayed to find all of the stuff the Hubs had stored in the garage unbeknownst to me. We can’t move forward with the new door until we moved a car that has been stored in there for years and years. That, together with several snow blowers, lawn mowers, and other assorted junk filled much of the larger part of our three car garage. The “garage guy” called me later that afternoon to check that I was Ok. Then he offered his and his brother’s services to clean out that which might be useful to them–the snow blowers and the lawn mowers–as well as the recyclable stuff that could fit into their trailer. They came one afternoon and took a great deal with them. They took enough that I could get to the car and get the VIN and search for the title.
• The Rawhide Ranch people are coming to get the car. Once it is gone, I can get my new garage door and get my car off the street. It will be a big step forward.
• I managed to sell two other vehicles that the Hubs had been hoarding. He was unwilling to make the deal to move them forward. Yes, the Hubs was a Hamlet for sure.
• A former student who is both a lawyer and a CPA has helped me with the tax returns that had gone submitted for far too long. Once again, the Hubs has everything in order, all sorted out and organized. He simply did not get the taxes done. I am so grateful to the former student.
• There’s the amazingly positive young woman at the state office building who found and printed a copy of the last state tax return the Hubs had filed. She was bright and she was efficient. She also had a charcoal portrait of Louie Armstrong in her cubicle. What can I say? It all went together.
• When Wells Fargo Bank stalled on allowing me into our joint accounts, the firm who wrote our will took on the task of getting them to do the right and legal thing of allowing me into the accounts and the lock box. Once this is settled, I will close the accounts and shout my barbaric Yawp that NO ONE, no one ever should bank with Wells Fargo. While this is not settled, eventually it will be. I have to wait.
• Even though setting up an account with the IRS was difficult, it was the librarians who finally came through to help me get the job done. Another vote of gratitude for librarians. I would have a hard time without them.

Over and over, people have been incredibly kind. There is a man at the gym who, when I see him, checks in. How are you doing? Are you OK? These are sometimes difficult questions to answer, but on the other hand, it is gratifying to feel that people are genuinely concerned. Even the wrong number I called paused for a minute when I explained why I was calling. . .and then suggested that I had the wrong number. . .and then offered condolences and reminded me to stay hydrated. What can I say? The time I took last night to think on these things was not so much a “counting my blessings” moment–although one might think of it that way–as it was simply feeling grateful to everyone around me who has been there when I have needed them. There are friends who stop by for a cup of tea and a chat when they finish work. One or two a week. One by one, they hold me up. There is my son, who is still far away, who will be here soon enough. I went to visit him last week. He gives the best hugs. He has wonderful friends who welcomed Mom into the group to share a good afternoon of D&D. There was simply the time on the road in a new part of the country. A change of scenery went a long way.

The house is still a mess. Right now it is full of the things waiting to be picked up by the ReStore. However, little by little things will be cleared out.

Little by little: my mantra for moving on. One step at a time. Moving forward is a good thing, even if it’s forward by baby steps.

What can I say? I am so lucky to have these people–friends and strangers–who are kind. It is both uplifting and reassuring to know that, yes, dear reader, the world is still a good place.

Dear reader, yes there has been a gap in the writing. The Hubs died about nine days ago and truly, I haven’t felt much like Musing these days. There is far too much to do in dealing with not only loss, but with all that was left behind. Hubs was a hoarder in his own right and I am only now discovering the variety of “stuff” he had tucked away in his man cave.

I am well aware that dealing with loss takes time. There is not only the emotional side of grieving, but the business of all the legalities of loss as well. It all takes time. So yes, I want to be writing and will get back here soon enough. But in this moment, given that there is much to do and even library time is limited, I am setting aside musings for a time. Right now I am having trouble even indulging in my favorite escape into the covers of a book. I found myself reading Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone with the understanding that that’s about the level I can manage at this time.

Today I couldn’t even do that.

So it is that I will be back sometime soon. I just can’t make guarantees as to anything more precise than that. I am grateful for friends who have risen to the occasion and who have my back. What can I say but thank you.

I started this blog with the intention of doing it for one year. The goal was to write about the process of adjusting to retirement and how things have proceeded since. So here I sit today, 741 entries later, still thinking about what to write next because, yes, I have discovered that retirement is a process, not an end. Obviously the regularities of this writing has changed. Lately I have moved from writing almost every day to once a week. There is a reason for this.

