In the Falling Light of a Northern Sun

I offered this the first time around a decade ago which at that time was close to three decades after the event I wrote about. When it happened, every time I've written about and just about every day when I think about it, I keep waiting for tears. And I'm still waiting. All I ever feel is numb and guilt at how wrong that feeling is and yet here I am, with just what I can carry of my memories to hold on to. 

Some things sting less with distance, others seem smaller as time progresses. And some do nothing at all. You've been warned...

You know how Christmas or your anniversary can sneak up on you? It's weird of course because they shouldn't really. You know when those events are (unless you're an atheist and/or a polygamist), you remember where you were when they happened and yet suddenly there they are and you're surprised. Again.

I have a more elaborate, self-created, challenge. Because of 'fog of life' issues, try as I might, I can't get into focus (for me) a defining moment, the death of my father. When I say he died thirty-nine years 'over the Memorial Day weekend', that's the best I can do in terms of specifics. 

I know and will always know, the moment my wife and I were married-the minute and hour of the births of both of our children, but I'm unable, actually unwilling, to nail down any better than 'over the Memorial Day weekend' as the date of my dad's passing.

I've wrestled with every aspect of that relationship for almost every waking moment and it's all added up to zero. I'm very much writing today to exorcise demons rather than for any other point or purpose. I thought I'd opened this cut up last year and flicked the scab off, but as I sit here, I can feel my throat tighten, the rock in the pit of my stomach grow heavier and the taste of ash in my mouth become more pronounced. Again I'm eight, not sixty-eight, and waiting as I did most days, with dread, for him to come home from the City. And so it begins, never to end.

We, the six children he struggled to feed, clothe, shelter, and provide everything under the sun and in-between, are, ourselves, parents and in some instances, grandparents. I don't pretend to know the hearts of my siblings, but I'm pretty sure I speak for at least some of them when I say we have all worked as hard as we could to not become our father. 

And if the years have taught me anything (and that proposition is still subject to debate), it's that his intentions, like those of every parent, were the absolute best. And yet one by one, as we could (when we could) we disappeared, leaving those younger behind to be his children. Until he, himself, suddenly, left and no words could fill the void or cover the silences.

I'm never sure if it's the horrible son or the failed father who's to blame for all that was lost years ago, but I know the face I see in the mirror every morning belongs to the person responsible now for not letting go of the poisons of the past to savor today and secure tomorrow. It wasn't mere coincidence this time a decade ago I needed to be talked from the edge by a professional because I'd become addicted to loathing the view when I looked down. I couldn't look but I couldn't look away.

Each of his children will, in the course of these next days, try, again, to make peace with the world he gave us and that we lacked the strength to reject aloud while he was here to hear us. Silence equaled consent and thus did we become accomplices in our own victimhood.

I want to shout at the man whose knowledge often overwhelmed the nuns who tormented, rather than taught, each of us, "if Jesus exists, then how come He never lived here?" instead of nearly choking on the words, knowing I always shall.

-bill kenny

Play "Whipping Post" Man!

Say what you will, this is and always been brilliant! 

"Down all the days.
The tap-tap-tapping of the typewriter pays.
The gentle rattling of the drays.
Down all the days."
-bill kenny

They Should Have Also Invited Linda Chorney

I've never met Linda Chorney but it's possible someday her luck may run out. I encountered her somehow on social media back when she was under consideration for a Grammy which as an independent artist sort of annoyed (= really pissed off) a lot of the movers and shakers within NARAS. And she lost seconds of sleep about that, as near as I can determine.

I was thinking of her as I started getting ready for some live music from Fenway Park later today with one of my favorite bands, Dropkick Murphys (and a special 'Zoom' guest, Bruce Springsteen). Our son, Patrick, saw Springsteen some time ago at Fenway, while Linda Chorney once offered her version of the National Anthem to open a Red Sox game. Talk about six degrees of separation, eh?

To my mind, everything is everything if you give it enough perspective. Enjoy.
-bill kenny   

Another Tank-Top Terrorist

This is the time of the year annually where my wife breaks out the 'summer clothes' and I have an annual unhappy realization that a certain number of shirts and shorts shrank while waiting for the days to get longer. 

Like far too many, I'm forever crestfallen that worrying about my weight doesn't seem to make me thinner. I have the perfect alibi right now in that my gym is closed for COVID-19 mitigation. Let's pretend for the sake of discussion it's been closed since shortly after I got out of the Air Force in '83. Thanks; I owe you.

