Monthly Archives: December 2019

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. 24 Pepe 0008. (November 11, 2019)

“I love a dog. He does nothing for political reasons.”
Will Rogers.

 

 

 

TODAY FROM AMERICA:

 

 

 

A. POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST:

 

As I type this, I am also watching Ethel Waters sing one of my favorite songs, “Happiness is a Thing Called Joe” in the 1939 movie, “Cabin in the Sky.” A little ego boost every now and then is a good thing.

Before turning on the movie and writing this, I had just returned from lunch in the Golden Hills with HRM, Jake, and Kaleb at their favorite fried chicken places — for me it is not so much a favorite.

This morning, we attended the Saturday Morning Coffee at the Nepenthe Club House. Gerry, our leader, who usually runs these get-togethers, had been taken to the hospital yesterday evening with a heart problem of some sort. Nevertheless, following an exchange of information about how to contact Gerry and express our wishes for her speedy recovery, we shouldered on. Someone described the elaborate Halloween party we were throwing for the young children who live in the subdivision and the children of the children of the much more common old people who live in it. It seems those sponsoring the party have created an entire Halloween town out of cardboard for the children to frolic in. Someone else discussed the problem of termites and described the free termite inspection service provided by the HOC. It is pleasant, every now and then, to be reminded that there are people everywhere trying to do nice things for no other reason than kindness — well, perhaps a bit of comfort, self-interest, and guilt come into it as well, but they are merely like spices added to a good meal.

There being no more announcements, we broke up into small conversational groups. There were only three males at the breakfast. Each of us sat in chairs as far removed from one another as possible. None of us moved from our chosen fortress. The significantly more numerous female attendees seemed to comprise two sociological groups. Those who remain alone or sitting in small groups and those who moved around engaging the others in conversation. Naida and Winnie were of the latter cohort. They moved from group to group like bees gathering pollen.

Winnie and I compared photos. She of her former home in Salmon Idaho and I of that portion of our trip to the same area. Winnie and her husband, a distinguished architect from LA, moved to Idaho when he was diagnosed with incurable cancer. He wanted to die someplace surrounded by nature. They lived there for over twenty years. He did not die. They then decided to move into the Enchanted Forest. I do not know why. He is now in his nineties and remains vigorous but cantankerous. Interestingly, he designed the Methodist church in Salmon who’s minister was Naida’s uncle, the children of whom we had traveled to Salmon to visit. He also designed the Sacagawea monument in the town.
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Sacagawea and Me in Salmon Idaho.

 

Sunday evening, we decided to drive with Boo-Boo the Barking Dog to Discovery Park, at the confluence of the American and Sacramento rivers, where the Spanish explorers first landed in the mid-sixteenth century. There they discovered the largest Native-American settlement in the area. They also noticed that the grass on the top of the mesa was so cropped by the roving herds of Elk that they considered it park-like (This had some significance but I no longer recall what it was.) Naida told me the Native-Americans from the other villages in the area would periodically gather here for dances and parties. Now and then dances and parties are still held here. We walked around for a while, then set off for home.
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Boo Boo the Barking Dog and Naida Under the big Cottonwood Tree at Discovery Park.

On the way home, we decided to stop for dinner at a restaurant among a group of night-clubs on J. Street. We ordered squash filled ravioli. It was quite good. While we were eating, a young woman with very long blond hair and very short shorts sitting at the bar left her seat, came over to our table, and asked if we were married. I responded that this was only our first date.

After registering her squeals of surprise, we admitted, in fact, we had been together for about one year and a half but had known each other for over forty years. Following a few more rounds of chit-chat, she returned to her place at the bar. After finishing our meal, we returned home where we watched a reality TV program about gangbangers who found redemption.

Last week, Naida was not feeling well so on Wednesday she stayed home while I took the train alone to the Big Endive for my immunology treatment at UCSF. It was the first time I had taken the train to my appointment. I wanted to see whether traveling by train back and forth every three weeks would be more convenient and less exhausting for Vecchi like Naida and me.

 

 

B. BACK IN THE BIG ENDIVE BY THE BAY:
The train trip along with various public transport connections took about three hours to get me from Sacramento to Peter’s house — about the same time it takes by car with moderately heavy traffic. I was more relaxed and rested when I arrived as well. Since Barrie was in LA visiting her sister who was quite ill, Peter and I decided to have dinner at Bacco’s. I ordered my usual Gnocchi. We were joined by my grandson Anthony and his girlfriend.
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They brought me some product from the boutique cannabis store that soon will open in Dog-patch of which Anthony’s GF was manager. It consisted of samples of higher-priced, expensively packaged products that they hoped I would try and evaluate. They included a topical salve, a flavored drink, mints, chocolate, and the like. The cannabis industry is being rapidly veblenized. That is, marketing more expensive goods when there are cheaper alternatives available because most consumers think it will impress others in one way or another. One side effect of the Veblen Effect is that profits to the producers (growers) are reduced while those to the packagers and marketers soar.

The following morning Peter drove me to the hospital for my scheduled immunology infusion. Following my appointment, I walked from Mission Bay to the bus terminal where I caught the train back to Sacramento and home. The walk to the terminal was interesting. I had not walked around this part of downtown San Francisco in a long time. Some places I recognized, but most had changed beyond recognition.
C. TIME GOES ON LIKE IT OR NOT:
On Monday, Naida was depressed about forgetting her tennis match. So in order to cheer her up, I took her with me to pick up HRM from school after which she and I had lunch at Selland’s in Town Center. We sat at a table on the veranda overlooking the lakes. Following that, I gassed up the car and decided to have it washed. While driving into the washing facility, I crashed the car into a wall crumpling its left fender. On the way home, Naida was no longer feeling depressed, but I was. Upon arriving home, I went straight to bed hoping tomorrow would be a better day.

And it was. I got to drive HRM to his dental appointment where he had six cavities filled. In the evening, Naida and I, having given up on the day’s news, watched several movies none of which I really recall, but I do remember that I enjoyed them.

On Saturday, Boo-boo the Barking Dog, for some reason failed to wake us up in time to attend the Saturday Morning Coffee at the Nepenthe Club House. Naida and I decided to spend the morning in geriatric hanky-panky. I find geriatric hanky-panky superior to juvenile hanky-panky because it lasts longer and one never knows what can or cannot happen. Later we had a breakfast of pancakes and then watched Andy Griffith ham it up in A Face in the Crowd.

I do not recall what happened between Wednesday and Saturday except that on Friday night I dreamt I was dying. Strangely, I was neither unhappy nor frightened but instead content and resigned. Naida who woke me up during the dream told me she had done so because I had stopped breathing. Strange.

Saturday evening, Naida, Boo-boo the Barking Dog and I went for a walk along the American River. As we walked along, we noted the extensive blow-down of trees and tree-limbs throughout the Enchanted Forest and along the river caused by the heavy winds of the past few days. When we got to the clearing by the river where we like to stop for a while and take in the view, we sat on a log and watched while some people in the picnic area across the river tried to get a car that was half-submerged out of the water. After several failures, they did. A little later flocks of Canadian geese flew in out of the setting sun and paddled their way to the little wooded island in the middle of the river where they would spend the night.
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Monday, we spent the morning doing what has become our favorite pastime, sitting next to each other holding hands, listening to Boo-boo the Barking Dog bark at anything that moves within 50 feet of the house, watching television and reading or playing on the computer. Perhaps it is just our age catching up with us. Still, we sit here passing the hours singing at times and laughing a lot. It could be worse.

