Our Common Humanity

This is a follow up to my last blog. Two commenters have suggested I should have mentioned the sexual orientation of the victims. And one friend strongly reacted to my failure to focus on the fact most of the victims were gay and were targeted while they were at a gay night club.

Let me first say I am sorry for any offense to my friends and readers. I meant no disrespect to the LGBT community in not addressing the sexual orientation of many of the victims. I strongly believe all people regardless of their sexual orientation, race, religion, gender or other characteristics are entitled to the same respect and full human and legal rights.

I also agree the Orlando mass murders were a hate crime. But I need to add--so was the mass murder of African-American Christians in Charleston, South Carolina. And what about the mass murders of kindergarteners and their teachers in Newtown, Connecticut? Was that not some type of hate crime?

I won’t list all of the mass murders in the U.S. There are too many and too many supposed reasons. All mass murders are hateful abominations we should try to prevent. We all bleed and die when shot by automatic weapons. We all grieve when our loved ones are killed. 

I reject the analysis that the murderers’ rationales, and thus the identity of those who were killed, should be our main concern. Just as I deliberately do not mention the mass murderers’ names, I think focusing on the possible motives of mass murderers’ gives them too much attention. And is not the most useful way to prevent future such attacks.

Trying to make sense of crazy is a waste of time. The Orlando mass murderer claimed allegiance to ISIS. He is reported to also have claimed he was connected with al Qaeda and Hezbollah; he said he hated Americans, Blacks, gays, women and Jews. 

He apparently cased this gay nightclub and also Disney World. One survivor with multiple guns shot wounds said on the evening news that while she and others were trapped in a bathroom with the shooter he asked if anyone was Black. She then repeated his words, “I wasn’t trying to shoot anyone who was Black. They’ve suffered enough already.”  The survivor who was shot three times appeared to be African-American. Even the FBI has noted the contradictory nature of the shooter’s statements.

One of the many unfortunate results of the Orlando mass shooting is that it has made the LGBT population, like other groups targeted by hate crimes, feel even more vulnerable. But I think we do all of the victims and ourselves a disservice if we allow these mass murderers to divide us into insular groups. We should respectfully mourn all the victims and try to help the survivors. We should also reject any aspect of a religion or ideology that lessens the worth of anyone because of their identity.

Any of us could be in the next nightclub, movie theater, mall, school, medical clinic, government office, or place of worship. If we want to try to stop the next mass murderers, focusing on their possible motives is not nearly as useful as focusing on how they get their weapons, usually military-style assault weapons.

Let’s make military weapons unavailable to civilians. And let’s insist our government make reasonable efforts to keep all guns out of the hands of terrorists, domestic abusers, and crazies.

Love and Hate in America

Just this past weekend I started out writing about how amazing it was to see celebrities and average people come to Louisville, thousands lining the streets, to mourn the passing and celebrate the life of Muhammad Ali. Ali, an African-American man and a Muslim. And a man of peace.

But then real life and tragedy intervened before I posted that essay. Now we are dealing with the aftermath of the largest mass shooting in American history.

It’s probably too early to know what motivated the shooter. He was Muslim and proclaimed he was a supporter of ISIS. He had been on the terror watch list. He also was a domestic abuser with anger issues. And he had easy and legal access to military-style weapons.

So the hate-monger who goes by the name of Donald Trump, who ironically also claims to have been a friend and supporter of Ali, has renewed his call for banning all immigrants who are Muslim. As Trump spews forth his gleeful hatred—tweeting that thousands have congratulated him for “being right” (another lie—fact checkers found only a handful of such tweets) Trump uses this tragedy to sow fear since he believes fear “helps his numbers”.  Trump’s behavior and rhetoric are so eerily reminiscent of nationalistic fascism that it should be making our heads reel.

But no, Trump is not done with his fear mongering and pandering to the worst demons amongst us. He also says he plans to meet with the NRA to find ways to keep Americans safe. There can be no doubt what the NRA’s answer is—more guns in the hands of anyone with the money to buy them.

