Travels with Sadie 1: Lamppost, Sign Pole, and Fire Hydrant.

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Did you ever read “Travels with Charley” by Steinbeck? “Charley” is the name of Steinbeck’s dog who travels with him on a car trip across America, or at least the first 48 states thereof. My wife and I—and our dog Sadie— recently met up with my cousin-in-law (is that a word? I guess it is now). Cousin-in-law Timm loves dogs too and suggested I should do a similar journal called “Travels with Sadie” and this is, indeed, the first chapter of “Travels with Charley.” 

I chose this topic while reflecting, as I often do, on what the world is like for Sadie and her kin. Sadie, like most, is thrilled to meet other dogs. If she can’t meet them in person, the next best thing is to sniff the spots where they peed. Although she hasn’t yet reached estrous, in the last few months, she’s been behaving differently with respect to the pee residue of female dogs on the ground and male dogs, which are on bushes, trees, lampposts, sign poles, and fire hydrants.   

It seems that the males inordinately prefer lampposts, sign poles, and fire hydrants over trees. That, to me, at first seemed curious. After all, trees have been in the picture for dogs and their ancestors for millions of years. These manufactured artifacts are brand new. 

Here’s my hypothesis. In the long-ago days of dogs, some dogs took it upon themselves to signal their presence by peeing on manufactured posts while others preferred trees. A post has fewer distractions—visual, aural, and most importantly, the olfactory sense. Thus, the post-preferring peers had a more impressive social presence resulting in more mating and more envy—higher ranking in the pack. Over time, the post-preferring peers proliferated and prospered. 

Over time, and perhaps even initially, the individual dog itself could “learn” that it had left a more salient and more lasting impression. How? Because they go back to the spot they themselves peed in, often repeatedly. Thus, they would learn that make a splash in the dog world, you’re better off with a human artifact. The fact that it smells like a human when it is first put into place may well “seed” the site as a place to exchange messages—perhaps a kind of canine Facebook—only not really the face. 

It also turns out that lampposts, sign poles, and fire hydrants signify three essential functions of a society. Lampposts are to shine light on reality. Medical research, science research, education, public service announcements, and books. To some extent, our laws are also a kind of lamppost. “Look people, we’ve learned the hard way, that it’s not good to steal. Don’t do it.”

Well, if that’s not clear enough, fine, we’ll write 100,000 pages of clarification. 

Sign posts include, to me, norms and customs, as well as directions of various sorts. There’s often a tension between lampposts and sign poles. The sign poles take work to design, manufacture, transport, and erect. That stop sign down the street didn’t just fall off the coconut tree. Similarly, customs, for instance, separating the work of men and women so that all nurses were women and all men were doctors, take work to implement and to enforce. People will not always stop at a stop sign and especially if they are never ticketed. Similarly, there will be individual women who desire to become a doctor and men who want to be nurses. There will always be tension in such customs between the norm and the individual desires. 

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Imagine after a lot of work has gone into putting up the stop sign, the lamppost function of government sponsors a study that shows it would be much better to put in a traffic circle (roundabout) rather than the four stop signs. More traffic gets through faster and there are fewer accidents. You can easily imagine some resistance. The people who profit from making the stop signs, for instance, and the police officers who ticket those who only come to a “rolling stop.” The drivers may also object. Many of them aren’t used to traffic circles. Some initial awkwardness is predictable. 

To me, the fire hydrant represents the protective aspects of government. There are many! There are agencies, like the FDA, that ensure the cleanliness of our food and water. (Believe it or not, there are some providers who are so greedy, that they would actually sell you tainted food or drink if it would make them richer.) There are the Armed Forces, the Fire Departments, the Police Forces. In a way, Social Security and Medicare also fall into this region. It is a protective function of government. 

Sadie, meanwhile, is sacked out on the couch across from me. She’s had an active day; two long walks, zoomies, swimming, and ball playing. Our dog, like many, is very loving. She’s wary of anything new. But soon, she’ll be head over heels in love with another person.

The very greedy people who would have you kowtow to them while they steal the fruits of your labor love to use the rationalization that it’s a “Dog eat dog world out there.” It isn’t actually. Neither humans (for the most part) nor dogs (for the most part) are out there eating others of their own species. We are both pack animals. We both love and protect our families. Is there competition? Sure. But it’s all done in the scope of a cooperative society.