D. NEWS STRAIGHT OR SLIGHTLY BENT:
On Tuesday, Naida spent the Morning playing tennis and I sat alone fooling around on the computer. After Naida returned, we turned on the news and learned about the killing of nine people six of them children traveling in an American car caravan in Mexico. The news reports initially seemed to blame a Mexican drug cartel connection to the murders. Naida commented that she believed the caravan was composed of a fundamentalist Mormon family traveling from the US to their home in one of the sect’s communes that had been set up in the area by polygamous Mormons following Utah admittance into the Union as a State at the end of the 19th Century on the condition polygamy be banned.

Naida told me about a writer friend of hers who was a “sister” wife at one of the communes. The friend, Irene Spencer, the second of 10 wives and mother of 14 children, wrote a book about escaping from the community. Spencer also wrote another book about the almost ceaseless violence among the sects. She told Naida about the horrendous carnage between the communities that began by a falling out between two brothers (each claiming “Prophet” status, one of whom was her husband), They commenced an internecine war with each other over control of the sect. Over 50 people have been killed over the past 25 years or so.* Both brothers now are dead but the feud continues.

Sometime later the news broke the name of the dead and of the community, there were heading to for a wedding. It was the same community as the one her friend fled from. She tried to call her friend who had moved to California but discovered she died two years ago.

(*In the 1970s and 1980s, Ervil LeBaron, brother of the leader of the LeBaron community, launched his own Mormon offshoot sect in which he and his followers believed they had a right to kill those who had sinned. The group murdered at least 25 people, one expert told the LA Times. (https://news.yahoo.com/more-hundred-years-ago-mormons-205004653.html))

Later, while walking the dog through some of the dark pathways of TEF, we met another elderly couple who recently moved into the area after spending much of their lives living in the woods beyond Nevada City. They invited us into their home. While touring their kitchen they suddenly forced us into their large-sized micro-wave, cooked us on high for 90 minutes, placed us in a pie-crust, added a bit of cinnamon and sugar, baked us in the oven for another hour and had us for breakfast the next morning.

It’s Friday, neither Naida nor I recall much about the last few days other than they have been mostly pleasant. I think, given my general inactivity and shredded memory, I should give up writing T&T as a journal. Maybe I should just write strange short-short stories. You know, like this old fucker who is so distressed about being old, forgetting everything, immobile and dyspeptic, he spends his days on his computer sending emails to the friends about sitting in his chair and sending emails to his friends or better yet weird Facebook postings to his Facebook friends. Can one have electronic friends one either never sees or never met? I have a Facebook friend who I know has been dead for six years. Children used to have imaginary friends. Now that they are aged decrepits more and more of their friends are just electric pulses.

Ah, one day later, things changed. Well, perhaps not so much. Let’s begin with my receiving an email from one of my dearest friends in Thailand with two little stories about recent events in his life. Much like the stories I write about here in T&T (See below). Stories far far better than I could ever hope to write.

Then, Naida and I set off for the Saturday Morning Coffee. We walked from our house to the Nepenthe Clubhouse. We walked through brown, red, and gold leaves that covered the paths. Like kids we giggled while kicking them about, stepping on them and hearing them crackle. We both wear hearing aids. Although the hearing-aids may not work so well helping us understand what someone may be talking about, the snapping sounds of the leaves as we crushed them underfoot was ideally suited to whatever frequency the hearing aids were attuned to. We heard them like firecrackers a Fourth of July and we laughed.

About 30 people attended the coffee, eight men and about 22 women. More i Vecchi (old people) then I had ever seen at these events. Gerry, our leader, had returned from whatever hospitalization prevented her from presiding a few weeks ago. Announcements were made. I could not make out what they were about so I just sat there smiling like the village idiot. Later Naida told me she could not hear much either.

After the announcements, Paul the architect, Winnie’s husband came by and described at length how he designed the Sacagawea park in Salmon and picked out everything in it. I recalled that except for the two statues, everything else seemed to be just rocks.

Then off to the Golden hills. HRM called asking me to drive him and the Scooter Gang to COSTCO in Folsom so that they could eat their pizza for lunch. They think COSTCO pizzas are “the best.”

It is autumn in the Enchanted Forest. Naida, Boo-boo the Barking Dog and I went for a walk through the Enchanted Forest this evening. We walked further than we usually do along paths I had not been on before. It was a lot longer walk than I had attempted for many months except for that track in SF from the hospital to the bus station a few weeks back. It tired me out, but I was pleased I did it.

All youse guys take care, ya hear….

 

 

 

 

PETRILLO’S COMMENTARY:

 
This is a continuation of something I began in my previous post. Terry commented on it (see below). I tend not to be too fond of Ruskin and his theory that great men make history and its modern colliery that there is no grand theory of history and historians should concern themselves only with seeking out and recording events. I tend to believe geography and demographics are destiny and not the actions of individuals whether they be clever or clowns. I am more comfortable with historians like Braudel, Toynbee, and Quigley who try to find a broader rationale for events than the successes and failures of individuals. They may be out of academic fashion, but at least they try to present generalizations that can be tested — not to mention that upon analysis and my own experience the great men (and women) were most often anything but.

“…were… the great men (as) history paints them… Or were they just yesterday’s mediocrities, bloated up with centuries of stolen credit into today’s towering heroes?”
Abercrombie, Joe. A Little Hatred: 1 (The Age of Madness) (p. 440). Orbit.

Putin’s first initiative following the Crimea incursion was to attack eastern Ukraine. The West’s response with both economic sanctions and massive military aid to Ukraine was enough to convince Putin that Russian economic and military strength was inadequate (as Terry points out below) to successfully nibble at the border states (the Eastern Tier and the Southern Tier) to the Russian homeland. Then Donald Trump was elected President of the United States.

Now, although I am convinced that Putin has some control over Trump and interfered in the 2016 Presidential election on his behalf, it is not necessary that that be true. It could be that Trump is either just a preternaturally brilliant strategist as his supporters believe or insufferably ignorant, incompetent and devoid of either morals or knowledge of the rudiments of history as his opponents allege.

In any event, following Brexit and the Trump election, Putin first appears to have managed to midwife the public bromance between two insecure megalomaniacs, Trump and Kim Jong-un. By providing Kim and his ego with equal billing and the American President and the opportunity to humiliate him, it solidifies to some extent Russia’s relationship with Korea placing an antagonist on China’s flank and threatening Japan America’s ally.