Meanwhile everywhere I turn to online there are listings of foods that help you burn excess weight (usually through a process that requires your body to use up more calories processing the food than the food, itself, has in it). We've all seen lists like this for years and about once a decade or so someone tricks up a new name for one of the lists and you have the Blah-Blah Diet with a book for only $29.95 (plus processing and handling) and an infomercial when a lot of folks who look vaguely familiar sit on a couch and tell each other stories about their own amazing weight losses while taking turns staring in wide-eyed incredulity at somebody else's 'true story of weight loss'.

"Gee Buzz, your colon is so clean you can pass a car through it!" exclaims Mitzi, who looks more than vaguely like one of the people who used to be on Three's Company. She's not one of the original members, of course (the survivors are out doing supermarket openings), but one of the replacements after the show had started into its glide slope of ratings decline and burned up on reentry. 

And Buzz who may or may not have been in Encino Man with Pauly Shore (how'd you like to have that on your resume?) tells us all about it. I had a great idea for a drinking game one night watching these infomercials. Your viewers make up a list of pat phrases you know will be said and every time one of them is uttered, everyone has to quaff a beverage. And the winner is me because I didn't come to your house and do this drinking game stuff.

Meanwhile, back at the list. They're basically all the same--just a slight variation of what your Mom told you to eat and not to eat. There's never a lot of chocolate eclairs on these lists of fat burning foods and I've often wondered, near-altar boy as I am, why is it that God, who moves in mysterious ways His wonders to perform, didn't make the stuff that's good for us taste better. 

I know broccoli is a lot better than a hot sausage sandwich for me, but guess which one tastes better? Maybe He could hire the International Flavors and Fragrances (you thought I was goofing on you?) to work on short term solutions to that challenge. Of course, smiting would work just as well. I figure after a while we'd all get tired of attending funerals where the guest of honor had marinara sauce on his chin (and you could still see where the lightning bolt hit him).

Because, and this is as true of any list I've ever seen, I don't care how good something is for me. If I don't like the taste or sight, or smell or sometimes the sound (or the name;  I almost ate calamari once. I will NEVER eat octopus), I am not having anything to do with it.

My favorite example is hot oatmeal. I've tried everything and I still can't bring myself to eat it. I know it's good for me (I don't know why, but nevermind) and I can read the side of the box and get the nutritional information (by the way, what is the point of nutritional information on bottled water? It's water for crying out! Spare me.), and I'm sure the flavors are marvelous. I almost get there-I boil the water and pour it into the bowl and stir it up without gagging and dip the spoon in and lift it out, next stop, lips and glottis and no deal. 

I will not open my mouth, no matter how good oatmeal is for me. And if you want to offer me a swig of a probiotic drink of something to wash it down, you'd better have a Maid of the Mist raincoat on, buddy boy, because you are so going home to put on new clothes. Could be quite a hike-you'd better eat yer Wheaties.
-bill kenny

Next Year

I hope you had an opportunity to enjoy family and friends (socially distanced but still close to our hearts) over the observed Memorial Day weekend for a moment of reflection and perhaps introspection on who we are, how we came to be here, and where (and how) we move forward together in light of a frighteningly unique first five months or so of 2020. 

I wrote a lot of what follows well over a decade ago during a different time that somehow feels so much farther away than the calendar suggests. We got from there to here and that should inspire us to continue. 

For many if not most of us, this year so far can be summarized as a very sharp intake of breath and a word that sounds a little bit like 'shirt,' but isn't. Thomas Paine noted in the early days of the American Revolution 'these are times to try a man's soul.' I'd suggest our here and now would also qualify. 

Desperate times call for desperate measures, I'm told. And for many in Norwich, throughout the state of Connecticut, across the country and around the world these are (close to) desperate times. Our cities and towns, and the families who live in them and the merchants and businesses who provide our goods and services never thought of themselves too small, too fragile, or too beleaguered to fail. Until now. And now, for far too many, that's all they can think about. 

As a nation, we've always been able to run so far and so good for so long because we’ve had the better part of two and half centuries of sacrifice and success to fuel our always-forward momentum. We’ve had bumps, rough patches, and unanticipated challenges but we never broke stride and never doubted ourselves. Today is no different.

We face hard times whose cost and price by whatever metric you choose may be close to incalculable. For those in elected leadership here in Norwich, blame-gaming and finger-pointing solves nothing so it's heartening to see sleeves rolled up replaced by hard work, compromise, and communication no matter the party or politics because at the end of the day, partisanship won't get our children's schools funded, put emergency responders on the streets in the needed numbers, get roads repaired and rebuilt or help those in need of social services to get them.

