Monday's Poetry: "Summer Storm"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Though summer is still officially a couple of weeks away, I have chosen to share the following poem, "Summer Storm" by 19th century American romantic poet James Russell Lowell to present today because it so aptly describes some of the natural phenomena that I experienced yesterday at dusk as I was rushing to get the poultry safely inside the coop before a gathering storm cut loose.  Great dollops of rain began to fall, livid flashes of lightening danced across the sky, and thunder muttered its rolling menace in the background - it was all happening as I raced to get all of the birds to safety.   The preamble to the storm was a bit harrowing, and with just a flash or two of actual danger - an exciting way to close out a day at The Roost.

James Russell Lowell captured the intensity and magic of a summer storm and preserved it for the ages, somewhat like lightening in a bottle.  Here is his storm, which bore great similarities to my own.


Summer Storm
by James Russell Lowell


Suddenly all the sky is hid
As with the shutting of a lid,
One by one great drops are falling
Doubtful and slow;
Down the pane they are crookedly crawling,
And the wind breathes low;
Slowly the circles widen on the river,
Widen and mingle, one and all;
Here and there the slenderer flowers shiver,
Struck by and icy rain-drop's fall.

Now on the hills I hear the thunder mutter,
The wind is gathering in the west;
The upturned leaves first whiten and flutter,
Then droop to a fitful rest;
Up from the stream with sluggish flap
Struggles the gull and floats away;
Nearer and nearer rolls the thunder-clap,--
We shall not see the sun go down to-day:
Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh,
And tramples the grass with terrified feet,
The startled river turns leaden and harsh,
You can hear the quick heart of the tempest beat.

Look! look! that livid flash!
And instantly follows the rattling thunder,
As if some cloud-crag, split asunder,
Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash,
On the Earth, which crouches in silence under;
And now a solid gray of rain
Shuts off the landscape, mile by mile;
For a breath's space I see the blue wood again,
And, ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile,
That seemed but now a league aloof,
Bursts crackling o'er the sun-parched roof;
Against the windows the storm comes dashing,
Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing,
The blue lightning flashes, The rapid hail clashes
The white waves are tumbling,
And, in one baffled roar,
Like the toothless sea mumbling
A rock-bristled shore,
The thunder is rumbling
And crashing and crumbling,--
Will silence return nevermore?

Hush! Still as death,
The tempest holds his breath
As from a sudden will;
The rain stops short, but from the eaves
You see it drop, and hear it from the leaves,
All is so bodingly still;
Again, now, now, again
Plashes the rain in heavy gouts,
The crinkled lightning
Seems ever brightening,

And loud and long
Again the thunder shouts
His battle-song,--
One quivering flash.
One wildering crash,
Followed by silence dead and dull,
As if the cloud let go,
Leapt bodily below
To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow,
And then a total lull.

Gone, gone, so soon!
No more my half-crazed fancy there
Can shape a giant in the air,
No more I see his streaming hair,
The writhing portent of his form;--
The pale and quiet moon
Makes her calm forehead bare,
And the last fragments of the storm,
Like shattered rigging from a fight at sea,
Silent and few, are drifting over me.

Trump Gets Stupid(er)

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I just climbed out of the car following a long drive home from Kansas City, and during the several hours on the road I had time to compose, in my head, musings for today's posting.  By the time I reached home, my thoughts were tightly organized and damned near grandiloquent.  Now, however, as they finally spill onto the keyboard, all of that righteous indignation may fizzle and frazzle in the process.

I hope not.

Let me begin here:

I am sick and tired of having to be ashamed of our country's leaders.  From Nixon's ever-expanding web of deceit and revenge known as "Watergate, through Reagan's secret sale of arms to Iran to surreptitiously fund  revolutionary activity in Central America, to Bill Clinton's barely legal, frat boy dalliance with a White House intern, to George W. Bush's misdirected war in the Middle East, I have shuddered in disbelief for far too long as the American presidency gets dragged through the mud by sleazeball politicians whose personal and political ambitions seldom match the needs and desires of the people they were elected to lead.


Thank heaven we had an eight-year respite from the madness with the election of Barack Obama, an individual of honor and integrity, a leader respected around the globe by individuals yearning for fairness and freedom as they struggle to conduct their lives in a world that is all too often controlled by gangsters and greed-heads.

But the pendulum has swung back toward intolerance again, and the United States now finds itself entering the era of Trump, a man who, with barely four months in office, has offended our allies, enriched his family and friends, weakened protections for the poor and suffering, and emboldened the worst elements of American society.   The word "Orwellian" seems grotesquely inadequate to describe the world being created by Donald Trump and his rich, uncaring cronies.

My initial plan was to use this posting to go off on Trump's absurd withdrawal of the United States from the Paris Climate Accord, a decision that will ultimately hurt all Americans as well as American businesses.  But Trump was stirring his base with bravado and bullshit, and managed to make "climate change" sound like a liberal conspiracy to people who can't count past ten without taking off their shoes.

To criticize Trump, however, speed is of the essence.   Before I could begin banging out my thoughts on this egregious betrayal of the planet and the future generations who will try to inhabit it,  Trump had shot off on another outrageous tangent, one that also merits painful examination.

Yesterday Great Britain suffered its second terrorist attack in two weeks - and its third in three months - with the massacre that occurred on London Bridge.   Donald Trump, being the consummate narcissist, sprang to his Twitter account and quickly tried to make the whole thing about him - in particular about how the American courts are thwarting his will by blocking his travel (Muslim) ban.   If the United States of America would give him complete power over travel and immigration, our country would never have to worry about terrorism again - or personal liberties.

