Going Forward, But Never Forgetting...

I could never forget the twenty wonderful and sometimes not-so-wonderful years I spent with Mary Sheila Nassif Mrochinski as her husband. They were magical and full years -- with a profound and lovely arc. These years held many intimate moments, many loving moments, many tearful moments, and sundry moments that were better forgotten -- but that can never be so. You can't undo time, or pain, or disease, or death.

Sheila's death was unfair and undeserved. She was not alone in this. The small town in which she grew up in North Carolina had clusters of unfair deaths like hers. Every one of the girls she played with as a little girl are now deceased, save one, her best friend Celeste (Tess). Even Tess has felt the unfair "sting" of exotic cancers as she, even now, is undergoing radiation treatment for breast cancer.
All the other little girls are gone: pancreatic cancer, odd breast cancers (similar to Sheila's IBC), esophageal cancer, cervical cancers, late onset brain cancer, and on-and-on.  Obviously there are/were environmental causes (epigenetic) such as the constant spraying of nearby crops with DDT and Malathion -- for decades -- and the children's exposure to same by "playing in the smoke" of the sprayers, and eating the fruit of the ubiquitous pecan trees and backyard gardens that occupied and enveloped all their homesteads.

I am now "going forward" -- slowly -- into a new life. I will continue to write; to travel some; to enjoy the company of new and old friends; to connect with family where and how I can. I will be a help rather than a disruptor or merely an observer of others. I will live out my own life as a gift to others, without being a burden to anyone but my own churning self.  I will continue to live up to my own life's values. I will live as if each day is my last. I will continue to learn to ... dance and love.

Resist; resist; resist!!!!

Stress Factors (In No Particular Order)

Selling house --finally; after 11 years of waiting.
Serious sickness in family.
Moving.
Renting a new house with non-responsive landlord.
Getting "credit line" as "bridge loan" until "closing."
Finding: packing crew (students and friends), heavy lifting crew (local firemen who need extra  
     money).
Downsizing to a normal household size.
Making sure donations "get" to where they are going.
Getting rid of 15,000 books.
Getting "house" and "property" ready for card sale/auction.
Renting truck(s), cars), and people's time.
Being "horny."
Trying to head "deadlines."
Avoiding "stress."
Not sleeping.

Resist; resist; resist!

Languorous Savannah Day

Sometimes on a day like today, when the temperatures and humidity are near perfect, and the mind calmly stalks and destroys the tasks set aside for now; I am brought up sharply by an intimate recognition of a past moment. In this case a miraculous and telling moment. Of a dear and departed love.

Sheila was an extraordinary woman. Even more extraordinary than I ever realized. She kept my jumbled life and "momentous thoughts" in order, and in proper scale. She reasoned with me by being patient and understanding that I could and would come around to the "sensible and common sense" solution, eventually. Sheila was a perfect match for me; even though I was probably not a "perfect match" for her. My love almost overcame my many faults as a partner, and a husband, and a caretaker at the very end ... but not completely .

"She," as I liked to call her -- was the essence of a good, kind and loving person. And she could laugh easily at her own foibles, and certainly at my many such -- in a way that never insulted me, but made me clearly see the joke in my conceits. She knew me as well as I knew me, and better than she knew even herself. She accepted me; she tried to make me better (as I did her). And she failed at the latter, as I did as well. We were not perfect -- but we were good together, and remained a "newly-wed couple until the end of our twenty-year marriage."

I loved her; and She loved me. "I was not her first husband" as She liked to say; "I was her only husband." And our love was just too brief a moment. I would savor it better, if it were now, instead of then.

Resist, resist, resist!!!!!!!!!!!!

Who is More Ruthless --- Trump or Putin?

Vladimir Putin has had a long career in Russian political life -- first as Head of the KGB (in the older days)-- comparable to the roughest agencies in American life: the CIA, the NSA, or even the FBI.
He has been successful over time: in amassing some wealth for himself and his country (through oil, primarily), eliminating enemies (other oligarchs who opposed him), and solidifying Russia's place in the modern world.

Mr. Putin has even managed to expand Russia's sphere of influence: Crimea, Croatia, Donetsk, and other countries where a strong majority of citizens are Russian-speaking (all of the the old USSR countries).  He has been brilliant in his ruthlessness and success.

Donald J. Trump, on the other hand, is not a politician nor is he a particularly good government official. He is a CAPITALIST. He has no particular moral code, few values besides the idea of "profit," and even fewer consistent plans as to how to be a President, a leader, a moral champion, or a decent person. Instead he would sell out anyone for profit: his country, his own wavering moral compass, and/or anyone around him.  He is not a good person.

Mr. Trump relies upon his own instincts and whimsy to make extraordinarily important decisions. And he does so without regard to anyone except his own "brand" (a living, breathing, reinterpretation of Trump himself). His "brand" is his life, His "brand" is his self-worth. His "brand" is Trump.

Trump a Stooge for Putin?

The lingering smell of Russian interference in our democratic elections, even on a lobbying basis, is enough to scare most Americans. The fact is that Trump was an ingratiating weasel of a businessman, begging favors and access from Russia (and Putin) -- to extend his brand, his hotels, his golf courses, his wealth.

Trump is a small kind of businessman -- building not an empire -- but a fiefdom big enough only to wedge his name within. Trump is no Hilton, no Carnegie, no Roosevelt, no J.P. Morgan. Trump is actually more of a "localized distributor" for ties, cuff links, and booze.  The Trump brand of "elegance" is a misnomer. Just gold packaging, lots of glitter, and ordinary taste(s).

Trump grew up in a great city -- New York City. But he failed on almost every count to understand why it is so great. Not because of the moguls; not because of the personalities of its majors; not because of it "lower mogul class" (whose names get mentioned often in the Daily News or the Post, not so much in the Times). Trump certainly seeks the spotlight -- and now having tricked his way into the "presidency" -- he has it. If we can survive Trump -- we can survive anything.

Resist, resist, resist!!!!!!!

A Peripatetic Week -- And the Stress Continues

I am back from the North. It was wonderful to see my sister recovering so quickly -- it gave me hope for her, and for me. The drive up and back to Milwaukee was mostly uneventful yet filled with activity.

A car (my rental car) needed an oil change; so they gave me a pickup truck in Winston-Salem instead. It will be useful during the move in upcoming days.

It was a pity I didn't see any of my other siblings at Linda's place, but they have settled into a schedule where all the minutiae of life come first -- we are a strange group of people -- my family; and yet all too predictably selfish. I am, I am sure, the same in many, many ways.

Investments seem to be in order, though I am sure my broker will need to be "encouraged" to be aggressive; it is not his natural stance.

Today is a "work day" in moving boxes, and clearing space.  

Am-bee-air

Names are funny kinds of words.  A name for a thing can sometimes be a name for a person: Moon Unit Zappa, for instance. And often names have internal kinds of thrusts in them.

The name "glenn" for instance can be a secluded glacial crevasse now widened into a peaceful book, or it could simply be a dumb older brother (no bro jokes, Mel). 

Lately I have been entranced with names: some of my student workers this past week for example can be illustrative: Chloe, Darius, Tiffany, Ashton, Nyema  could you guess how many and which of those students are male or female? Good luck. And there are other students: Adeana, Jasmine, Alicia, 

the ubiquitous Jennifer, Roman, Devin, Davon, and the various forms of Brittany (-eny,-ainy,-einy, etc.).

Names say something: like "Amber" for instance. Breathe that name and slowly pronounce it. Ahm--be-er, or maybe even Ahm--bey--air. A name to conjure with...

Resist, resist, resist!!!!!!!!!!