How do I know I dreamed last night?
My pillow was wet with tears.
How do I know I dreamed last night?
I awoke suddenly with fears.
How do I know I dreamed last night?
My morning vision bleared.
How do I know I dreamed last night?
But clearly, I saw you sleeping softly, my dear.
How do I know I dreamed last night?
I looked at you and my dream’s fears disappeared.
Three months of moderate
temperatures down south
and now back home up
north and in the safety of
his home during this pan-
demic, he tries to go out
and exercise each day by
himself along the lakeshore
trails except that he went
out and the temp was just
at about freezing and the
wind was blowing so hard
from the north-west that he
was able to get in only fif-
teen minutes of jogging
before heading back to
the car and heading for
home and then he re-
membered reading about
a world-class athlete who
said if he only got in fif-
teen minutes of jogging,
he would have to be
satisfied for that par-
ticular day. He took
comfort in that on this
cold day in the spring-
time hope that it will
warm up in the next
few days while he can
still get out and revel
in the wonders of nature,
and if not, he will just
have to bundle up, layer
up and go for it just
like he did during the
Polar Vortex of 2019
when he mistakenly
stayed up north — brrr.
Hey, he thought to
himself, It wasn’t that
bad. Am I getting soft?
It is said the alcoholic
needs to bottom out
before he or she is
ready for healing.
What will it take for
the 60,000,000 to
realize that they have
bottomed out with
this president and
that he is not Cyrus
and not Esther and
he is not leading the
white people to
salvation and safety?
What will it take for
his supporters to
realize that they are
now dying because
of his hubris and
incompetence and
that he has no idea
of what you say
when you say that
he is those Biblical
figures but he smiles
and urges you to
chant, “Lock her up!”?
How many of you
need to die before
you catch on to
the con? How much
Kool-aid must you
consume?
While staying home in
light of the corona-
virus, he remembers
reading Crichton’s
The Andromeda Strain
and how two people in
one, little town survived
— a baby and the town
drunk. He doesn’t recall
why the baby survived
but he recalls that the
drunk survived the virus’
attack because of all
the alcohol in his
body. As he thought
about that, he asked
his wife for another
glass of wine.
This news story may not be anything out of the ordinary, but it could be the beginning of what was addressed in my poem Staying Home (see below).
I was sent an e-mail from a friend in Arizona. He posted a very upbeat poem about how we could spend our time getting in touch with our inner spirituality, our sense of peace and wholeness and holiness.
As I read the poem, I thought, “Maybe.”
From my Reformed theological perspective, I thought, That’s a nice goal while we remain realistic and vigilant about human behavior.
A friend sent me a copy of the book, How Democracies Die.
Here is my response to my friend after reading the book:
I really appreciated the authors’ clear graphing of their four key indicators of authoritarian behavior with follow-up examples in recent history including, of course, Trump’s track record.
The four are:
1. Rejection of (or weak commitment to) democratic rules of the game.
2. Denial of the legitimacy of political opponents.
3. Toleration or encouragement of violence.
4. Readiness to curtail civil liberties of opponents, including media.
A key component of the authors’ argument is the importance and history of mutual tolerance and forbearance and their loss in modern politics.
I think those terms are important. I would add compromise. If you are tolerant (in politics that probably is the best that can be done) and forbear your opponents, you will be willing to compromise for the sake of getting something done. Apparently, that is all washed away in our rancorous political scene all for the purpose of power and money-grabbing.
These politicians (I refrain from calling them by their elected office nomenclature.) will do anything to keep their cushy jobs and the “anything” is to sell representative democracy down the river while tribalism, authoritarianism and demagoguery appeal to the fears of a significant percentage of an impressionable and not very savvy (my opinion) public.
The railings are soft, the referees are scarce, the presidential deviancy from norms is breathtaking, the environment is filled with hostility and the grab for power and avarice go on. The one percent has been getting richer for forty to fifty years and the rest have had a harder go of it.
The authors believe that the greatest threat to our constitutional democracy is what power the president might grab in the event of a terrorist attack.
Well, we are having an attack from a tiny terrorist, a virus and, so far, the president is revealing himself to be an angry dolt.
The authors echo E.B. White’s emphasis on “freedom of the individual and egalitarianism” as the strengths of constitutional democracy and they say that tolerance and forbearance are the vehicles to guarantee the goal.