Except, of course, that isn't true because a big crop of terrorists already reside and operate in America - only they are by-and-large not Muslims.   Over the past two weeks two outrageous incidents occurred in this country, both inspired by racist beliefs and both committed by people who could have very likely been Trump supporters.  Trump, or more likely his staff, acknowledged one of the incidents a couple of days after it occurred, though the tweet bearing the acknowledgment did not use the word "terrorism," and the second incident apparently drew no White House notice whatsoever.   Obviously, it is only terrorism if Muslims are the perpetrators.

The first incident happened two weeks ago when a madman in Portland, Oregon, was interrupted in his loud harangue of two Muslim women by three men who sought to quiet him and protect the women.   The mouthy provocateur pulled a knife and stabbed all three good Samaritans, killing two and severely injuring the third.  Call it what you will Donald, but a hate crime inspired by religious intolerance that results in murder is terrorism by almost anyone's definition.  And in this case the terrorist was a white U.S. citizen who had not entered the country as an adult.  He was born here and lived here - and he resided in a shell of ignorance and intolerance that was undoubtedly formed by listening to pundits and politicians whose goal was to make America hate again.

Last week in Washington state, a young white man driving a large pick-up truck intentionally ran down two American Indian men while shouting racial slurs out of his truck window.  One of the men died and the other was hospitalized.  Again, it doesn't take a Constitutional lawyer to recognize this as a hate crime - one committed by a terrorist.  The terrorist, however, was not a Muslim and therefore did not merit the tiniest of tweets from you.

Terrorism is already here, Donald.  It is all around us.  Some of it may be inspired from holy books like the Koran and the Bible, but most comes from hatred and intolerance that is propagated and learned in society.  Building walls and enacting travel bans makes segments of society feel marginalized and threatened - and those same types of acts serve to empower people who feel their own places on the social and economic ladders are threatened by these culturally diverse newcomers.

Ignorance and insecurity breed fear, fear breeds contempt, and contempt breeds violence.

But you already know that, don't you, Donald.

Rumors at The Barn

by Pa Rock
Theatre Fan

Last night my son, Tim, and I were at The Barn Theatre in Mission, Kansas, for the opening of their production of Neil Simon's Rumors, a show which will run through June 18th.  This is the third show that Tim and I have seen at The Barn, and all have been exceptional.

Rumors is Simon's wit at its sharpest.  The setting, a large house somewhere in New York City, features six doors with characters flying on and off stage almost as fast as the zingers they lob at one another as they try to make their way through an evening of bizarre complications.  The deputy mayor of New York City and his wife have invited a few friends over to help celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary.  The first guests hear a gunshot as they arrive and find the husband upstairs with a bullet hole in his ear and whacked out on pain killers.  The wife is nowhere to be found, and the servants have disappeared.  As more and more guests arrive, the story about what has happened becomes more complicated and convoluted until, by the time the police finally show up, a three-ring circus has developed in the living room that could only have sprung from the mind of someone as ferociously clever and cunning as Neil Simon. 

My late friend, Mollie Carroll.spent much of her life living and teaching school in New York City where she was also involved with the theatre community.  Mollie liked to tell the story of the day she met Neil Simon.  She said she was getting on the subway as Simon and a "very young" lady were getting off.  Mollie, never one to be at a loss for words, found herself almost speechless as she came face to face with the famous playwright.  Finally she stammered a recognition and blurted out, "Thank you for all of the laughter!"

Mollie is gone now, but the world is still laughing at the comedic situations and words of Neil Simon, and that laughter will still be happening long after the playwright himself is gone.    Yes, thank you, Neil Simon, for all of the laughter, and thank you, The Barn Theatre, for giving the Kansas City area a chance to join in that laughter.

Rumors is a fantastic show - enjoy it at The Barn.

Faster than a Speeding Hearse

by Pa Rock
Road Warrior

I was up before daylight today getting the farm organized for the day - and then Rosie and I hit the road for Kansas City.  We arrived safely not long after noon, and will be staying with my son and his family until Sunday morning.  Tonight Tim and I have tickets to see a local production of Neil Simon's "Rumors."   Simon, my favorite comedic playwright, was to the twentieth century what William Shakespeare was to the sixteenth - and will one day be recognized as such.

The long drive up to Kansas City was fairly uneventful, with two exceptions.  We began the drive at Sonic in West Plains where I ordered road food for breakfast.  My sandwich, a bacon and egg toaster, turned out to be bacon only, a sad discovery which I made somewhere between West Plains and Willow Springs.  Very disappointing!  The other thing of note was something I came across near Mountain Grove, Missouri, where a Missouri State Highway Patrolman, with his car lights a-flashing, had a hearse pulled over!  I would love to read the official report on that incident!

Also on tap for this weekend will be a trip to Costco, a retailer known for paying its employees a living wage - unlike Walmart.

"Snow Falling on Cedars," A Reaction Paper

by Pa Rock
Reader

When I first began writing this blog ten years ago this coming November, one of my primary goals was to use it as a collection point for all of the writings and writing scraps that I had accumulated over a lifetime of learning and expressing myself.

At the time I began The Ramble, I was a civilian social worker at Luke Air Force Base near Phoenix.  I lived by myself and had lots of time on my hands - particularly in the evenings.   My filing cabinets contained stuff I had written as a college student while in pursuit of five different degrees (two bachelors and three graduate), musings from working as a freelance writer for some local newspapers and a couple of national historical and genealogical publications, several unpublished short stories and plays, a bit of poetry, and a multitude of things that I had written during my days as one of the owners of a start-up newspaper.

