One of our Jewish friends who grew up in New York City but now lives in the same
condo association in Phoenix we do sent a response to my message about how I had
honeymooned fifty years ago in New York City. She said that meant we were
“mishpocha” — family.

I had hoped I had Jewish blood thinking it would raise my IQ about ten points
but my DNA test came back, “Sorry, Charlie.” Turns out Charlie is tuna not lox.

I guess I have to thank our friend Nancy for making me part of the Jewish family. As soon as I read her message, I felt I was getting smarter. Well, Nancy actually said “almost” family, so, maybe not ten points smarter. Five, four, three, two, one?

“Sorry, Charlie.”

Fifty-years ago,
Standing at the foot
Of the chancel
Waiting for his
Future bride as she
Walked down the aisle,
He saw her red eyes,
Tears and runny nose
Behind her veil.
He thought that
She was never
More beautiful.
She died twenty-
Six years later
And her eyes
Live on in another
Who may have
Walked down
Another aisle
On the way to
Her future
With someone
Who thought
She was never
More beautiful.

He grew up with
urban, suburban
and wild and wild
was the creek,
woods and trails
of a South Sub-
urban forest
preserve. Com-
fortable with
urban and sub-
urban, he knows
the years have
only served to
whet his appetite
for wild. At the
same time, time
has moved from
backpacking to
tent camping but
he jogs trails
and kayaks streams
and still waters
and stops and
breathes deeply
of the deep woods
and waters and
remembers his
life as a Lakota
Indian and Thor
Heyerdahl on the
Kon-tiki. He takes
off his running
shoes and puts on
his desert boots
and hikes out
and down the
driveway in the
spring rain.
Into the wind
off the big lake,
he embraces his
wild heart. And
then he goes
back in the house
for the evening.

He stood over the cadaver
And heard much palaver
About the history of the cadaver.
It was so much blather
That he would never get to the
Bottom of the matter
About the cadaver.
His thoughts began to scatter
And he heard the pitter-patter
Of the heart of the now alive cadaver.
So he could go to the source
And ask the cadaver
What was the matter.
Everyone was sadder
To hear of the death of the cadaver
But now they were gladder
About the living cadaver.
Still, the detective was
Getting madder
Not knowing what was the matter.
Finally, the once cadaver
Told the detective
That he tried laissez passer
Which turned into a disaster
And almost killed him.
So he was thrilled to be there
And as he rose from the gurney
Hoped that would be
The end of the matter.

The high-rise with only one,
lone room on top sways
violently and the only way
to stop that sway
is to fatten the foundation
through greater and greater
taxation
on the poor and middle class
who lie in pronation
and economic devastation
and are tossed like bags of cement
to build up the base of the high-rise
with masses in torment
to stop the sway
of that one lone room on top
which is now empty
because the last super rich
person has gone the way
of all flesh
and the empty room
continues to sway.

We aren’t    very good     at

        Keeping     promises    like    for 

Better or worse      richer/poorer

Sickness/health   till     


                                           Death.

We opt for 
		The death of 
				
				A 
					Relationship
Because   of  egoistic,   egotistic,   egomaniacal       
                  
                       Behavior

In which   case,  it is better 

			To get 

			OUT

But, because we are that hazy, crazy, lazy or lazy, crazy

              but always hazy

(and not just in the summer)



We don’t know it doesn’t have 

                       To be  

                            That way

And that giving up one’s self

Letting go, becoming one

Not only can be fun

But one can be fun 

For both 

And staying in can be 

		A 

		Win-Win

He breathes deeply
of evensong air
while the wind chime
chimes E Major.
It’s peaceful on
the porch
as the sunshine
seems to savor
the end of May
while awaiting
and anticipating
June’s hopefully,
evenhanded
favor.

On Memorial Day we think
(if we think between picnics,
boating, volleyball and beer)
of “ultimate sacrifice” in
military terms, like “died for
the country in combat,” but
what about those who sacrificed
themselves in non-violent
resistance worldwide in history
to demagoguery, political
treachery, oppressive Empire
or just plain bad decisions
made for the most dubious
of political reasons to
send men and women into
harm’s way unnecessarily at
a human cost the depth of
which grief knows no bottom?
An English professor asked
me that once a long time ago
and I’m still seeking an answer.
Some would say that we
honor those regularly, daily,
weekly, monthly, annually….
Do we really? Just asking the
question my old professor
asked.

“I don’t know why we chose a misogynistic, racist, scam artist demagogue who also happens to be an internet troll to lead our nation….But I do know we have seen the likes of him before and we will see the likes of him again. I do know he has a story. I know he has wounds and fears and memories and desires.”*

And I thought about needing to remember that the troll does have a story, too, and that there are reasons and “wounds and fears and memories…” that make up his life and while I don’t like him, with the power of the Holy Spirit, I can love him in the sense of wishing him well and doing whatever I can for him if legitimate need presents itself, which I feel about 99 and 99 one hundreth’s percent sure won’t because he doesn’t know me from Adam and he seems completely unaware of any real needs (like the “know thyself” need) he might have beyond the basic survival stuff like eating and sleeping and exercising (which apparently he doesn’t do very well either).

And, in the mean time, as I am waiting around for him to tell me how I can help him, I will assume that I know a need of his, of which he may be entirely unaware as he is unaware of mostly everything, and I will do everything I can within my power and within the law to help him accomplish.

I will protest peacefully and nonviolently and pray and hope that for the sake of the US of A and the world in general one of his unknown needs will be realized – the need to be removed legally from office post-haste.

*Cheryl Strayed,
The Power of “Me Too”,
Guest column, On Being online newsletter

It could be described as an obscene scene
as the ex-model, Lady Royale
emerged from the limousine.
“Her jacket was covered in multicolored 3D floral appliques
creating a striking garden-esque motif.
But she had to pay a hefty price
for that one-of-a-kind design — $51,500,” real ice,
perhaps just to strut her stuff
or jealousy and covetousness to entice.
Why not simply wear beautiful, real cut flowers
instead of the fakes?
But as with Marie Antoinette, perhaps she, like her husband,
thinks Medicaid recipients should eat cake.
But if, as she professes,
she really wants to do something to even the score,
like alleviating the tax burden on the poor,
and at the same time set
a real attention-getting course,
like Lady Godiva,
she could ride through town
naked on a horse.