The schedule has changed since I was able to write daily and really, I am trying to avoid rants. No one wants to spend time with someone who rants on and on and on. I have found that in the effort not to repeat myself ad nauseum, I am writing less and thinking about writing more. Who knew? My schedule includes more and more “stuff” that comes with every day living. The Hubs used to do all the grocery shopping. His health has deteriorated to the point that now that task falls to me. In reality, this is no big deal. The trip is easier to do on my own than it is to do with the Hubs. Believe me, prepping for a grocery store trip means that the Hubs has to sit down, make the list, then discuss (in detail) how to accomplish the list. It might drive me crazy if I let it. On the other hand, I ride on top of the the whole discussion rather than sink beneath it. Call it verb surfing.

I am taking more time at the gym. While I am still stuck at the same place on the scale that I was about eight weeks ago, I sense that more than the scale is changing and that’s a good thing. Really, my resting pulse rate is strong at 52 beats per minute. This is in opposition to the the Hubs, whose resting rate is a wobbly 48. Frankly, I suspect he is thankful that I have been working out the past several years. I have enough muscle to support him when he needs it. But in the long run, it’s time at the gym.

I continue to be a voracious reader. I suspect I have been making up for all the years of sacrificing recreational reading for professional reading. The best time in the past many years were the times snuggled up with my son reading together. I wish I had done more. While I could make almost every entry here about the Book Log, I refrain because not every book I have read was one that I want to recommend over my name. I am sometimes tempted to post about the books earning a meh or worse, but then I remind myself that one person’s meh is another’s yay! I would not want to take that away from someone.

While retirement isn’t what I had hoped it would be, it isn’t as awful as it might have been. I wanted to volunteer at a local “ranch” that provides equine therapy. If I mucked stalls and groomed and tacked up, I might have a chance eventually to ride as well. Or I could be volunteering at the local humane society where, after a stretch of doing scut work, I could have some daily puppy therapy myself. I could listen to little people read to me a few days a week or I cold could finally take that trip to London or to Stratford, Ontario.

Shoulda. Coulda. Woulda. Perhaps all in good time.

So how does all this fit into the drama surrounding Aaron Rogers? Mr. Rogers recently spent four days in darkness. I am not sure if during four days he had food and water, but the word is that he at least had a mattress on which to sleep and a cushion on which to meditate. It seems, from recent video accounts, that he also had a commode. For that reason I refuse to even remotely qualify that as a genuine vision quest. Moreover, he was inside, out of the elements, probably in a warm place. Now that he has come out into the sunshine, he has had plenty to say about the results of his stay in the dark. None of it has offered anything definitive about his future. He continues to dither, offering hints but nothing concrete.

What a tease.

He isn’t sure what retirement will bring. This is a man who claims to continue to be a competitor but who works like a putz. He talks a good talk about working on his leadership skills, but seems not to understand that leadership is a longer journey than showing up on game day with the necessary knowledge. I suggest that leadership starts the day after draft day when the quarterback calls each new wannabe receiver and running back and invites them over for a game of catch and a few beers. It includes showing up for OTAs rather than cavorting on the islands with his latest chou-chou. It means understanding that there is more to leadership than meets the eye. Colin Powell writes the following in his book It Worked for Me:

Lieutenant, you may be starving but you must never show hunger; you always eat last. You may be freezing or near heat exhaustion, but you must never show that you are cold or hot. You are the leader and the troops will reflect your emotions.”

Colin Powell, It worked for Me, p.5

Yes, this may read as a bit extreme, but I see it as Powell’s version of “lead by example.” Remember, he is military. Parents try to do their own version of this all the time. It’s another way of saying keep on keeping on. Keith Dunnavant writes in America’s Quarterback: Bart Starr and the Rise of the National Football League, about how Starr was not gifted with incredible physical assets. What he did have was an incredible work ethic paired with the strength of character to lead the Packers to five NFL championships, three of them in a row. What sort of strength did it take to lead that team through the Ice Bowl? Good leaders are hard to find. Great leaders are like the rare earth metals that  have unusual fluorescent, conductive, and magnetic properties—which make them very useful when alloyed, or mixed, in small quantities with more common metals such as iron.* Think about it. I think the analogy is apt. I am clearly not convinced that Aaron Rogers fits that description well. He fits, sort of, but I suspect that he does not alloy all that well with the iron that makes up the rest of the team.

And so we wait. Packers fans wait as do those of any team that may pick up Roger’s pricey contract. For the moment, the rest is silence.

*I confess, this sentence is not mine but a definition I found online. I thought it was an appropriate metaphor for what I am trying to say.