Over the years most of those "scraps" have found their way into The Ramble where they now remain safely tucked away for posterity to deal with.  But writing scraps are a bit like dealing with the mange - they just seem to keep cropping up.  This past weekend while excavating boxes of stored treasure from the garage, I came across some college records from my days in Social Work Graduate School at the University of Missouri (1997-1999).  There were two which especially brought back nice memories, both papers, book reviews, written for Dr. Marjorie Sable in a social work "cultures" class.  Both will eventually be preserved in this blog.  (Dr. Sable, a great instructor, later went on to become the head of the department.)

When my grandson, Boone, visited in my home a few weeks ago, he told me that he had homework to finish when he returned later in the day to his home in southwest Missouri.  I asked him what the assignment was, and Boone replied that he had to write a "reaction paper" to Edward Bellamy's Looking Backward.  I smiled, thinking his teacher was being a bit pretentious, upgrading what we used to refer to as a "book report" to the exalted status of a "reaction paper."  Later, when I found these two papers that I wrote for Dr. Sable, my own pomposity was pricked a bit when I realized that those also had been "reaction papers!"

I hope that Boone enjoyed reading and writing about Looking Backward as much as I did with Snow Falling on Cedars, a novel by David Guterson.

Reaction to Snow Falling on Cedars
by Rocky G. Macy

September 24, 1997

The winter storm that swept across San Piedro could do little to add to the coldness that already enveloped the hearts of many of the island's residents.  As the snow deepened outside, so too did the emotional discomfort of those islanders who were huddled within the courthouse for the murder trial of Kabuo Miyamoto.  Feelings of prejudice and bigotry that had, for the most part, lain dormant for the decade since the end of World War II began to reemerge as witness after witness provided testimony that told far more about the state of humanity on San Piedro that it did to illuminate the facts surrounding the death of a fisherman.

Carl Heine had been found dead three months before in the gill nets that dragged from his boat, the nets by which he made his living.  He had suffered a blow to the head and drowned after falling overboard.  Kabuo Miyamoto was arrested for Carl's murder a couple of days later as a result of evidence found aboard his boat and a plausible motive based in a soured land transaction between the Heine and Miyamoto families.  The sheriff was also influenced by Kabuo's impenetrable face, describing his eyes as being those "of a man with concealed emotions, the eyes of a man hiding something."  As the long awaited trial began to unfold, so did the true nature of some of the islanders.

San Piedro was an island inhabited by two distinct cultures - American and Japanese.  Although the Japanese had lived on the island for several generations, their status was still somewhat less than that of their Caucasian neighbors.  Japanese attending the trial of Kabuo Miyamoto, for instance, instinctively knew to sit as a group in the back of the courtroom.  Dealings between Japanese and the other Americans were characterized by an almost exaggerated formality and politeness on the part of the Japanese, a deference that seemed to be expected by both communities.

The older residents of the island provided the sharpest cultural contrasts.  Etta Heine, Carl's mother, was open in her contempt of the "Japs."   Her husband had sold land to Kabuo's father prior to the war.  After her husband died and the Japanese residents of the island had been relocated to Manzanar leaving the Miyamoto family unable to make their last payment on the land, Etta seized the opportunity and sold the land to a neighbor for a handsome profit.  What she saw as "good business," Kabuo saw as dishonesty.  Etta's nature even rankled members of the Caucasian community.  The trial judge in a private conversation with the sheriff referred to her as "hateful."  If Etta had been less prejudiced and more honest, Kabuo and his family would have been living peacefully on their strawberry farm that fateful night years later.  In fact, if she hadn't rushed to sell all of her property while Carl was fighting in the war, Carl might have also been on his own strawberry farm that fateful evening and wouldn't have died at sea.

Helen Chambers, another older resident of San Piedro, was on the opposite end of the spectrum from Etta.  She was so liberal in her outlook as to be certain that the arrest of Kabuo was racially inspired and that the verdict in the case would be also.   Helen was the widow of Arthur Chambers, San Piedro's first newspaper publisher.  Arthur's printed views on the unfair treatment of the island's Japanese at the outset of World War II angered elements of the White community and put the existence of his newspaper at risk due to lost advertisements and canceled subscriptions.

The culture of the Japanese was, in part, to blame for the predicament in which Kabuo found himself.  Kabuo, knowing that there was still much lingering resentment of Japanese after the war, lied to the sheriff initially because he felt that to be honest would invite his arrest.  Later, in court, his stiff demeanor and proud bearing were taken as contempt by many who watched him facing his accusers.  He would have generated more sympathy among the observers and the jurors if he had dissolved his inscrutable attitude and revealed the emotions that he was concealing.

Hatsue, Kabuo's wife, was also a picture of quiet reserve except in her conversations with Ishmael Chambers, the island's current newspaper editor and the son of Arthur and Helen Chambers.  Ishmael and Hatsue had been in love when they were in high school.  Their love had been secret and had caused the young couple a great deal of inner-torment.  Hatsue, in particular, had struggled with cultural expectations.  As a girl she had listened to her mother's admonitions that it was one thing to live among the Caucasians, and quite another to become entwined with them.  Fujiko, Hatsue's mother, found out about Hatsue's involvement with Ishmael Chambers shortly after the Japanese were relocated to Manzanar and forced her daughter to end the relationship.