The natural tension between conservatives and liberals has a lot to do with how quickly one wants to see lamppost findings supplant existing psychic and physical infrastructure. And it is a very legitimate debate to have. Most do not want the extreme that every new finding in, say, medical research should instantaneously turn traditions and practices on their heads. Also, most do not want to ignore all new science and discovery and keep everything static forever. 

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What is not a legitimate debate is for one side, like a spoiled toddler, to insist that if they don’t get their way, they’ll burn our civilization to the ground. Sadie wouldn’t do that. Nor would I. Nor would most Americans. 

Dick-taters

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Essays on America: The Game

The Ailing King of Agitate

The only them that counts is all of us

Dance of Billions 

Author Page on Amazon

Galactic Best

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Once upon a time I longed,

To be an astronaut in space.

Me: flying through the galaxy.

Exploring planets, moons, and stars. 

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Was boosted by the Sputnik shock. 

I read of planets hot and cold.

And watched the tale of Spock unfold.

I never tired of voyaging bold.

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Humanoids are everywhere.

Diverse: each world a universe

That some day might just come to be.

Out beyond infinity.

A lifetime’s travel in my mind

Has brought me back at last to find:

A planet ‘neath an azure dome. 

It’s blanketed with life—my home. 

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And here’s the lovely crazy cast:

A million species interact.

In ways surprising, subtle, vast

This network all a single clan.

This perfect planet filled with beauty, 

Spirals through the milky way.

My spaceship’s filled with luxury

Kaleidoscopic every day!

It is, quite simply put, the best.

And though I’ve not seen all the rest,

Each flower I see: creation swirled

A wonder whirling living world.

————————

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Life is a Dance

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

The Dance of Billions

Corn on the Cob

Author Page on Amazon

The Loyalty Test

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“I never took a test. There’s been a mistake. I’m a supporter.”

“Shut up or I’ll break every finger. Capiche?”

The guard grinned a moon of bloody teeth and pushed his nightstick against Bob’s lips. Hard.



Bob grunted but said nothing; decided he’d bide his time for now. This will all get sorted later. 

It didn’t get sorted. Why would it? Along with tens of thousands of other “supporters” the only thing Bob got for his support? A free one-way ticked to the burn pits. He’d been beaten enough that when his time came, he jumped of his own accord.  

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—————

Dick-Taters

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

Such a teeny, tiny loser man

D4: Dictator’s Delusion Disease

Three Blind Mice

Guernica

A Civil War there Never Was

Essays on America: The Game

Absolute is not just a Vodka

The Ailing King of Agitate

Meeting with Da Da

Author Page on Amazon

A Civil War there Never Was

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She might have checked.

He might have sighed. 

They might have thought

Before they fought.

A civil war there never was. 

But you know how they are. 

They’re really all the same!

Or so it seems in dreams

On social media streams.

A civil war there never was.

A civil war there never was.

The first rules of society: 

Do not destroy what you cannot make;

Pretend to do; then, only fake.

And if in some bromance, 

You somehow came to think

That war will fix your life,

Strife begets more strife.

A civil war there never was. 

Guernica

Dick-Taters

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Who Won the War

Author Page on Amazon

Thrice Burned (trigger warning for abuse)

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(I decided to experiment with some 100 word micro-fiction).

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“Once burned,” they say. Dad burned my brother Alan thrice. 

“Third time’s a charm” they say. Mom took Alan to the hospital. 

Too late. 

Dad skipped town. Mom went to prison for child abuse. 

News flash: Reformatories sometimes work; mine certainly reformed me. I learned to act out my fears and self-loathing by being cruel to wimpy kids. 

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“No use crying over spilt milk,” they say. 

Even if the shattered glass impales your eye. Or both eyes. 

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I saw well enough to grab a lethal vein-slitting shard. Damned dog Rocky barked to be fed. 

Damned dog Rocky saved my life.


The Game

The Orange Man

Stoned Soup

Dick-Taters

Alito and the Egg

The Ailing King of Agitate

Absolute is Not Just a Vodka

Life is a Dance

Join the Dance

Dance of Billions

Sadie is a Thief

Author Page on Amazon

Who Won the War?

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The war begins and we begin to count

The dead and wounded: such and such and much.

We scrutinize the numbers as they mount

We dare not feel the shattered dreams they touch.