As those on the City Council strive to listen to 'we, the people' they hear many distinct and different messages as they try their best for the good of all of us (to include those who didn't vote for them). Many of us have compelling reasons for why we feel Norwich cannot afford to spend more money next year than we have this year. And just as many feel otherwise but that's not actually our choice.

Providing for our schools, rebuilding downtown, preserving historic treasures, offering family-friendly recreational opportunities and hundreds of quality of life services and programs cannot be paused because of hard times. Rather, hard times require hard choices fueled by new perspectives that will create new opportunities with new solutions because there’s no other direction for us to go, but forward and together.

-bill kenny

Par for the Course

To his credit, #Pantload45, did wish everyone on Twitter a "Happy Memorial Day" in yet another of his signature failures to read the room which, more than the sexism, the racism, the xenophobia, the unending sense of entitlement, and the all-consuming narcissism is what makes this orange-hued sack of excrement on two legs such a perfect summary of the Gospel of Greed even as we paused for Memorial Day to honor those who died in America's Wars while he had a doctor cooking up a letter claiming he had bone spurs to avoid the draft during Vietnam. For him, the holiday was just a long overdue and fully deserved opportunity to get some golf in.

At some point today, if we haven't yet already, the United States will have seen its 100,000th death from COVID-19 and we will still be waiting for our President to show some compassion, empathy, integrity, and leadership. None of this is his fault and certainly, none of it is his responsibility. And if you don't think so, just ask him and he'll tell you. There's just fewer of us today around who could ask him.
-bill kenny

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

This Memorial Day feels very different from any others we've had in our history because it is different for painfully obvious reasons and yet it still shares so much of that to which we've grown accustomed.

Every Memorial Day morning I used to visit Taftville, one of the villages that is a part of the city, Norwich, in which I reside, in Connecticut, the state in which I live. It was a small and low-key commemoration each year honoring a Taftville native who'd died in uniform usually attended by about five dozen of us who showed up at the ceremony every year. Later in the day, in Norwich proper, would be a larger gathering at Chelsea Parade which is basically across the street from my house (almost).

COVID-19 has changed how we live and how we remember so this year there is one ceremony as near as I can tell and it happens at one o'clock in the afternoon, socially distanced and appropriately face-masked at Chelsea Parade and this year will be a live feed on the city's website. 

I imagine in some form you have, wherever you live across the USA, the same type of observances ahead of you today as well. This is who we are and somewhere back there in the dust is that same small town in each of us and this is how we mark Memorial Day, at least this year.

Today is when we remember large moments and the small, quiet ones. Those who led our armed forces but more especially those who served in them and gave their lives so that we could live as we do. We are more than everyone we have ever known. We are, as a nation, everyone, throughout our history, whoever said 'send me' when there was a need to free the Colonies from the Crown, to preserve the Union, to stop aggression thousands of miles away from hearth and home and to maintain constant vigilance in the face of baleful, ignorant hatred by fanatical cowards.

For the last two hundred and forty-four years, we have been a nation of ordinary people who do extraordinary deeds every day. Today is another of those days.
-bill kenny 

No Duty Is More Urgent than Returning Thanks

Sometimes the scale and scope of the sacrifices cause whatever expressions of gratitude and thankfulness might be offered to stick in your throat leaving only silence as the appropriate expression for those whose deaths in defense of our nation have made our lives possible. 

As hollow as it will ring, a simple 'thank you' is often the best we can offer followed by a solemn promise to live so that we may always prove ourselves worthy of their selflessness.

-bill kenny  

Some Things Never Change

I wrote this a ridiculously long time ago and can clearly remember writing it and being very cranked at the person who was the subject of the piece. I still am. I guess I'm on my way to being that constant in the universe I always seek. 

At the time I called this: 

All Hat

Driving in the middle of the day on Wednesday, I passed a fellow in an electric blue Miata convertible with the top down, wearing a large hat. The fellow, not the car. Actually I knew the driver, not that I waved or gave any sign of recognition, though the 'You're #1 with me' gesture did come to mind.

I'd worked with the man a really long time ago, and I suspect neither of us recalls that period with any warmth or fondness. He had the Miata then when it was a new and cute little car that sort of reminded fossils like me of a classic Lotus without all kinds of pieces falling off every time you drove it someplace. 

