No Single Drop of Rain

I take a lot of static from folks while I'm out walking when I stop to pick up discarded litter of almost all kinds (I draw the line on sharps and dog shit, but everything else is fair game) and the common refrain I hear is, 'you shouldn't have to do that!'

Except somebody should but nobody does.

Not my job. Who of us doesn't say it? 

Except it is our job to be decent human beings, watch out for one another, and care for this planet and its creatures and the creation entrusted to us.

Some of us, it seems, didn't get the memo. 

I know, who cares? AmIrite?
-bill kenny

Helluva Sermon

Business is always brisk at churches of all denominations on Sunday mornings.

And the piety is almost always practiced nearly all the way back to the parishioners' cars for the drives home.
-bill kenny

Hello, I Really Must Be Going....

Thanks to an unfortunate combination of looks, personality, and absence of any discernible skills and abilities, I tend to keep myself to myself. This, as anyone who ever spent time with me under the same roof either when we were growing up, or perhaps later as I was growing old, can tell you, is not a bad thing. 

My wife on the other hand is a very open-hearted and caring person (she took in a mutt like me so whatever argument you offer has already been mooted) and people genuinely like her. I am fortunate that they do because for the most part that means they tolerate me. 

I will confess, and concede, I don't put a large amount of effort into being liked. We lived in the same house for almost thirty-three years with pretty much the same neighbors and I hardly know their names and can rarely even come close to guessing first names. 

'Hello,' seems to cover a multitude of sins, both of omission and commission. When neighbors drive by and wave I can see them mouthing "Hello, Sigrid's husband!"  And for my part, beneath my somewhat forced smile, I'm muttering 'Hi, whoever you are.'  

I mention all of this because I found a fascinating article written I assume because having a good excuse for leaving a social gathering is seemingly a critical need. Judge for yourself.

I hate to be harsh, but just from reading their rationale for using them, I wouldn't want to be anywhere near any of the folks who use those excuses. I'll show myself out.
-bill kenny 

Fingers Crossed

I found this in the archives, among the endives, and decided today was a good day to revisit it and, no, I have no idea what prompted the early part of this sentence. Honest. For fourteen years ago: 

Fuggedaboutit Meets Friggatriskaidekaphobia

WARNING: The Surgeon General has determined blah, blah, blah, awful stuff, blah, blah, whenever it's Friday the 13th and fear of blah, blah, blah. The End. C'mon, none of us ever read disclaimers all the way through anyway so I figured I'd offer you a mock disclaimer, a slice of that mock apple pie made with Ritz crackers, and a tall frosty glass of something other than milk from a cow to wash it all down. Mmmmm. You got a little something on your upper lip, sunshine.

We've got the most highly developed brains of any species on this planet but are also the only species who hate and fear one another for reasons such as different religions, skin colors, or political beliefs. 

So if any other species has the gift of speech (and I guess, the ability to read as well and a thumb that works a scroll ball) now might be a good time for one or more of them to ask aloud, 'How come the bi-peds are the crown of creation., anyway?'

On top of all those misplaced prides and prejudices (you don't suppose Jane is related to Steve, by any chance? I'm trying to imagine Fitzwilliam Darcy having a discussion with Oscar Goldman) we have the mother of all irrationalities, Friday the Thirteenth and the fear of it.

Of course, it's only irrational if you don't put any stock into any of the literature or folk tales you've heard since you were young. There are seven point two katrillion jillion websites (a number I just made up and have you ever known me to lie to you?) on every aspect of this day and date combination, and one's as good as the other, or as bad, depending on how you feel.

You might have a lucky number, or a special letter, or maybe a pony ride for your birthday (you ba$tard!), so far be it from me to pooh-pooh, pshaw, or tsk-tsk (I love it when I can use classic ancient words; I am, after all, wearing Old Spice. And you thought I was kidding about the pony. And STOP clicking the link!) your values or beliefs. If they help you place your universe in order, that's fine.

I put all the cash in my wallet in order by denomination (Catholics go first, obviously) and then in sequence based on the serial number. My wife used to find this quirk endearing; now, not so much. She's helped me manage my compulsion by making sure I have very little folding money. Everyone standing behind me in lines everywhere as I used to put the bills in order is very grateful.