We analyze and matricize results.

Declare a victory when none exists.

The thought that someone wins a war insults. 

This myth through every fog of war persists. 

The would-be poet, teacher, engineer.

The father, mother, uncle, nephew, son.

The old, the young, the crooked, straight & queer.

The war hurts you and me and everyone.

 

Division and subtraction do not build. 

No souls are filled with joy; no gardens tilled. 

In each armed conflict both sides lose. Such waste!

Humanity needs everyone! Make haste!

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———————-

Turning to prose: 

One of the things that the “winning side” of a war loses is the opportunity to spend those resources spent on war instead spent on making life better for its citizens. Even if the “winners” have a very quick and lopsided victory, they will have contributed to world-wide pollution and global climate change that will negatively impact nearly everyone on the planet including most of the people on the “winning” side and their descendants. Many of the soldiers will have died, but in almost every single case, many more innocent people will have died. In some cases, those will be minimal for the “winning” side, but not always. Meanwhile, soldiers who returned to society, even if they are not physically impacted permanently are surely impacted psychologically. Among other things, if they were successful, they killed other human beings. Some of those human beings were almost certainly innocents, but even the other soldiers were mainly people forced into fighting.

In a way, they will be carrying seeds of some very bad experiences and some of those seeds will undoubtedly leak out into that person’s environment impacting, his friends and family, as well as random strangers. But the war mentality is not limited to serious effects on fighting soldiers. To some small extent, everyone is damaged. There is more stress for everyone. There is always the threat of reprisal or that someone you care deeply about will be maimed or killed. Not only are people’s sense of fear heightened; typically, so is their hatred and anger. For many, this will be directed far beyond those actually most responsible for starting a war. 

During a war, people will be asked, or ask themselves, to view the killing of a whole bunch of their fellow humans as the best course of action. Some will embrace that with relish and a side order of over-generalization. Others will embrace the killing with reluctance. Few will object outright. So, after your victory, you will be living in a society that rationalizes killing others more often and more easily than they did before. Of course, it’s generally even worse for the “losing” society. Both sides lose. The “losing side” loses more and that keeps the war fueled as long as possible. But make no mistake. Both sides lose. 

Democracies have often gone to war against each other. But far more often in modern times, war has been instigated by dictators. They rule by hate and fear. Having an enemy is an entry fee and a talking point. If there’s no-one else around, they’ll simply pick on the vulnerable within their own society. Through constant repetition about extremely rare cases or even just outright lies, people can actually be made to hate people who have, in reality, done them zero harm. 

Time to wake up. 

——————

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

Three Blind Mice

The Ailing King of Agitate

Plans for us

Dick-taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

Cancer always loses in the end

Dance of Billions

All the Roads not Taken

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The day breaks sunny…

There’s still a dewy chill about…

I see the distant hill…

I fancy hiking the faraway path…

I imagine the panoramic scene…

But my ankles ache… 

Beneath my bone tired shins…

And I can do the math…

It is a lovely path indeed…

But not mine this day…

Perhaps never my path…

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Perhaps never my path…

To trod the jungles of a foreign land…

Like my dad and his shrapnel-shattered shin…

Or die in an angry hail of mindless bullets…

Or be collateral damage in a war that surrounds me…

On every side where every path is a Möbius band…

Coaxing me back to needless death…

Perhaps never my path…

Perhaps never my path…

But the paths of so many others…

Who thought they took the smart path…

The safe path; the only path they saw…

Drowning in the razor-wired river of fear…

Whistles of a distant hawk…

I hear and heed and whistle back…

Perhaps that is how a missile sounds afar…

Before the bomb explodes us all to body parts…

Perhaps never my path…

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Perhaps never my path..