For over a century the sun never set on the British Empire and for many of those years the same was true of British Leyland Motors. The same nation that built Lancasters and Spitfires to thwart Hitler and his Horde for the ages cranked out Austin Metros and Triumph TR7's with little thought of tomorrow. For the two seconds or so that I had to view them, the years haven't been kind to either of them-and between us, he had far less to lose to start with.

Anyway. What had caught my eye was, on a beautiful day (and it was and we deserve as many in a row as we can get for as long as we can have them), he had the top down, to catch the rays (I'll assume). Except, he had a large hat on in the car, behind the wheel. To me, that defeats the whole purpose of having the top down. If you wear a hat in a car with the top down, it should be the law you must also shower while wearing a raincoat. I'm sorry, some rules are needed here. What is the point, otherwise, of having a car with a convertible top?

If you have a sensitivity to the sun, put the top down only at night or when the car is in a garage; leave the top up when you're driving outdoors (and when you're driving indoors and the indoors is a car wash) or just sell the car and buy one with a permanent roof (We have a name for a car whose roof can be lowered or removed, a 'convertible.' What should we call a car whose roof does NO tricks at all and why doesn't that car deserve a name?). 

Or in this guy's case, lose the hat that covers your scalp and get one big enough to cover your entire head all the way to your shoulders. Keep America Beautiful, bozo (and if it's of any solace, that's NOT what I started to type).
-bill kenny

Tison for President

If the interwebz are to be believed, tyranny has a new name and it's Tison, who is now my hero thanks to this clip going viral at very close to light speed.

But there's more, or at least different, to this than meets the eye. 

The guy who posted this clip is worse than a troll, he's a gnome because in order to enter Costco and fill up his shopping trolley he was required to wear a mask. It's only after he'd accomplished his shopping that he then removes his mask to shoot his 'I'm being oppressed' video. Judging by the quick glimpse we catch of him early on, no matter how ugly the mask was, it was still an improvement.

Meanwhile, my personal favorite part, right at the beginning, is when he tries intimidating Tison by mentioning 'my 3,000 Instagram followers,' and Tison waves. I think it's great how Tison used far more fingers than I might have in greeting this guy's flock.   

While Brent Terhune makes me smile with his take on this, make no mistake when it comes to interacting with me, there aren't two sides to the discussion. Mask it or casket. 
-bill kenny 

Your Team Sucks, Literally

It takes balls to play what we call soccer and the rest of the world calls football. And until social distancing measures put in place by various nations' football associations, it also took fans in the stands. 

As a devotee of the DFB, I very much looked forward to the return of matches this past weekend though I did have some adjustments to make as the games are played 'behind closed doors' (that is, with no fans in the stands). There are however public address announcers, whose form and function in the current configuration is a puzzlement to me though I admire what I assume is the strength of the stadium announcers' union.

I smiled listening to the ambient sound of play from the pitch because having spent some years in Germany I can understand a great deal of what's being exchanged between the various players and while it may get lost in the sauce for a lot of American viewers, the audio certainly improves my enjoyment especially when the comments after a hard tackle, wedding or otherwise, are something more than 'nice job' as they often are. 

It was strange to watch Borussia Dortmund host FC Schalke on Saturday before about 82,000 empty seats because Iduna Stadium is very much the 12th man for the Dortmund side. Not that they needed a lot of help against an opponent who played as if they thought the match was actually on Sunday (and were listless and lifeless and shouldn't be surprised to find themselves in the conversation about teams in danger of being relegated (demoted) to the Second Division).

I guess for the South Korean Football Federation, the idea of empty stands was a little too daunting and while I admire their unique solution, it seems in this case, with all due respect to President Plumpy, the cure may be worse than the problem. Bigly.
-bill kenny

Brothers (and Sisters) In Arms

It's perhaps ironic that we spent the first nine or so weeks of this spring sheltering in place or face-masking and gloving up while we scurried and hurried to semi-surreptitiously accomplish what often felt like illicit errands and now here we are readying for the unofficial traditional start of summer, Memorial Day weekend, this coming Monday as starting today Connecticut slowly loosens some of the safeguards and restrictions necessitated to combat the spread of COVID-19.

When I was a kid growing up (in the dark days of black and white TV and NO Internet) we called the upcoming holiday "Decoration Day" because so many families spent some part of the day traveling to or at a cemetery honoring the grave of a fallen member of the Armed Forces (World War II, Korea, and the ongoing Vietnam War touched practically every family). 

