Sailing the C

Communism. 

I know there's a 'snarl word' of the month for the current political party and they get rotated in and out as needed to stir up the ever-faithful/fearful target audience and keep the donations rolling in. If I read the news correctly this morning, communists are an existential threat that we didn't hear much about until just now. 

So let's start with what it really is: "...a political and economic ideology that aims to eliminate private property and social classes. Instead, the community or the state owns all resources and means of production. Wealth is divided among citizens based on individual need...'From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs'" Britannica

The fashionable definition of Communism these days however is "Everything I don't like is communist." It doesn't even have to resemble the actual system. I would paraphrase the quote by Barry Taylor who said, "God (Communism) is the name of the blanket we throw over the mystery to give it shape." 

If it can't be explained any other way or it's just too much work to actually know what you're talking about, it's got to be communism. If someone doesn't really understand someone else with a differing viewpoint, they must be a communist.

 I've had a couple of swipes come my way and all I could think of is the old Charlie Daniels lyrics from 'Uneasy Rider':

"Well he's a friend of them long-haired hippie type pinko fags

I betcha he's even got a Commie flag

Tacked up on the wall inside of his garage"

Do they really think that? It would give me a chuckle if it wasn't so stunningly wrong. And just lazy. 

 

If anyone was to ask I'd say that there's way more to it than a label you can stick on at random. I actually suspect that when a war isn't going well, the economy is embarrassing, midterms smell like losing, lies are only fooling the foolish and irony threw itself on it's own sword in frustration a month ago...you've got to move on to the next national emergency to keep the patriotic spirit up. 

Enter Communism.

Nothing moves the base like a grand old national emergency. We've had a lot of them of late. Particularly whenever there really isn't one. But this time it's like the crowd at The Great American State Fair...sparse, overheated, walking on previously well-trod ground and invisible to almost everyone outside the Beltway or the algorithm. 
It has a sibling in socialism which gets tossed around with nearly as much abandon but for now let's go with the big 'C'.

It creeps into discussions about pretty much anything or anyone these days. Slowly but surely, everything has become a commie threat ala Republican Senator Joe McCarthy and the Red Scare of the 40's and early 50's. 

Most of us know how that turned out. It destroyed pretty much everything it touched and cost the Republicans dearly. It led to the 1950 "Declaration of Conscience" speech by Margaret Chase Smith(R-Maine) in which she made it clear what real 'witch hunting' would do:

"Surely these are sufficient reasons to make it clear to the American people that it is time for a change and that a Republican victory is necessary to the security of this country....Yet to displace it (the Democratic administration at the time) with a Republican regime embracing a philosophy that lacks political integrity or intellectual honesty would prove equally disastrous to this nation. The nation sorely needs a Republican victory. But I don't want to see the Republican Party ride to political victory on the Four Horsemen of Calumny - Fear, Ignorance, Bigotry and Smear.

I doubt if the Republican Party could - simply because I don't believe the American people will uphold any political party that puts political exploitation above national interest."

                                          

Then the journalist and war correspondent Edward R. Murrow said of McCarthy, "His primary achievement has been in confusing the public mind, as between the internal and the external threats of Communism. We must not confuse dissent with disloyalty. We must remember always that accusation is not proof and the conviction depends upon evidence and due process of law. We will not walk in fear, one of the other. We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our doctrine, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men - not from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular."

                                     

In the end, McCarthy was censured by the Senate, disgraced in the press and died at 48 an alcoholic and addicted to morphine. His zeal became a punch line and what could have been a valuable contribution to his country got lost in power, hatred and decidedly un-American activities. 

His story is one the current Republican administration could learn much from. I know we in the electorate could stand to learn something as well. When you look at everyone and everything through a preconceived lens and seek to use what you see as a weapon, you will eventually find exactly what you're looking for in yourself...and you won't like what that weapon turns into. 

It pays to keep in mind, "And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." Nietzsche

If communism is the threat, maybe it would pay to really gaze into that abyss and see exactly where it's coming from. McCarthy never did to the high cost of his party, his country and his life.

