The Last Enchantment

by Pa Rock
Reader

Lady Mary Stewart began writing her Merlin Trilogy (The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills, and The Last Enchantment) in the early days of 1968 after doing a monumental amount of research on legends and histories surrounding King Arthur..  It was over a decade later, in 1979, that she was finally able to set her pen aside after completing the final volume.   (While it is likely she used a typewriter, these stories are so beautifully told and lovingly crafted that one is left with the sense that they could have been put to paper with a quill!)

The books, which weave their way through the legends surrounding King Arthur, are told through the voice of Merlin, the King’s “enchanter.”  The first two volumes tell the story of Merlin’s youth as a bastard grandson of a minor Welsh king, to his ascendancy as a prophet of the first two kings of all Britain.  It is in his closeness to the new line of royalty (the first two kings are actually his father, and his uncle) that Merlin is able to arrange the conception of the third King of all Britain, a child whose mother, although she was not destined to raise the boy, insisted on naming him “Arthur.”    Arthur is hidden (with the King’s blessing) by Merlin for the first fourteen years of his life, and when it comes time for the boy to learn and claim his destiny, it is his cousin, Merlin, who makes that happen.

The third volume of this set, The Last Enchantment, describes Arthur’s early years on the throne as he struggles to keep Britain unified and the Saxons contained.   Merlin is at the young king’s side during much of those early days as the monarch works to make Britain a safe and secure place for all of his subjects.  It is in this third volume that Merlin plans and initially supervises the construction of Camelot, falls in love, and is buried alive in his beloved cave at Bryn Myrddin.  The pages of The Last Enchantment, like those of the first two volumes in this series, turn easily – and quickly!

After completing this monumental work, Lady Stewart chose to revisit it and add a fourth volume, The Wicked Day, which chronicles the conflict between King Arthur and his bastard son, Mordred, a child who was conceived with a bastard princess before Arthur realized that she was his half-sister.  The Wicket Day will be the next book out of my bucket and onto the bedside nightstand.

Trump Needs More than an Intelligence "Briefing!"

by Pa Rock

Citizen Journalist

I saw a blurb on the news yesterday which said that Donald Trump was scheduled for an intelligence briefing later in the day– and I immediately wondered if a “briefing” would be adequate.   While pumping some intelligence into the dumbest human ever to lead the United States is an admirable goal, can a mere "briefing's" worth even begin to address the lifetime of ignorance that has accumulated within this one individual?

Perhaps instead of a briefing, Trump should be given the world's biggest enema to relieve him of his massive stupidity, a maneuver that would likely leave him small enough to play Tiny Tim in "A Christmas Carol."  And after the enema Trump could be re-inflated with an intelligence transfusion, something which would certainly be more effective than a mere briefing.

Or maybe the Pentagon has some new "smart" technology that could fix Trump -  a supersonic scrubber that could strip the thick coating of orange ignorance that protects The Donald from experiencing reality.  A car wash to combat imbecility.

I don't have the answer, but as a former public school teacher who occasionally had to face students like Donald Trump in class, I am sure of this:  trying to educate someone who knows it all with a "briefing" is a fool's errand.   If Trump stays awake during the briefing, he is sure to be disruptive - and as soon as it is over he will rush to brag about his new knowledge to his intellectual peers in the House of Representatives  - people like Matt Gaetz and Gym Jordan - and then he will get on the phone and tell Vlad Putin all about it.

Trump loves to be praised for his intelligence!

Trump Humiliated at World Series

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Donald Trump and his political entourage attended game five of the World Series Sunday night in Washington, DC, and if Trump was expecting a warm reception by his adoring public, he must have been sorely disappointed.  When Trump and his group were acknowledged the stadium erupted in boos and chants of "Lock him up!"  The indignation of the crowd was loud, so loud in fact that it was heard not only throughout the stadium and in the Presidential Box, but around the world as every news outlet - except Fox - broadcast the humiliating rebuke.  Fox apparently made a business decision to edit out the noise and insults.

A normal person who had at least some self-awareness of the havoc that he was creating with his daily tantrums and violations of law would have been expecting some sort of negative public reaction when he dared to appear in a major public setting like a World Series game, but Trump seemed surprised at the strength and depth of the hostility that was shown toward him.  For the rest of the evening, every time the Trump party appeared on the Jumbotron, more boos and cat calls ensued.  The crowd was as fired up by Trump's presence as they were at having the hometown team playing in the World Series.

Accompanying Trump to the World Series game were his clothes-horse wife, Melania, Senate Majority Leader Moscow Mitch McConnell, Lindsey Graham (the flower of the Senate), and Representatives Kevin McCarthy (the Majority Leader in the House), Mark Meadows, Liz Cheney, and Official House Clown Matt Gaetz.

Noticeably absent from the group was Trump's thirteen-year-old son, Barron, leading some to question why Trump would drag a squad of Republican politicians to a ballgame, but neglect to bring along his son, a boy who might have actually enjoyed getting to see a World Series game.

Some commentators have criticized Sunday night's crowd for their impolite behavior toward Donald Trump, suggesting that the office of President should be respected even if the occupant of the office is a bloated, bigoted, buttload of baloney.  Others, however, argued that the President is a servant of the people - and if the President refuses to acknowledge that principle by occasionally humbling himself before the people, then it is up to the people to do it for him.

Sunday night thousands of people in a baseball stadium in Washington, DC, stuck pins into th gas bag that is Donald Trump - and if he wasn't humbled, he should have been!  Of course the sting of humiliation was lessened somewhat by the circle of old white men that he brought along to prop himself up and to help drown out the noise of the rabble.

And then he raced home to watch the sanitized replay on Fox!

The Washington Nationals went on to lose Sunday night's fifth game of the World Series to the Houston Astros by a score of seven to one.    Chances are Matt Gaetz didn't even notice.

Monday's Poetry: Shakespeare's Sonnet 73

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Fall has landed with a big old thud in the Ozarks.  Yesterday we had a bit of sunshine, but for the most part the days have been chilly, damp, and windy.  The leaves are changing color, but they are being blown from the trees far too fast to be properly appreciated.  The squirrels are busy finding and storing food for the winter, and the groundhogs are out and about preparing for their long winter naps.  The deer, too, are busy consuming the green remains of summer and building what body fat they can before the drunken hunters begin terrorizing them and bring an end to their idyllic fall grazing.

I came across William Shakespeare's Sonnet 73 a few days ago at the Writer's Almanac.  The Bard used this particular sonnet to address to topic of aging, and part of that is accomplished with a description of the fall season.   This sonnet rings particularly true with me - a man in the autumn of life who is experiencing yet another dying of summer.

I was born in the spring and I hope that I have the good fortune to depart in that season as well - when the earth is greening and new life is beginning.  But today it is fall - and the drudge of aging is upon us.


Sonnet 73
by William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

America Today

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I think that the thing I resent most about Donald Trump is his complete lack of knowledge regarding the country he serves.  Not only does he not understand the importance of - or even the basic workings of - the United States Constitution, he knows almost nothing of our country's history, geography, or even its character.  And, Donald Trump has no connection whatsoever with the real people who get up and go to work every morning to create a robust economy that allows  him and people like him to live like maggots off of the sweat of others.