Ishmael Chambers had gone off to World War II despondent over the loss of Hatsue.  He lost an arm, and several buddies, during an especially bloody battle in the South Pacific.  Ishmael's war experiences coupled with his rejection by Hatsue fostered feelings of subtle hatred toward the Japanese, feelings that he had not experienced while growing up on San Piedro.  When Ishmael first saw Hatsue after the war she had already married Kabuo and had a baby.  She expressed sympathy to Ishmael of the loss of his arm, and he replied coldly, "The Japs did it.  They shot my arm off.  Japs."

Ishmael Chambers was presented with the ultimate moral dilemma when he discovered evidence that would likely prove Kabuo's innocence.  Withholding the evidence could lead to a sentence of life imprisonment or death for Kabuo and free Hatsue for the attentions of the lonely and still unmarried Ishmael, or at least serve as a sort of twisted "pay back" to Hatsue for her abandonment of Ishmael many years before.  Presenting the evidence, on the other hand, would guarantee that Hatsue would always be beyond his grasp.

Ishmael finally came forth with his evidence and Kabuo was freed.  Kabuo, however, was not the only one set to experience release.  The other islanders would also be freed of some of the feelings and emotions that the death of Carl Heine and trial of Kabuo Miyamoto had stirred.  Racism and bigotry would still play a part in things on the island to be sure, but in most respects thos feelings would be concealed beneath a coverlet of neighborly hospitality where hopefully they would begin to wither and die.  San Piedro was set to resume life after the storm.

The Week That Was

by Pa Rock
Farmer in Spring

It started a week ago yesterday when my big - and very necessary - riding lawnmower broke down after hitting a rock that wouldn't budge.   The injuries to the mower were so serious that the young man from the repair shop began talking about selling me a new one as he loaded my old one onto his truck.

Wednesday night at pinochle there was some animus in evidence for the second week in a row.  I play to relax and have fun, but some of my fellow senior citizens seem to regard pinochle as a blood sport.  I have now decided to forgo the pleasure of their company for at least the time being.

Friday I had a local company come out to the farm to hookup my two new storage buildings to electricity.  It was a company I have used before - with mixed results.  I had arranged for an estimate before the work was to be done and had the necessary resources budgeted.  Unfortunately things did not go as planned, and the workers ran into trouble.  By the end of the day not only were the two new buildings not hooked to the current, the other outbuildings at the farm had lost their power as well - and the budget was blown.  The workers informed me that, due to the holiday, they would not be able to return until Tuesday.

Friday afternoon I got in my pickup truck to run to the feed store.  The truck, which had just come back from the shop the week before with a new starter, would not start - and my mechanic's shop would not be open until - you guessed it - Tuesday - again because of the holiday.

Friday night, with my outside security light out due to the boondoggle caused by the electricians, a predator, or predators, got into the poultry pen and killed all eighteen of my young pullets and all seven ducks.  The following night one of the six geese also disappeared.  So, if you were counting on farm fresh eggs from Pa Rock this fall - don't.

Saturday night we had a ferocious storm which knocked out the remaining electricity for a couple of hours, and tore down half of a large tree just outside of the back door.  It also managed to blow over a large (and heavy) swing set.

The rest of the weekend was spent picking up tree limbs from the storm, mowing with push mowers, and slowly moving stuff from the garage to the new buildings - the ones with no power.

Tuesday finally arrived and things started getting back to normal.  The electricians came back, and after they still could not diagnose the problem, they called in the company's owner, a smart young fellow, who eventually got the problem solved.   He is also voluntarily fixing a problem caused by the company - before he owned it - and making that repair at the company's expense.  He is a good businessman who will have my future business.

My mechanic sprang for a tow truck to haul the pickup into the shop, so it is being looked at.

Later Tuesday afternoon I drove to Mountain View to check on the repair status of the mower and to look at some new ones.  I didn't commit, but I suspect that I will wind up buying a large, zero-turn, industrial type of mower - a beast - and keeping the old one for a spare.  If I am destined to spend the rest of my life as a groundskeeper, I might as well do it with the best equipment.

Tonight is pinochle, but I will be staying home and working on the never-ending chore of emptying the garage.  As twilight sets, I may even walk the remaining geese down to the pond for an evening frolic with the bullfrogs.  The geese love me, and they are not nearly as cranky as the old farts at the pinochle tables!

Life at the farm is what it is - and I guess it must suit me because I am still here!

The Eloquence of Asha Deliverance

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Earlier this morning I posted a piece on this blog recognizing the eloquent open letter that journalist Dan Rather wrote to Donald Trump regarding the murders of two heroes (and the wounding of a third) on a Portland, Oregon, commuter train.  A few hours later I came across another open letter to Trump on the same subject, this one written by Asha Deliverance, the mother of one of the murder victims - twenty-three-year-old Taliesin Myrddin Namkai Meche

The words of Asha Deliverance are also eloquent and in need of repeating.  This lady has suffered horrendous loss at the hands of a madman, yet she stands strong as a symbol of love and compassion.  We can all learn much from her.

Here is what Asha Deliverance wrote to Donald Trump:

May 29, 2017
Memorial Day

Dear President Trump,

I’m writing to you today, Memorial Day, to share my heart after losing my son.

Taliesin died a hero, like many other Americans who have died defending freedom. He was just 23, a year out of college with a degree in economics, working, had just bought his first home and was thinking about starting a family. Our family grieves, but we are proud that through his selfless action he, along with the other two men, has changed the world, when in the face of hate he did not hesitate to act with love.

Two precious lives were lost this Memorial Day weekend in Portland and one more, nearly so. All three were strangers to each other, and to those they were defending. They fearlessly risked their lives for two young women who were threatened by an act of bigotry & terror. These brave men saw the immediate injustice and didn’t hesitate to act. They recognized the truth: we are more alike than we are different. To ride the train home without being assaulted because of the color of your skin or your religious beliefs, is an inalienable right.