But the path of so many others is filled with fear…

Choked by the stench of death…

Smeared by the char of fire and wrath…

Who will see the panoramic view instead…

Who will see that bird and bee…

Dance with flower and tree most lovingly…

Who will take that path…

If it is never my path…

If it is ever my path…

To stumble up the rock-strewn way…

To look about and report back…

To those who could not make the trek…

Then however much I lack…

I must play the only play I have…

Recount the story as well as I am able…

Wrapped in song or poem or fable…

Unwrap the self-placed blinders…

That make it seem that all they’ve lost…

Can be replaced and sanctified by hate…

While I see chaos in the heart and soul…

The tale must be told in bold and sold…

The scroll of right and reason…

In daylight clear and present…

If it is ever my path…

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If it is ever my path…

Even to tell a single seeming stranger…

About the ever smoking dangling danger…

I must dance that deadly dance…

I must chance that deadly chance…

Chance the wrath…

It is my path… 

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It is my path… 

And I will whistle to the soaring hawk…

And I will hum to every buzzing bee…

And I will breathe it to the birds and trees…

And I will find and feel the love in every blade…

That strives to push aside the dirt and feel the light…

I cannot take each and every path…

But I can take one path…

And so may you take your path…

And we can together do the math…

Together, we can do the math.


How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Only Them that Counts is All of Us

Labelism

Life is a Dance

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Orange Man

The Forgotten Field

Stoned Soup

Dance of Billions

We are a Mountain

Author Page on Amazon

Meeting With Da Da

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When facts are hidden, the imagination blossoms. The facts of meetings between the former guy and Vlademort Putrid are known. You may have forgotten. I have not. 

https://www.washingtonpost.com/world/2019/10/04/trump-has-spoken-privately-with-putin-least-times-heres-what-we-know-about-conversations

What we do know is that the former guy’s body language consistently shows that Putin is the dominant of the two. The former guy often looks a lot like a whipped dog. His eyes are downcast. His head is down. His shoulders are hunched. He contorts himself to look lower than Putin. 

His statements about Putin (and other dictators) consistently show his admiration for brutal, cruel, murderous dictators. That is in contrast to his statements about democratically elected heads of state and American politicians, including those in his own party.

We also know that the former guy was born rich; lost a fortune; then begged his daddy for more. The former guy was not daddy’s favorite child, at least initially. TFG’s mother was often sick. If the American public knows this, you can be sure that former KGB officers knows it as well. 

What follows is fiction. It is fiction in the sense that American citizens have no way to find out what actually happened in the secret meetings between Putin and the former guy. 

Here is a link to a series of four fictional stories. As time goes on, however, it seems more and more probably that something like this may well have happened. 

Here’s a link to another earlier blog post that seems resonant today. 

Now, let’s turn to the dialog. 

“No, Mister President, don’t worry. I can speak some English. And I have my translator here. Given that you’re such a smart guy, I’m sure you probably picked up few words of Russian. You know word for yes, da?” 

“Yes, President Putin. I mean, da!” 

“Good. Excellent. I don’t understand how the people in your country fail to realize how lucky they are to have someone as competent as you. And realistic. Not hung up on silly abstractions. Don’t you agree?”

“Da! Da!”

“And, just as you get a lot of unfair criticism, so do I. It’s jealousy. People in other countries are jealous Russia’s strength and progress. So, they tell lies about people I supposedly murder. You know it’s all lies, right?” 

“Da! Da!” 

“You know, it’s odd. Your English slang word for father, ‘Dada’ sounds lot like the Russian words for ‘yes, yes.’ And, that reminds me. I heard a rumor that your dada favored Fred Junior. But you got the good genes. Eventually, your dada figured out that you were the smart one—the one destined for greatness. Isn’t that right?”

“Da. Da.”

“By the way, did you know my people call me ‘Papa Putin’? Wouldn’t it drive liberals and your other detractors crazy if you called me Dada?” 

 

“That’s a great idea! It would drive them nuts! Serve them right, Dada.” 

“Yes, indeed. I know some people may try to rein you or make you behave like normal President. Don’t do it! Keep acting cra—unique. Keep acting unique. Different. That way, your fans have no way of knowing where you stand except by listening to you that day. And when you say something crazy—unique, I mean, like ‘pollution is good for you’  your fans will instantly repeat it. They will vie for most followers or most likes and for retweets by you—best prize of all. And liberals? They’ll go nuts. And you know what they’ll do? They will also repeat what you say! It’s amazing. They’ll say: 

You know what crazy guy just said? That pollution is good for you! How stupid do you have to be to think that pollution is good for you? It kills! Ridiculous to think pollution is good for you!

“And, so Donald, do you know what people who delude themselves that they are independents will remember from those antics in three months time?” 

“Yes. I mean da. Da. Da! Dada. Pollution is good! Pollution is good! Which is also a good excuse to give tax breaks to the rich.” 