Hopefully we will not follow that disaster with a new one of our own. 

I'll stick with the illustrious Mr. Clemens who said, "History doesn't repeat itself, but it often rhymes."

We might play the same songs, but the rhymes can change.

Considering 250

It's the big birthday month for our experiment in non-royalty, sorta by-the-people governance here in the USA.

Having watched and read hours of commentary about what I should think about it all, I've reached a conclusion:

I'm an unapologetic patriot for my country. Nobody gets to tell me I'm not. I think I'm that way at heart without being either all Norman Rockwell or Holy Crusader about it. It's not a boast, it's just how it is.

It isn't splashy or newsworthy but it sure is rooted well. I grew up on it.

And despite all the negativity and partisanship that floods the news cycle every couple hours, I still very much trust that the dream is not dead yet. It's a mess right now for sure but hell, so was I for a long time. With work, perseverance and luck, things got better. If it works for one, maybe it'll work for all. I still think we have a chance. 

The short version of it is simply I love living here. Always have. This is home and I'm a homebody. To me, patriotism is like homeownership, personal relationships and simple practicality all stuffed in one. Things that are worth working on.

Worth working on because I've been told many times of late by self-proclaimed patriots to "Love it or leave it" if I don't agree with the outrage du jour. But that isn't patriotic at all, it's just lazy. It ignores the work. It's a meaningless argument that's equivalent to burning your house down because it needs painting. Going back to my analogy, if my house has leaky pipes or drafty windows, I work at fixing what's broken. I don't move across town because I found a mouse nest or the furnace quits. That's part of the gig. 

Same thing with relationships. Only an idiot gives up on a good friendship or marriage or partnership on a whim because you had a bad day or even run of bad days. You screw up, you own up, you fix up. It takes work, patience, acceptance and willingness to see someone else's point of view...and maybe just possibly change your own.

And in practical terms, what kind of lunacy would suggest that the patriotic thing to do is abandon everything that works because some of it doesn't? Throw the whole thing out because it isn't doing what we want right now? Love it or leave it is like abandoning your car because a warning light came on. Especially when you still have loan installments to make. See where I'm going here? We still have a lot of stubs in the payment book.

Being patriotic means more than flying flags on your pickup, cheering whoever's in charge at the moment, wearing the correct swag, saying the accepted things, disliking the out-of-favor of the day or cheering for the loss of anyone. It's harder than forwarding a meme, insulting anyone who disagrees and calling names. It's not being happy all day about your country. It's being worried too. Sometimes very much so.

It's work. It's knowing that things are not all great and never were. Hating doesn't follow knowing as some would have us believe. Understanding what was gives context to what is. If teaching our unwashed history makes people feel badly, then we're doing it badly. I understand our country has done some horrible things but that doesn't mean I love it less and it shouldn't for anyone. Sweeping away everything that's ever been wrong diminishes all that's ever been good. Someone like me who loves their country should hate wrongs that were done in her name in the past but also believe she can do better in the future. One doesn't exclude the other. That means learning, thinking and yes, working.

You don't become unpatriotic because you admit we have a lot of very tragic and evil events in our history. The bad doesn't outweigh...only counterbalances the truly wonderful things we've done. And we have done some wonderful things. 

In the end, in thinking of the Semi quincentennial (which I still struggle to say without a lisp), I've re-upped my subscription to E Pluribus Unum and holding these truths to be self evident. I'm not really interested in making America great again, I'm all about making her greater still. We all should take pride not in 'again' but 'ahead'.  

I may not be able to do much in the grand sweep of things but it's worth a try.

Because what is a patriot if not as Webster says, "...a person who loves their country and is ready to boldly support and defend it." 

Sign me up.

The Advocate

I've been called a devil's advocate.

