The Pits and Pieces

  I watched the presidential debate last night, but I could take no more than an hour of it. It was painful to watch - Trump spouting his usual vile lies, Biden looking fragile and confused. I felt bad for the thousands of good American people who must be so disappointed by what occurred, and fearful that there might be those fooled into thinking Biden’s age negates the fact that he is a good person and has good people behind him; that there could be others who might be taken in by Trump’s bombastic bluster. It brings to light (again) how performance can mean everything, regardless of underlying core values, intelligence and decency. Appearing old and frail immediately brings down the heavy hand of judgement and stereotyping: you are no longer ‘with it’; you are out of step with the times; you don’t have anything worth saying or worth listening to or worth contributing. It’s a cruel world, increasingly blind to what goes on beneath the outward show; a world where the ability to t...

  What is it about June that induces a feeling of restlessness? It seems I was in a similar frame of mind two years ago in June when I wrote this post .  Last year, in early June, I was in Scotland, returning home to a late start with my balcony pots of flowers, and ready to settle into familiar routines and comforts. This year, my pots were out on the balcony before the May long weekend, but routines are not what is on my mind. Lately, I’ve been a butterfly, socially and otherwise. I have a high pile of books on my nightstand (six is a lot to be reading simultaneously, even for me) and I flit from one to the other, like a bee in a field of flowers. I seem unable to stick a landing. In my morning journal, I manage only a page or two, sometimes stopping mid-paragraph to stare out the window. What is it about June, the month where the shift to full-on summer and outdoor living beckons. Am I standing on the threshold, a buffet of options in front of me, unable to fathom if I’m ...