Cassandra Speaks-again

Back in April I wrote this series of predications during a moment of psychic clarity ( I think). Some of it I didn’t understand or waited to see if they came true. I deliberately used play on words, puns and allegory to be less obvious and give it poetry. I think I got some of it right.

Wheat grows strong against the cold wind,

to numbers never seen before, reverse the tide.

The scythe is dull, but the harvest is sharp.

This is about the mid terms. Wheat refers to the citizens voting and the result. The dull scythe is the Republican campaign against the sharp democratic rebuke.

Janus endows himself while madness, confusion consumes him.

 Anger builds with each blow of the horn, blood flows from the mouth.

The false name removed from the theatre signals the end.

Janus is Trump and describes his current mental state. The false name removed from the theatre is Trump’s name on the Kennedy Center.

See the lake empty, when the crescent moon rises,

the Shepherd’s crook broken when the Satyr has his fill,

the Mill stone cracks, No name leaves without a trace.

See the lake is a play on Mar a Lago and Trump leaving, so look to the moon for the time of month. The crescent might also refer to Iran. The shepherd’s crook is leadership and The Mill stone is Miller (get it?). No name is Christy Noeme and she’s gone now

Get Action

An election once again brings up the faulty notion that if “our side” wins, they will wave their magic wands and fix things. Whew, thank God. Well, no. I have been saying this for years – to no avail-- politics is NOT a football game. It’s not “our team is better than your team--nyah.” Democracy is messy and contentious, that’s what happens when you have many voices. It requires all members of Congress to make compromises to get anything done.

This may come as a surprise, but not all Democrats are liberal and not all Republicans are staunch conservatives. The recent raid or IIhan Omar is a good example. Many democrats did not sign a letter of protest of an investigation against her. 

Ultimately, it must be the people who are served not the government. We know how large and complex it has become. Too many agencies have created a vast unworkable bureaucracy. There has always been some measure of corruption, that happens with any business involving large sums of money and ego but now we are witness to vast, overt greed happening because the corrupt know they can get away with it. How? Division. Divide the people, divide the courts, divide a political party.

The machinery of government is so unwieldy that those elected, soon discover there’s no way to fix it. The best one can do is toe the party narrative to stay in power for money and health care benefits, you know, what we the people don’t have. Meanwhile the population feels powerless to enact any change and become complacent. When we elect officals, we must demand they include us in the welfare of the state.

Instead of scolding farmers who voted Republican then betrayed them, we must offer sympathy and aide because they are ones who put food on your table not a venture capitalist. We must be proactive and directly confront elected civil servants who have failed to preserve the country. That means calling or writing directly to your state representative or senator. That means protest, that means advocating for affordable living, universal health care (the US ranks below Costa Rica). That means working to improve education to the benefit of everyone. The lists goes on.

Show up at council meetings and raise your voice. Learn about and demand our constitutional rights be respected. That means eliminating ICE which is clearly engaged in illegal practices. That means repealing Citizens United, an Orwellian term that allows for obscene amounts of money to manipulate elections.

Don’t just vote, sit back and expect everything to be alright cause our team won this time, woo hoo. Demand they do the work they promised, demand they help everyone not just their cronies or their bank accounts.

Get action.

 

Here's to the Goils

Everyone should have some kind of clan to feel connected and several years ago me, my friends form Kindtree Mary-Minn and Eileen used o get together once a month to have a drink and bs about life.

Another friend of mine started a group for older women to look out for each other called The Bag ladies of the World (BLOWS). In a homage to that, I started calling the three of us “Goils” as a rebuke to grown women being referred to as girls. Eileen passed away but the gatherings grew to include more ladies who lunch, mostly from Kindtree.

I never had a real support group until later in life and so far it’s been a good excuse to get away from the house, have a drink and talk to someone.

Women have always formed kinship with other women to meet whether at the local well, doing laundry in the river or making a quilt. It’s a way to trade information, catch up on neighborhood news and health issues. It’s important in modern times, more than ever to keep those connections, they come in handy for survival of disasters personal and communal. We are social creatures and a phone or email is not the same as living interactions. Make a note gals and-- guys especially-- it’s good health to have a group you can share with and have a good time.

Here’s to The Goils.

Quote of the day

 Some things never change. . . don't even get him started on the music.

"The children now love luxury; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. Children are now tyrants, not the servants of their households. They no longer rise when elders enter the room. They contradict their parents, chatter before company, gobble up dainties at the table, cross their legs, and tyrannize their teachers."

                                                                                    --Socrates
 

The Impatient Patient

Surgery is not for sissies and I was anxious about the experience. Having one’s gut cut open and fished around in is not on my list of enjoyable experiences but it had to be done. What I thought was a simple procedure I found out later was, in fact, a major deal. I managed some levity making car sounds as I was wheeled to the OR and gasped as I entered what looked like an over lit space ship. Lots of big lights and machinery.

“Choose a favorite dream Alisa,” I heard the anesthesiologist say as I drifted off. Two and half hours later I awake and sent to a nice room. I was met by a dear friend in full motorcycle gear including leather chaps as she had arrived on a Harley. Heather and a tall fellow named Jim were my assigned nurses.

“I specifically requested a cabana boy in Bermuda shorts.” I joked while I settled in. He understood the assignment and showed up the next day in a Hawaiian vacation themed shirt.

The staff was universally kind, attentive and it helped ease my painful state. Despite the drugs, I felt like I had been kicked in the gut. I was hooked up to an IV and monitor for oxygen/ heart rate in the most comfortable bed ever.

They are big on preventing blood clots and insisted on inflatable leggings that massaged my calves. I’m a fussy sleeper in the best of conditions so it was hard to relax when it felt like I was being loved hugged repeatedly by two large boa constrictors. Around midnight I asked they come off but there was no rest with interruptions for vitals check, blood draw and alarms from the gizmos going off.

I felt well enough the next day for a walk with Jim’s assistance, good thing too because I would have been lost in the maze of hallways and sameness. Big windows with seating offered views of the Mackenzie River on the east side of the building and Eugene on the other. Two floors below, amid the expanse of a gravel rooftop, was a brand new playground for the pediatrics ward which looked too safe to be enjoyed by kids. The hospital has a ski lodge vibe to it, and apparently the architect used to design them and knowing construction, I was not impressed with it’s quality. It seems nothing is designed or built well in this country anymore.

I met with the surgeon Dr. Clark and she wanted me to stay until I pooped but I was bored with nothing to do but wander the halls and cruise cable TV.

“Can I go home, please, please with sugar on top,” I pleaded like a child stuck indoors with a cold. She thought for a moment and relented. (The sugar on top did it I’m sure.) So I’m back home to continue my slow recovery, resting a lot and using the time to get more writing done. Stay tuned.