So of course I had to find the actual definition according to Cambridge: "someone who pretends, in an argument or discussion, to be against an idea or plan that a lot of people support, in order to make people discuss and consider it in more detail"

Well, yeah. In annoyance to some of my acquaintances, friends and social media followers, I do that. I tend to counter a lot.

I think I prefer agent provocateur at times though: "someone who intentionally causes arguments or discussions, or intentionally makes other people feel angry, offended, or uncomfortable", because sometimes the debate needs that.

There's a method to the madness however.

Watching and listening over time I've found that arguments over everything from politics to theology to science to...just about anything...have become shall we say, way too superficial?
People tend to see something quick that they agree with and suddenly that's the story. Memes, forwards, copypasta, conspiracies, glurge and now AI slop are all way too easy.

I think my rebuttal posts aren't just for the sake of being contrary though. The idea at least in my mind is to try to make the arguee follow the line of thought they've put out to it's conclusion. You posted it, why? Something made you want to spread it around, what did you want to accomplish?

In other words, think about it. Take what you've said to the end of the line and see where it leads. Slow down. Be honest. Have some facts in your pocket instead of a YouTube video. Or at least have a video by someone who makes some logical arguments. Also, I'm really, really bad at responding to references to 'them' and what 'they' are up to so you might want to edit that out.

I have a few pretty straightforward rules to debate by: I make it a point not to use name-calling, ad hominem attacks, 'whattabouting', anecdotes or 'everybody knows'. I don't use common sense as an argument because it usually isn't. I do block occasionally when someone is abusive, combative or proudly fact free. I will be respectful and try to present references. Don't tell me to 'do your own research' when that's literally what you should have done before starting out.

Maybe I'm not very good at it but thinking is a worthwhile enterprise. If you're going to put stuff out there, I'm probably going to try it.

Retired And Less Tired

 I have neglected my old pages. I'm retired now and have long felt I needed to write more. I used to click away much more often than any time in recent memory.

I looked back over some of my old posts going way back to the first one. It seems like such a long time ago and so much has changed. I'm really glad I wrote what I did and kick myself for not keeping up. 

It's a diary of sorts. A journal of the events that shaped who I am. More permanent than social media but less so than an actual paper book although I did write a great deal in green felt-tip when I was in real trouble. 

But now, the page has turned again and without all-night train trips and odd-hour phone calls, I believe it's time to revisit the old Wayward Home. 

As Paul Harvey used to say, "Stand by for news".

The Failing Light

 Let me tell you a story. It's the story of someone who has spent most of his life living with depression. He's felt invisible and unwanted for months at a time with occasional manic bright spots in between bookends of sadness. It's led to some really awful places over the years. It's cost in wasted days has no measure.

You know it's me and I've had a number of proverbial 'one of those days' days of late. I've been here before and know the signs. Over the years, I've learned some ways to keep the struggles mostly at bay and I can usually hang on and function at least marginally through such times. But every so often...particularly in November and December, the thread breaks, the monster roars and I collapse inside. Sometimes there's a hangover into January and sometimes even as far as March before I can stop 'gazing into the abyss'. These are when every hour is a slog. Most of the time I bury it under being busy or working or or doing. And then there's days when I just can't. My coping strategies can't keep up. It's a feeling of hopelessness and helplessness. 

I fell apart again in a bad way you see. My old enemy, The Black was hovering in the background waiting for a shot and then I spilled coffee on the couch. Next thing I know, I'm sobbing. I'm on the floor staring at nothing. It's like that. A little trigger or a tiny push and I'm gone. It only takes a casual word sometimes...something that a normal person wouldn't even notice. But it crushes me. The next few days got sucked up in fighting off paralysis. Plodding on through the minutes just to keep going. Put your head down and just keep going.

The "Holiday" season in particular is always like that and always the worst. I've written about it before and it hasn't changed much. It's isolating, sad, exhausting and dark. 