Appealing to Americans’ fear of those who are different and fear of having their guns taken away, Trump hopes to pull in more votes and more NRA money.

Of course, he ignores the fact that more guns will not keep us safer. But we should not ignore the facts. The myths the NRA relies upon to reap blood money for the sale of weapons are completely rebutted by facts.

http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/4-pro-gun-arguments-were-sick-of-hearing-20151001

1)   The NRA and its ilk like to say, “People not guns kill people.” But in fact, guns, particularly assault and automatic weapons, are extremely effective at killing lots of people. A person with a knife, a baseball bat or a brick can perhaps kill one or two before someone can stop them. A crazy person with an assault weapon can kill dozens or more in the same time.

2)   The NRA is looking to put more guns in the hands of “good guys” who can stop mass shootings. In the real world, an untrained “good guy with a gun” is totally ineffective at stopping a mass shooter.

" No mass shootings in the past 30 years have been stopped by an armed civilian; in 1982, an armed civilian successfully killed a shooter, but it was only after he committed his crime.”
 http://www.rollingstone.com/politics/news/4-pro-gun-arguments-were-sick-of-hearing-20151001#ixzz4BYyebVd0 

3) We need to use mental health resources to identify crazy shooters in advance. Sure, many of the mass shooters are crazy. But we have no reliable way to identify who is both crazy and likely to become a killer. So, while efforts to provide mental health services are a great idea there’s no indication that’s likely to prevent the next mass shooting.

4) “The Second Amendment prevents any restrictions on guns in America.” Baloney. Without a long legal dissertation, it should be recognized that the Second Amendment, like all of the Amendments in the Bill of Rights, is subject to reasonable restrictions. For example, as the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Ninth Circuit recently recognized, there “is no Second Amendment right for members of the general public to carry concealed firearms in public.”

The last thing we need are more guns. There already are as many guns in the U.S. as people. Americans die by guns at an unparalleled rate compared to any other rich, western country.  All those guns have not made Americans safer.

“In the United States, the death rate from gun homicides is about 31 per million people — the equivalent of 27 people shot dead every day of the year. The homicides include losses from mass shootings, like Sunday’s Orlando attack, or the San Bernardino, Calif., shooting last December.” 

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/14/upshot/compare-these-gun-death-rates-the-us-is-in-a-different-world.html?

No other equivalent country comes anywhere close to the U.S. in the loss of life from guns.

In the aftermath of the Orlando tragedy we need to hear all the voices for peace and love rather than this hate-mongering fascism. We particularly miss the voice of Muhammad Ali, a Muslim and man of peace to rebut the hate-filled fear mongering that is alive and prospering amongst us.

Road Trip and TangentialThoughts

We were driving back from the Nowhere Else music festival in Ohio last weekend. One could go to  many tangential places, real and imagined, with that thought—where do you go when you are leaving Nowhere Else? But that’s too easy a prompt so I won’t go there. But we did take some tangents, at least in thoughts, along the way.

Of course we played music from a variety of the musicians we’d heard. But a car road trip is also a  particularly good location and time, conducive  to chatting and tangential thinking. Why else do so many movies and novels make use of the road trip to move the conversation and dialog along? 

Such plot devices and the movies and novels that utilize them would be a good topic of conversation if one ran out of thoughts. But we had no such dilemma. Close proximity, time, nothing to do but drive and talk. One idea just leads to another. Some are on straight lines, some are tangents.

We talked about the concert highlights, the songs and groups we’d particularly loved. The additional ones we wished we’d heard. How one song leads to thoughts of another  song or another musician. The brain seems to want to flow from tangent to tangent.

How interesting the Nowhere festival had combined art and music.  We contemplated how much fun it would have been to stay another day, join the nature walk with Linford, the song-writing workshop led by Joe Henry, the drawing workshops, and then stay for another afternoon and evening of music. Too bad we hadn’t planned for that extra day.