We've gotten so used to having professional armed forces in this country we forget that until 1973, we had military conscription, usually called the draft. Even during the War for Independence, we had people who would volunteer, but conscription was how we gathered the manpower to build the armies that fought our wars. 

And the draft was only for men-there were women in some jobs in the Armed Forces (WAFs and WAVEs are the two I remember learning about and I'm sorry for forgetting the others), but certainly not in all jobs and they joined of their own volition.

We called everyone serving in the military back then 'our boys in uniform.' After the draft was eliminated in 1973 and both sexes were serving, maybe because we thought it sounded silly to say 'our girls in uniform', we instead started to say 'our women in uniform' and once we did that it made sense to also say 'our men in uniform.' Odd how we made men out of boys, eh?

This weekend weather permitting will be big backyard barbecue days, always socially distanced of course with a lot of us hoping to 'make up for lost time' while curmudgeons like me fret that we've become oblivious to the 'real' meaning of Memorial Day. So here's what we learned in school: a lot of very brave people sacrificed their lives for this nation so we could cook baby-back ribs or check out the deals on the car lots over this weekend.

Except, quite frankly, it wasn't just the very brave; there were a lot more very frightened, perhaps flawed and ultimately very fragile men and women who died in uniform so we could complain about the lack of live sports right now, or how come we couldn't buy as many burgers and dogs as we wanted.

But because we have a couple of days until we get to the holiday weekend, I'd like to suggest you find a computer to check out the US Department of Defense website, and then type in "Memorial Day" in the search bar. It doesn't take very long, though, for those in uniform whose lives have ended, it will always be too short. Start at the top and read as many articles as it takes until that sense of entitlement starts to fade. It's time well-spent. 

The website's not nearly as poetic as the lines penned by a John McCrae, but it doesn't pretend to be. We are, after all, living in the greatest country on earth defended by professional warriors who, if we work our media consumption just right, we hardly ever have to think about although this weekend would be a perfect moment to so do.

-bill kenny

My Aim Is True

I am a FARC, a Fallen Away Roman Catholic. I'm not proud of that fact or saddened by it; I just am and that's all there is to that. 

The Lord and I have decided to see other people and while I appreciate the timelessness of the expression "without man there is no God" I always capitalize the G just in case there is anyway. Einmal auf sicher, say I. 

I remember a long time ago seeing a meme of a car driving through a puddle splashing a group of people standing at a church with the caption 'drive-by baptism.' Perhaps this news story is then simply a matter of life imitating art. 

And when/if this starts to happen, there may be a hope that Holy Mother Church will be nearing if not actually entering the 21st Century.

"Bless me Father, I left my directional on."

-bill kenny 

Bullets Look Better

Maybe it's just because we've been sheltering in place for an extended period of time but it seems to me we’ve been seeing 'holiday' commercials for weeks because that’s how relentless advertising has to be for us in the era of Consumerism Uber Alles. It’s hard to believe technically this time next week though we'll observe it, it still will not be ‘real’ Memorial Day.

No worries, three-day weekend fans, we’ve got your six. Yep, this Monday in a week is the official observance of Memorial Day where social-distancing permitted we shall break out the briquettes and bar-be-cues, go to car lots for all the latest deals on previously owned but gently-used automobiles we don’t need and let's not forget about mattresses.

That last one always weirds me out as I don't understand the relationship that’s supposed to exist between bedding and remembering the last, full measure of the sacrifice of uniformed men and women in defense of our nation. It’s sort of like the bed linen sales that are held to mark Presidents Day. For many, you can’t have the latter without the former.

I found something to while away the hours between now and whichever Memorial Day you are observing (I hate using the word ‘celebrate,’ it’s inappropriate under the circumstances in my opinion). And I hope you’ll enjoy and explore it as well.

It causes me to pause in the headlong rush of oblivious self-aggrandizement we have called the 21^st Century and encourages me to feel both the loss and the sense of service to more than self that has, and I hope always shall, mark the lives of so many who serve(d) in the US Armed Forces.

And, perhaps most importantly, at least to me, it reminds me of the cost, price, and value of the freedoms so many of us take for granted far too often. And how great an obligation we, the living, should have to those who’ve made our lives and lifestyle possible, to strive to be the best people we can be so that we are worthy of their sacrifices for us. 

-bill kenny   

Whatever Gets You Through the Plague

How you choose to shelter in place probably has a lot to do with how well you are coping with COVID-19 prophylaxis. 