This morning as I was sitting in the McDonald's parking lot enjoying a breakfast sandwich and availing myself of the free wifi, a young woman (probably no older than twenty) pulled her "beater" car into the spot next to my beater car and hopped out.  It wasn't until she had gone inside that I noticed the back window rolling up and down - and began to pay attention.  She had left two little girls - toddlers wearing matching pink jackets - in their car seats in the backseat of the car, and one of the children had learned how to raise and lower the automatic window next to her.  I'm guessing that the window probably would not have worked unless the car was running.

I reluctantly assumed the responsibility of watching the youngsters until Mother returned - which was about five minutes.  I assumed she had rushed in to use the bathroom or handle some emergency, and had made a poor decision to leave her girls in the car.  Or maybe she has just been going to breakfast and wanted a break from the never-ending demands of childcare.  But when mother returned to the car, she was not carrying the remains of a cappuccino or an Egg McMuffin, but rather she had a job application in her hand.

She had probably made a quick determination that trying to impress the manager would be more difficult if she was holding onto two squirming kids - and she was probably right.

I hope Mother gets her minimum wage job, and I hope that she has a husband, or boyfriend, or parent, or neighbor, or friend who will watch her beautiful little girls for free, because otherwise everything that she makes - and then some - will go to the babysitter.

That's America today:  people working themselves into the ground, literally, and falling further and further behind while they are racing from job to job.  They have no savings, they have no insurance, and if they are lucky they might have enough groceries in the house for a couple of days.   Any "spare" money goes in the gas tank, and if the car breaks down - and it will, or the kids get sick - and they will, they often lose their jobs because they can't get to work or find a sitter

I knew a young lady a few years back who walked ten miles (each way) to work at a Sonic.  Donald Trump doesn't know her and literally has no idea that people like her even exist, yet they are that toughest part of the muscle that runs the nation that he purports to lead.  Trump's response, and indeed the response from much of government, is to try and remove all government assistance from people like them, deny them health insurance - and, by extension, medical care - increase their share of the national tax burden, and force them to leave even more babies in cars as they rush door-to-door in search of more substandard employment opportunities that will further impoverish them.

That's America today, Donald.  The "emoluments clause" isn't phony, Colorado does not border Mexico, babies are being left in cars as young mothers search frantically for jobs that won't even cover childcare expenses, and poverty runs rampant.  And you're our leader.  And you're not even smart enough to realize that it's all going to shit.

Felicity Huffman Spared Three Days of Jailhouse Hell

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Television star Felicity Huffman stepped into a minimum security prison (Federal Correctional Institution) near San Francisco two weeks ago as a result of paying $15,000 to get someone else to take her daughter's SATs for her - and thus give the poor child an opportunity to get into the "right" university for someone of her social standing.  Huffman was part of a nationwide group of parents and college officials who were bent on perverting the rigorous admissions standards that many of America's top colleges and universities have in place.

Last year Huffman pled guilty to her felonious behavior and was sentenced to two full weeks of sitting on a cot and filing her nails while her team of publicists worked feverishly to turn the lemon of incarceration into the lemonade of free publicity.  She was the very picture of glamorous prison vixen with just a tinge of subdued humiliation.  Her tragic stumble was a movie-of-the-week just waiting to happen!

In addition to having plenty of time for nail care while she was shut away in the slammer, the former Desperate Housewives star also had visits from anxious family members.  The daughter who had her SATs embellished through Mom's personal checkbook came to visit, and so did the drama queen's husband, actor William H.Macy (no relation - my people all go to state universities).

As the days wore on, however, the novelty of life behind bars apparently began to wear thin.  Thankfully, there were no untoward prison tragedies associated with this case, and true justice ultimately prevailed when Inmate Huffman was discharged three days early.

Thank God for small mercies!

Huffman still must pay a $30,000 fine and serve 250 hours of community service, but surely a woman of her importance can pay somebody to do that mundane work for her.   Just sayin' . . .

Some Thoughts on Part-Time Employment

by Pa Rock
Retiree

I officially retired in the early days of 2014, and, for the most part, have enjoyed the freedom that comes with not having to punch a clock.  But I moved to a small farm and managed to encumber myself with plenty to keep me busy, along with a schedule of chores that demand my attention – so I still answer to both a clock and a calendar – and I stay plenty damned busy.

Even though it seems like I am always rushing to stay caught up, lately I have also been giving some thought to getting a part-time job.  I am a licensed clinical social worker, and there are some interesting temporary gigs available that would even allow for a bit of travel,  but I’m not sure that I want to get back into the trauma and drama that comes with serious social work.

Another possibility is the once-in-a-decade flood of part-time work that is opening up with the census.  I have received numerous emails about work with the census, and I have even gone so far as to submit an on-line application.  As with many things associated with the government, the process is cumbersome and complicated.

My application is complete and has been acknowledged.  Now it is sitting in a cyber pile somewhere awaiting action by a person who is currently in no great hurry – but will one day jump into a panic mode and will be demanding all sorts of quick responses by emotionally scarred applicants.  It will eventually get sorted out, and several hundred thousand temporary workers will begin scouring the countryside looking for people who did not mail in their census forms.

I attended an information briefing yesterday to learn more about the job and the hiring process.  Actually it was just one representative of the Census Bureau and myself.   She told me that the Census Bureau was hiring full and part-time, and that mapping positions – those where people go out and record new residences as well as residences which no longer exist in order to give the bureau a more accurate list for mailing the forms in the spring.  

Why don’t they just use Google Maps?

The actual census itself will begin next April and at that point they will also be hiring people to go in search of non-responders.  I’ve heard people say that they could not do that because they feared going in stranger’s homes.  That’s understandable, especially out here in the woods where every other hovel and rusted-out mobile home harbors miscreants engaged in some form of criminal activity.  But as a former state child protection worker, I’ve been in most of those homes, and dealt with awful people in tense situations, and I’m hard to shock or scare.  I’ve also been up and down most of the dog trails and dry creek beds that serve as driveways and private roads in Howl County, so I know how to get into the remotest of settings – and, more importantly, how to get out!

So if the folks at the Census Bureau are serious about finding and counting everyone, as is their Constitutional mandate, they are going to have to find and hire some real hillbillies to get the job done.  

The lady at yesterday’s briefing told me that the pay for my county was fourteen dollars an hour and fifty-eight cents a mile for transportation.  Paid training is also included.

That’s good pay for this area, but, even so, the faint of heart should not rush to apply!

The Modem Racket

by Pa Rock
Victim of Unbridled Capitalism

Thursday morning finds me once again without internet service.     Yesterday’s break in the non-service was great, allowing me to finish the show that I had been watching the evening before when service was interrupted for nearly twenty-four hours.  I was also able to complete my daily blog and get that posted.   But now things are back at Dysfunction Junction and I am typing this onto Microsoft Word and will stuff it into a folder until I am once again blessed with a connection to the rest of the world.

It reminds me of the crappy – and expensive – internet service that is prevalent on cruise ships – but that is a whole other blog posting!