You have said that you will be President for all Americans. So, I ask you Mr. President to take action at this time. Your words and actions are meaningful, here in America and throughout the world.

Please encourage all Americans to protect and watch out for one another. Please condemn any acts of violence, which result directly from hate speech & hate groups. I am praying you will use your leadership to do so.

It would deeply honor Taliesin’s sacrifice, which has been amplified by the millions of voices who have supported our family in response to this tragedy.

With Peace In My Heart,
Asha Deliverance

The Eloquence of Dan Rather

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Sunday morning, after our national embarrassment was safely back in the White House, Donald Trump resumed his passion:  tweeting.  With thumbs flying, The Donald banged out twenty-some tweets covering a range of things which he deemed important:  things like the "success" of his first foreign trip as a national leader, the Republican victory in the Montana special election - as well as his anger over the media's "poor" coverage of that election, complaints about "fake news," anger over leaks of British intelligence, tax reform plans, and the media's complaints about his social media usage - a fair sampling of Trump's standard whine.

Several news outlets were quick to point out what Trump ignored - the killing of two men in Portland, Oregon, as they interceded to stop a lunatic who was shouting profanities at a couple of young girls, one of whom appeared to be a Muslim.  Some noted that while Trump is always quick to highlight acts of hate committed by Muslims, he appeared to be ignoring an example of the situation reversed.

Donald Trump has two Twitter accounts:  one, his private account and the one he mostly uses is @realDonaldTrump, and a second, one which can be accessed by him or members of his staff is @POTUS.  Yesterday afternoon (Monday) the Portland oversight was finally corrected with an acknowledgement of the incident on the @POTUS, a tweet that could have been coughed up by a staff member.

One of the things that was undoubtedly instrumental in pressuring a response from the Trump administration was an open letter to Trump that was penned by veteran newsman Dan Rather.   The ageless reporter spoke for all of America when he wrote:

Dear President Trump,

Their names were Taliesin Myrddin Namkai-Meche and Ricky John Best. One was a recent college graduate. The other was an army veteran and father of four. I wish we would hear you say these names, or even just tweet them. They were brave Americans who died at the hands of someone who, when all the facts are collected, we may have every right to call a terrorist. A third brave man, Micah David-Cole Fletcher, was wounded in the knife attack.

This story may not neatly fit into a narrative you pushed on the campaign trail and that has followed you into the White House. They were not killed by an undocumented immigrant or a "radical Islamic terrorist." They were killed in an act of civic love, facing down a man allegedly spewing hate speech directed at two teenage girls, one of whom was wearing a hijab. That man seems to have a public record of "extremist ideology" - a term issued by the Portland Police Bureau.

This "extremism" may be of a different type than gets most of your attention, or even the attention in the press. But that doesn't make it any less serious, or deadly. And this kind of "extremism" is on the rise, especially in the wake of your political ascendency. Most people who study these sorts of things do not think that is a coincidence. I do not blame you directly for this incident. Nor do I think other people should. But what a President says, who he has around him, and the tone he sets can set the tone for the nation at large.

Perhaps Portland, Oregon is off your radar. It is, after all, a rather liberal place. It's even a "sanctuary city." But it is still an American city. And you are its President. Two Americans have died leaving family and friends behind. They are mourned by millions more who are also deeply worried about what might come next.

I hope you can find it worthy of your time to take notice.

In the end, Trump, or more likely one of his staffers, did take notice and posted a comment.  It was the least that could be done.

Monday's Poetry: "I Have a Rendezvous with Death"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

John Fitzgerald Kennedy was born in Brookline, Massachusetts, one hundred years ago today.  His life was cut short by an assassin less than forty-seven years later, but during Kennedy's brief time on earth he distinguished himself as a war hero, a Pulitzer Prize winning author, and election as the thirty-fifth President of the United States.

Kennedy was, like his wife Jacquelyn, a fan of poetry.  He initiated the modern practice of including a poet to speak at Presidential inaugurations by extending an invitation to New England's best known poet, Robert Frost, to recite one of his works at the inauguration.  Kennedy asked that the aging poet either read his sixteen-line work, "The Gift Outright," or an original work written especially for the inauguration.  Frost, who was excited about the invitation, chose at the last minute to create an original poem for the occasion.  That forty-two line effort, entitled "Dedication," was too lengthy for Frost to memorize before the ceremony, so he chose instead to read the piece.  The weather, however, did not cooperate, and once Frost began trying to read the poem he realized that he could not overcome the sun's glare off of the snow-covered ground.  He put the new poem back in his pocket and opted to return to the original plan and recite "The Gift Outright.".

One of Kennedy's favorite poems was "I Have a Rendezvous with Death" by Alan Seeger.  Seeger, an American, served with the French Foreign Legion during World War I and was killed while fighting in France.  His poem seemed to foretell his own death, and it shouldn't be too much of a stretch to imagine that it also stirred thoughts in young John Kennedy of his own demise.  JFK reportedly enjoyed having Jackie recite Seeger's poem to him.

(For those with long memories, I also used this poem last year on Memorial Day as the focus of this post.  Because of its connection to John Kennedy, I decided to run it again this year both out of respect to JFK as well as to honor Memorial Day.)

Alan Seeger, an uncle to folksinger Pete Seeger and a classmate of T.S. Eliot at Harvard, rendezvoused with death at the Battle of the Somme on July 4, 1916 when he was just twenty-eight-years-old.   Kennedy's rendezvous with death was on November 22, 1963, in Dallas Texas.  Both lives were cut needlessly short through acts of violence.  Both young men packed a lot of life into their few years, understanding the urgency of living and the certainty of dying.