As such there may be a lot to be said for staying in touch with the Dutch.   

Touch being the operative word. 

-bill kenny

Reductio ad Absurdum

While grocery shopping yesterday morning I encountered a fellow consumer channeling KISS unmasked. He was easy to spot as he was walking up a walk-down aisle. 

Earlier this week, I shared a Home Depot with two different very handy people, one bearded and one not, but both bare-faced here in the Land of Steady Habits whose Governor, Ned Lamont, issued an executive order on April 18 for everyone to wear masks, trick or treaters and otherwise.    

Yesterday when I called the Bare-Faced C*ntessa on his disregard of that executive order he attempted to give me a lecture that centered around his liberty and his exercise of his freedoms. I have two stents in my heart, diabetes, COPD, and an auto-immune disease making me a big winner in the COVID-19 Susceptibility Sweepstakes. 

I never suffered fools gladly when I was healthy, and now I'm way less tolerant so I cut him off and threatened to use my cell phone to call the police (the grocery store police? I admit I hadn't really thought it through but was fortunate as neither had he) so he shut up and left. 

It shouldn't get to that and we shouldn't need to tell one another things like that. Ever. Despite what Bobby McGee was quoted by Janis as saying, everything to include freedom has limits and we need to start to make sure we respect one another's.

courtesy of Stop The Donald

-bill kenny

Brian's Song

Sometimes pictures really are worth a thousand words.

Sometimes, even more.
-bill kenny

One Less Mystery

Sometimes the answer to the question is in the question itself.

Sometimes the little mysteries take care of themselves.
-bill kenny

Tomorrow Never Knows

Someone once told me tomorrow is the inevitable result of every action and decision we've made every day up to, and including, today. We've spent much of our recent weeks rarely looking beyond the end of whatever shift we're scheduled to work or whatever errand we're engaged in, for the most part, looking at life the way a horse runs, one footfall ahead of where we are and no further.

We've started saying 'when things loosen up' rather than 'if' so while we're still social distancing and self-quarantining, we're starting to lean forward which is the direction we should be heading but I think one of the lessons we must learn from the challenges we've faced throughout this pandemic is for all of us to have better tomorrows we need  to assess and improve the tools today we hope to use if we’re to succeed.

The trouble, however, often is that so much of what we've said and done today (as well as left unsaid and undone) gets in the way as we work towards tomorrow. The key to any success we hope to have in getting from where we are to where we want to go means building a coalition of  pragmatists, visionaries, discouraged experts, enthusiastic beginners, and everyone in between, because we need (just about) all of us and all the talents we can offer.  

It was hard watching the City Council conduct the second public hearing on the proposed 2020-2021 municipal budget Monday night (and probably not a picnic being a Council member either) because the technology we have to allow each of us to participate and voice opinions on where our city should expend and invest our tax dollars may not be especially comfortable for many to use.

The hearing lasted a little more than twenty minutes (and that included the time devoted to explaining how to call in) with what sounded to me like less than a half dozen citizens commenting.

Admittedly, you can also phone members of the City Council, or write pen and ink letters, and I understood from Mayor Nystrom's comments that there were also some, but not many emails received. So perhaps that means the rest of us were just fine with the proposed budget, but perhaps not.   

One of the callers Monday night offered the Board of Education's budget request was 'insane' while another called it 'out of control.' Neither offered any suggestions about what either 'sane' or 'in control' looked like so I'm not sure how helpful those insights were especially since about 35% of the Board of Education's budget is for Norwich Free Academy's tuition and services for our children.

I've eavesdropped on all the meetings of the City Council and Board of Education AdHoc Committee who've worked tirelessly to find common ground and a consensus on dollars to fund the education budget and I all I can think of is Hughes Mearns' poem, Antigonish.
    
When all we do is talk about change all we get is hoarse. We can't afford to continue until tomorrow changing how we pay for all the government we want and need. Talk is cheap; action is the only hard currency that counts because tomorrow never knows. 
-bill kenny 

Graph Showing Trump's Leadership During Our Current Pandemic

As demonstrated at yesterday afternoon's press conference:

Yeah. It's been as conspicuous in its absence as you thought it was. 
-bill kenny

No Single Drop of Rain

Have you been getting the same amount of rain where you live as we've been getting around southeastern Connecticut? Remember what we used to hear as kids, 'nice weather for ducks'. Today's kids don't hear anything, they text; and some ducks sell insurance. Anyway, we had a season's worth of rain in the first week and a half of May so I hope all those weathermen who go on about rainfall deficits are happy now.