Representatives from CenturyLink, who speak with delightfully thick foreign accents, are trying to get me to buy a new modem.  Yesterday two informed me that the one I am using is worn out – and then it came back on-line.  They will send me a new one with a one-year guarantee for $100 – and it will be put in the mail in around three days.  Or, for just $180 they will send the new modem to my residence along with a technician to install it.

But I have resisted.  Yesterday during the height of my outrage I telephoned Fidelity Communications and arranged for a free audit to see if they could provide service to my house.  The results from that should be back in a couple of days.   With Fidelkty the company owns the modems.  CenturyLink is now my fall-back position.

I spoke with a friend this morning and asked him which internet service provider he used.  The friend replied, “CenturyLink – and it’s awful!”

Tell me more, tell me more!

My friend described piss-poor reception exactly like the type that I suffer.  He said that CenturyLink  always has him or his wife fun a few diagnostic tests, exactly like the ones that they had me run, and then they sell them a new modem – which never works satisfactorily.   He said that he and his wife have purchased three new modems in the last five years.

All of which left me feeling that perhaps the primary business of CenturyLink is selling modems.

I would look up the work “racketeering” to see if that applies in this case, but unfortunately my internet is down!

(Posted at McDonalds.  Thanks, Hamburglar!)

Pa Rock Unplugged

by Pa Rock
Angry Typist

Some days I think it might be nice to be Donald Trump - and have nothing more pressing to worry about than how to cheat at golf and how to stuff more Russians into my condos, but then I temper that with  thoughts of how tiring - and boring - it would be to constantly carry around that much weight and ignorance.  Trump seems to have no friends or people that he actually cares about, while I, on the other hand, at least have a few.

I think my outlook on life is somewhat soured - especially today.  I began the day at 4:00 a.m. with a call to CenturyLink, my internet service provider.    I told the nice lady who finally answered (after I had pushed a half-dozen number codes) that my internet had gone down at 5:00 p.m. the previous evening and was still out of commission.  She had me perform a couple of tests on my modem - which I had already done, but I did them again just to please her - and then she finally announced that my modem was an antique and would need to be replaced.  She told me cheerfully that CenturyLink could put one in the mail to me in about three days.  But first I would have to call another number to make the request, and that number was not manned until 8:00 a.m.

So much for around-the-clock service!

I was on the road at 8:00 a.m. but phoned a few minutes later after I parked my car in a neighboring community.  The recording told me that I had called "after-hours" but agreed to put me on the recorded punch-a-number merry-go-round.  I hung up and called back after 9:00 a.m.  Again a recording told me that I had called "after-hours."  This time I opted to get on the CenturyLink tilt-a-whirl and play their numbers game.  Finally I started answering every request for a number with "zero," and a human reluctantly came on the line.  The poor fellow had a thick accent and was hard to understand.  Unfortunately for him, I was easy to understand.

He was quite put out that I could not give him the model number of my modem because I was twenty miles away from home.  I carefully explained that I had given all of that information to the lady who had to suffer my 4:00 a.m. call - and suggested that he might try looking it up.  Eventually he came back on the line and said that my modem was very old.  I told him that I was aware of that, and explained that I would like to order a new one, but that the number I had been given to call was claiming it was "after-hours."

Not to worry, my new friend assured me, he could help place the order.  It would be just one hundred dollars, or I could rent a new modem for ten dollars a month.  I exploded to such a degree that windows rattled across much of southern Missouri and northern Arkansas.  "You mean I own that piece of crap!" (or words to that effect), I blasted.  "Yes sir, you do," he chirped happily, several time zones away.  Then I asked what it would cost for a technician to bring one and hook it up, and the fellow said that would be an extra eighty-five dollars.

You suck, CenturyLink!

Finally, after retrieving my phone from across the street where I had thrown it, I asked for the corporate phone number for CenturyLink.   It was at that point that the chirpiness left the poor fellow's voice.  He said that he would have to put me on hold while he talked to a supervisor.  When he finally came back he gave me a telephone number - and then asked if he could place the order for the modem.  I explained, as calmly as possible, that I was officially starting the process of trying to find another internet service provider, and no, I did not want to order a new modem.

This afternoon I went to the West Plains Public Library in hopes of typing the day's blog.  I say "hopes," because I am just a tad on the cynical side and know that the odds of things being easy are always stacked against me.

I don't memorize passwords and rely on my computer to automatically cough up the right one when needed.  I didn't know my Google password and got kicked around cyberspace a couple of times until Google finally asked me if I could remember any of my old passwords - and I did remember one - a very simple one.  Then it said it would send a code to the Google ap on my phone.  I couldn't find that, so Google finally decided to send a text message with the new code to my phone.  I got that, entered the code, and then got a message from Google saying that since I was using a different computer, they would not allow me access to Google and hence to Blogspot.  

Thank you and have a nice day!

You suck, Google!

When I finally got back home, not long ago, I sat down at the computer to put the blog posting on Word and to save it to publish later.  While I was staring at the screen, I noticed the Apple News icon, which I had never seen before, and, out of boredom, I clicked on it - and the site came up!  Then I tried Gmail and it came up, too!  After deleting a hundred and forty emails, I went in to have a look at my old modem.  All of the lights were green and it appeared to be working just fine.  I rushed back into the living room and banged out this page-of-rage before the modem again goes on the fritz.

Now I'm wondering if someone at CenturyLink just decided to flip a switch and turn my service back on - rather that lose a long-time sucker customer.

Anyway, change my status to "plugged-in."  Pa Rock is back!

And CenturyLink, you still suck!

The Secret Life of Ronna's Uncle Mitty

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Yesterday a well-known individual was outed as a lurker on Twitter operating under a fake name.  Republican Senator Mitt Romney of Utah (and former Republican Governor of Massachusetts) admitted that for the past seven years he has been slithering around Twitter posing as an urbane manifestation of sensibility known as "Pierre Delecto."  Pierre only had a couple of hundred followers, mostly friends and relatives who knew his true identity, and the tweets that he posted were often aimed at politely correcting his critics and polishing the apple of Mitt Romney.

After the Mittster was publicly outed, he took the Twitter account private.

Romney, a Francophile of long-standing who speaks fluent French, did his two-year Mormon missionary stint as a youth wandering the French Riviera where he busied himself saving the souls of beach bunnies.

There has been a lot of buzz over the internet regarding the meaning of Mitt's rather unique nom de plume.   "Pierre" is the French version of the name "Peter," and "delecto" translates into "delight."  Peter Delight.  Some have dared to suggest that it might be Mitt's porn name.  Or, perhaps it's a holdover from his missionary days at the beach.

So far Donald Trump (who has several aliases himself including "John Barron," "John Miller," and "David Dennison" and who is not a fan of Senator Romney) has been quiet on the revelation - but that will not last.  And when Trump finally does explode all over poor Pierre, Republican National Chariwoman Ronna Romney McDaniel, Mitt's niece, may have to finally choose between being Trump's loyal parrot or defending the honor of Uncle Mitty.

And then she will do lunch.

Monday's Poetry: "Tornado Alley"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

My cell phone alarm went off at about 2:30 this morning, but I didn't let it rattle me.   Friday I had undergone a skin cancer surgery on my ear, and since that time I have been sleeping uncomfortably and not well, so I wasn't about to climb out of bed and check the message on what was probably some amber alert three hundred miles away in Hannibal or St. Joe.  Then the town sirens began wailing through the sudden rain and wind, but still I stayed in bed.  If my fate was to be flown out into the middle of the Mark Twain National Forest in my old iron bed, well, so be it!

