So, is moderation the cure for our ills? Liberal v. conservative hasn’t been working very well, at least lately. Labels are both badges of honor and liabilities. Both sides are entrenched, convinced that they are the only ones with the correct view of things. I know The Donald thinks compromise is a bad word, but he’s a unique brand of clueless. Hey, but he loves winning. Win all the time. Nothing like winning 24/7. Win, win, win.

Anyway, maybe both sides need to realize that things can’t always go their way. They must know this. Compromise. Moderation. Imperfection. I know it’s a dog-eat-dog world. And principles and all that. But shouldn’t we be trying to turn the Titanic, go for kinder and gentler? Sounds wimpy, but if our Christian faith means anything to us, if it indeed informs our actions and our hearts, then it’s where we need to be headed. And besides, kinder and gentler is its own form of strength.

Stephen Colbert is quoted as saying, “If this is going to be a Christian nation that doesn’t help the poor, either we have to pretend that Jesus was just as selfish as we are, or we’ve got to acknowledge that he commanded us to love the poor and serve the needy without condition and then admit that we just don’t want to do it.”

I’m so tired of politicians touting their Christian faith while simultaneously twisting it and shaping it for convenience’ sake. Or just plain not living by it. It could make one think that it really means nothing more to them than what it can offer in political capital. Many of them seem to be living with partial understanding of certain Pentateuchal books heavy on law while conveniently ignoring the New Testament. Cherry-picking texts and verses that appear to support their positions on a variety of social justice issues, all the while ignoring practically all of the Sermon on the Mount.

Maybe we shouldn’t be a Christian nation. How about one nation, under God, and leave it at that?

With liberty and justice for all.  Right?

Spring is coming. It’s taking its time getting here, but it’s coming.

Planted two rows of garlic last Fall. It poked through the ground a few days after planting, survived the winter, and now it’s ready to take off, hopefully. We’ll see what happens.

I frequently wonder how supporters of the current president sleep at night. I’m sure they’d be only too happy to tell me, “Just fine, asshole,” secure in their conviction that everything is ok, that America is on its way to being great again. Whatever the hell that means.

I grow more weary every day, more convinced that this president is a freak, a puppet, a monster. 

I grow less hopeful that the Mueller investigation will offer up the biggest prize- Trump himself- or that ultimately it can operate above and apart from efforts at obstruction. That it won’t end up being relegated to the bone pile as, at least in part, just another expensive partisan witch hunt.

We are left to endure and wade through the invective, the distractions, the accusations of fake news. It all moved beyond tiring and frustrating a long time ago.

We are in a bad place right now. This so-called leader of the free world doesn’t really care about the world. All he cares about is his own image and undoing everything from the previous administration.

He’s a bridge burner and a wall builder, and he’s making America great again. He’s trying to bring coal back and instigating a trade war, and he’s making America great again. He’s elevated the practice of nepotism to new heights. He appeals to the worst aspects of human nature. He plays to fear, to an America closed in on itself. He’s the voice of the local racist homophobic misogynist near you. He’s the voice of the paranoid “patriot” who’s just aching for The Government to give him reason to load the AR-15 and play militia man. He appears to be in the back pocket of the NRA and Vladimir Putin. He thinks paying taxes is for schmucks. He emanates the fragile courage of a schoolyard bully. He says he doubts the science behind climate change. He appeals to Christians who think people and dinosaurs lived at the same time, who think the world is 6000 years old and maybe flat. He thinks President for life is an idea that has merit. But he’s making America great again.

Or maybe he’s none of that and he’s just wingin’ it, playing to his “base,” a front man for the vermin and incompetents who populate his inner circle. Either way, this conduit for sewage trying to pass for someone who cares is just a dispenser of bilge water. And paper towels. 

Nothing more than a high-stakes reality TV host. Which, unfortunately, is right up his alley.

Spent a good part of the most recent Saturday in Philadelphia, starting with a ride on the SEPTA train from Norristown into Jefferson Station. First time for that. We got a different perspective than the usual route of driving the Schuylkill Expressway. I’m glad we were on the train.

Along the way, we made stops at, among other places, Conshohocken, Spring Mill, Manayunk, Wissahickon, Allegheny, and Temple University. Jefferson Station is the stop you want if you’re heading to the PA Convention Center, which was our destination for the annual PHS (Philadelphia Horticultural Society) flower show, billed as the world’s largest indoor show.

The show is an annual March tradition and offers up something for everyone- serious gardeners, the eco-aware, families with children, or folks who just need to see something that’s pleasing to the eye. This year’s theme was The Wonders of Water. 