Thanksgiving 2022 was another one where I wondered why I was even there. I would have been better off working and not inflicting my loneliness on everyone...not that they noticed much anyway. Everyone was busy and I felt like a complete outsider in my own home. I don't speak TikTok or Snapchat or football or really much of anything that interests anyone. Nobody cares about trains or bicycles or rockets or skating or pretty much any of the oddball things that interest me. Attempts to talk about anything that matters to anyone else fall flat and awkward. I can't stay out of the way in the kitchen and there's nowhere to fit in the living room. As is so often the way of my world, I am surrounded by people and completely alone. 

2023 was the second year in a row that it was awful. I was actually hoping to be working knowing what was coming but made it home at two in the morning. I woke up after 5 hours dreading it so much I couldn't fall back asleep. 

People started showing up at noon and off we go. Hardly anyone said hello to me when they walked in. They know each other and it's a big family reunion that I don't fit into. The chatter quickly got so intense that I couldn't hear anything but white noise. Just layers of loud and snippets of conversations I wasn't part of. I felt like running. No one noticed. I just made excuses that I was tired and tried to be invisible. Standing by the corner out of sight and out of mind. I felt like sobbing. No one cared anyway. I hid upstairs with wine when it became too much to stand. I'm just being ignored and in the way. I sat at the dinner table in a blur of lonliness. Sitting next to Kellie all alone again. Awkward. Miserable. 

It doesn't help that I miss my kids. I saw posted pics and videos of my granddaughter laughing and playing in Florida with my ex. The granddaughter I don't know because she can't come here for some reason. I suspect I'll never know her. 

My sons are with visiting my ex and I'm here because she puts on the big show and pays airfares and is ever the better grandparent I guess. It cuts deep but I can't say anything because it might make someone feel bad. Wish that one time I mattered enough to put ahead of inlaws, exes and everyone else. Just once. 

But then I'm not so I stand and take it. It hurts so much.

So once again, it all comes together and I'm not sure why I worried about being home from work at all. I guess I'm supposed to. You'd think I'd know by now. My presence is neither needed nor noticed in the rush. I should learn that it's better to just miss these things and pretend that it matters to anyone. The world goes on as it has for so long without me being there. People get used to the idea that I might be away and so they make plans for that. If I happen to be around, it's just weird because they weren't really expecting me anyway. Nobody even knows what to say to me when I do appear because I'm such a stranger to everyone. It bleeds me out. I want to run somewhere but the garage hides horrors of it's own and my hobby bench or office is within earshot of laughter and fun that I'm not a part of. Just try to smile and keep pushing. 

I saw myself in the bathroom mirror. I saw that face again. Kellie says she knows the look when it's like this. I do too. I saw my father wear it often. It's just blank. A far, far look in his eyes. I have photos of him behind it and I know what he was feeling. A flicker of a smile on demand and then nothing. Oh yes, I know it well...it's baked-in empty with a layer of sad and frosted in lonely with a single candle on top of the cupcake. That tiny little flame is all that's holding the world together and it's so very fragile...struggling not to be blown out by a whisper of breeze. 

The failing light that you fight so hard to hang onto because if it goes out, there's nothing left at all.

Idle Thoughts

 I have a thought. Let's just pretend for a moment that a couple of things happen on down the road a ways...

First, the Evangelicals and their sort get their wish and the "Right to Life" under any and all circumstances becomes the law of the land. No more abortions for any reason because "All life is sacred". They win. Every baby conceived is born and all is well in Gilead.

So where do they go from there? What's the next morality battle in the fight against the heathens? Well, one might propose that the next logical step to preserve all life could conceivably be the even more prevalent catastrophe...gun violence. After all, 45,000 or so gun deaths in a year is pretty significant. Since all life must be preserved at any cost, wouldn't it make sense for the same bunch to have a change of heart on 2A now that they have a victory under their belt?

Picture this: An emboldened hyper-religious segment with connections, lobbying power and a base that has typically agreed with their ideology in the past has an epiphany. God speaks to them and they decide that firearm violence must end now that the battle of abortion is over. The same group that espoused 'God, guns and guts' when they needed firearm owners if not necessarily be on their side, at least not to oppose them, has a change of heart on the guns part. 