But there we were in the car heading home through Ohio to Kentucky. And we had our share of tangents of thought. We had seen a rainbow after the skies had cleared following Lucy Wainwright Roche’s performance during the thunderstorm. The last music festival we’d attended had been in Maui at World Whale Day. Maui is famous for spectacular rainbows and we’d made a habit of counting how many we’d seen. Rainbows in Ohio are no doubt rarer but obviously still occur given the right conditions and a little magic.

Which made us think of Joe Henry’s mention of magic at his recording studio in the basement of his home in California. He referred to his home as the “old Garfield house”. Neither of us knew anything about the Garfield house other than to assume he wasn’t talking about “Garfield the cat” of the comics. I speculated the Garfield to whom he referred was the actor John Garfield since houses in California often are named for the famous actors who built or lived in them. My spouse said he’d been thinking of  President James Garfield, though neither of us thought he’d had any connection to LA.

So, we consulted that miracle of modern life.  Even when you have just left nowhere and still aren’t anywhere, you can research almost anything. I typed in “Garfield house” and “Joe Henry’ studio” on my smart phone and learned my husband was closer to the right answer than I. 

The Garfield house, where Joe Henry’s magical studio is located, is so named for Lucretius Garfield, the widow of President James Garfield. The house owned by Joe Henry is listed on the National Registrar of Historic Places and features a basement studio where a mind-bogglingly diverse collection of artists have recorded a dazzling array of hits.

If we were keeping score I’d have to give my spouse one point for making the President Garfield connection. But we weren’t keeping score, just passing the time and the miles.

At that point I’d looked up Joe Henry, his studio and the Garfield house. But somehow we circled back to John Garfield the actor, my wrong guess. John Garfield  has his own mind-boggling list of movies to his credit. 

My spouse suggested John Garfield was the actor who played Nick Romano in the Humphrey Bogart movie,  “Knock On Any Door”. I’d had the advantage of seeing a photo of John Garfield whose ruggedly handsome face was not the pretty boy actor who had played Nick—his  most memorable line was “Live fast, die young and leave a good-looking corpse.” I would get one point if we were playing for points as it was John Derek, not John Garfield, who played Nick Romano; he who lives fast, dies young and leaves a good-looking corpse at the end of the movie.

We continued to chat about what we thought were some of the highlights of the festival. The unique blend of voices, different musicians and singers, each bringing something special to the day and evening. Birds of Chicago still resonated in our minds and the car stereo.  Then we changed to Over the Rhine and the Band of Sweethearts. Though we’ve heard them a number of times, they are always  a particular delight: the magical quality of Karin’s vocals blended with the mix of songs she and Linford have written and the solid musical performances of the entire group.

We found ourselves laughing about Karin’s encounter onstage with a June bug, one of a few large insects that had joined the celebration under the tent after dark. 

My spouse said he thought there was another name for this type of flying beetle that we’d used back in Missouri where we’d both grown up. Again I researched on my smart phone.  June bug, of course, is a cute name for a menacing-looking bug. I learned the so-called June bug is from the genus phyllophaga. I found lots of other names for June bugs, such as May bugs, New World Scarab beetles, and June beetles. But I could not find a name that rang in the hidden recesses of recognition from our Missouri childhoods. But it didn’t matter. 

June bug research also reminded us of the little  2005 movie of the same name, without the space between the two words. “Junebug”, and the rave reviews from critics like the now passed Roger Ebert,  propelled Amy Adams to the “A” list of actors. Thus, we were able to digress into Amy Adams movies, movies about insects and lots of other only tangentially-related topics. A great way to pass the miles and the time on a summer road trip.

If you happen to know any other names for June bugs, the insect not the movie, or grew up in Missouri and recall what name they were given in that part of the country, please add in the comments. Or share your own tangential thoughts. Happy road trips. 

Good Times Like Nowhere Else Music Festival

We hadn’t been to an outdoor music festival in a long time. In fact the last time was for World Whale Day on Maui. 