Lately I keep coming across the word resilience in any number of contexts. The city is resilient. The students are resilient. Ukraine is resilient. Is the universe trying to send me a message?

If resilience is the ability to withstand adversity AND bounce back, then what is the message? Fear not, for I bring you tidings of great joy: you are stronger than you think. Whatever mess you are in, you can come back from this. Gratitude is fundamental to life. While the panhandler on the corner has a smartphone and smokes and you don’t, you are in a far better place. You are driving and not on the corner with a cardboard sign. There but for the grace of the gods go you?

I just finished reading Daniella Mestyanek Young’s Uncultured, a memoir. The author grew up in a cult, The Children of God, where physical and sexual abuse of children was commonplace–simply part of the culture. Escaping at age 15, she managed to attend, then graduate from high school and go on to college. Along the way, the apparent lack of education in the cult was a huge stumbling block, but Ms. Mestyanek was resilient. She persevered. Post baccalaureate, she joined the US Army, where on the first day of basic training she wondered if she had, yet again, found herself in another cult. She went on to work in intelligence and earn the rank of captain. Unfortunately, the issues in the Children of God and the US Army are not all that different. The cult-like atmosphere of life on the sands of Afghanistan was not all that unfamiliar.

Resilience.

Mestyanek finds her way out and into a far, far better place.

This is not all that untrue about my former students. Yes, teachers keep track where they can of their former students. Some have done amazingly well. They have gone on to higher education, to med school, to law school. One became a Rhodes Scholar, another an author, a third an artist. Resilience. Others have succumbed to their surroundings. Several are serving life sentences for homicide, some have been killed in violent clashes with other gang members or with police. It is almost impossible to look at a classroom of students and see who is resilient and who lacks that characteristic. Some are late bloomers. They develop slowly, but eventually they move forward.

Forward.

My classroom motto that last year. Will your behavior move you forward? Will it help the class move forward? We are in a car with no reverse gear. Forward. Teachers rarely know what happens to their former students. Over 48 years I have had 10,00+ student in my career. Of all of those students, I have learned of the lives of only a small percentage of them. Perhaps if I were on social media I might discover more, but I have serious issues with putting too much out there (as I sit here and put more out into the ether on this writing. . .). Nevertheless, if I could wish any student any one characteristic, I think it would be resilience. It’s not that nothing stressful or bad will ever happen. It’s that one can work through it. I don’t believe that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I have seen too much of the other side of that coin. It is resilience that enables us to be stronger. Precisely where resilience comes from, I am not sure. We know it when we see it and when we see it, it is gratifying.

Sometimes I wonder how hard it is to break old habits. I am an habitual follower of politics, even though it seems sometimes like watching either an accident in progress or a demolition derby. Actually, I was disappointed in the one demolition derby I went to. I had expected something more along the lines of higher-speed bumper cars when it turned out to be more of a close encounter of the fenders kind until, finally only one car remained capable of a bit of motion. Thinking back, it struck me that the mess of autos demonstrated a sort of Brownian movement–a mass of vehicles clotted together moving randomly until they didn’t.

But I digress.

What now of the State of the Union??? I felt that President Biden gave a determinedly hopeful speech while a handful of the opposition made the chamber sound more like the English House of Commons. Personally, I was not entirely surprised at the behavior of some of the Republicans on the floor, but disappointed that they made a choice to be disruptive. Considering that in the previous administration, the Democrats sat quietly and respectfully while the former president spouted lie after lie, Loren Bobert and Marjorie Taylor-Green, in particular, reacted more like out of control adolescents at a school assembly. The difference is that the teachers and administration would have removed them and given them detention. Here, they got camera time. Perhaps that was what they were looking for. Notoriety begets campaign contributions. Cash matters. Nevertheless, their behavior was completely out of line. Even the speaker of the house tried to shush them.

I wonder if Marjorie Taylor-Green’s mother was proud of her.

I haven’t checked the statistics, but I suspect that Joe Biden’s speech had better flow with fewer interruptions relative to past SOTU adresses. This is, I think, not because the speech was so unworthy of applause but that the Democrats showed some restraint in favor of some level of decorum. The usual introductions of guests in the gallery went well, I thought. Biden stuck to the script rather than needing to embellish the introductions. This is what I like: keep things moving.