Here is the poem that prepared them for that final rendezvous.

I Have a Rendezvous with Death
by Alan Seeger

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air-
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath-
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.
God knows 'twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear...
But I've a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

Is Every American Entitled to Eat? Or to Receive Health Care?

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

The Trump administration is proposing steep cuts to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), or "food stamps" as it is more commonly known, and while America's farming and agricultural communities tend to be on the conservative end of the political spectrum, many farmers support the concept of nutritional assistance, or food stamps,  because it is one more market for what they produce, and it tends to help stabilize market prices in their favor.  That reality places legislators from farming communities in a precarious position as they struggle on the one hand to kowtow to their farming constituents, and on the other hand to keep their lips firmly attached to the plump posterior of the politician who excites such passion among rural voters.  Does pleasing Trump trump meeting the economic and nutritional needs of an important part of their constituency back home?

Yesterday morning that dilemma played out over the radio as NPR's Scott Simon interviewed Congressman Adrian Smith from the farm state of Nebraska.  Simon wanted the congressman's views on Trump's proposed cuts to the food stamp program, but getting a straight answer from the waffling politician proved too much for the seasoned radio correspondent.  Finally, an exasperated Scott Simon said, "Let me ask you this bluntly:  Is every American entitled to eat?"  Simon, in fact, wound up asking the question three times - and never getting a direct answer from Congressman Smith.

Adrian Smith, who once attended Jerry Falwell's Liberty University in Lynchburg, Virginia, and is a member of the Tea Party Caucus in Congress, undoubtedly regards himself as a good Christian, yet he could not bring himself to publicly support the concept of every American having a right to nourishment.

Jesus would have probably shown no hesitancy in offering up an opinion on the subject.

My own area, a rural segment of southern Missouri, is also represented by a man named "Smith" in Congress.  Jason Smith is a Sunday School teacher and lawyer who represents Missouri's 8th district as a Republican in Congress.  Our Mr. Smith has been an outspoken supporter of all things Donald Trump, and never misses an opportunity to carry water for the obese New Yorker,  Jason Smith appeared to be absolutely joyous in photos taken of him at the Trumpcare victory party put on by the White House in early May - a celebration of legislation that will remove health insurance from millions of Americans.  (For the past couple of weeks, though, Trump's name has been conspicuously absent from Jason Smith's weekly newsletters to the folks back home, no doubt highlighting Smith's concerns as Trump keeps digging his political hole wider and deeper.)

Still, nothing says GOP values like a continuing disdain for the neediest among us.

The quality of "Mr. Smiths" who go to Washington has slipped markedly since Jimmy Stewart's time!

Trump's Budget Is About Protecting Money and Privilege

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

I have run for public office exactly one time in my life.  Years ago I was living and working in a small town, a community that I loved, when the city's police department began exerting itself in what appeared to be a calculated effort to take over governance of the town.   Acting upon the encouragement of friends, I filed to run for city council against a five-term incumbent - a person who appeared to be doing the bidding of the head of the police department.  I campaigned hard, visiting each household in my precinct, and on election day my efforts were rewarded by a tie vote with the incumbent.   The election was eventually decided through a toss of a coin - rather than go through an expensive second election.  I won that coin toss.

I served ably in the city council, trying to stay fully aware and informed of all business being discussed by our government body.  Having quite a bit of experience in school administration, I had an understanding of the importance of the budgeting process, and when the mayor failed to appoint me to the upcoming budget planning committee, I made a fuss and appointed myself.  Somehow or other,  the mayor chose to acquiesce to my demand, and I was able to become part of the process for establishing the budget -  a defining component of government.

A budget codifies the philosophy of a government body, sets priorities, and establishes a blueprint for getting those priorities accomplished.

Donald Trump submitted his first budget to Congress last week, and with that document he showed Congress and the nation exactly the type of America he wants to create.  The Trump budget asked for big increases in military spending and money for domestic law enforcement.   As a counter to those drastic new expenditures, he proposed cutting sixty-six programs which mostly benefit the poor, the disabled, and the environment.  His vision of America is of a police state with a strong international military presence, and a nation devoid of many of the cultural niceties (like the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, Meals on Wheels, food stamps, Head Start, and climate and space research) that certain segments of the population have come to appreciate.  Human services are also not valued in Trump's America.

Before Trump's budget came out, we only had hints as to where he wanted to take the country.  Now, with the proposed budget, his horrible vision is articulated - it is out there for all to see.  Trump's America is no longer some abstract parlor game.  He has a plan and it's a published fact.  Yes, Congress will make changes, and situations will arise that force changes in spending plans, but anyone who wants to know where Trump's head is at today needs only to look at his budget.

Trump's budget is about protecting money and privilege.  It is not about services to those in need.

Trump's America is a cold and mean place - his budget tells us so.

America's King Lords It Over Europe

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

While Donald Trump's notable deference to King Salman of Saudi Arabia may have made some of his Muslim-hating supporters back home uncomfortable - or even angry, and his massive arms deal with Saudi Arabia will undoubtedly make one of the world's most dangerous regions even more unstable, it has been our Dear Leader's behavior in Europe that has really frosted the cake of American ugliness abroad.

Donald Trump is arrogance personified.  Nowhere was the American leader's sense of privilege and entitlement more apparent than in Brussels at the NATO summit where Trump shamelessly pushed aside Dusko Markovic, the Prime Minister of Montenegro, so that he (Trump) could be at the center of a photo op.  Trump's sense of diplomacy played out as "Get the hell out of the way.  This is all about me!"  It was certainly not America's finest hour on the world stage.

