This blog was originally intended to be a lighted-hearted view of my observations and activities, mostly meant to be centered around having fun. Travel, meals, drinks, conversations with friends and family. Partly meant for the public but mostly a way for me to look back in time when I am old and strapped to a wheelchair or walker and unable to get out and mix it up anymore. I can remember what great fun I had.
But circumstances we live in now are so all encompassing, so powerfully angering, so menacing and destructive, that it is impossible to escape. The sadness of everyday reality will drag us down if we allow it. It’s tempting to summarize the lunacy of ICE agents with a sweeping acknowledgment that the situation sucks. But the reality on the ground, the impact on tens of thousands of innocent people is exponentially more heartbreaking. Each day we see images of these masked thugs throwing people to the ground, pulling children from the arms of their parents, even zip-tying the hands of children and forcing them into a van. This is real Nazi level shit and it’s traumatizing.
My feelings of sadness are pretty equally matched by profound anger. And a deep desire to do something. But what? I vote. I protest when I can. I have called my senators and house rep’s. They are immune to complaint. In their view, they’ve already won at the game of life and are only concerned now with protecting their privileged positions of power and further enriching themselves. Remarkably they will sell the entire country away to achieve this end.
But what I think about daily is the delicate dance so many of are going through to try to maintain some semblance of mental health. There is a paradox for me, just coming off of an expensive and very fun European vacation, something I do several times a year, and then returning to this environment where our own government is actively, continually, aggressively sowing terror and hatred.
In Joseph Heller’s ‘Catch 22’, he most famously articulates the irrationality of war. A pilot must fly unless he is insane, at which point he is grounded. But if a pilot asks to be grounded because he fears for his life, then he must be sane because only an insane person would want to fly in such dangerous circumstances. Therefore he must fly.
But the larger message is the reality that most of us are trapped in systems of power that do not make sense and do not work for the common good of the masses. Yet our lives are dictated almost completely by the mechanisms of these systems. So our mental health is fragile even though we don’t fully realize it because we’ve become immune. We are no more free than our dogs on leashes.
In America, we monetize and capitalize every element of our lives and shovel the economic benefits to a few while draining the wallets of everyone else.
Is anyone not completely exhausted all the time?
ICE agents are rounding people up with impunity. Citizens, legal immigrants — it doesn’t matter. They are indiscriminate. They wear masks to cover their shame. And, I suspect, their glee. These are mostly fringe humans. People who had trouble fitting in. As boys, these are the ones who pulled the wings from flies and tortured puppies. They were forced to hide these traits for the most part, but no longer. Now they can ply their trade, indulge their base desires, all with the blessing and protection of the president.
This is our new reality. Thugs emboldened by a small bit of legitimacy and power. And this is dangerous. I’ve shied from parallels to Germany in the 30’s, but this is not at all unlike the brown shirts. A secret police force loyal to an ideology and a single man rather than a principle and a constitution.
Add to this, the slow transition of military forces from foreign invasion protection to making war on our own citizens. Locking down by military presence our biggest cities, who happen to lean politically away from the president.
Frat boys are running America now. Alongside the occasional ditzy-blond cheerleader. There will be a point of no return soon. I’d love to exit this country for good. But with my two 89-year old parent’s still living the best life they can muster, now is not the time for me. Mom did not abandon me when things got hard for her, so of course I am all in for taking care of her.
But fuck, shit is getting really really weird. Like surreal with a bakers dozens adjectives in front. But here we are.
We are on such a slippery slope now. Here in these United States.
“We will not learn to live together in peace by killing each other’s children.”
Jimmy Carter
My diabetes/nutrition counselor suddenly stood up mid-session and put her hand over her heart when they played the national anthem at her offices. Wow. I was shocked. I gently probed on that but she just said it was something she had always done. I really wonder what drives people to put such faith and dedication into arbitrary symbols like a song or a flag. Why can’t we get that same dedication to human rights? Who don’t we all stand each morning and have a moment of silence for the hungry, the unjustly imprisoned, the poor, the people sleeping out in the cold. That seems worthy of our attention.
Democratic socialism—at least as practiced in places like Norway, Denmark, and Sweden—isn’t about eliminating markets. It’s about ensuring that the benefits of a market economy are broadly shared through universal public goods: healthcare, education, child care, retirement, and strong worker protections. In those countries, you don’t lose your home because of a medical bill, you don’t drown in student debt, and you don’t have to work three jobs to make rent. Those are not small differences—they define the quality of life for ordinary people.
Norway’s health care system delivers equal or better health outcomes at roughly half the per-person cost of the U.S. system. People there might wait longer for a non-urgent knee surgery, but they don’t wait for life-saving care—and no one is denied treatment because of cost. In the U.S., millions are delayed care or denied care totally. All European countries spend considerably less and get equal or better outcomes than the US healthcare system.
Their systems work better than ours because they have a political commitment to shared prosperity and to viewing basic needs—healthcare, education, housing—as rights, not privileges. That’s the spirit of democratic socialism, and it’s something the U.S. should embrace more fully, regardless of cultural differences.
I made a lovely drive to north-central Ohio last week. To Akron, where I am talking to Akron Children’s Hospital about some potential work. Through the rolling hills of Ohio farm country. The hardwoods and deciduous all colorful and showing their pride. The midwest has its style of beauty. It’s comfortable. Like the people, mostly, not showy or pretentious. But on a cool Autumn morning with the low lying mist hugging the hills and backdropped by a hundred shades of reds, orange, green and yellow — this place holds its own.
I’m building a treehouse. And working my day job. And mired deep in charity work and baby-sitting a start-up tech company, and raising a little dog and trying to write a novel, and driving Ed and Rita all over the county when I’m home. It’s a lot and I am feeling it. But no choice now but to push through until things calm down a bit and then learn to embrace peacefulness rather than take on yet another challenge.
Kenny, my builder and friend, is methodical. Thoughtful. Perhaps, even a bit slow to some. But the work is perfect. Or near perfect. Certainly orders of magnitude more precise and deliberate than the mass of construction in the US — where speed trumps all else. I’ve seen entire apartment buildings raised in a week. With a legion of young, untrained and unpracticed kids hammering and sawing with no idea what they are doing. No focus. No commitment to precision. Only speed. They are paid to see a building raised, not to see it raised properly.
Kenny is the opposite. He builds with the understanding his name is on every project. In fact, he will engrave his initials somewhere here — binding his name and reputation to the quality. So we proceed in this manner and we are agreed that quality is more important than throughput. It’s a home. A beautiful home that must stand for a good long time. And the angles and cuts and bindings must be accurate and solid. We will arrive perhaps a week or two later than some, but with a substantial outcome that will stand the test of time.
Why do we call it the Pacific Northwest? We don’t call it the Pacific Southwest. Or the Atlantic Northeast. Maybe we now must call Gulf Shores Alabama, Gulf of American Shores?
The few times I saw a therapist, I started each session by apologizing. I guess I felt I was inconveniencing them. We were not raised to admit weakness. We swallowed our grief and anxiety goddamit.
Marti is an unusual dog. She is unique — a very independent soul. Sort of a loner at times. Which really makes me wonder whether she emulated me when she showed up or is she genetically pre-disposed to that personality. We seem to be alike in some ways. She’s cuter than me, but also younger.
Humbly Submitted
Robert Myres – Flanker, Portneuf Valley Rugby Football Club (ret.)
The Martini Tales 