In a way, I guess it's counter-intuitive to wish you a happy Friday the Thirteenth especially since we'd be here all day on what a 'happy' one might look like. Be advised, there's another one in December so how lucky can superstitious people get?  I don't know if Hallmark has cards, but I wouldn't be surprised. 
-bill kenny 

 

Pretty Can Be a Reason

I was raised with 'Have a reason for everything you do.' 

It's worked well for most of the seventy-two years plus I've wandered around on the ant farm with beepers but today, 'because it's just really nice wins out.'

I think you'll agree.
-bill kenny 

Sky of Blackness and Sorrow

I've watched this anniversary date approach for weeks, knowing that words are never enough. It's a hole on the calendar, about the size of the hole in my heart. It doesn't hurt less knowing so many of us ache for the same reason. Twenty-three years on, recalling the events of 11 September 2001 doesn't diminish the pain of remembrance.

Four planes, people whose lives were suddenly and horribly ended in the air and on the ground, three buildings- two totally destroyed, the other deeply scarred, and a Pennsylvania field forever transformed into a memorial. And all these years later, the sharp edge of regret and loss may have dulled slightly, as time has worn it down, but the hurt gets worse as the heart gets harder.

New York’s World Trade Center, WTC, towered over 'The City' as a presence, more felt than seen. Manhattan looked to the WTC the way the fingers on the hand looked to the thumb. 

The destruction was no less real at the Pentagon, in Washington, D. C., where so many in and out of uniform who served America and worked to preserve her peace had war visited upon them, without warning or reason. 

Nor was the devastation across a Pennsylvanian hillside less painful or complete where, for weeks and months afterward, no blade of grass grew, and no bird flew. All we felt was a raw ache.

We seemed to listen more carefully to one another, at least for a time afterward. We spoke to each other instead of at each other. Having witnessed how frail and fragile life could be, it seemed we had resolved to see past and through the political differences, find the essentials, and seek common ground. 

And then tomorrow and tomorrow and that well-known petty pace crept in, and we found ourselves standing together at anniversary remembrances of today, but not as close as we had stood the year previous.

Slowly, we chose a return to a country that always seems to involve blaming and shaming, shouting and pointing, pushing and shoving, posturing and pouting, until here we are, so many years older but no wiser.

Many have forgotten, or choose to forget, that we have always been where everyone else on earth has wanted to be. No one seeking to come here has ever thought we were perfect, but believe we allow everyone and anyone the opportunity to dream and to become their dream.

We were the nation with open hearts and open minds, who rolled up a sleeve to help a neighbor or someone we'd not yet met halfway across the world; who looked you squarely in the eye and whether we agreed or not, always let you speak your mind and tell us your heart.

Some see today as a national day of service. That is a path worth exploring as we can still use a lot of help even if we're not sure how to ask for it. We can start on a return to being the greatest nation on earth everyone else continues to believe we are and to be the Americans that everyone else sees when they look to us.

We could get along better, maybe by muddling along together, by rediscovering the beliefs and values that bring and keep us together, making us who we are, and seeing how that goes. And perhaps we could begin to do all of that today. 
-bill kenny

Ohne Mich

All anyone is talking about today is the Harris/Trump debate tonight on ABC television carried just about everywhere else simultaneously.  

Everyone EXCEPT me. 

Months ago I purchased tickets to see James McMurtry, whom I revere at a level only shared by Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan, and Ray Davies, perform tonight in Fairfield, Connecticut, a decent distance from where I live but even farther than where he does. 

I have waited YEARS for McMurtry to come this far north and east and I have no hesitation or regret about my decision to catch him in concert and skip the televised debate. It probably helped my decision-making process I had decided months if not years ago, no matter who or what the Democrats chose to run against the Orange Shitstain I would be supporting.  

DonOld Trump should be jailed for the crimes he's already been convicted of. When Jack Smith gets through with him and he's found guilty of inciting insurrection, I hope he receives the same punishment John Brown did for his actions at Harper's Ferry, Virginia. I'd pay to watch that happen. 

As for me and McMurtry, I'm hoping we have ourselves a time.
-bill kenny