So when we headed out Saturday morning for the Nowhere Else Music Festival in Ohio, I wondered if we were too old for this type of event, particularly with the uncertain weather of late May in the Midwest. Would it be too hot, too sunny, stormy, too cool or too buggy after dark? Would I find anything to eat since I have a gluten allergy? Hard to know. So we went prepared for anything and everything.

 I packed enough food for a village and a variety of drinks into a wheeled cooler, several sensible footwear choices, hats, jackets, sunscreen, insect repellant, towels and umbrellas, chairs, and a picnic blanket. We left the love beads and other hippie paraphernalia at home. In truth we have long since lost any  festival paraphernalia, unless you count our camping chairs.

We ended up arriving at the Nowhere Else festival later than we’d intended. A little plumbing emergency at our new home that resulted in some plunging of the toilet and two baskets of wet towels to deal with before our departure seriously delayed our heading out. But it was a nice day, a little overcast and the first real summer heat was upon us. Maybe we should have packed a portable fan?

When we arrived the party was in full swing. Volunteers directed us to park amongst the hundreds of other cars in the grassy fields. Someone had vacated a space just past the VIP parking section. We walked the short distance to the large tent and found two empty chairs with a great view of the stage. 

Larry Groce, of Mountain Stage was performing with his wife. They are both talented musicians and were performing Lyle Lovett’s “If I Had a Boat” to the audience’s obvious delight. We thoroughly enjoyed that song and the rest of the set of bluegrass favorites. Groce, in his bib overalls, and with a folksy style and humor, also served as host throughout much of the day.

Next up were Lily and Madeline. The two lovely sisters have very sweet and harmonious voices and their set was delightful. If I had a wish it would only be that their set had been a bit longer and had interspersed some of their covers of energetically-paced songs from their album.

The next performer, Joe Henry, brought his own distinctive singing and songwriting which soon filled the tent. Joe Henry spoke a little about the magic that has occurred at his recording studio in the basement of the old Garfield house in California. One particularly memorable story concerned trying to keep some of the magic that surrounded the singer, songwriter (as well as Renaissance man) Kris Kristofferson who Henry credited with writing songs about  very specific topics but that then have universal elements. 

Into Joe Henry’s set he was joined by his son and standout saxophone player, Levon Henry. 

Again I wished that this set list had been longer. And had included the song about Willie Mays (“The greatest center-fielder of all time; Stooped by the burden of endless dreams” ) and America spirit (“His and yours and mine.” ), “Our Song”. I hope Joe Henry sang “Our Song” the second day of the festival. So many of the lyrics speak to the angry political season we are enduring:

This was my country
This frightful and this angry land
But it's my right if the worst of it might
Still somehow make me a better man

Later, Karin Berquist and Linford Detweiler, the Over the Rhine hosts of the festival and creators of this music venue, paid particular tribute to Joe Henry, highlighting his contributions in producing two of their beautiful albums, as well as thanking him for introducing them to a number of the musicians performing at the festival. As they noted, Henry has produced music for many musicians, including some in the line-up.

For some reason, Willie Mays was still sitting in my mind, and I could only think how the next group, “Birds of Chicago” certainly fit the bill as all-star musicians. Allison Russell’s full-bodied singing blends beautifully with the outstanding playing in a host of rollicking songs that brought the audience out of their chairs and to their collective feet. Something very unique in the chemistry of this band that made the audience call out for more.

The sky was darkening with an approaching thunderstorm as the next performer, Lucy Wainwright Roche, took the stage. She has a stand-out voice and performed several songs, interspersing a casual telling of her travels as a musician, as introduction to “Deliver Me to the Next Best Western”. 

The ensuing  sudden thunderstorm caused Lucy only the slightest of pauses as the crowd under the tent made way for those who had been outside to find shelter under the big tent. The thought occurred to me, if only the politicians, political parties and this country could be as accommodating as the attendees of this music festival. Made me think of Over the Rhine’s song, “If a Song Could Be President”.

