He started out just putting
one running shoe fitted foot
in front of the other with

the synchronized swing of
two hiking sticks – left
foot, right stick/right foot,

left stick. It was the last
thing he wanted to do on a
lazy, overcast, on again/off

again rainy, Sunday after-
noon, but his conscience got
him and out the back parking

lot onto the Phoenix trail he
went, moving out-of-the-way
of two, courteous, fast-moving

trail cyclists who took the
time to say thank you as
they sped past and one,

attractive, female jogger
to whom he simply nodded
as she passed. Forty minutes

of very slow jogging later
and a little wet from the
small, desert rain drops

which would have soaked
him with monster drops back
home, he stopped his stop-

watch wrist watch his wife
bought him on sale for five
bucks three years ago (only

needing one new wrist band)
and does exactly what he
needs done, held the mis-

matched hiking sticks in
one hand while “air high-
fiving” with the other and

looked forward to an even-
ing of British drama on PBS
and a couple of glasses

of cheap bubbly which will
do exactly what he wants
done.

He felt sorry for the
vacationers
to the Valley of the Sun
when there was none.
Stuck in their resort room
how could the family
have any fun?
Think about that — a
family of four; it doesn’t
even take more
to experience life
as a series of skirmishes
and fights
because life in paradise
is an incredible bore.
All the money on the
cards and out of the
saving and checking
accounts
and just plain out the door.
While cold outside, the
temperature
in the room just
mounts and mounts
and soon it will be
about as high
as the blue sky temps
back in sweet home
Chicago (really blue skies?)
where they would be
having cheap fun
which they aren’t having
here in the Valley of the Sun —
where it is overcast
with a lot of rain,
if you can believe that,
because around here
the sun is the source for
the Valley’s fame.
He and his wife
are snowbirds
who stay around for
a few months
when it is cold back
home and can wait out
the rain
while hearing the residents’
grateful refrain,
“Thank the Lord for
all this beautiful rain.
Don’t worry; the sun
will be out in the Valley
soon again.”
Unfortunately, not
for the vacationers.

Kids,

I thought you might like this link I found at the site On Being today.
It is strategy to thrive personally during this federal administration:

https://journal.thriveglobal.com/how-to-get-out-of-the-cycle-of-outrage-in-a-trump-world-ffc5b2aa1b5f?mc_cid=f4cc75c652#.zabadynbw.

We are doing the following to take care of ourselves during this trying time for our country.

*I read three meditations a day;
*I read three or more poems which I get on a daily basis;
*I write poetry daily;
*Chris creates her art on a daily basis;
*Chris and I are starting to do some easy yoga (really easy);
*we jog and cycle;
*we read murder mysteries as a diversion (It actually works.
I started years ago with Agatha Christie.);
*we watch all the British and Australian dramas on PBS;
*we have the companionship of the dog;
*we eat well;
*we eat a lot of homemade soup;
*we try to get a good night’s sleep;
*when I remember, I do deep breathing;
*we attend a great, progressive church where we worship,
have fellowship and get ideas for ways to take action and protest;
*we get out in nature regularly and often;
*we listen to a lot of classical music on the radio.
*we go to the 11 a.m. coffee concerts at the Phoenix Symphony.

Basically, this is our lifestyle and it is helping to keep us sane in this sudden, shocking, scary, traumatic, national experience that none of us ever could have imagined.

I realize we are retired and have time, but simply having time on our hands isn’t necessarily good.

You don’t have that kind of time with your busy schedules but I know you are doing good things for yourselves and your families. Keep up the good work.

Dad

He channeled George Orwell,
Aldous Huxley, Ray Bradbury
and Rod Serling for what they
might say about what the new
president has said and may say.
They all rolled over in the
grave, waved him away as
they did say in great dismay
that they just never could,
under any circumstance, en-
vision such an utterly
dystopian day.

unhinged, unhinged, unhinged, unhInged                 
                        comes to Mind
         when thinking about the President,
                and I’m now worriEd that 
                             I’m About to 
                               beCome unhinged.
                  someone please Help!

Administration explanation:
cacophonous sounds rose,
crossed, swirled, fell
in contrapuntal obfuscation
making it all clear as a bell
rising up from the ninth
circle of hell.

People are afraid and there
are Hispanics right now who
are being torn from family and
friends by the Trump Gestapo
forces known as ICE and that is
existentially really scary and
the totally under-reported bad
news but the really good news
about the really bad news is that
this administration is in the
throes of death in the first month
of its existence (You can hear the
death rattle in the president’s
lies.), as we speak because, dumb
as they are, they don’t even know
that they have committed high
crimes and misdemeanors against
the Constitution and word has it
that the Donald would really like
to be out of the lonely nights in
the White House and free to be
the Donald of all Donald Trump
enterprises and, as he will say
some day, he had no idea how
boring it could be being the
President of the United States
and that from a boring jail cell.

Happy hour at a local, award
winning, contemporary Asian
restaurant and after two hearty,
happy hour vodkas on the rocks,
the patron stood and massaged
his wife’s sore shoulders from
yesterday’s bike ride and thought
of a great idea: “Hey, guys, how
about ‘A Martini and Massage’
for happy hour? What a great mar-
keting idea. My salary would be
negotiable.” “Right,” and the
proverbial, “Don’t call us; we’ll
call you.”

Waiting next to the check-out line
at the grocery store, he saw an

employee marking down the price
of boxes of Godiva chocolates on

the day after Valentine’s day. “See,
dear,” he called to his wife standing

in the check-out line, “if I had wait-
ed till today, I could have bought

you two boxes of chocolates. I’m
guessing a dozen red roses are half

off, too.” Silence.

He heard a crack — soft,
quiet, almost imperceptible.
He was out on the trail. It
could have been anything,
say the sound of a piece of
dead, dry cactus being step-
ped on by a coyote. He was
sitting at home. It could
have been anything, say the
sound of the dog’s knees
when he rose. He was lying
in bed. It could have been
anything, say the sound of
someone stepping on a twig
while walking past the open
window. He could have been
anywhere and it could have
been anything, say the soft,
cracking sound in the fragile
fabric of a democratic re-
public made under the first
step of the descending heel
of the boot of tyranny.