My ear hurt, dammit!

Then the power went out - and I sure as heck wasn't going to try to find my way down to the basement in the dark!

This morning, after daylight, I finally got around to reading last night's alert.  It said, "Tornado warning until 2:45 a.m.  Take cover immediately!"

And that completes today's lesson on how not to react to a tornado warning.

I have spent most of my life in or close to "Tornado Alley," a corridor of land stretching roughly from the Texas Panhandle, through Oklahoma City, Tulsa, Joplin, Springfield, and on to St. Louis and beyond.  I usually rush around and head to the basement, but last night I just could not summon the energy to take basic precautions.  My attitude could have proved fatal.

Today's poetry selection is "Tornado Alley" by contemporary poet Chera Hammons.  She has some very vivid descriptions of damages wrought by tornadoes.  It serves as a good reminder of how powerful and menacing these natural phenomena can be.

If you are under a tornado warning - take cover - even if you have to jump out of bed to do it.  Don't be a stubborn old jackass - or your barn may blow away with you in it!


Torando Alley
by Chera Hammons

It’s a house-shaker, cellar-thumper,
the sort that we are warned about,
but not all of us have basements
so we fit into our closets when it comes,
just widened-out eyes and elbows while
the outside air boils and sings with electricity.

We grow up with it, always know this might
happen to us, that we will sit in our groaning box
in a sea of wind, and will wait under pillows
that must stop whatever pieces of cars pierce the walls,

so we have planned ahead, know the safest room.
We know that while we wait
the rebar will be ripped from the concrete,
the studs will be stripped, sand-blasted with topsoil,
hail will beat the nearly-wild roses flat.
The bells at the non-denominational church
will clang like mad yelling saints, the power will flicker,

the lights may go out, the garage door thrown off
so the house is a vacuum, but the warning sirens
are always a thrill when they start up,
the way that families freeze to listen at first.
They pause in their meals, or their small talk,

and suddenly hear tree branches already
slapping the dust off their houses, and the spitting rain
that saturates the brick red like when it was new,
the windows rattling, and the mile-long rumble
that might not be a freight train.

We know more about meteorology than most.
A ridge of low pressure, straight line winds,
gulf moisture were in our bedtime stories.
The storm will pass soon, the worst ones
wear themselves out fast with their violence,
and the morning will sparkle with dew and bent metal,
the roots of the cottonwoods like old fingers
finally holding the sky like something they’d hoped for.

We have rebuilt now so many times that nobody thinks
it’s unusual if you never find some of what blew away.
We will go outside to see what still stands,
meet our neighbors assessing the storm,
and what the new day is like, preening in its calm;
we’ll call it a good day for repairing the damage,
a good thing that things were not worse.
The weather is our culture, what we have in
common, all we really know how to talk about.

World Leaders Spared from Trump's Motel Hell

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Last week the Trump administration, in an obvious effort to turn media attention away from impeachment and the slaughter of Kurdish children as a result of an ill-advised US policy, announced that next June's G-7 conference of world leaders would be held at the Trump National Doral in Miami, Florida.  Trump had originally floated the idea of holding the next G-7 at his Doral Club as the last G-7 was coming to a close.   Last week he trotted out his chief of staff, Mick Mulvaney, to announce the Doral's official selection.  Mulvaney assured reporters that the selection process had been thorough and that at least ten other resorts had been considered - presumably some of which are not owned by the Trump family.  Mulvaney did not enlighten the press on which other resorts had been considered and rejected.

And that bit of egregious profit-seeking through the presidency did its intended bit by keeping the political waters muddy and turbulent.   Congress was considering a bill to thwart the move, and court action was also being discussed.   But then last night Trump got on Twitter and stirred things up again, this time with a tweet rescinding his decision to hold the upcoming June G-7 at the Doral in Miami, an event that not only would have been steeped in the intense summer humidity of south Florida, but also "alleged" bedbugs over which the Doral has been sued in the past.

The tweeter-in-chief, who must have been having an especially rough night, spewed this wad of poison on Twitter:

“... Therefore, based on both media & Democrat crazed and irrational hostility, we will no longer consider Trump National Doral, Miami, as the host site for the G-7 in 2020.  We will begin the search for another site, including the possibility of Camp David, immediately.  Thank you!”

News reports suggested that Trump floated the idea of hosting the important meeting at Camp David because it is apparently not overly popular with the national media - and leading through revenge is a Trump specialty.

Regardless of the media's feelings on the matter, Camp David is an infinitely better choice than the Doral.  The weather, for one thing, will be more tolerable, and Camp David will not require tens of millions of dollars in security upgrades in order to host some of the world's most important political leaders.  And, using Camp David, will not put money into the pockets of Donald Trump and his cash-sucking spawn.

And there are still lots of people in America who regard the Trump family as the epitome of high class culture.  They can go to Florida, stay at the Doral, and see that the bedbugs don't go hungry!

Everybody will be winners - and especially the G-7!

On the Gullible Nature of MAGAts

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

We are living in strange times.  A nation whose most recent President was the former editor of the Harvard Law Review is now being led by an intellectually dim bulb who seems to be much more focused on tearing down American social and political advances than he is in building any sort of positive legacy of his own.    Donald Trump is deliberately turning the United States into a version of one of his money-laundering, vermin-infested businesses, and a large portion of the population is cheering him on as he disregards the Constitution and runs the government by whim and revenge.

Trump supporters are steeped in God, guns, and gullibility.  Their God is a mean, racist son-of-a-bitch who has no use for anyone who doesn't hate the same things He does - and He hates plenty.    He doesn't like gays, immigrants, independent women, taxes, people who've been to college, most authority figures, and any news that hasn't come from Fox.  

The guns of Trump supporters are sacrosanct, with the right to bear as many as they want coming directly from God.  They see guns as being necessary to their survival because at some point the government will be the enemy, and these Walmart patriots will have to take to the hills and defend their notion of America.

And gullibility, well under the administration of Donald John Trump, the gullibility of his particular slice of America has reached epic proportions.  Yesterday I came across a a tweet which I felt really illuminated the gullibility of MAGAts (Trump supporters).  It described them as people who believed that Trump is:

• a billionaire, without actually ever seeing his tax returns;
• a genius, without getting a look at his college grades;
• a great businessman, even though he managed to bankrupt casinos;
• a ladies man, regardless of the fact that he has repeatedly paid for sex;
• a philanthropist whose charity was shut down by the government;
• a patriot who dodged the draft;
• a Christian who doesn't go to church;
• and, an innocent man who refuses to testify.

To that meme could also be added:

• a fierce defender of national borders who has married two immigrants;
• and, a solid family man who has had a total of five children by three different wives.

God gave Donald Trump to the MAGAts - and God has a wicked sense of humor - yes, She does!

Now it's time for a return to sanity - and the rest of America will have to roll up its sleeves and do the very real and hard work of scrubbing this Trump stain from our from our national psyche.  

That will happen.