Lucy used the interruption to tell a humorous story about performing in Lithuania to an unreceptive crowd, only to discover that at the mere mention of basketball she was suddenly a hit. So she told of how she had performed a sing-along there of Bruce Springsteen’s “Hungry Heart”, substituting “basketball” for the title phrase. Lucy then led the Nowhere crowd in a stirring rendition of that song with the original lyrics. I will confess by this point, as the storm had passed, I headed to the portable toilets but could still participate in the sing along. This was no reluctant crowd.

One might think this line up, particularly “Birds of Chicago” are a hard act to follow. And they would be for ordinary performers. But as the sun set on the Nowhere Else Farm,  Over the Rhine and the Band of Sweethearts closed the day with the unmistakably beautiful vocals of Karin Berquist and their compelling sound and original songwriting to end a magical day. 

A little story-telling and goofiness, in particular, Karin’s encounter of a star-struck June bug, brought the day to a close that no one was quite ready to have end. But there was a promise of another festival day, starting with art, nature hikes and song-writing workshops to be followed by another afternoon and evening of music. 

Ah, if only we had planned to stay both days of the festival--maybe most of my wishes would have been fulfilled.

  

Crazy Stuff My Husband Thinks I Said

Ahh...us baby boomers. We're starting to fall apart. The joints are going. So we're replacing them. The backs are going. So we're getting Cortisone injections. The ears are going. But we're ignoring that.

Take my husband and me, for example. We have a little hearing loss between us. Maybe a few too many rock concerts. Or maybe just our age. But rather than view a little hearing issue as a loss, we’ve chosen to look on the experience with a sense of humor and in the spirit of fun. And besides, if Donald Trump actually wins the Presidency not being able to hear what he’s saying may be better than the alternative.

But back to my original topic of not hearing what is said. My husband has a particular gift for thinking he heard wild crazy-assed things. That would be ok except he usually claims to believe that I've said the crazy stuff.

For example, as we left our house the other day I made the remark that I was happy to be “back amongst the living again”. You see, this was supposed to be an ironic overstatement to cue I was feeling better after having had an upper respiratory virus. What our parents would've called the common cold.

My husband turned to me and said, "Did you say you just say you saw a Backalope?"

You can see how this is a crazy-assed thing to think your wife just said, particularly in view of certain undisputed facts. First, we don't live in any wilderness location. Second, my husband does not suffer from Alzheimer's. And third, so far as I know, there is no such thing as a Backalope.

We had been watching the revival of X-Files. Or should I make that sleeping through the X-Files revival? Sleeping through evening TV programs is another age-related topic I won’t digress into right now. But even Fox Mulder, true believer of the X-Files, concedes that the Jackelope was a hoax. So much more so for a Backalope.

If it were just one time my spouse claimed to have heard me say something totally crazy I'd be prepared to chalk it up. Chalk it up to what--I don’t know, but I would chalk it up. But it’s not the only time.  Seems to happen nearly every day. Today he asked me if I’d said the dog wanted a latte.

Now why would I say the dog wanted a latte? On the one hand, it’s not like our dog is a reincarnation of Mr. Ed, the talking TV horse of our youth. And on the other hand, the last thing in the world our dog needs is caffeine. We two geezers have all we can do to keep up with our un-caffeinated pooch and his excess energy issues. So maybe my spouse was thinking a de-caffeinated latte? But still… By the time I’ve gone through this crazy train of thought I’ve totally forgotten what I did say.

Maybe I will have a latte. Except we don’t have a latte machine. And if we did, no doubt the dog would want to share the treat like he does everything else I eat or drink. I could ponder if my husband is hinting he wants a latte machine for Father’s Day? But no, he doesn’t drink coffee or even like coffee ice cream.