In my opinion, the authors are really great on the diagnosis and prognosis of the dis-ease but a bit fuzzy on the cure. Actually, the title tells us that.
And that is nothing new for America — maintaining our balance with so many competing expectations and differing desired outcomes is a monumental task, but we vote to keep doing that task.
All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed reading the book.
Thanks so much, Russ.
Bob
It’s something new.
It’s exciting.
But this staying home will grow old.
Bring on the domestic
and all other fighting.
Bring on the hate,
To blame the other,
It’s not too late,
To name the guy’s mother,
Insulting him and his pride,
Tapping his mental dysfunction,
Taking everyone for a ride
Like the sycophant’s unction
And the reactionary, retributive,
Makes-no-sense violence goes
On and on and on.
And when we get bored,
As we, surely, will….
Just then he heard that the door
Of big business pay-out flew
Into the little businesses’ store —
Big business buying up the stores
And there then
Will be no more
Mom and pop stores
And by the way,
How are things at the border’s door
And the cages and all
The children on the
Hard, cold, unsanitary floor
And while we stay home
Is anyone paying attention to the store,
er, Casa Blanca?
He took off his glasses,
examined the outside
of the lens, noticed
the spray of something
blocking his vision.
“Every day, often, I
deal with this. Where
does this stuff come
from?” he asked. His
wife said, “Just be glad
you wear glasses.” “May-
be I should get goggles?”
“Hold off for a while, my
lovable, one-eyed Minion.”
“Hey, I still have a little
sight in that eye.” “That
you do, darling, and I’m
glad for you and me.”
When he was fifteen, he had surgery
and in the recovery room, he heard
the nurses talking. He asked if one
of the nurses would hold his hand.
He just needed someone to hold
his hand. The nurses laughed and
said that they were too busy to
stop and hold a patient’s hand.
Then one did. When he was forty-
eight and his wife died in a day,
the neurologists and neurosurgeons
were very busy diagnosing and prog-
nosing. When she died and he, the
husband, stood over her body, the
Episcopal chaplain asked if he,
the devastated, wanted prayer. He said
yes and the chaplain held his hand.
To this day, twenty-seven years later,
the man can feel the tenderness in
that touch and the humility in that
prayer. And now we have to separate,
keep our distance, not touch at all
in an attempt to stem the tide of
this virus, but the isolating, separat-
ing, distancing will only add to the
anxiety at a time when we need to
feel the tender touch of love.
Perhaps, for now, we need to learn
how to spell “vicarious.”
He bought the running shoes online,
in part because he got such a good
deal and, in part because he wanted
to try this particular brand and, in
part because, as his son-in-law
opined, he has a running shoe fetish,
not as bad as some guy he read about
in a running magazine who had about
two hundred pair but, in his case, only
about ten pair. Anyway, while he’s not
the Imelda Marcos of running shoes,
he has to admit that he found this part-
icular pair to be irresistible for reasons
enumerated. He waited with great
anticipation, like a child waiting for
Christmas morning, the arrival of his
Santa Clause, the UPS driver. He
couldn’t wait to open the box. There
they were — beautiful, red and black,
soft mesh uppers (the latest thing in
running shoes) and the thick midsole
euphemistically named so that a soft,
billowy, cushy feeling came to mind.
And then he put them on. They fit beauti-
fully in the forefoot but when he stood
up and started walking around the house
imagining he was prancing and dancing
on the trails like the white-tailed deer
he often would see, the shoes fell flat.
Literally. He felt like an old man trying
desperately to regain the vim and vigor
of yesteryear. He put heel cushions in
them. Still no in comparison to his other
plush, cushy, billowy running shoes. He
wore them for a week. People remarked
how flashy they were especially when
matched with the colorful, wool-blend
running socks he had purchased online
at a great price and then in a moment
of utter resolve he removed the heel
cushions and put the shoes in the trunk
of the car for a trip to the nearly new
store. In those shoes he just couldn’t
be what he wanted to be again, the lithe,
light, young, youthful runner prancing
along blissfully on the running trails.
“Seriously, dear. Think of it as a don-
ation for the betterment of runners in
need of a flashy, cushy but not very
cushy actually more like a racing flat
running shoe at a really good price,
almost new out of the box.”
bobdahl 