Of course, the best moment, theatrically, was when Biden negotiated a stance on Social Security and Medicare in situ. Right then, right there, he got the GOP to agree not to sunset these programs. Given that the Hubs and I are now among the elders, these are important programs to us. Yes, we are fairly comfortable, but we are not taking cruises or trotting off to Disney World. We are content to be here where we are with the occasional trip that I get to take, solo, to visit my son. I am frugal, the Hubs can often be defined as cheap, but we manage. We have a roof, a warm bed, a full fridge, and power. Stir in a few dear friends and all is well.

However, the drama was worth the time it took to watch. I wonder now if such behavior will be the norm. We will become increasingly like our neighbors across the pond–arguing and commenting at the tops of their lungs over the speech of the prime minister. It is always an adventure to watch the Parliament at work on C-Span. (I did say I was a political junkie. . .) The rest remains to be seen. I feel that for us, this would be a devolution.

And so it is that we will wait another year to see what happens next. In the meantime, we will be heating up for the next election cycle. By that time, much can have happened. Tune in again next February for the next update.

It’s that time of the year. The US Constitution says in Article II, section 3 that the president “shall from time to time give to Congress information of the State of the Union and recommend to their Consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient.” For the first part of our national history, presidents gave such information to Congress in the form of a letter. It might be time to return to that practice.

These days, the state of the union comes in the form of a circus, complete with members of congress trained to leap up, applaud and cheer periodically. (I wanted to say complete with trained animals, but that seemed snarky, as did my initial thought of complete with clowns, but that’s pretty snarky too.) The opposition party sits in dour disapproval and keeps their hands in their laps or keeps their eyes on their cell phones. (Are they playing games, balancing their checkbooks, or Tweeting?)

Then there are the now-ubiquitous ordinary-citizens-caught-up-in-extraordinary-circumstances who are recognized by the president for those circumstances. I swear that if I were ever in that position and was invited to be the prop du jour, I would decline. It all seems so contrived. I guess it actually is. I am hopeful that this president will not use the stage to present the Medal of Freedom as did the previous administration. . .who presented the medal to an incredibly misogynistic and racist bloviator, Rush Limbaugh.

I think it’s time to change the narrative and come back to some level of dignity. I am so tired of the circus. I think that tonight I’ll put a DVD into the player and watch something else, then tomorrow, read the text of the speech on my own, sans applause breaks. Youtube will edit out all the applause breaks as well if I want to watch instead. Thank goodness.

I would say “watch this space,” but I am not entirely certain when I shall return to write. My goal is to write tomorrow, but I suspect that I will more than likely be returning to write on Thursday. It will take some time to digest whatever the president has to say.

In the meantime, fire up the microwave and get out the popcorn. Time for something completely different.

Time for a quick note on a rare experience.

I finally got to use the little snow blower that was my Christmas present the other day. Like much of the upper Midwest, we got the first “real” snow of the winter–almost eight inches worth. Working with this machine took a little bit of a learning curve, but hey, it was great. It was a much better, faster experience than shoveling even considering the break I had to take to recharge the battery.

After I finished the house and the empty lot we own, I went down to another property with the shovel to take care of that. The city demands that walks be shoveled 24 hours after the end of a snow storm, so we are compelled to get the work done. That property has a much shorter frontage than our other places. By the time I finished and went home, someone had come through with the plow and threw all sorts of “stuff’ over the sidewalk the full length of our lot.

Insert heavy sigh here.

I went inside to warm up and grab something to eat, then decided to go out and tackle the mess at the lot. I didn’t think the snow blower could handle all the wet, heavy lumps of snow and ice, so I took the shovel. The lot is situated with a long length along one side that looks as if it goes into infinity when standing at the top of the chore. Thinking about it, I estimate the whole length in the neighborhood of 25 yards.  I got the whole thing shoveled, only to look up and see one of those big highway plows crossing the intersection a block away, and coming in my direction. The lot is situated on a state highway, so yes, the giant plows work that street. Sigh. As it got closer, I backed up near one of the big trees on the edge of the sidewalk to take shelter from getting bashed by the tossed snow. When the plow got to the next intersection–the one that begins the lot, the driver stopped for a moment, then came forward at such a speed so as to gently toss the slush just  to the top of the snowbank and not over. It was a masterful bit of snow plowing. When he got closer to me I signed a thank you and he waved and smiled, then continued on at that pace to the end of the lot. He picked up the pace only after passing our lot, continuing at full speed past the sidewalk that had yet to be cleared.

It was an act of grace that makes me smile. There are good people in the world and I was lucky enough to encounter one of them.