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It was a busy day, a bit too crowded for my liking, and the vendors started getting on my nerves. Still, not a bad way to spend a few hours on a Saturday.

We walked to the Comcast Center and had some lunch. It wasn’t very busy there, and it was difficult not to look up.

It’s March 1. Local weather forecasts predict a wild and woolly stretch over the next 36 hours or so- rain,  gale force winds, snow. Sounds like March is coming in like a lion this time around.

Let’s get started.

Cold brew. Two words whose mere mention probably raise my serotonin levels. Every day begins with a 16oz Tervis tumbler of this nectar of the gods.

I’ve been using the Toddy system for a while now. Haven’t invested in a scale, so I’ve probably never had the proper amount of beans. I max out a Cuisinart Automatic Burr Mill (18 cups x 2, medium grind) to use for each batch. My roast of choice depends on what’s on sale at the store- 8 O’clock Central Highlands, Starbucks House Blend, Gevalia French Roast.

I follow the directions of starting with one cup of filtered water, then add the first batch of freshly ground beans, then 3 more cups of filtered water, followed by the second 18- cup batch of beans. Then I wait five minutes to add the last 3 cups of filtered water. In that intervening five minutes I clean up the grinder, put that away, get out the plastic wrap and a rubber band. By that time, I’m ready to add the water, making sure all the grounds are wet before covering the container with the plastic wrap and securing with the rubber band.

Steep time varies, depending on when the batch is made. If it’s made first thing in the morning, I’ll let it sit all day and empty into the decanter before I go to bed. If it’s made later in the day, I let it steep overnight and empty it first thing in the morning. Always a minimum of 12 hours steep time, often longer than that. And it stays on the kitchen table or the counter for the duration. I don’t refrigerate while it’s steeping.

I love this system and would never use anything else. My only gripe is that sometimes it drains too slowly. Filter life varies for me. If I get consecutive batches that take forever to empty, then I break out a new filter.

The 56oz decanter of concentrated goodness lasts me about a week.

 

Seventeen lives, just like that.

And round ‘n’ round we go. Loved ones as collateral damage, the tragically unfortunate consequence of political inertia.

And people who are beyond angry, again. Tired of the same pictures, the same dead-in-the-eyes animal with “issues,” the same story line, the same inaction, the same tired rhetoric from Republicans who avoid uttering “gun control” the way people avoid a plague.

It’s never the right time, let’s not jump to conclusions, let’s get all the facts, please offer prayers for the families… We could do the interviews ourselves now.

How about we stop this insane bullshit and ask ourselves why this only happens here in the U.S. with such mind-numbing frequency. Stop using mental illness as your whipping boy, stop hiding behind your precious 2nd Amendment rights, dispense with your wild west fantasies and paranoia, and just admit there are too many guns.

Gun kits are not quite as accessible as model airplane kits. And don’t go on about how you’ll never stop the bad guys from getting guns. Lame excuse.

Look around. Why only here? Why only here?!

Hmmm… It’s a mystery. 

Wayne LaPierre and the rest of the NRA talking heads can take a long walk off a short pier.

How often does it seem like we’re waiting for our lives to begin, as if whatever is going on at the moment is warm-up, prologue, or somehow doesn’t count? I’m 64 years old and I believe I have operated under this illusion for… most of my life.

Well, I believe this is the case at least in terms of vocation. I am not currently- nor have ever been- engaged in work that I have dreamed of doing. I’ve found work, but it is not my life’s work. Maybe most folks don’t get to do their life’s work, whatever that might be. Or maybe they’re doing it but just don’t realize it.

If one’s life’s work is closely tied to financial reward, then I have definitely not found my niche. If it has more to do with feeling like a contribution is being made to society’s or individuals’ well-being, then maybe.

I guess the sweet spot is enjoying what you do and getting paid a living wage to do it. I might have half of that equation correct.

Anyway, what’s happening at this very moment isn’t prologue. It’s your life. And the clock is ticking.

So Trump wants a parade. A military parade, like North Korea or Russia. To show the world our might, to send a message to all that we are… what? Not to be messed with? Or that our priorities are way out of whack, that we are “led” by an insatiable egotist?

Sometimes I don’t think we give the world enough credit. Are other nations really that impressed with the missiles rolling by and the goose-stepping troops looking all serious and menacing? Or are they just thinking “Someone’s got a bad case of penis envy”?

Donald Trump is a flaming man-child, in a calculating and nefarious sort of way. Our very own despot-in-training.