Better days are ahead!

"Two Days in the Valley"

by Pa Rock
Movie Fan

Amazon Prime has recently released (or I have recently discovered) a group of movies from the last few decades that are destined to become classics.  Films such as the iconic "Boondock Saints" which is already a cult classic, musicals ranging from "Paint Your Wagon" (where a young Clint Eastwood talks to the trees) to "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert," another cult classic, this one focusing on the trials and tribulations of three drag queens traveling the Australian Outback in a pink tourbus, and a host of other memorable offerings.

Last night I watched another somewhat campy foreign film.   "Fido," a totally Canadian homage to zombies that takes place in brightly colored small town just after World War II and focuses on ways to contain and control a large sub-population of zombies, many of whom have become household servants.  It's a charming tribute to a simpler time in which many of the characters whom you would like to see eaten by zombies actually are eaten by zombies!

Another real find in the newly released selection of movies was "Two Days in the Valley," a 1996 film that is also headed toward cult classic status.  It had been at least twenty years since I had last seen this superb movie, so I was delighted to run across it on Prime.  In fact, I sat down and watched it again that very evening.

"Two Days in the Valley" was written and directed by John Herzfeld and features an ensemble cast including (among many others) Charlize Theron, James Spader, Marsha Mason, Paul Mazursky, Danny Aiello, Teri Hatcher, Eric Stolz, Keith Carradine, Jeff Daniels, Glenne Headley, Greg Cruttwell, and Louise Fletcher.  The plot is threaded together from several subplots of things that occur in Los Angeles and the surrounding San Fernando Valley over a two-day period.  The actions of one subplot spill over and impact what is happening in others, causing complications and bringing about realignments of storylines and characters' lives.

It is a beautifully written and executed cinematic effort that is full of blood and gore, love, comedy, tragedy, and triumph.  From the smoking hot assassins, Charlize Theron and James Spader, who plan murders as they bounce around in bed, to the accidental and far more charming romances of Glenne Headley and Danny Aiello - and Marsha Mason and Paul Mazursky, this movie has hands that reach out and touch just about everyone.

"Two Days in the Valley" is a complicated slice-of-life that is surprisingly entertaining and satisfying. One of the charms of the movie, to me at least, was the unique time in which it was filmed.  The movie was able to be completed without the clutter and distractions of cell phones and personal computers, a fortunate circumstance which allowed more focus on the actual stories and forced the characters to interact in a face-to-face manner.

This is an exceptional movie, one that does not disappoint.

Meltdowns and Prayers

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Yesterday was Donald Trump's 1,000th day in the White House, and it certainly was not his best.   The day began with the House of Representatives overwhelmingly voting to rebuke Trump's sudden withdrawal of US troops from Syria, a move that quickly brought about a Turkish invasion against the Kurds of northern Syria, former staunch US military allies.   The House voted 354 to 60 to condemn Trump's ill-advised military move, a vote that included a majority of Republican House members siding with the majority Democrats.  That slap down reportedly angered Trump to such a degree that it spilled over onto the rest of day.

Trump had a meeting scheduled at the White House with Congressional leadership, and it quickly turned into what some in the room labeled a presidential diatribe.  At one point Trump referred to House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, who was sitting directly across from him, as either a "third-grade" or a "third-rate" politician,  and at another point the Speaker rose from her chair, pointed her finger at the sitting Trump, and fired back a response of her own saying that all of Trump's roads seem to lead "back to Putin."   At about that time she and House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer and Senate Democratic Leader Chuck Schumer walked out of the meeting - as Trump taunted them with "See you at the polls!"

After the meeting ended Trump fired off this tweet - along with an official White House photo of Nancy Pelosi standing at the conference table and pointing her finger at him:

"Nancy Pelosi needs help fast!  There is either something wrong with her "upstairs," or she just doesn't like our great Country.  She had a total meltdown in the White House today.  It was very sad to watch.  Pray for her, she is a very sick person."

Pelosi, for her part, said Democrats walked out of the meeting because Trump had had a meltdown.  She seemed to be proud of the photo that Trump posted and used it as the new logo on her Twitter account.  She told reporters:

"I pray for the president all the time and I tell him that.  I pray for his safety and that of his family.  Now we have to pray for his health because this was a very serious meltdown on the part of the president."

Government by meltdown and prayer - and it only took 1,000 days to get there!

Jimmy Carter Waxes Wise

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Donald Trump likes to prattle on about his great wisdom and "big brain" - with his lower middle school vocabulary, but when it gets right down to it, Trump possesses one of the duller intellects of any Presidents in the history of the United States - and he certainly could not hold a candle to Jimmy Carter.

Carter, who entered the White House as the nation's 39th President in January of 1977, at the age of fifty-three, had quite a distinguished career in the public sector before he entered politics.   He was a graduate of the US Naval Academy and serving as a Naval Lieutenant when famed US Admiral Hyman Rickover selected him to be part of his personal team advancing the notion of nuclear submarines.   Carter went on to become a noted nuclear engineer.   By the time Jimmy Carter entered politics he had taken over his family's large peanut-growing operation in Georgia.

Jimmy Carter went on to only serve one term in the White House, due primarily to the Iran hostage crisis which happened during his term and took up much of the political oxygen of the times.  However, Carter did not wander off into the sunset after his term ended.  Instead, he chose to stay politically and socially active and demonstrated to the world just how productive an ex-chief-of-state could be.  He and Rosalyn have fought poverty, disease, and hunger worldwide through the work of the Carter Center, and he has often been called on to travel abroad and supervise international elections.   Having Jimmy and Rosalyn in your camp is considered to be the gold standard human rights and democratic movements.

The aging former First Couple have also been involved in building thousands of houses for Habitat for Humanity.

Two years ago Jimmy Carter survived and defeated brain cancer, and a few weeks ago he suffered a fall in his home that left him with a bruised face and dozens of stitches - but he is already back out building houses for America's disadvantaged citizens.

Today at ninety-five, Jimmy Carter is the oldest surviving President in US history.

Jimmy Carter has made news a couple of times lately.  In June he was participating in a human rights panel when he proffered his concern that Donald Trump was likely not a legitimate President due to Russian interference in the 2016 election.  Carter said that he believed a full investigation would bear out his conclusion.

The former President has also made some very recent statements that touch on the advanced age of some of the current crop of Democratic presidential candidates.  If Joe Biden or Bernie Sanders is either one elected, that person would turn eighty during his first term in the White House.  Carter said:

"If I were just 80 years old, if I was 15 years younger, I don't believe I could undertake the duties I experienced when I was president.  You had to be very flexible with your mind.  You have to be able to go from one subject to another and concentrate on each one adequately and then put them together in a comprehensive way."

President Carter has not decided who he will support among the Democratic candidates, but he is not going to support the reelection of Donald John Trump.  Carter said that Trump's reelection would be a "disaster."

Jimmy Carter remains one very wise American!

Candidates, Please Leave Your Walkers Off-Stage

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Twelve Democratic presidential contenders will take the stage in Ohio tonight for the fourth debate.   This single debate, sponsored by CNN and the New York Times (two of Herr Trump's least favorite news outlets), will be the largest so far in this primary season.