With the recent abandonment of America’s Kurdish allies in Syria in favor of Turkey and the replacement of American troops by Russian at previously American occupied bases, it seems to me that the two hundred year geopolitical stalemate had been shattered. The northern and eastern Asian empires in their south-Asian obsession had punctured through the 200-year imaginary but strategic barrier threatening the hydro-carbon life-line for western Europe and leaving only India to oppose them in the area. Russia, despite the fact that it is relatively militarily and economically feeble now (or soon), will be able to dictate price and mix of hydrocarbon products available to the West.

Of course, when talking geopolitics nothing is as real, rewarding, or dire as they may appear. Britain may have gained an economic and military advantage over other nations from its control of the southern tier of the Asian continent in the nineteenth century but at what cost. It lasted less than a hundred years, produced untold misery in the southern tier and in Britain, created a few exceedingly wealthy families and ultimately reduced England to a second rate power. The United States blindly took over Britains role, ostensibly for ideological reasons, but primarily to preserve the West’s effective monopolistic power over the worlds hydrocarbon market which within 20 years or so it let slip from their absolute control to such an extent that a new ideological foe (Muslim Terrorism) needed to be invented and military adventurism re-started.

One good result may result from all this. If and when Trump’s expensive golf shoes are removed from the necks of the people of this country, the US and Europe, if they are not persuaded to abandon the hydrocarbon economy by the threat of climate change perhaps the potential loss of our stranglehold on the hydrocarbon market may persuade us and Europe to do so.

 

 

 

MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES:

 

 

 

Tuesday, January 29, 1963.

I did not do much than today other than bringing to my brother Jimmy the information materials about the Puerto Rico trip.

I feel sad tonight. Sad because I fear I will not be successful. I look at my abilities and my knowledge and am convinced I can be. On the other hand, within me, I believe there is a demon preventing me from taking the necessary action.

In order to accomplish anything notable, I believe, a person must either love himself so much he believes himself superior to others, or hate himself so much it drives himself to accomplish whatever goals he sets for himself. To doubt which it is or to doubt his commitment could make him as impotent as a eunuch in a whorehouse.

Perhaps I should try to analyze it more, or submit myself to analysis. Alas, analysis, more often than not, rarely leads to either a solution or to action. Action needs a spontaneous explosion of spirit.

 

Sunday, February 3, 1963.

 

A lot has happened since I last wrote in here.

The Washington trip was interesting (see enclosed letter [now lost])

I dated Stephanie Friday night. It went very well. Richie and his blind date got along quite well also. This surprised me I expected him to do something outrageous. Instead, he acted almost like a gentleman.

I was still ill from drinking too much in Washington and was limited to drinking Coca-Cola. Perhaps I should keep up the practice.

School begins again tomorrow. I hope to do better this semester.

Hope is often more rewarding than success.
Tuesday, February 5, 1963.

 

We had a meeting tonight of the Young Democrats of Yonkers. It was held to decide on the organization’s constitution. I was not allowed to vote because I failed to attend the prior meeting. I was, however, permitted to speak and make proposals. Most of my proposals were adopted.

I originally opposed the abolishment of the Executive Committee and spoke against it. I was however unprepared for the proposed compromise. It was a good compromise. It proposed combining the wards into sections thereby lowering the membership on the committee.
Wednesday, February 13, 1963.

 

I just finished reading Walter Lippmann’s The Public Philosophy. It surprised me that a modern American writer advocates traditional philosophy

“… there is a deep disorder in our society which comes not from the machinations of our enemies and from the adversaries of the human condition but from within ourselves.”

I double-dated with Kevin McMahon last night — Susie had arranged a date for me with Muriel, one of her friends. I think she likes me. That is a surprise given the lack of interest she showed in our previous meetings. I spent all the money I had made Saturday on our date.

I am experiencing a period of total lethargy. This happens often to me. I guess I am just lazy. I should try to be more active.

My parents seem to be becoming more annoyed with my presence at home. Today they suggested that I move into an apartment of my own.

Tomorrow I need to take a more assertive role on the World’s Fair Deal or I will find myself out in the cold.

(I haven’t the slightest idea what the “World’s Fair Deal” was all about.)
Thursday, February 14, 1963.

We nominated officers for the YDY. We nominated Tony Russo for president. I admitted I was still a registered Republican. I need to get that changed if I hope to be able to do anything with the organization I worked so hard to create.

I visited Maria tonight. We did not seem to get along with each other as I had hoped we would. Jennifer was there also. She is very statuesque.

I cannot write and more tonight because I am Listening to a debate between Roy Cohen and Love on the merits of the Sobel Treason (I have no idea what a Sobel treason is. Perhaps it is a misspelling) Cohen debates well. He is demolishing Love.

 

Friday, February 15,1963.

 

A poem to Robert Frost.

Above the stones from crumbling walls,
Alongside the thresher and the derrick,
Within the redwoods stately halls
Someone loves a poet.

Behind the wooden podium
Before the T.V. screen
Within the hearts of everyone
Someone loves a poet.

 

 

 

DAILY FACTOID:

A note from my daughter a few years ago:

Some stats i thought you’d be interested in:
U.S. population numbers

1900 76.09
1952 157.55
2000 282.16
2016 322.69

In the past 16 years, the number of people added to the US population would come in at 35 in the ranking of countries by population.

Also – by trumps rhetoric making the US great again (if we assume approx. 1950s) would place us at half the population we have now (which comes to removing enough people to rank as #9 on the list of countries by population — more than the entire population of Russia; which is also more than the sum of Germany and UK populations)

It is the same old story, “Demographics is destiny.” Too few people and everyone else pisses on you — too many and you begin pissing on yourselves.

 

 

 

 

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

 

 

 

A. Naida and Joe’s Travels on Top:

 

3. From Swan Valley Idaho to Jackson Hole and Two Nights in a Conestoga Wagon in Buffalo Valley Montana.
Sadly, we left Christy and Swan Valley drove across the Continental Divide and dropped down into Jackson Hole. I had passed by this way several times before on the interstate north or south of the town but never through it. Those trips included cross country jaunts with my daughter Jessica on her way to Harvard, a cross-country hitch-hike adventure with my son Jason on our way to Italy, and several on my own. The town itself struck me as up-scale and undistinguished. We drove through it without stopping and continued on to our lodgings in the Grand Teton National Park.
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We drove to Buffalo Valley. We had made reservations to spend two nights in Conestoga wagons. It was interesting. There were no bathrooms in the wagons and it rained on and off both days. We would have to walk across a field to a bathroom.
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Adjacent to the Wagons and Teepees (yes there were a bunch of them too) there was a lodge that, according to a brochure, was originally the house of a notorious outlaw.
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We also began to feel the effects of the altitude so the first day we spent most of it napping and recovering. Later in the afternoon, we went for a drive up the valley and then to a small burg named Hatchett where we had a good dinner after which we sat on a sofa by the fireplace. It was cozy. Out of the window, we could see that autumn had arrived. When we left Sacramento it was still summer. We had now driven into autumn. The world outside the window was bright yellow and gold, the sky overcast obscuring the tops of the mountains. The descending dusk and the flickering light of the fire made the evening magical.