Another interesting juxtaposition of Trump's cultural values versus those of the civilized world occurred when he arrived in Vatican City for a visit with Pope Francis at the Vatican library.  Trump showed up in all of his glory being chauffeured in an armored Chevy Suburban.  The Pontiff was also chauffeured to the meeting, but he arrived in his personal 2008 Ford Focus.  Of course, in Trump's defense, he probably could not fit in the backseat of a Ford Focus.

Meanwhile as all of that was taking place and most of Europe was averting its eyes from our embarrassing leader, former President Obama was entering Berlin like a rock star, drawing crowds of cheering supporters that stretched for miles.

Now Trump has moved on to the G-7 conference in Sicily where he no doubt is busy impressing the leaders of the other big industrialized nations with his superior knowledge of world economics and matters relating to climate change.  Surely nothing embarrassing can come of that!

Trump's ultimate coup de grace in Europe, however, may come this October when His Magnificence has an official state visit to Great Britain.  British Prime Minister Theresa May issued the invitation, a move which proved to be unpopular with a large segment of the British population.  More than a million people signed a petition on the government's website asking that the invitation be rescinded, with more than one thousand people per minute signing the petition at one point.  Prime Minister May decided to ignore the petition and the will of her constituents - and the invitation still stands.

Trump, in showing his deep understanding of the sensibilities of the British people, is insisting that the upcoming visit to Great Britain include a ride - with the Queen - to Buckingham Palace in her golden coach that is drawn by six white horses.

An American King is demanding his royal due.  God save the Queen - and the horses!

Assault Under Big Skies

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

There is an election in Montana today to fill the congressional seat that was vacated by Trump's new Secretary of the Interior, Ryan Zinke.  The state has a strong early-voting program, and many of the state's residents have already cast their ballots.  The remainder have until 8:00 p.m. today to get registered and vote.   Montana leans Republican and voted for Trump bigly, but most analysts think this race will be close.

The candidates are Republican Greg Gianforte, a multi-millionaire who moved to the state from New Jersey twenty years ago - and Rob Quist, the Democrat, a folk singer who is from the poor end of the economic spectrum.

Republicans are desperate to save this seat for their team because their majority in Congress is small and every vote is important - and also because a loss might look like a rejection of Trump and be a precursor of a possible Democratic congressional "wave" 2018.  They want to nip this democracy stuff in the bud - in Montana - right now!

Democrats, conversely, would like to have a Montana victory as a way of edging closer to control in Congress and as evidence of Trump's fallibility.

The election was going to be close anyway, with most polls showing a slight GOP lead but with a tightening of results over the past few weeks.  Last night, however, all of that seems to have been thrown into a cocked hat.

Greg Gianforte, the GOP candidate, was having a discussion yesterday evening with a group of reporters from Fox News when Ben Jacobs, a reporter for the British newspaper, The Guardian, entered the room with a tape recorder and tried to get Gianforte to comment on the newly released Congressional Budget Office figures on the revised American Health Care Act.  Gianforte tried to deflect or redirect the determined reporter who persisted in his attempt to question the candidate.  Then, to everyone's shock, the candidate apparently grabbed the reporter around the neck with both hands and threw him to the floor where he commenced to pound the guy in the face with his fists.

Jacobs, who had to be taken to a local hospital for x-rays, had his glasses broken during the beating.   The candidate was charged with misdemeanor assault and has a court date in June.

In normal times, in a civilized setting, this incident might signal the end of Greg Gianforte's political career.  In reality,  however, a certain segment of the American population came of political age listening to candidate Trump deride reporters and their "fake" news -  while encouraging incivility at public political events.   The times are not normal, and the rule of law is fast becoming more of an exception than a rule.

Montana's three leading newspapers all withdrew their endorsements of Gianforte overnight, but we are living in the age of the bully.   Instead of wrecking his campaign through a fit of anger,  Gianforte may have tapped into the fount of righteous rage that propelled Donald Trump to the White House.  Greg Gianforte could win today - and if he does, civility will have lost once again - and physical violence encouraged or perpetrated by candidates will be that much closer to becoming the new campaign normal.

America can and must be better than that.

Monster Pigs

by Pa Rock
Farmer in Spring

Yesterday my son and I had the opportunity to visit a little farm located in an extremely remote corner of "Howl" County.  The roads to the place were of the dirt and gravel variety, and had been left nearly impassable after all of our recent flooding, but through careful navigation we were eventually able to make it to the secluded rural property.

The residents, I'll call them Earl and Alice, were an older couple who appeared to make their entire living off of their small patch of land and the menagerie who shared the property with them.  Their house was a rusted-out old trailer, and there were also several weather-beaten out-buildings nearby - a goat barn, shed, and shelters of various descriptions.  There was a nice garden area fenced off to protect it from the hungry critters who also called the farm home.

The most unique feature of the place, however, was an extensive warren of cages and pens that housed a variety of unusual livestock and stretched across a large pasture area.  There were chickens, guineas, and turkeys running loose, as well as a corral that was home to several young colts and Shetland ponies, a burro, and a couple of cows.  Alice walked my son and I through the goat barn where we were greeted by a dozen frolicking young bucks and does, as well as several goat kids.  Alice handed me one young kid to hold while we talked.