A new poll released today by George Washington University has Elizabeth Warren now as the frontrunner with 28%, Bernie Sanders running second with 21%, and Joe Biden third with 18 percent.  Two other candidates, Kamala Harris and Pete Buttigieg, each had 5% of the survey tally.

Those five will be at the center of the stage tonight, with Biden in the middle flanked by Sanders and Warren, who, in turn, will be flanked by Harris and Buttigieg.  The Democratic Party, it seems, is providing the country with a visual of its starting five.   Not only will those five be jockeying for position and strength with the voters, they will also be fending off attacks from the ne'er-do-wells standing along the fringes of the lineup.

Joe Biden, when he is lucid, is currently fending off attacks against his son by Donald Trump while also desperately trying to turn all of that publicity into support for his failing campaign.  Biden, who will be seventy-seven next month, has his moments - and then he wanders - or disappears to rest.

Bernie Sanders, who turned seventy-eight in August, has to hit the stage running tonight and show that the heart attack he suffered a couple of weeks ago has not slowed him down - mentally or physically.  A freaking heart attack that his campaign failed to disclose for several days while they figured out how to spin it!  Old people have heart attacks and doctors usually recommend rest - not campaigning day and night to be elected to one of the most stressful jobs on the planet!

Elizabeth Warren, who hit the big seven-oh this past June, nevertheless has the clarity of mind that Biden lacks, a high energy level, and an apparently sound heart, will be stepping on the Ohio stage tonight with a target on her back by virtue of her rising status as the frontrunner.    She has the double challenge of showing debate viewers where the country needs to be going - while, at the same time, being ready to respond to shots lobbed by moderators and any of the eleven bloodthirsty jackals who would like to bring her down.

And flanking this septuagenarian triumvirate will be a 37-year-old gay male mayor of a bustling American city and a 54-year-old female senator from the most populous state in the nation.  But they have their work cut out for them because party elders are very reluctant to let the kids drive!

Good luck to each of the twelve candidates who are being allowed to participate in tonight's debate - and, as we say in the theatre "Break a leg!"   Ambulances will undoubtedly be standing by.

Monday's Poetry: "The Secret of the Machines"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

My father was a small town merchant who made a decent living selling home appliances.  That was, of course, in the days before Walmart and the big box stores that drove America's Main Street merchants out of business.  In order to sell appliances my Dad had to be able to deliver and install them, and to make repairs himself.  Over the years that he was in business he earned the equivalent of a good college education by attending many factory-training workshops provided by the companies that made the appliances he sold.

Dad always thought that I should learn how to repair things, too, but I resisted.

Today I am home patiently waiting for a repairman to arrive and work on the refrigerator which I bought new last spring - when another repairman wasted so much time in misdiagnosing my old refrigerator that I was forced to buy a new one to keep a bunch of food from going bad.  Today I am not under the same pressure because I had the old one fixed and placed in the garage where it chugs along contentedly as my back-up icebox.

So eventually a repairman will show, on his own sweet time, and the worst that should happen to me is that I will spend an hour or so transferring food to the garage.   The new box is running, but it is making a rattle that can be heard all over the house.

As soon as that repairman leaves, I will attempt to find one to work on my washing machine which has suddenly begun leaking cold water into the tub even when the machine is off.  It is usable, but I have to remember to shut the cold water off when I finish a load.

And earlier this week I had the car and truck serviced - and now the truck has a tire going flat.

God, but I do love machines!

Today's poem is "The Secret of the Machines" by British journalist, author, and poet Rudyard Kipling.  It is an anachronistic piece that glorifies machines in an age gone by.  The poet seems to regard machines as our friends, a view that I would have trouble defending, and he also seems to think that machines operate at the pleasure of people and can always be unplugged or shut off.  Kipling wrote during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.  Now, in the early days of the twenty-first century, we are rapidly approaching the time (most say just over twenty years from now) when computers will have the ability to program and operate themselves.  At that point they may rapidly develop the ability to unplug or turn people off!

I will be operating out of some other reality by then, but those of you left behind will have my sincere good wishes!


The Secret of the Machines
by Rudyard Kipling

We were taken from the ore-bed and the mine,   

   We were melted in the furnace and the pit—   

We were cast and wrought and hammered to design,   

   We were cut and filed and tooled and gauged to fit.   

Some water, coal, and oil is all we ask,

   And a thousandth of an inch to give us play:   

And now, if you will set us to our task,

   We will serve you four and twenty hours a day!

      We can pull and haul and push and lift and drive,   

      We can print and plough and weave and heat and light,

      We can run and race and swim and fly and dive,   

      We can see and hear and count and read and write!

Would you call a friend from half across the world?

   If you’ll let us have his name and town and state,

You shall see and hear your crackling question hurled

   Across the arch of heaven while you wait.   

Has he answered? Does he need you at his side?

   You can start this very evening if you choose,   

And take the Western Ocean in the stride

   Of seventy thousand horses and some screws!

      The boat-express is waiting your command!   

      You will find the Mauretania at the quay,

      Till her captain turns the lever ’neath his hand,   

      And the monstrous nine-decked city goes to sea.

Do you wish to make the mountains bare their head   

   And lay their new-cut forests at your feet?   

Do you want to turn a river in its bed,

   Or plant a barren wilderness with wheat?

Shall we pipe aloft and bring you water down

   From the never-failing cisterns of the snows,   

To work the mills and tramways in your town,

   And irrigate your orchards as it flows?

      It is easy! Give us dynamite and drills!

      Watch the iron-shouldered rocks lie down and quake   

      As the thirsty desert-level floods and fills,

      And the valley we have dammed becomes a lake.

But remember, please, the Law by which we live,   

   We are not built to comprehend a lie,

We can neither love nor pity nor forgive.

   If you make a slip in handling us you die!   

We are greater than the Peoples or the Kings—

   Be humble, as you crawl beneath our rods!-

Our touch can alter all created things,

   We are everything on earth—except The Gods!

      Though our smoke may hide the Heavens from your eyes,

      It will vanish and the stars will shine again,

      Because, for all our power and weight and size,   

      We are nothing more than children of your brain!

Kamala Harris Twitter Slaps Trump Junior

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Beavis Trump, who is better known in some circles as Donald Trump, Junior, occasionally takes to Twitter, much like his old man, to put family enemies in their place with short bursts of what he thinks is brilliant humor - and, again like his old man, his attacks often end in catastrophic failure.  That happened this past week, and the fail was epic.

Beavis posted a short clip on Twitter of Senator Kamala Harris telling a story and then laughing.  He attached a Twitter blurb with this dig:

"Why is Kamala Harris the only person that laughs at her jokes . . . always way to (sic) long and way too hard?  The most disingenuous person in politics . . . after Hillary."

The fact that someone assisted him in drafting this particular tweet is obvious because of the correct spelling and use of the word "disingenuous," and the automatic swipe at Hillary is just Beavis attempting to prove his Trump genetics.

It was just an average piece of Twitter snark by a trust fund baby who lacks any real purpose in life.   It would have been easy to laugh off and ignore, but the dynamo senator from California, a woman who undoubtedly has shoes that are smarter than any of the Trump kids, chose instead to reply with a zinger that was hard not to laugh at.  With nine little words, the very funny US Senator put Beavis in his place.  She responded:

"You wouldn't know a joke if one raised you."