 

4. Through Yellowstone to Gardner Montana.
The next morning we left for Gardner Montana at the North entrance to Yellowstone Park. We drove the length of the park to get to Gardner. We stopped a few times including at Old Faithful. The area around the geyser had been greatly developed since I last visited 20 years ago. There were now several large buildings including two hotels. It made me sad especially since the quality of the food had not progressed as much as the development.
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We continued on eager to get to our lodging at Gardiner at a reasonable hour. Along the way, Naida told about her childhood memories of Yellowstone Park. She came here often with her father for day trips. She said she always considered the Park to be in her backyard.

As we drove on, I began to become disappointed that we had not come across any of the large mammals that I expected to see. Then we came upon this bison grazing by the side of the road.
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After which we passed this wonderful and magical rainbow:
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As we approached the northern entrance to the park, we saw a crowd of cars and people watching two elk attempting to rut. (Naida told me it was rutting season now) I took a photograph of the buck. Later, because he was so far away across the meadow, I enlarged the picture hoping to show him better. I liked the result. It looked a bit like an impressionist painting. Here it is:
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At dusk, we arrived at the small western Montana town of Gardiner that serves as the northern gateway to Yellowstone Park and drove about four miles beyond the town to a small hotel in which we were to spend the next three days. After checking in, we drove back into the town for dinner at a western bar and restaurant named The Iron Horse Bar and Grill where we had a surprisingly good meal of lasagna for Naida and shepherd pie with bison for me. I also learned one of the differences between Idaho and Wyoming, and Montana. In Montana, they are willing to drink publicly. Idaho and Wyoming because of the Mormon influence they are more discrete and tend to do their drinking in their homes.

IMG_7108.jpgThe Iron Horse Bar and Grill in Gardiner Montana.
We then returned to the hotel where we took long pleasant baths and went to sleep.
(To be continued)
.

 

B. Trenz Pruca’s Observations:

 

Make no mistake about it, to the biosphere humanity is a disease.

 
C. Today’s Poem:

 

“Bohemian Rhapsody”

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality.

Open your eyes,
Look up to the skies and see,
I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy,
Because I’m easy come, easy go,
Little high, little low,
Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me.

Mama, just killed a man,
Put a gun against his head,
Pulled my trigger, now he’s dead.
Mama, life had just begun,
But now I’ve gone and thrown it all away.

Mama, ooh,
Didn’t mean to make you cry,
If I’m not back again this time tomorrow,
Carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters.

Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine,
Body’s aching all the time.
Goodbye, everybody, I’ve got to go,
Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth.

Mama, ooh (any way the wind blows),
I don’t wanna die,
I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all.

I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?
Thunderbolt and lightning,
Very, very frightening me.
(Galileo) Galileo.
(Galileo) Galileo,
Galileo Figaro
Magnifico-o-o-o-o.

I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me.
He’s just a poor boy from a poor family,
Spare him his life from this monstrosity.

Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?
Bismillah! No, we will not let you go. (Let him go!)
Bismillah! We will not let you go. (Let him go!)
Bismillah! We will not let you go. (Let me go!)
Will not let you go. (Let me go!)
Never let you go (Never, never, never, never let me go)
Oh oh oh oh
No, no, no, no, no, no, no
Oh, mama mia, mama mia (Mama mia, let me go.)
Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for me.

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?
So you think you can love me and leave me to die?
Oh, baby, can’t do this to me, baby,
Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here.

(Ooooh, ooh yeah, ooh yeah)

Nothing really matters,
Anyone can see,
Nothing really matters,
Nothing really matters to me.

Any way the wind blows.
Freddie Mercury

 

 

D. Andy’s Musings:
Terry wrote a comment to Part One A Brief Commentary on Recent World Events that appeared in the previous T&T post. He wrote:

Re our friend Vladimir:

Begin with the fact that Russia has an economy the size of Italy’s. Now he is a very clever spymaster. But he is a disaster as a leader of Russia. Compare him to the great leaders of Russia: Peter the Great and Cathrine the Great and his deficiencies are glaring. He has not created a state that can build and support new economies and crafts adapted to its 21st-century environment, as both of those leaders did. Instead, he has created a one-dimensional economy based on carbon: oil and gas. That will lead to a dead end. His military is really a 21st-century joke. It’s got shiny new planes, but very few squadrons. It’s got a navy than can barely steam out of port, and frequently has “accidents” such as an explosion that sinks a submarine. And his foreign policy is reduced to sneaky political attacks that are quickly exposed and become sick jokes such as Trump. Poor Russia!

Now China is another matter. Very smart and clever, the Chinese quietly steal the best of 20th-century technology and have created a miracle economy. But try as they might, they cannot create anything original. Why: because their leadership tries to control thought, communication among elites of all stripes and sits on a powder keg of massive poverty. They are in a difficult spot. To truly expand their economy to support a population of 1.4 billion people, they must release their creative minds to develop the next great invention. They try but have been unable to do so. Take an example: Quantum Computing. The Chinese State has spent untold billions trying to develop this fastest of all known computing capabilities and to date has not been successful. Google, Google of all enterprises, has just announced the successful development of a quantum computer that will perform in minutes calculations that would take an IBM supercomputer days if not weeks to do. Google is the ultimate of 21st-century enterprise with free-flowing thought and communication through all of its elite 21st-century minds. Now China will simply try to steal the technology, rather than try to invent it. Trump and Warren and others have a point. Cut China off from access to US technology and very carefully monitor, if not prohibit, Chinese students, etc. from our Universities.

To be continued.

For the most part, I agree with Terry. My post, as one can see above, was not intended as a paean to The Vertically Challenged Autocrat in the Kremlin but to set up a discussion on the potential geopolitical implications of Trump’s actions in Syria. As for China, again I tend to agree with most of what Terry has written. The Chinese approach to encouraging immigration by its citizens especially by setting up both small and large business particularly in South and South-east Asia in an attempt to create large and wealthy China sympathetic population in the area. The US failure to effectively counter China’s initiatives much beyond sending sone warships to sail around a few small contested islands in the south-pacific is simply more evidence of America’s retreat from its long-held obsession. It might require post-Trump US administrations to re-evaluate some of the nation’s long term economic and geopolitical goals. That could be a good thing.
E. Giants of History: Richard.
There are some friends whose friendship for one reason or another transcends other friendships. My friend Richard is one of them. An American ex-pat living in Thailand, he is also a gemologist, soldier of fortune, raconteur, renowned ethnologist, restaurateur and story-teller, character in a series of novels by Christopher Moore, artist, sculptor, doper and drinker, smuggler, man about town, martial arts aficionado, owner of the finest collection of Hawaiian shirts this side of Paris, lives with his wife in a home with a menagerie of birds and other wildlife that rivals some zoos and at one time had as their house cat a clouded leopard that slept in the bed with them. He recently sent me the following:

The other day I was sitting with Sultan Ishmael Nasir at the bar we frequent watching the R. Crumb characters file past when a young man, built like one of those muscularly overburdened bare-knuckled tattooed cage fighters wandered in. He was hopping on one leg and asked to join us.
Seems he is a mercenary doing the devil’s duty in Fallujah Iraq. It is easily believed. I asked him why he is limping?

Turns out he tripped on a curb in Bangkok and tore a ligament.