So the only conclusion I can reach is that my husband's hearing is going. Or we’re living in the X Files where there are Backalopes and latte-drinking dogs who talk. In a world where Hillary Clinton, the presumptive Democratic nominee for President says she thinks the X Files need to be reopened since there may be something to the rumors about Area 51 and aliens, and an alien-looking orange man with fake hair who actually says crazy-assed stuff is the presumptive Republican nominee you have to wonder what is really going on.

Reaching: a Human Endeavor or Still Crazy

Still in post-moving mode, we’re happy with our new home, well, it’s new to us. And happily putting away all the stuff we schlepped over here. Well, maybe not so happily. All those boxes get pretty tiresome, pretty quickly. But we are trying to find a "home" for all our stuff. As in a cabinet or closet or somewhere out of sight. 

Isn’t that what all the organization and de-cluttering guides tell you to do? No, some of the guides suggest you form a loving relationship which each item you own and then have a conversation about whether it stays or goes. My approach is just to get it out of my sight, at least for long enough that I can unpack the stuff I actually want.

The house we’ve moved to has tall ceilings, tall windows and tall cabinets everywhere. Perfect, you would think. But also that’s why, now, that I’m way past growing any taller, I wish I could reach just a couple of inches farther.

I reached my adult height early--as a pre-teen. About 5’7” at age twelve, I was taller than most of my classmates and a lot of the teachers.  And I lived in fear I would just keep growing. I had reason to expect I’d continue to grow. Both of my parents were tall and my older brother at fourteen was well over 6’ and still growing.

I think my fear of being “too tall” had to do with the preconceptions of the era: girls should be shorter than the boys they dated and eventually married.

And it may have had a tiny bit to do with the crush I had on a boy in homeroom, over whom I towered. And then there were the famous TV and movie actors and musicians who were reputed to be about the height I already was. Think David McCallum of “Man from Uncle” and Robert Redford. Both are still pretty hunky even if they likely can’t reach any farther than I. And lack of height seems to have made no difference for Paul Simon and his creative genius nor in his love life.

A smidge over 5’7” was all the taller I was meant to be. I stopped growing at age 12. I think with girls it has to do with puberty and female hormones. With boys it’s just the opposite, male hormones spur that growth spurt. My brother’s growth spurt kicked in big time and suddenly I barely reached his shoulder. He stopped at almost 6’5”.

Now at the other end of the age spectrum, I’m shrinking. And what I’d give to have a just slightly longer reach. The cabinet over the refrigerator, the top shelf of the pantry, the top shelf of everything is at least two inches out of my reach.

I know there are those who say, incorrectly, the use of tools is what distinguishes humans from other animals. All those smart crows, parrots, chimps, elephants—not only use tools but some also make them. Well, I’ve not made any tools but I do use them and my wits to try to reach those tall locations.  I’ve positioned stepstools and nifty nabbers, or whatever they are called, in most rooms of the house so I won’t have to constantly ask my husband to reach the top shelves. Using a stepladder, I even stood on top of the kitchen counters to position decorative flowers, plates and bowls on the very top of the cabinets. 

But it would be nice to be able to just reach the tops of cabinets without standing on something or using a tool. Now I think function is more important than appearance.

Heck, if I can’t be taller, I’d settle for arms two inches longer. At my age I don’t even care if that would make me look like an orangutan. 

The Existential Mover

We are moving from one house to another in the same city. Now that we have spent the better part of a month moving (We opted for prolonging the misery by doing it over several weekends rather than in one fell swoop.) we've decided we're really too old for this whole moving thing. 

  

But we recognize it is a process—and one that makes you think about the important things in life. Like who really needs to live in a house? Couldn’t we just put a few things in the trunk and live out of our car?

The process of moving also requires you to come face to face with your fundamental humanity and all the important things in life: possessions from long ago, possessions left to you by your parents; left-behind possessions of your offspring; and all the stuff you’ve accumulated over the years. All of those things that seemed so much more valuable and useful, and well, charming and worthwhile in some way, until you had to pack and move them. And then unpack and find a place for them.