Although in light of our current self-quarantine and sheltering in place behaviors (void at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue), too much nice weather would probably have been wasted on us, I suppose. And, if I were being honest, I didn't do very much complaining that this past winter seemed to have very little of the snow and ice for which New England is famous (not that I missed it, believe me).

We've gotten banged and bruised a lot so far in 2020 by circumstances we keep telling ourselves are beyond our control which may be true BUT how we react to those challenges is very much WITHIN our control and so deciding to refuse to lose is an excellent first step as the public health officials sort out contact tracing, testing, and other prophylactic processes and protections that we'll need for the long haul. 

I think back to a sign I saw long ago in the waiting room of an oncologist I hoped to never see again (and yet like Peaches and Herb we've recently reunited) which offered a smile inside a grimace that I think in recent times has served me well, courtesy of that famed American philosopher Charles ("Good Grief!") Schultz: "Don't worry that the world will end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia." 
G'Day.
-bill kenny

O Is for the Oil

This is originally from a couple of years ago. I'm pretty sure neither I nor my feelings have changed a whole lot in the interim. I called it at the time:

Neither a Card nor a Moment

I figure everyone with a pulse, or an approximation is waxing poetic today in honor of Mother's Day, as well we should. This is my third Mother's Day without my Mom who passed away shortly before her 89th birthday but she is always and often in my thoughts. These are a few of them from a really long time ago. Miss you, Mom.

When I was a kid, Mom was more than unflappable, she was a force of nature and in the decades since the death of her husband, my dad, her children, joined by grandchildren and now great-grandchildren have watched her lead the life she wishes after taking care of so many of us for so long. Mom came to visit Sigrid and me and our two children when we all still lived in Germany.

My sisters, Evan, Kara, and Jill are accomplished, masterful, and successful. They take care of their own families with the same devotion and also the same discipline (no feet on tables, no glasses without coasters) as their mother did them. Glenn (Evan's late husband), Russ (Kara's fella), and Joe (paired with Jill) are fortunate to have them in their lives and smart enough to know it.

I and my two brothers, Kelly and Adam, are married to women, Sigrid, Linda, and Margaret whose Moms raised them to give us the confidence every day to go out into the world and try to reinvent it in our own image and, when we come home at the end of each day, oft defeated but never undaunted, to convince us we can begin again on the morrow because of their love and support. I think we have at least two point three boxcars of children, many with families of their own now.

I realize you may fear with my diabetes, being so sweet puts me in grave danger of being terminally mushy. No worries, I'm not, as I choose to invoke the deathless words of Ray Wylie Hubbard to close. Love ya, Mom(s), all of you.

-bill kenny 

Kiss That Frog

Mission creep is what group dynamics folks like to describe what the rest of us might well call L.O.S.T, or Line Of Sight Tasking (I'm still not sure what we call group dynamics without making our moms cry). 

At some point in a project, one of the very bright people who came up with the original idea realizes there's yet another function they forgot within the transaction and loudly announces 'someone needs to do/be .....' The first person who makes eye contact with the announcer inherits this new responsibility with absolutely no authority or means to accomplish it. 
Don't look up! Too late. Well, thanks for playing.

It's part of our lives as individuals, as well, fretting in the various roles we each play in the drama. I had a plateful (and more) when it was just me, myself, and I. Falling in love and getting married moved me, or us, to egoisme a deux, and then we added children to the mix. Solo, spouse, parent, while also being a child, sibling, and wearing a half dozen other hats. You can't tell the players without a scorecard, especially when we each are covering numerous positions.

Is there a limit to all this multi-tasking, if that's what this actually is (I like to think that term is better applied to linked tasks vice totally different ones-like a product being both a floor polish and a dessert topping) and when do we reach a limit, how do we know? I remember the 'how to cook a frog in boiling water' semi-urban legend (don't judge; I run with a colorful crowd, sehr bunte leute) that makes me suspect there's no 'top end.'

The story, now disproven but still often-cited, is if you place a frog in a pot of boiling water, it will simply hop back out; but, if you place the frog in the pot of water and then slowly and carefully raise the heat of the flame under the pot, the frog will never move until it has been cooked. I've often wondered if this is why so many of us are called chickens?
-bill kenny

Empty as Empty Can Be

Whatever time it is when you awaken today, take solace, however small, that in 178 days we hold an election for President. If you believe in miracles, the Apricot Asshole will again not win the popular vote but this time will also not capture the needed 270 electoral votes. But don't just take my word on the amount of time until then.