The younger Trump, who is undoubtedly not used to people talking back to him, finally coughed up a Twitter rejoinder that mocked the senator's polling numbers, but that was a weak response from someone who had unwisely started a Twitter war and already lost decisively.

The younger Trump has the intellectual heft of his father, and it shows. 

Olive Turns Eight Riding a Skate (board)!

by Pa Rock
Proud Grandpa

My only Kansas granddaughter, Olive Noel Macy, turns eight today.  She is in second grade and reads well above her grade level - and she can spell words that her old grandfather can barely pronounce!  Later today Olive will be having a birthday party at a swimming pool in hotel where she and her family will spend the night.    Her friends and cousins will be at the party.  There will be splashing and screaming and yelling - and probably even cake and ice cream - and everyone will have a great time!

When Olive was born eight years ago I was home on leave from my job with the military on Okinawa, Japan.  I was in Kansas City the morning she was born and followed her parents to the hospital in Kansas in my rental car.  After briefly meeting my first granddaughter, I returned to her parents' home to take care of their cat, Mr. Furley.  I went back overseas later that week and didn't see Olive again until she and her parents came to visit me on Okinawa the following spring.

The fair-skinned and red-headed Baby Olive was a big hit in Japan.  Everywhere we went Okinawan ladies would hold out their arms wanting to hold the cute American baby!  She was very popular - even then!

Olive and her friends have all "adopted" characters from the television series, "Stranger Things."  They have fun acting like their characters and repeating dialogue from the show.  Olive's character is Max, a young lady who rides a skateboard.  Yesterday Olive telephoned me while I was driving through the wilds of Arkansas after a doctor's appointment.  She called to say that she had received the birthday card that I had mailed to her, and she said that she was thinking about using the money that I sent to buy a skateboard.  I wished her well.

This morning her Daddy sent me an email with a photo of Olive standing on a skateboard in her living room.  She had a big smile on her face!

Have fun with the new board, Olive - but please do not go chasing after any monsters - no matter what your friends do!  And please,do not get any skater tattoos!

Pa Rock loves you and wishes you the very best on your eighth birthday!

The Kurds Fought for the Allies in World War II; the Trumps Did Not

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Earlier this week Donald Trump announced that US troops would be leaving northern Syria where they had been supporting Kurdish militias.  Critics railed, including many politicians in Trump's own Republican Party, that this abandonment was an unconscionable betrayal of our staunch allies, the Kurds, and warned that attacks by Turkey were imminent.

The always bellicose Trump declared that he would destroy Turkey economically if they seemed to be taking advantage of the new military situation, but when Turkey commenced attacking the Kurds a couple of days later, Trump's silence was deafening.

Trump has some luxury residential and commercial properties in Istanbul, Turkey:  two rather infamous "Towers" which went through a re-opening just days before he unexpectedly withdrew US troops out of Syria, leaving the Kurds vulnerable.   Turkey's premier was at that event.

When Donald Trump finally did respond to the tragic situation that he had precipitated, he did so by verbally attacking the Kurds.   Donald Trump, a man with no military experience and who avoided the draft during the Vietnam era with a questionable medical diagnosis of bone spurs in his feet, wanted the world to know that the Kurds had not supported us in World War II, and specifically that they had not fought at Normandy.

(Nothing is ever Trump's fault, and he is a master at name-calling.)

Now news reports are surfacing that say that while there may have been no Kurdish fighters at the D-Day Invasion of Normandy (although that is by no means a certainty), Kurdish fighters were involved with the Allies in freeing areas in Europe, Asia, and Africa from Nazi control.

Donald Trump's father, Fred Trump, who would have been of age to serve in World War II, apparently chose to stay home and make money.   In fact it now appears that none of Donald Trump's American relatives have ever served in uniform or fought for the United States in any war.   It is not currently known whether any of the Trump (Drumpf) cousins in Germany fought for Hitler or not.

Trump's sudden and ill-conceived military move last week wrecked a long-established and hard-won alliance with the Kurdish people, and it had no observable benefit for the United States.  Trump's action did strengthen Turkey's hand on the world stage and was seen as a diplomatic coup for Syria, Russia, and even Iran.

It almost feels like we have a leader who is focused on subverting American power and prestige.

The Hollow Hills

by Pa Rock
Reader

A few weeks ago in this space I noted that I am in the process of re-reading the Arthurian collection of novels by British author, Mary Stewart.  At that time I reviewed the first book in the series, The Crystal Cave, which gives a fictionalized account of the childhood of Merlin, the "enchanter," who would go on to become the essential and driving force behind the establishment of Arthur as King of Britain and the creation of Camelot.

The second novel in Mary Stewart's Arthurian collection, The Hollow Hills, begins as Merlin, the narrator, is fleeing the scene of Arthur's conception, an event which he arranged between his uncle, King Uther, and Ygraine, the Duchess of Cornwall.  Merlin used disguises and deception to get Uther into the bedchamber of the Duchess while her husband, the Duke, was in the field of battle defending his wife's honor against the advances of the King.   Unfortunately for the royal lovers, and unknown to them, the Duke had been killed in battle hours before their assignation, and a child was conceived on that fateful night - a child whose legitimacy was brought into question by the circumstances of the royal rendezvous.

When the King learned of the Duke's death later that evening and realized that all would have been well if he had only waited a couple of days to lie with Ygraine, he was enraged - and blamed Merlin - and announced that if Ygraine was pregnant and the child turned out to be a boy, he would not recognize him as heir to the throne of Britain.

The child who was conceived that night was a boy, and his mother chose to name him Arthur.  He was then, at the King's command and the mother's agreement, given to Merlin to be hidden away and raised in secret in the event that the couple produced no other male heirs.   King Uther feared that his enemies might move to eliminate Arthur, or that the child growing up in the Court might become involved in palace intrigues against his father who was denying him his rightful place in the line of succession.

Arthur was hidden abroad in a household of limited means during his infant years, and then Merlin had him brought to the home of a noble in a remote corner of Northern Britain where he was raised as the noblemen's foster child.  Merlin had no personal contact with Arthur until the boy was nine-years-old, and then Merlin showed up as the caretaker of a shrine in the woods near where young Arthur was living.  They met soon after and Merlin gradually inserted himself into Arthur's life as a mentor and tutor.

Five years later Arthur would suddenly be given the opportunity to prove himself on the field of battle as the frail King Uther threw his own sword to the young warrior and he went on to lead the troops of Uther into a glorious victory - before he even had any idea that he was the king's son and heir.  Uther died the following day and the rest, as they say, is history - or at least legend.

Lady Stewart was an historical scholar and a devotee of the various Arthurian legends - and she crafted some of the most beautiful prose ever put to paper, particularly with these tales.    Her books about Arthur and Merlin are already classics and will be seen for generations as the definitive literary presentation of the rise and fall of Camelot.  They are truly sumptuous novels.

Great and Unmatched

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Three days ago Donald Trump pulled the rug out from under our Kurdish allies in northern Syria by announcing that the US intended to withdraw its forces from that war-torn nation.   That move raised alarms not only among US allies and other countries in the Middle East, it also ricocheted down the halls of Congress raising concerns from members of both parties.