Sheesh!

The other night we went to a movie theater here to see Joker. The theater was black with only a semblance of light on the stairway. My hands were full with a tub of fresh buttered popcorn and a cold Singha Beer. My eyes hadn’t adjusted and I fell tits over tea kettle down the stairs. I wondered if I had hurt myself, but stood upon the well-padded stairs and realized the beer was intact and I had lost only a small scattering of popcorn.

I ascribe this inane skill to being knocked on my ass a thousand times during karate.

Whatdaworld!

 

 

TODAY’S QUOTE:

 

 

Three of these men [Tupi Indians from Brazil], ignorant of the price they will pay someday … ignorant of the fact that of this intercourse will come their ruin … poor wretches …were at Rouen, at the time the late King Charles IX was there [in 1562]. The king talked to them for a long time; they were shown our ways, our splendor, the aspect of a fine city. After that, someone asked their opinion and wanted to know what they had found most amazing. They mentioned three things, of which I have forgotten the third, and I am very sorry for it; but I still remember two of them. They said that in the first place they thought it very strange that so many grown men, bearded, strong, and armed, who were around the king (it is likely that they were talking about the Swiss of his guard) should submit to obey a child, and that one of them was not chosen to command instead. Second (they have a way in their language of speaking of men as halves of one another), they had noticed that there were among us men full and gorged with all sorts of good things and that their other halves were beggars at their doors, emaciated with hunger and poverty; and they thought it strange that these needy halves could endure such an injustice, and did not take the others by the throat, or set fire to their houses.

I had a very long talk with one of them. … When I asked him what profit he gained from his superior position among his people (for he was a captain, and our sailors called him king), he told me that it was to march foremost in war. … Did all his authority expire with the war? He said that this much remained, that when he visited the villages dependent on him, they made paths for him through the underbrush by which he might pass quite comfortably.

All this is not too bad — but what’s the use? They don’t wear breeches.
Of Cannibals. Essays of Montaigne

Categories: October through December 2019, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

This and that from re Thai r ment, by 3Th. 8 Pepe 0008. (October 2019)

 

“It wasn’t enough to get what you wished for, there had to be someone around who envied you for it.”
Hill, Reginald. The Woodcutter: A Novel (p. 254). HarperCollins.

 

 

 

 

TODAY FROM AMERICA:

 

 

 

A. TIME PASSES EVEN THOUGH IT IS NOT A FOOTBALL GAME (The home team always loses in the end):
Today is my 80th Birthday. Over the past week, I attended three birthday parties and in a few minutes, I am off to the fourth party in the Golden Hills. The first party occurred last week at Peter and Barrie’s house. We had driven there a few days after returning from our trip through the Pacific Northwest (see below). My granddaughter Amanda, her mom Hiromi, my son Jason and grandson Anthony arrived Wednesday evening all bringing gifts.
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The Gang. 

                           

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Amanda and I.
At the hospital the next day, my doctor told me that recent tests have been positive enough that, should they continue like that for a while longer, he may be able to terminate treatment even if the existing growth remains.

The second party, more or less, occurred on Saturday evening. Naida’s son-in-law Mark had traveled to Bodega Bay and returned with bushels of fresh oysters for his annual oyster get together. Naida had purchased a birthday cake for me. It had green icing and imbedded in a circle on the top, Oreo cookies with candy eyes. After shucking the oysters and downing our fill of delicious bivalves while sitting under the great mulberry tree that covers the deck, Naida brought out the cake with four candles aflame and everyone sang Happy Birthday. I looked appropriately bemused, blew out the candles and along with everyone else ate the cake. After, we shared photographs of Jennifer, (Naida’s other daughter) and her husband’s recent journey through Provence as well as those of our recent trip. I enjoyed myself immensely.
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Pookie blowing out the candles.
One odd thing occurred that evening. While enjoying devouring the oysters, I suddenly felt that a glass of the sparkling wine everyone else was drinking would go well with my meal. So, I got up to go into the kitchen to get a wine glass. When I walked into the house, however, I suddenly could not find the kitchen. I stood confused in the middle of the room for a few moments before I was able to regain my bearings. This was the first time that had happened to me and it frightened me a bit. Was this the beginning of ———–  Nevertheless, after the initial shock of my confusion had passed, I was able to amuse myself trying to find my way back to reality.

The third party happened on Sunday. My beloved sister Maryanne threw a party for me in Oakland. Naida and I decided to take the train from Sacramento to the Bay Area instead of driving. On the train, we met our dog walker (Boo Boo the Barking Dog was being minded by the dog walker’s daughter) and her girlfriend on their way to SF for a two-day mini vacation. They managed, much to my embarrassment and I admit pleasure, to get everyone in the car to sing happy birthday (could this be considered another birthday party, making it five in all?). Naida and I got off the train at the Richmond station where my sister picked us up. She drove us to her son Brendan’s new home in the Richmond Hills. Shortly after their marriage, Brendan and Ashley purchased a house previously owned by a landscape designer who left behind a fantastic garden including a few fig-trees, the ripe fruit of which I happily plucked from the trees and greedily devoured as we walked about.

We then drove to Jack London Square on the Oakland waterfront where we had lunch at a southeast Asian restaurant called Farmhouse Kitchen. After lunch, the wait-staff surrounded our table accompanied by clanging cymbals and banging drums sang an odd version of Happy Birthday.

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The party in Oakland
After the party, Maryanne drove us back to the train station and we returned to Sacramento.

On Tuesday, my actual birthday, I drove into the Golden Hills where HRM and some members of the Scooter Gang (Kaleb and Ethan) baked me a birthday cake. The ingredients included crushed Oreo’s. I thought it was delicious.
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Hayden, Ethan, Kaleb, Pookie, and the cake.

 

The days since my birthday have passed leaving little behind in my memory. The passing days often leave little behind in my memory now. I wonder if that means only that which remains in my memory exists or, for that matter, ever existed. As I wrote the previous sentence, I turned to Naida and asked her, “Just what have we done since Tuesday?” She replied, “We recovered from our trip and your birthday parties.” She also reminded me that we went to Goodwill to buy this year’s collection of Hawaiian shirts as her birthday present to me. I then recalled that we did (an act of creation?). We had bought a smashing green shirt with an unusual oriental motif and a silk shirt with glorious large red flowers on a black background. (Note: I insist on buying my Hawaiian shirts second-hand at either Goodwill or Denio’s Auction only.) Naida also reminded me that this week she paid many thousands of dollars in income tax. Me, I no longer pay tax or for that matter even to file — it is sort of like my insistence on buying only second-hand Hawaiian shirts, paying taxes or even filing when one has no income after retirement other than Social Security offends me. He or she should neither pay taxes nor be forced to tell the IRS that they are living off SS and buying second-hand Hawaiian shirts.

One day, Naida was invited to a nearby retirement home for lunch with an author residing there. I tagged along because of my interest in meeting the author and because in the same facility there was to be held a Renaissance Society lecture on Plate Tectonics we both were interested in. The author was a husky-voiced woman of 87 who had written about 30 books mostly fairly popular historical romances. You know, seduction and sex among Elizabethan nobility and the like. She struck me as being remarkably and pleasantly mercenary about her artistic career.