For those whose animus towards Barack Obama became some kind of fever dream that made the Mango Mussolini the perfect foil to own the libs, I hope whatever health insurance you've managed to hang on to can be used to pay for the medications now that your fever has broken (along with the country).  

As for anyone who is surprised electing a grifter whose sole talent is self-aggrandizement would go so badly and is now claiming buyers' remorse, stick your lamentation in your diddy bag. And if my bluntness offends you, move along because you're standing in my light.

Elect a clown, expect a circus. Choose an asshole and expect a shit-show. Done and done.
-bill kenny  

There's Nothing Left to Be Desired

I'm starting to wonder what the dinosaurs were thinking as they watched the meteor showers crashing into the earth and if it was anything like the way I felt yesterday in one of the aisles of our Big Y grocery store passing a seemingly normal and healthy young person (younger than either of our two children) who looked like he might have been on a high school wrestling team until our Governor out of an abundance of caution (and consulting with Alice Cooper, perhaps) canceled school for the rest of the year in Connecticut. 

He had one of those gaiters that makes you look like Bazooka Joe's stunt double (I bought one that I've worn once because I have this giant head that makes putting it on feel like it's a tube top for my neck. One of my brothers also has a large head but his head is jam-packed with brains whereas my brain is so small it just rolls around inside my watermelon-sized head making a noise like a bee-bee in a boxcar). Anyway, Gaiter Guy has the thing up over his mouth but under his nose, testing that whole axiom about how it's the thought that counts. Especially when non-sentients are doing the thinking.

However, he pales in comparison to the advanced thinking that this sweet thing from Kentucky offered, confirming to my satisfaction that stupidity is as airborne as respiratory illnesses.

Which is why I prefer The Hollies' cover to Albert Hammond's original. And don't hold your breath waiting for me to change my mind
-bill kenny      

Clickity-Click

I've always enjoyed "Groundhog Day" with Bill Murray and thought it was a funny movie that stood up well even after repeated viewings. I confess I never really thought of it as a training film for our current circumstances but I suspect I'm not alone in sometimes losing track of the days and how one day seems to blend into the next as we continue to self-quarantine (and hope for the best).

When I sat down to write these words and glanced at the desk calendar I was surprised to realize this Sunday is Mother's Day. It sort of just snuck up on me, to be honest, so for those who are mothers (and not just the ones called that sometimes in anger or exasperation), best wishes on your special day in a year that in retrospect (if that ever happens) we'll call many things but I suspect 'special' will probably not be among them.

And as much of our world has changed, so, too, have how we respond to the challenges of those changes. We have federal, state, and local programs with financial support for businesses and individuals that we hope will help them weather the current storm but at the same time, as you probably saw Monday night either on the city's website or on the Comcast government access television channel, the business of city government must and does, go on. 

Okay, for a moment I thought I was watching an audition for an episode of Fox's The Masked Singer (Alderman Nash convinced me otherwise), but bad joke aside, serious discussions were had and decisions were made by our neighbors, and perhaps, friends, who volunteered last Spring to serve on a city council elected last fall in circumstances vastly different now than when they stepped forward. 

We call politics the art of the possible and looking to both Hartford and Washington, there's not a lot of comity and cooperation going on these days despite the peril threatening all of us with the COVID-19 pandemic. 

There's still way too much 'for me and my party to look good, you and your party need to look bad' pouting and posturing going on at both of those locations so I smiled (actually grimaced from the painful truth of his statement) when as the discussion on a "Request for Proposal to complete an analysis of the entirety of the City's Fire Services" became somewhat heated, Alderman Nash suggested sometimes it's hard to see the forest for the trees. 

He reminded his fellow City Council members and all of us across the city that the members of the City Council, while of two different parties, strive to see themselves as residents first, and always, and make decisions on what they believe to be in the best interests of all of us.

So much of what we all do every day we tell ourselves is business as usual, except, and here's my point, it's NOT business as usual. We're not treading water waiting for the flood to recede and if we are, we have ZERO guarantees that the dry land to which we hope to return will be anything like what we once had. 

Those in elected local leadership right now must plan for everything and nothing in terms of revenues, expenses, programs, and promises. If ever there was a moment when we needed to listen to one another more than speak, this is it and will remain it for the foreseeable future because quite there are too many home fires burning and not enough trees. 
-bill kenny