Luckily, I studied the existential philosophers in college. So now I can draw on that knowledge and see the bigger picture of what things are useful, what should be donated to others, and what is trash to be discarded. 

Or not. After all, we can just pack all this stuff and make those decisions some other time. But I did take the existential philosophy college books to the used book store to sell. They definitely are too heavy to lug around any longer. So they did teach me something useful: consider the weight of an item when deciding whether it’s sufficiently useful to merit keeping.

We last moved almost twenty-five years ago. So many years of not moving. At least we have that to be grateful for.

That last move was from one city to another. Why is this time so much more difficult than I remember the last move to be? Is moving like childbirth? Once it’s over you forget the pain? Or are we just so much older that it is more painful this time?

The truth, in this case, as in most cases where you are faced with an arbitrary choice between two alternatives, is it’s a bit of both. We are older. And we have a lot more stuff accumulated in those two plus decades.

Both sets of our parents have now passed on. Instead of getting rid of all of their possessions we kept some items, primarily for sentimental value. And in those two plus decades our sons grew up and moved on. But they didn’t take all of their accumulations with them. Our mistake for letting them go without all their stuff. But there you have it. Or rather, there we have it. A lot of its.

Moving is a reminder of many of life processes. Watching three movers bring a piano up from the basement reminds me of what it was like delivering each of our sons using the method known by the popular euphemism of the day: natural, un-medicated childbirth. Actually, I haven’t completely forgotten the experience. It was very painful, much like moving. At least this time I am not the one doing the pushing.

As I said, moving forces you to consider some of the essential questions. Why is it that when packing boxes you carefully mark the contents and proper room location, then when you open the boxes you encounter all sorts of strange items you don’t recall ever seeing before?

The objects on the top layer of every box contain items that are just barely useful enough you don’t want to throw them out. But they defy all logic of where they should go in the new house. Large, unwieldy things to be placed on some flat surface until you find a place to put those particular things.

Opening boxes is a lot like archaeology, there are layers of civilization. You would expect the top layer to be the newest. But in the packing the newest, most useful stuff got packed first so it’s on the bottom now. The top layer is the oldest or least useful stuff or the most difficult things to put away. Each layer needs to be cleaned or laundered. And only after you have unearthed multiple layers of stuff collected over the last five decades do you find something in the bottom of each box which might actually be useful.

The things you actually want are always in that bottom layer. Right now I have my computer and monitor because they weren't packed into huge boxes. But I have no idea where the high-intensity lamp that I use to see the keyboard is. So please pardon my typos. Sometime this year I may find that lamp and once again be able to see the keyboard. Right now it’s the touch method only, a skill I never quite perfected.

The movers still haven't gotten everything to our new place. Every day they promise to finish. Then they announce around 3 or 4 in the afternoon they have to quit. Reminds me of scheduling a meeting or planning things when we were on the islands. Everything is on island time. Here we are on moving time.

We're always in moving mode, either packing, unpacking or doing moving-related stuff. I have finally reached the point where I'm more than ready to abandon all our stuff and run off. I even can understand why people change identities and start a new life. It’s not to get away from family and friends. It’s their stuff they likely are abandoning. But a commitment is a commitment so I plan to stay with it to the brutal end.

Tomorrow at 8 am we are meeting at the old house: 1) carpet guys who will be installing new carpet throughout; 2) window washers who will be washing all the windows; 3) and, the movers who are supposed to move all of our remaining possessions. It should be at least a 3 ring circus.

This circus of misery should be over soon.

Meanwhile, our high-strung dog seems to be handling the chaos very well. He also is adjusting to his new home. All we’ve had to do is show him where his food and water bowls are. He selects where he wants to sleep in the new house on his own without regard to where we put his bedding. His people, on the other hand, are just hanging on by the skin of their teeth. And falling into a deep sleep wherever they are.

I'll let you know if this ever ends or if I'm actually in a Kafka story. But those existential books are gone so I’ll have to finish my own story now.