After lunch, we sat in on a gathering of residents at the home at which some of then recited from journals they had written. It was the day commemorating the Kent State Massacres. One woman had been a professor at that University and there on campus that day with her husband. She read a fascinating account of the events. Near the end of her reading, she broke down crying when speaking of those that died, she read the line, “They were just children. For God’s sake, they were only children.”

We then moved to another room to listen to The Renaissance Society lecture. The Society is a program offered by Sacramento State University that we had joined a few months ago. It allows old people like us to attend University level classes and lectures, often taught by retired professors probably bored by retirement. It was very interesting. The lecturer had been a US AIR Force officer who had been sent by the military to study plate tectonics when it was still an emerging science in order to better understand how the movement of the plates affects the accuracy of mapping satellites and to examine their impact on the underwater terrain in order to improve submarine navigation.

Dick and I had breakfast this morning to bring each other up on things Hayden. After an eighth grade of worrisome incipient adolescent rebellion, HRM’s grades have improved to mostly A’s and his behavior in class has returned to the type of conduct that consistently led to school awards for deportment. Perhaps this change can be explained by a story his guidance teacher told Dick.

At the beginning of the school year, there was a new student in the class. He was an upperclassman from Thailand. He could not speak or understand English. The teacher tried to use Google Translation to communicate with him but each time she showed him the translation the student would shake his head. The teacher grew frustrated and impatient. Hayden raised his hand and when the teacher called on him he said, “The translation is wrong.” “How do you know?” the frustrated teacher barked at him. “Can you speak Thai?” “As a matter of fact I can,” Hayden responded. Dubious and annoyed she said, “Let’s see you try,” obviously believing he was putting her on.

Now, Hayden’s first language was, in fact, Thai, but he hid it because when he began school in the US he was classified as a nonEnglish speaker and as a result, some primary school teachers thought he was slow. He then turned to the Thai student and to everyone’s amazement they both began speaking rapidly and extensively in Thai. He now remains the unofficial translator for the Thai student while he learns English. The teachers are pleased. Hayden is pleased that his classmates are impressed with his linguistic prowess and Dick and I are pleased that the teachers see him as a good kid again and that HRM appears confident once more.

 
B. Odds and Ends:

 
1. One day while I was discussing politics in general and Republican politics during the late sixties and seventies in the eastern suburbs of Sacramento specifically, the friend I was talking to exclaimed: “Out of Orangevale came the John Birch Society,” and “In Sacramento Rush got his start and the Lovers of Limbaugh were born.”

2. On another day while talking on the phone to a friend who lives on the East Coast, he mentioned that an ex-client of mine who I believed was a good friend as well as a client, “Hates your guts.” I was taken aback by this especially since, among other things, I had saved him (the client) from being indicted and rescued a major project of his two weeks before he would have lost it as a result of ignoring my advice for two years. “Why?” I asked.

“He said you fucked up, lost all your money and squandered your career,” he answered.

I thought about this. True, I had fucked up and lost my money, but I had done this before, several times in fact and always came back, but this last time I was 69 years old and I had to decide whether to struggle once again or spend my declining years in genteel poverty in a foreign country, raising HRM, and living a pleasant dissolute life by the sea or in the mountains or among the seedy dives of Bangkok. I chose the latter. “He’s probably just jealous,” I decided. After all, “Life is what it throws at you.” (Ivan Doig. “Last Bus to Wisdom.”)
Take care of yourselves.

 

 

 

 

PETRILLO’S COMMENTARY:

 

 

 

A BRIEF COMMENTARY ON RECENT WORLD EVENTS.
For the past two hundred years or so the countries of the West (primarily Western Europe and North America) and the two large empires of the East (Russia and China) clashed over influence and control of the smaller countries along the borders of the two empires. At first, the conflict was mostly commercial (trade and the plundering of resources). After the Second World War, ideology was added to the mix (the extension of Democracy or the prevention of the expansion of the totalitarian form of Communism). During this period the West managed, for the most part, to resist the incursions of the East and deny it the military presence and control of the resources of the area (oil and trade) that they coveted for so long.

Recently, with the ascendency of the Trump administration, this relatively stable balance of power has all changed.

It is important to begin by exploring the motivations of Vladimir Putin in order to understand much of the actions and policies of the Kremlin in the past few years.

First, as is true with most revolutions, the inevitable reaction to the cause following the successful revolt often results in the reinstitution of the structures of the old regime usually with new titles (but the same slogans). In Russia, the new oligarchs, like the soviet commissars before them, have decorated their dachas and palaces like the Tsars from whom they had been taken. The old prisons have been reopened and refilled once again with the enemies of the state. The so-called secret services have been restored and given new names.

The Tsar’s rentier aristocracy was replaced by the industrial Commissars. The Commissars have now been replaced by a financial/commercial oligarchy. True, the Commissars were governmental employees at the time they acquired their wealth and power and the oligarchs are not, but like the landed aristocrats they still owe their wealth to the Tsar in the Kremlin and they cross him at their peril.

Second, Putin is not only the head of the Russian government but the chief and undoubtedly the wealthiest oligarch of them all.

Third, Putin is a Russian, a child of the Rodina, and as such the humiliation of Soviet Russia by the American commercial and military empire is a stain that any patriot would work tirelessly to remove.

Fourth, he was previously a low-level bureaucrat in the Soviet secret service (KGB) trained in espionage. As such, one would assume he is more comfortable with the strategies of subversion than those of military conquest.

Finally, he is extremely popular in Russia (and in many other areas of the world). Ninety-six percent of Russians approved of his military initiatives in Ukraine; ninety-five percent believed that America was goading Kyiv to persecute ethnic Russians in that country. Ninety-two percent believed the same situation existed in Russian enclaves in the Caucasus, Moldova, Estonia, Lithuania, and Latvia.

In brief, we have an exceedingly popular, short (he is a tiny but exceptionally athletic man), greedy, subversive nationalist with a special antipathy for the United States.

Initially, Brexit and the 2016 US presidential election victory of a totally unfit, ignorant and impulsive leader of the free world, whether or not Putin had a hand in either, were necessary pre-conditions for Russia to attempt to achieve their historical ambitions of creating an economic, political and physical buffer to the Rodina.

His first move had been the invasion of the Crimea. Although he was successful militarily on the ground, the response from the then unified West, made it clear that further military adventurism came with an economic and political cost to Russia too great to be ignored.

With the erosion of western unity following the two elections, and the recreation of a modern version of the Boyar aristocracy he appears to have become emboldened enough to take additional steps to restore the ancient geopolitical aspirations of Russia.
(To be continued)

 

 

 

 

MOPEY JOE’S MEMORIES:

 

 

 

POOKIE’S ADVENTURES IN IDAHO, WYOMING, AND MONTANA (continued):
1. From Boise to Idaho Falls:

 

The next morning after breakfast we left for the long drive across southern Idaho. Upon leaving the city precincts, we crossed the bleak high desert covering eastern Oregon and Southern Idaho. During the hours and miles, Naida kept up a running narrative about the pioneers who traveled the Oregon Trail along the same route, their hardships, technology, and social relationships. She told about the Native Americans who lived in the area prior to the arrival of the pioneers, how they lived, their horse breeding prowess, and their initial reactions to the arrival of the white immigrants. Eventually, as we approached the Snake River patches of green cultivated land, some of which were on the bottomland of the river and others on lands watered from the massive irrigation projects of the New Deal.