Using mass shootings, domestic attacks and suicides in the news cycle as evidence, the call for regulation goes out from pulpits and city halls. Children especially must be protected at any cost. 'Well regulated' becomes a rallying cry. Key law enforcement and political leaders fall in line. Red Flags and confiscations become speakable subjects as even the NRA and manufacturer lobbyists come under condemnation as purveyors of sin. God is no longer on their side.

Everyone who is sick of hearing about weekly or daily shooting attacks hails it all as long overdue common sense and a giant step further than 'thoughts and prayers'. Public opinion, already leaning away from ever-increasing numbers of weapons and weary of government inaction, coalesces into votes. Congress, smelling a change in the wind and sensing where the religious power is heading becomes a springboard for restrictions unheard of in recent times. Sizeable campaign donations grease the skids. Along the way the religious minority takes a page from their playbook and using the power of the same Supreme Court that bent over backwards for them on abortion, begins chipping away at yet another supposed 'right'...just as they did with RvW. 

With over 400 million guns in private hands, the Christian Nationalist movement calculates that it's far too risky for their future to have so many independent minded people so well armed. A Godly country can tolerate random violence very little after all and organized resistance even less. So the long-predicted "they" who will be coming for your guns shifts quietly from the left to the right.  Unregulated access to firearms subtly becomes impermissible and before long the very thing that was intended to prove 'Shall not be infringed' turns into the vehicle to prove that it will. 

Stranger things have happened.

Farewell and Goodbye

 I said my goodbyes. The ashes of my mother, father and brother were buried side by side this week. Not one of the three of them wanted any of this. I stood on wet grass with my jaw clenched trying to hold it together. A man said words. A few people sang some hymns over canned music. I guess I was supposed to pray for something. It all just blurred. The man in the collar asked for memories but how do you pick anything out of a lifetime? Most of what we remember is wrong anyway. Colored by years and distance and retellings to the point they probably never even happened...at least not the way we recall them. Is that better or worse?

But each of them are now nothing but memories. Some good, a few bad. Isn't that what everyone is in the end? Fading light and failing recollections. A generation or two and it's all gone except the stone. 

I wanted desperately to be alone with them for a last little while. I tried to take a couple minutes as everyone was leaving to put my hand on each box for the final time...trying to know what to feel. Remembering. Wondering if I could ever grieve enough. Even that got cut short.

There was lunch afterward but I couldn't do it. I've been away so long. So much water under the bridge. I wondered if Dad would have pushed through it like he always did at big gatherings. Doug would have laughed. Mom would have understood I think. Why do we do this to ourselves?

Far wiser people than I have written volumes about grief and loss. Quotes by famous people are abundant. There's a lot of platitudes and Kalil Gibran/Hallmark nonsense. Religion tells tales of life everlasting. Thoughts and prayers. None of it makes sense and I can't add anything deep or meaningful to the collection. All I know is that each of us gets through it in our own way. 

There are things we are supposed to say and ways we are supposed to act when we lose people. Painful formality and rituals. "It's for the living", is the cliche'. Maybe, but if that's so, it's a travesty of anything remotely comforting. Dress up in your best black and bring a dish to pass. Say the words and wonder when it's your turn. I guess that's just how it is.

I wonder sometimes when a song comes on or a picture pops up or a random reminder comes to mind...will it ever get better? If getting easier means I remember them less, is that how it's supposed to work? When the stone is all that's left and all the memories are gone, what then? I know this isn't very original thinking. I don't care. It's my thinking right now.

And I miss them. I miss them. As an uncountable number have before me, I miss the ones who've gone. I'm dancing around the holes they left in the world. The hammer will fall one of these days and I'll collapse for a while I imagine. Every tear I gritted my teeth to hold onto at that awful cemetery will come loose. I'll figure out how to grieve. Then maybe...just maybe...it'll be ok. 

Mom. Dad. Doug. It'll be ok.