Insane Earthlings

Trump just said that the congresswomen that he had earlier made racist tweets about hate our country. He said that they always complain about our country. First, it is our first amendment right to complain about whatever we want to. Second, these women were elected as representatives of the United States of America and are doing their duty to be a voice for their constituents. Third, I have only heard them complain about policy, process, and the actions of Trumps administration, not the country. Donald Trump, is NOT the country. The people are the country and the people are the government. Fourth, Trump complains more about our country than anyone I have ever heard before. I think he is the one who must hate our country. He hates the rule of law. He hates the balance of power. He has disdain for the constitution and the Judicial branch of the government. He is "in love" with ruthless dictators and monarchies.  47% of you approve of Trump's performance. That means ...

Mom told me the story so often that I am not sure what is actual memory versus images etched into my mind by her vivid description of the events. I struggled, just now, whether to use the word event, because there is nothing extraordinary about the scene that I am about to describe. I’m sure that this is a scene that plays out regularly in households with young children. Except, there is one oddity to my story that I still don’t know how to explain. When I was a toddler, my father worked second shift as a photojournalist for one of the two regional newspapers. Like most homes with kids, ours was a busy place each morning. I was the youngest, so my siblings would get themselves ready for school. Mom would be busy packing lunches, preparing and serving breakfast, and generally making sure that everyone got off to a good start for the day. I guess that Dad was sleeping as this all took place. He worked until midnight and then would watch the rest of Johnny Carson before...

I once knew the world in which I lived. I also tried not to allow myself to be complacent. But I must have fallen asleep. Complacency is like a sneaky narcotic. You can’t even remember when you first tasted it even after you are deeply addicted to it. Complacency and conformity enjoy the company of one another. The numbing effect of complacency allows your soul to tolerate conformity. And conformity is like a whirlpool trying to suck us downward. When things get busy and tough, it is near impossible to not just give up. It begins to feel that the easiest thing to do is the best thing to do. Conformity disguises itself as safety. But it will eventually reveal its true nature and leave you shaken to your core that you allowed it to happen. The universe will always sound out a giant wake up call that either destroys you or shakes you and wakes you into action. For too long, I have been stuck between the temptation to just fall back into complacency or finding the...

This will be the most difficult Thanksgiving of all. This November 22 nd , 2018 will be the first celebrating without either of my parents. We lost Mom almost three years ago, and Dad left this earth seven months ago. We were fortunate to have both of our parents well into our own adulthoods. Even so, I must confess that I am struggling daily to fully immerse myself into my own life. I want to be as fully alive as both of my parents always seemed to be. But my struggle to reconnect to joy and enthusiasm in my daily life, let alone Holidays, is under assault. The country that I love seems to be collapsing into chaos and hell-bent on self-destruction. The torrent of bad news leaves me wondering just what should we be thankful for. As fires rage across California and Hurricanes become more frequent and fierce every year, we close our eyes and ears and pretend that our own greed is not contributing to the global climate change that spurs these events.   Our children a...