We eventually arrived at Shoshone Falls, about halfway between Boise and Idaho Falls. Until the installation of the nearby hydroelectric project diminished them, the falls were reputed to be higher than Niagara. Directly downstream from the falls the Snake passes through the steep canyon where in 1972 the entertainer Evel Knievel attempted unsuccessfully to jump across the canyon on a rocket-powered cycle. Although I had watched the failed attempt on television way back then, I had no idea how wide a canyon it actually was.
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Shoshone Falls 

 

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Knievel attempted to jump this canyon.

 

Following the brief diversion to the falls, we continued on. About halfway to Idaho Falls, we came upon a poorly signed detour on the Interstate. We became confused and took the wrong road and found ourselves traveling along a ten-mile detour, five miles out and five miles back. There appeared to be no place to turn around. After about two miles, I noticed an automobile parked at the edge of the road. As we approached, I realized it was a police car and mentioned it to Naida who was driving at the time. She tried to move to the left lane but couldn’t because a truck was passing us. Just as we approached the police car its backlights began blinking. We passed it. I then watched in the mirror as the cop pulled out, caught up to us, and motioned for us to pull over. This annoyed me since I suspected this was just a speed trap, especially since the rental car had California plates. We pulled over to the verge with the police car directly behind us. He walked over to the car, motioned to me to roll down the window and announced that we had failed to move over one lane when passing an emergency vehicle parked at the side of a road. After my failed protest, he gave us a ticket and returned to his vehicle.

Our rental vehicle was a new RAV4. It came without an owner’s manual. As a result, we could not figure out many of the intricacies of its operation. So, as Naida started up the car and while trying to determine how to put it into drive, it began rolling back and panic ensued. We crashed into the police car. Naida was mortified. I found it the amusing high point of the whole trip so far. The cop was non-plussed and since there was no serious damage simply told us to drive on carefully.

A few miles after returning to the Interstate we arrived a Rupert Idaho, a small town where Naida spent part of her childhood. Almost every storefront, many of which were empty, had a plaque affixed to the facade declaring it a historical landmark and telling a bit about its history. What fascinated me most was a massive fabric shop catering primarily to the quilting crowd.

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Naida at the Rupert town square. 

           

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Pookie in the fabric shop.

 

We returned to the interstate and arrived in Idaho Falls at dusk. We drove directly to Naida’s half-sister Christy’s home. After a few minutes of relaxation, Christy got into her camper and we followed her in the Toyota for about 45 minutes until we arrived in the mountains to the east of the city at an area called the Palisades. There, we turned into a box canyon that terminated at the foot of Sheep Mountain and after a brief climb on the curving, unlighted dirt roads that snaked up the side of the canyon we arrived at Christy’s small but comfortable A-frame cabin where we would spend the next few days.

 

2. Christy and the Cabin at Sheep Creek.

 

Christy a hard-living, hard-drinking, dope-smoking, gun-toting, Mormon hating, radical woman of the Continental Divide spent her life hunting, marrying, selling real estate, boating up and down the Snake River, raising children and cooking the greatest pancakes I had ever tasted. That first evening as we got settled, Cristy mentioned that moose, grizzly bears, and other large mammals visit the cabin now and then. I told her about my pathological fear of bears especially those of the grizzly kind. She responded, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” and immediately strapped on her pistol which she kept on her hip the entire time I was there. How can you not bond with someone like that?

We spent the next few days eating pancakes in the morning, sitting on lawn chairs by the cabin staring at the palisades across the valley, smoking, drinking and telling stories. Christy loved her third husband very much. He shared her lifestyle, carousing, boating, racing their ski-mobiles through the forests in winter and the like. She was devastated when he died in an unfortunate accident.

One morning Christy drove us in her van around the valley. We stopped at the base of Sheep Mountain. Naida told me that the canyon and Sheep Mountain had been leased by her grandfather from BLM when he was raising sheep on a ranch somewhere near Idaho Falls. During the summer, he would drive his sheep into the canyon where they would graze along the creek on the way to the slopes of the mountain where they would spend the season. He would spend most of the summer there with his sons and ranch hands and his sheepcamp.
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A Sheepcamp.
We also walked along the trails and dirt roads. Naida would try to identify the flora that we passed by. At one point she mentioned that she thought the mountains thereabout were part of the Grand Teton mountain chain. If they were they were not particularly imposing. I decided to call them the Puny Teton Mountains.

On our last day there, Naida and I met with somemore of her relatives who we met in the nearby town of Swan Valley and then, after saying a sad goodbye to Christy, we left the Puny Tetons and headed to the Grand Tetons and the second half of our trip.

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The Cabin. 

 

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 Christy, her pistol and me.
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Naida and I at the head of the Sheep Creek Trail

 

 

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The Palisades and Christy’s Boat.

 

(To be continued)

 

 

 

 

PEPE’S POTPOURRI:

 

 

Today’s Poem: NEZAHUALCOYOTL

William Douglas Lansford and his wife Ruth were very active on California coastal protection especially the preservation of the Ballona Lagoon during my association with the efforts to conserve California’s irreplaceable coastal resources. Lansford was also a distinguished author. His Wikipedia page describes some of Lansford’s literary accomplishments as follows:

“Lansford began writing over 300 short stories and articles for American magazines the Saturday Evening Post, Collier’s, Argosy, True, and other Men’s adventure magazines, Leatherneck Magazine, Stars and Stripes and many others. He wrote several non-fiction books such as the biographies Stranger than Fiction: The Real Life Adventures of Jack London (1958) and Pancho Villa (1965). The latter was filmed as Villa Rides in 1968 with Lansford doing an early draft of the screenplay.

“Lansford wrote many teleplays for American television series such as Four Star Playhouse, Wagon Train, Bonanza, The Rookies, Starsky and Hutch, CHiPs, and Star Trek: The Next Generation. He also wrote the screenplays for made for TV movies depicting Jesse James (The Intruders) and Charles Whitman (The Deadly Tower). He produced, directed, and wrote the film Adios East Los Angelos.”

Lansford passed away in 2013.

After reading my posting of Flower Song of Nezahualcoyotl in This and that (see above #72 above and in my blog https://josephpetrillo.wordpress.com/2019/06/27/this-and-that-from-re-thai-r-ment-by-3th-8-shadow-0008-june-27-2019/) Bill’s wife wrote me the following:

“Bill did a detailed outline for a mini-series on the conquest of Mexico (NOT Cortez centered) but never lived to do the scripts. In the process, he became so intrigued by Nahuatl poetry and its distinct style that he wrote a chapbook of original poems in that style.”

