Human By Definition Only

The quote is from decades ago.
It could have been written during 

the exit east from Eden. It's as 
fresh as the Christmas tree at 

the White House, the one the 
First Lady likes so much. The 

writer wrote that a human who 
seeks advantage to another’s 

disadvantage and that it should 
remain as such is “a human by 

definition only.” Remind you of 
anybody who fits that definition 

to a tee? Fore!!!

The Hoopla

They hate the hoopla between
Thanksgiving and Christmas
splattered all over the TV—

schmaltzy, syrupy romantic
comedies, musical specials
(Although the ones on PBS

really are special), and all the
advertising evoking (might I
say exploiting?) emotions and

what for? Ratings and money,
money, money. They used to
let the whole thing go by and

even enjoyed some of it, but
that was before, before tragic,
premature death. Now, the

old customs and rituals and
ads and TV programs leave
them cold in the late fall, so

they warm up by planning
unique rituals that don’t cost
much of anything but serve

up a feast of affection fit for
a festival or Thanksgiving or
Christmas, like “I love you.”

He Stands At the Railing

On a chilly, damp Thanksgiving Day, 
     he stands at the railing of the balcony
          looking down at the pond covered now 
with netting for the approaching winter,
     yellow, gold, red and brown birch leaves 
          galore layered heavily, pulling the net-
ting down into the water. He looks for 
     signs of the fifteen-year-old goldfish 
          and glances one entering the bubbles, 
lingering, feeling the soft movement of 
     the cold bubbles like bubbles in a hot tub                   
          and then it moves on.

Thanksgiving for Things Learned From Things On Their Way Out


The writer was asked, “Has any
good lesson come out of the last
four years and the last three weeks
in particular?” The writer said (that
after the last three weeks of the
attempt to subterfuge and destroy
democracy by the president who
now definitely has lost the election),
“I will never take democracy for
granted again.”


You know the cliche that you
don’t know what you have until
you lose it. Here’s another: we
dodged a bullet. It was the one
the president continually shot
right down Pennsylvania Avenue
for four years and democracy came
very close to taking one in the heart
and dying in the street because
there was no room at the hospital
for all the COVID patients and we
wouldn’t even know what was lost
until January 20 and America enter-
ed the Twilight Zone. No, not the
Twilight Zone, the Twi-night Zone.


Whether or not you know it, you
are the descendant of immigrants
(But that’s not unique. Even the
indigenous peoples “indigenated”
somewhere on the other side of
the Bering Strait before migrating
to what is now the US.) As im-
migrants, if your family were trying
to emigrate from somewhere and
immigrate to here today and your
people were coming from a country
south of our border, your family
would be torn apart, you
wouldn’t know where the family
went, you would experience ex-
cruciating emotional trauma and
if by some chance you survive to
adulthood, you would return as a
terrorist to avenge by “blowback”
what happened to your family and
all this is being done in your name,
with your money, US citizen. In 2021
this inhumane practice will cease.


The pandemic will be tackled by
science and not denial and superstition.


And just maybe a third of America
will stop being duped by grifters and
con artists for awhile.

From Alarm Bells to Musical Medicine During a Pandemic

He felt a burning in his chest while jogging
following a six-month lay-off for two surgeries —
alarm bells.

An EKG to have said surgeries. Result? excellent.

Self-suggested PT to build back muscles following surgery. Result: minimal.
Self-suggested second EKG. Result: same as first — excellent.
Self-suggested gout medicine switch. Result: huge flare. Ouch!!!

Running out of suggestions:
Self-suggested angina medicine. Result: negative.
Self-suggested use of acid-reflux medicine. Result: negative.

Good news result: The old kid has got a great heart, literally.

Bad news result:

Is there a physician in the house? The nurse said it was all about COVID. Chest burn and ankle burn and alarm bells to a slow burn to a fast burn to his emotional burn — a minor situation in context. The man asked, “Can we stop playing musical medicine here and now or do we have to wait until we have a vaccine for COVID?” So many others have experienced so much worse during this pandemic, but has anyone stopped to think that we wouldn’t be going through this, if it weren’t for the crazy guy hunkered down in the bunker and we have to get him out of the bunker and out of the house and get to work on fixing all the systems that have suffered burning in the chest (or is that a simple signal of heartache)? Some say to stop looking for blame, but it is hard not to see the obvious while hoping that history does not repeat itself even as another virus surely will come one day.

This Little Light

Are we breathing a little bit more
freely with the end in sight, begin-
ning in sight, a little of both, some 

of each? Terrible things may still
happen. There is more than enough
time, of course, but isn’t that always

the case — time as the harbinger of
dread, as in, “Oh, my God, what now?”
Is it so much the dance between op-

timism and pessimism or something
deeper, much closer to the marrow of
the bones, the beating of the heart,

the deep, deep satisfaction of a deep
breath, the inner light dispelling a 
heart of darkness? There’s a glimmer, 

a crack in the closed door so we can 
see the sunshine and most often that 
minuscule ray saves the day and renews

our faith — “…the substance of things
hoped for, the evidence of things not
seen,” but it is still nice to see that

sliver of light at the end of the tunnel
touching that light in our hearts 
signaling hope.


Two and Two

Two and two equals four;
I don’t know why any more,
except I never did.
Was the answer always hid?
I had to leave that to the
who said, “Trust the statisticians.”
Okay, I accept
but only with regret
because I’m now being told
that two and two is old
and that two and two
is anything that the Donald may brew.
Mathematics and science be darned;
that was an old, false yarn and alarm.
The Donald says that two plus two equals four
if the Donald falsely wins the score
while he’s on the course and we all shout, “Fore!!!”

Trump Ta Da

Trump ta da, trump ta da, trump
ta da, trump ta da, taaa da, trump
ta da, trump ta da, trump ta da,
trump ta da, taaa. “That’s
American beef on the hoof,”
say the cattle growers, music
by Aaron Copeland, an urban,
Jewish, gay guy capturing the
adolescent Wild West with a
timely tune upon which the cattle
people capitalized and to which the
Donald rides off into the sunset or
maybe that’s showing up in court
in New York to face multiple legal
charges — Trump ta da, trump ta
da, trump ta da, trump ta da, taaa
da — galloping past Copeland’s NY
apartment on his way to Rikers —
Rikers, ta da, rikers ta da, rikers,
taaa da…And I don’t think Cope-
land meant any of that stuff for
American beef or the beef America
has with Trump, which Copeland surely
would have if he were alive today
— ta da.

Svendonnie Succeeds Svengali

Svendonnie just hangs on and on
tweeting lies that he has won.
He has a third of America (not just Svengali’s singer) mesmerized
with all his 23,000 lies.
But what he doesn’t know
is that he has just a third of the show.
Two-thirds furrow their brows
asking, “It’s day 1400! Can’t we throw him out now?”
No, the Constitution is right.
On January 20, Svendonnie runs
(not for office in 2024 but) for his Svengali life.