Republicans like the senate majority leader, Moscow Mitch McConnell, and ardent Trump mouthpiece Senator Lindsey Graham vented their frustration with the sudden, and what they considered to be ill-advised, betrayal of the Kurds, and warned that Turkey would begin attacking the region.   Representative Liz Cheney, whose father was a major engineer of the endless wars in the Middle East, went before news cameras to express her unhappiness with the abrupt change of policy - and former UN Ambassador Nikki Haley, who had reportedly been maneuvering to replace Mike Pence on the Republican ticket, said that she felt this action by Trump was leaving the Kurds to die.

To many it seemed as though Trump was acting to benefit Turkey and Russia, both of whom have an interest in eliminating resistance in northern Syria.   Trump, however, a man with no military experience of his own, says he simply decided that our country has been fighting in the Middle East for too long and he was moving toward ending US involvement in the region.  He apparently reached that decision without benefit of input from the US military.

And as for Turkey using this change in US military policy to its advantage, Trump tweeted this warning:

"As I have stated strongly before, and just to reiterate, if Turkey does anything that I, in my great and unmatched wisdom, consider to be off limits, I will totally destroy and obliterate the Economy of Turkey (I’ve done before!) . . ."

Turkey began attacking the region today.  So much for "great and unmatched wisdom."  Trump owns commercial property in Istanbul, Turkey, so the threat of economic obliteration probably ain't a-gonna happen either!

In an on-line article posted this week, Esquire magazine labeled Donald Trump a "great and unmatched idiot,"  a description that is hard to fault.

Partisans, Traitors, and Spies - Oh My!

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Donald Trump is a very rude person who seems to enjoy hurling insults and ridiculing others, but he draws a line when it comes to others being critical of him.  Trump's business dealings, personal wealth, and taxes are shrouded in secrecy, and so too are aspects of his governance that might potentially prove embarrassing to the pompous ex-reality star.

When it became public knowledge a couple of weeks ago that a government employee had come forward under the protection of a "whistle blower" law and revealed information from a telephone call that Trump had with the President of Ukraine, Trump lashed out at the process as well as the whistle blower.  He has referred to the person who revealed the information variously as a partisan (although he also admitted not knowing who the person was), a traitor, and a spy.

The person's unsolicited revelation smacked of disloyalty (at least in Trump's mind) to Donald John Trump, and by extension, to the United States of America.  Trump is the United States (again - in Trump's mind), and revealing damaging information about him is a direct betrayal of America.

A partisan, a traitor, and a spy!  Oh my!

Donald Trump wants to know the identity of this employee of his who dared to reveal that Trump had  tried to strong-arm the President of Ukraine into digging up dirt, or inventing dirt, on Joe Biden's son.     Trump's business - even when it involves American foreign policy - is Trump's business and no one else's, or so he thought.

Trump sent some of his most trusted lieutenants into the field of battle to learn the name of the person whose meddling had given him so much grief, no doubt with thoughts of extreme retribution fueling his ardor to know.  People like former NYC Mayor Rudy Giuliani, an unpaid lawyer whose mouth always out-paces his brain, Representative Jim Jordan, a failed locker room shower attendant, and Senator Lindsey Graham, a drama queen of the first water, eagerly entered into the quest to defame the squealer and hopefully learn that person's name and report it back to the Retaliator-in-Chief.

Congressional committees working on the Donald Trump impeachment inquiry, an effort that germinated in the political manure of Trump's efforts to involve a foreign government in an American election, are preparing to interview the whistle blower, and news reports indicate that the committee chairs are looking for ways to conduct the interviews that would protect the identity of the witness, particularly from Republican representatives on the committees who might gleefully rush back and tell Trump the name of the rat.   There are those who fear that if the whistle blower becomes known, that person will face career-ruin, and possibly physical harm - or worse.

And as that bit of theatre makes its way to the stage, there are reports that another whistle blower has come forward with information that will corroborate that given by the first.  Trump, who relishes and wallows in being a self-proclaimed victim, will likely respond to this new outrage by tweeting until his thumbs bleed.    Another partisan, traitor, and spy to identify, disparage, and destroy!

I recently saw on Twitter where Bette Midler admitted that she was the whistle blower, and I thought wouldn't it be fun to watch Donald Trump try to destroy her.  Bette would grind him up like sausage and feed him to the hogs.  Other celebrities and quite a few ordinary citizens have also come forward to claim the mantle of the whistle blower who ratted Trump out and began the process of taking down his current reality show.  Trump may scare the bejeezus out of a light-weight like Lindsey Graham, but to much of America he has revealed himself as being nothing but a dim-witted bully - someone to be dealt with rather than feared.

This rush to remove him from office is (in Trump's mind) the fault of the whistle blower, a glorified tattle-tale, and it has nothing to do with Trump's own low intellect, inability to lead, and inept political machinations.  Whistle blowers are un-American (partisans, traitors, and spies) and Donald John Trump does not like them.

Another thing that I saw on Twitter that caught my attention as a not-so-subtle way to show contempt for Trump is for individuals to begin packing whistles, and blow them at Trump's rallies or anytime they chance upon Trump in a public setting.  And if Republicans ever held town halls, they would be fun to use there as well!

That, of course, would be rude - like Trump!

Monday's Poetry: "October's Bright Blue Weather"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

I've just returned to the Ozarks following ten days on the West Coast, and, during my absence, fall has begun to show itself.  Late last year I had the maple tree that sat in front of my living room window removed. That beautiful tree, which was continually splitting and posed a danger to the house and to my new metal roof, was a true harbinger of autumn, and because it is now gone the change in seasons seems a bit more subtle.  But today there are scattered leaves on the ground, the wind has a bit of a chill, and the sky is that peculiar blue that seems to say the summer is fleeting.

19th century American poet Helen Hunt Jackson brought many signs of the fall season together in her poem, "October's Bright Blue Weather."  Her words evoke the feel of the season and serve to remind us of the simple pleasures of nature.

Please enjoy!


October's Bright Blue Weather
by Helen Hunt Jackson

     O SUNS and skies and clouds of June,
        And flowers of June together,
    Ye cannot rival for one hour
        October's bright blue weather;

    When loud the bumble-bee makes haste,
        Belated, thriftless vagrant,
    And Golden-Rod is dying fast,
        And lanes with grapes are fragrant;

    When Gentians roll their fringes tight
        To save them for the morning,
    And chestnuts fall from satin burrs
        Without a sound of warning;

    When on the ground red apples lie
        In piles like jewels shining,
    And redder still on old stone walls
        Are leaves of woodbine twining;

    When all the lovely wayside things
        Their white-winged seeds are sowing,
    And in the fields, still green and fair,
        Late aftermaths are growing;

    When springs run low, and on the brooks,
        In idle golden freighting,
    Bright leaves sink noiseless in the hush
        Of woods, for winter waiting;

    When comrades seek sweet country haunts,
        By twos and twos together,
    And count like misers, hour by hour,
        October's bright blue weather.

    O suns and skies and flowers of June,
        Count all your boasts together,
    Love loveth best of all the year
        October's bright blue weather.