Here is that poem:

NEZAHUALCOYOTL

In the night Nezahualcoyotl awoke; indeed,

He awoke, bolting in the night,

In the darkness; under the moonless void, he awoke,

With racing thoughts of dark despair.

He, a King, our mighty Lord,

Poet of an Empire, Voice of Texcoco,

Thought of his Empire,

Of the Golden Orb of Fire –

Of Tonatiuh, Traveler of the Skies,

Drinker of Blood, Eater of Flesh,

Giver of Life to the World.

Where did the Golden Warrior, the Disk of Fire

Hide each night?

Into the belly of the Earth Monster they said he went;

Swallowed by the Eater of Graves, he, the Earth God,

Tlaltecuhtli.

There he slumbered, regaining his strength, his spirit,

As Nezahualcoyotl had once regained his spirit,

When youth was his and sleep was his beneath the gentle

light

Of Coyolxauhqui, Moon-Sister of the stars, of Huitzilopochtli.

Now Evil Spirits ruled the night; the Ghosts,

The fearsome heads roamed with fangs of flint and burning

eyes

And at the Crossroads the Crying Women waited for the unwary,

And sinners’ corpses, long decayed, rose from

Unholy graves to haunt the living.

Such were our times, my Lords,

That ancient Nezahualcoyotl could no longer sleep,

For slumber, peace, indeed, rest, eluded him and

His Poet’s mind burned like comets, like volcanos

in the night,

Grieving for his people –

Despairing for his country’s fate.

What did Nezahualcoyotl sense in the darkness

That none of us sensed?

Across the Lake; across glittering Texcoco Lake;

Our Moonlake; rested the Mightiest Lord on Earth.

The Emperor Axayacotl, Lord of Aztecs, of the Mexica,

Slept in his palace, amid the splendor of Tenochtitlan,

The Mother of Kingdoms, bellybutton of the Moon.

And now – as the Golden Warrior burst free of the

Monster’s throat;

Now, at the 9th hour, the hour of Tlaloc; indeed,

the end of darkness,

The Snake-drum Priests awoke to greet our Prince of Light –

Sun God – God of Life –

And blood flowed for golden Tonatiuh to drink;

And blood was sprinkled on his altars;

And prayers were chanted

And all was well, yet –

This night was the first when Nezahualcoyotl could not sleep;

No longer slumbered; indeed, could not court repose.

Uncle to the Ruler of Kings; father to 400 Princes;

Lord of Texcoco, Poet to the World –

Nezahualcoyotl found no rest.

And from his burning mind, his fears, his wisdom, and

his sorrow sprang

These words for men to ponder:

We are a river, flowing to the sea –

And we shall not return…

By William Lansford

 

 

 

 

TODAY’S SAPPY QUOTE:

 

 

 

The following was sent to me by my cousin Lou. It’s a little sappy and a little long-winded but at our age (Lou is a little older than I am) being a bit sappy and long-winded is how we spend much of our time.

“THIS IS RIGHT ON THE NOSE. …….READ IT SLOWLY… I DON’T KNOW WHO WROTE IT, BUT I AM GUESSING IT WAS A SENIOR!!! I FIRST STARTED READING THIS EMAIL AND WAS READING FAST UNTIL I REACHED THE THIRD SENTENCE. I STOPPED AND STARTED OVER READING SLOWER AND THINKING ABOUT EVERY WORD. THIS EMAIL IS VERY THOUGHT-PROVOKING. MAKES YOU STOP AND THINK.

AND THEN IT IS WINTER You know. . . time has a way of moving quickly and catching you unaware of the passing years.

It seems just yesterday that I was young, just married and embarking on my new life with my mate. Yet in a way, it seems like eons ago, and I wonder where all the years went. I know that I lived them all. I have glimpses of how it was back then and of all my hopes and dreams. But, here it is… the winter of my life and it catches me by surprise…How did I get here so fast? Where did the years go and where did my youth go?

I remember well seeing older people through the years and thinking that those older people were years away from me and that winter was so far off that I could not fathom it or imagine fully what it would be like. But, here it is…my friends are retired and getting grey…they move slower and I see an older person now. Some are in better and some worse shape than me…but, I see the great change….Not like the ones that I remember who were young and vibrant…but, like me, their age is beginning to show and we are now those older folks that we used to see and never thought we’d be.

Each day now, I find that just getting a shower is a real target for the day! And taking a nap is not a treat anymore… it’s mandatory! Cause if I don’t on my own free will… I just fall asleep where I sit!

And so…now I enter into this new season of my life unprepared for all the aches and pains and the loss of strength and ability to go and do things that I wish I had done but never did!

But, at least I know, that though the winter has come, and I’m not sure how long it will last…this I know, that when it’s over on this earth…it’s NOT over. A new adventure will begin!

Yes, I have regrets. There are things I wish I hadn’t done…things I should have done, but indeed, there are many things I’m happy to have done. It’s all in a lifetime.

So, if you’re not in your winter yet…let me remind you, that it will be here faster than you think. So, whatever you would like to accomplish in your life please do it quickly! Don’t put things off too long!

Life goes by quickly. So, do what you can today, as you can never be sure whether this is your winter or not! You have no promise that you will see all the seasons of your life…so, live for today and say all the things that you want your loved ones to remember…and hope that they appreciate and love you for all the things that you have done for them in all the years past!

“Life” is a gift to you. The way you live your life is your gift to those who come after. Make it a fantastic one.
LIVE IT WELL! ENJOY TODAY! DO SOMETHING FUN! BE HAPPY! HAVE A GREAT DAY!

REMEMBER:….
“It is health that is real wealth and not pieces of gold and silver.
“LIVE HAPPY IN THIS YEAR AND EVERY YEAR!

LASTLY, CONSIDER THE FOLLOWING:
TODAY IS THE OLDEST YOU’VE EVER BEEN, YET THE YOUNGEST YOU’LL EVER BE SO – ENJOY THIS DAY WHILE IT LASTS.
~Your kids are becoming you…….
~Going out is good.. Coming home is better!
~You forget names…. But it’s OK because other people forgot they even knew you!!!
~You realize you’re never going to be really good at anything
~The things you used to care to do, you no longer care to do, but you really do care that you don’t care to do them anymore.
~You sleep better on a lounge chair with the TV blaring than in bed. It’s called “pre-sleep”.
~You miss the days when everything worked with just an “ON” and “OFF” switch..
~You tend to use more 4 letter words … “what?”…”when?”… “what?” . ???
~Now that you can afford expensive jewelry, it’s not safe to wear it anywhere.
~You notice everything they sell in stores is “sleeveless”?!!!
~What used to be freckles are now liver spots.
~Everybody whispers.
~You have 3 sizes of clothes in your closet…. 2 of which you will never wear.
~But Old is good in some things: Old Songs, Old movies, and best of all, OLD FRIENDS!!

Stay well, “OLD FRIEND!” Send this on to other “Old Friends!” and let them laugh in AGREEMENT!!!
It’s Not What You Gather, But What You Scatter That Tells What Kind Of Life You Have Lived.”
Robin Stevenson, January 7, 2016

Categories: October through December 2019, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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