“My God, Donald, you are smart! Too bad your people don’t realize. Well, many do of course. Eventually, once you gain power, the rest will join your ranks. Everyone will know.”

“Da! Da! Dada! I should get you something! What would you like?” 

“Donald, do you remember how cool it was when you were kid and it was America versus the USSR? Olympics! UN! Foreign wars! Two sides! To USSR, you were evil. To us, you were evil. Wonderful times. Now, you’ve got these terrorist groups, lots nations with H-Bombs, and for what? It’s hell for everyone. See what I mean?”

“Da. Dada. I do.” 

“And, you know, we’re like favorite band that split up. We just want to get back together band. For instance, part of Russia we call ‘The Ukraine.’ It’s actually part of Russia as you know. You do, know that, right, Donald?” 

“Da! Da!” 

“Good, well don’t forget in case—they are just sort of people incite us to war. We might have to liberate Russians inside Ukraine. You are smart man. You will know enough to back us up. Right?”

“Da. Da. Dada.” 

“Donald, you know what? You are favorite among all world leaders. We’ll rule together long time.” 

“Da.” 

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Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips

Dick-Taters

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Truth Train

All we stand to lose

Dance of Billions

Author Page on Amazon

Family Matters: Part Four

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When we see that word “Family” most of us think of a relatively small number of people. Maybe when you saw it, you thought of your family of origin. Maybe you thought of your family of generation. Maybe you thought of the people who live in your home which may include some of each. When I was a kid, we had “Family Reunions” which included the extended family of my maternal grandmother. It did not extend to my maternal grandfather’s family nor to my dad’s relatives. Typically, there were 30-40 people who showed up. I know of “Family Reunions” which are much larger, involving hundreds of people. Years ago, when I wrote in this blog of “Family Matters” I mentioned a subset of people who attended my “Family Reunions.”

Occasionally, people think of humanity as their family. I have been lucky enough to visit a respectable number of countries (28) and I’ve met people from over a hundred and in every single instance, it’s very easy to see that they are basically like me both physically and mentally.

Like many people, I was brought up in a religious tradition that reinforced the idea that all of us are in this together. Beyond my personal experience, it is just plain fact that human beings share most of their history (4 billion years) before we began diverging slightly a hundred thousand years ago. Beyond that, we are all sharing the planet. While, borders may keep some people out (or more commonly, keeping them in), in the long run, the water, air, and pollution is shared world wide across all “boundaries” of religion, philosophy, or nation.

It may be difficult for some to accept that all humans are part of their extended family.

The truth is that our actual family is far broader and wider than the 8 billion people on the planet today. We share more than half of our “family history” with every single creature and plant on earth today. When you think about vertebrates, for instance, we have similar bodily systems. We mate. We eat food. We eliminate wastes. Even those who live in the water actually breathe air that’s dissolved in the water. We learn. We flee. We are curious. We are aggressive. We solve problems.

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The earth is basically covered with living organisms. That is our family. It can be a source of inspiration and comfort if you let it be. And, you can love that family.

It’s up to you.


Family Matters: Part One

Family Matters: Part Two

Family Matters: Part Three

Life Will Find a Way

Math Class: Who are you?

Dance of Billions

Life is a Dance

The Walkabout Diaries: Bee Wise

The Forest

Author Page on Amazon

Orange Margolade

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When down in the gutter,

There’s no time to stutter. 

He feigns a proud strutter.

His nonsense is utter.

“I’m strong!” He screams weak.

His pants show a leak. 

We don’t get a peek.

He struts like a sheik.

 

He plucks on the strings; 

Of hatred he sings.

He crushes the wings. 

Division he brings.

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He sucks on men’s souls. 

He states no good goals.

He’s as wobbly as foals. 

His “logic” has holes.

 

He dwells in folks’ necks.

Our nation he wrecks. 

All hands on the decks!

To stop Putin’s hex.

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Or things won’t end well.

In slavery we’ll dwell. 

No Liberty Bell

Rings inside of hell.

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Author Page on Amazon

The Ailing King of Agitate

All We Stand to Lose

The Truth Train

Essays on America: Wednesday

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

What about the Butter Dish?

Finding the Mustard

Happy Talk Lies

Where does your Loyalty Lie?

Absolute is not Just a Vodka

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

The Orange Man

The Dance of Billions 

Author Page on Amazon