As we were leaving the goat barn. Earl asked if we would like to see the hogs.  "Of course," I responded, because at some point in the near future I want to bring in a couple of hogs to seal the pond at The Roost.  A short distance later we came upon two penned pigs - a large black-and-white boar who had a pen and shack all to himself, and next door in a separate pen, the female:  the largest hog I have ever seen!   Earl said the sow, a Hampshire, weighed about eight hundred pounds.  Her body was the size of a cow, but rested on much shorter legs.  She looked as though she could have easily supported a saddle and an adult rider.  According to Earl, she had nineteen piglets in her  last litter.  While we were standing there admiring the monster sow, Alice pulled a chicken egg from her pocket and handed it to Earl.  He, in turn, gave it to the sow, and she happily swallowed the treat.

Later, as my son and I were driving away, I noticed the "Trump-Pence" sign attached to their rusty front gate.  Apparently the old couple's love of monster pigs did not end at the old sow's pen!

McCain "Almost" Speechless

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

John McCain, Arizona's carbuncle of a U.S. senator, has logged more air time on the Sunday morning television talk shows than Tim Russert, David Brinkley, and Lawrence Spivak combined.  The networks like Johnny Mac because he always has plenty to say whether he has any specific knowledge on the subject or not.  McCain calls his incessant lip-flapping "straight talk."

This past Sunday while McCain was a guest on Fox News Sunday, the subject of Trump's meeting with two Russian diplomats in the White House came up.  At that meeting Trump reportedly told Russian foreign minister Sergey Lavrov that James Comey, the FBI Director fired by Trump the preceding week, was "a real nutjob."  McCain, in responding to Trump's derogatory description of Comey, said that he had been "almost speechless" upon hearing the comment.  McCain then went on to disparage Foreign Minister Lavrov whom he described as "nothing but a propagandist" who had "no business in the White House."

When Johnny Mac finished disparaging the Russian foreign minister, he turned to disparaging Trump and his ever-widening scandal which he described last week as "approaching Watergate size and scale."  He had plenty to say about that as well.

McCain speechless?  That'll be the day!

Monday's Poetry: "Rondel of Merciless Beauty"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

For the past couple of weeks I have been watching Season 2 of "The Last Kingdom," a truly epic tale about life in a less-than-merry Olde England.  The BBC show, based on the "Saxon Stories" of Bernard Cornwell, tells the tale of a fictional Uhtred of Bebbanburg who, at the tender age of eleven, sneaks out of the house and follows his Saxon warrior father, also named Uhtred, off to battle.  The senior Uhtred is killed by invading Danes, and the little Uhtred is kidnapped and hauled off to Danish outpost of Leeds where he is accepted into the household of his captor and raised as one of his sons.

Young Uhtred grows up as a Dane and fits very well into the pagan freedoms of the Danish culture.  He becomes a fearsome warrior, a condition that comes into full flower when his adopted family is attacked and decimated by a group of rogue Danes. Uhtred flees for his life and eventually ends up in the Wessex, the only place in Britain not under the control of the Danes.

Wessex is being consolidated into a kingdom by a young king named Alfred (the Great) who has ambitions of eventually driving the Danes out of all of Britain and uniting the various kingdoms into one country.  Uhtred, the mighty warrior, pledges himself to Alfred, and the two embark on a quest for power and peace in which each must rely on the strengths and wisdom of the other, yet each can never get to the point where he fully trusts the other.

The most captivating thing about this series is the realism with which it depicts life in medieval Britain - the muck, the mire, the mud - a land of regal privilege, warrior strength, and abject poverty.  Every scene feels real, so accurate in its portrayal that one can almost smell the pigs as they trot along behind the king's procession.

Uhtred is not only a fearsome warrior, he is also a great lover - never lacking a pretty woman to share his bed - or his bedroll.  The women, in fact, are pivotal in moving this story of medieval intrigues forward.  Alfred's daughter, Aethelflaed, is a central character in Season 2 as she marries to unite the kingdoms of Wessex and Mercia, and then has an affair with her Dane captor which forges a connection to the pagans.

It is with "The Last Kingdom's " nod to the strength of medieval women, that I have selected this love poem by Geoffrey Chaucer for today's poetry selection.  "Rondel of Merciless Beauty" captures Chaucer's own admiration for the women of his time.

(But first, this note of historical interest:  Geoffrey Chaucer was the first poet buried in London's famed Westminster Abbey, the final resting place of some of England's monarchs and other famous individuals.  The section he was buried in became known as "Poet's Corner" because it eventually housed the remains of several literary giants of Great Britain.  While stumbling about Westminster Abbey without the benefit of a tour guide back in 2003, I became frustrated that I couldn't locate Poet's Corner - and, in particular, the burial site of Chaucer.  Finally I snagged the attention of a young guide.  When I asked him to direct me to Poet's Corner, he laughed (politely) and said, "This may embarrass you, but you are standing in the center of it."   I wasn't embarrassed.  Then I asked about Chaucer's burial site, and he said that it wasn't marked, but "It's around here somewhere.")

Thank heavens Chaucer's body of work, unlike his corporeal body, has not been misplaced!

Please enjoy.


Rondel of Merciless Beauty
by Geoffrey Chaucer

Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;
Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen.

Only your word will heal the injury
To my hurt heart, while yet the wound is clean -
Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me who was once serene.

Upon my word, I tell you faithfully
Through life and after death you are my queen;
For with my death the whole truth shall be seen.
Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly;
Their beauty shakes me who was once serene;
Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen.

Survival Tips for an American Despot

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

As Donald Trump does Saudi Arabia where he scrapes, and bows, and perhaps even curtsies before the country's Muslim king, his political troubles back home show no sign of abating.  Indeed, poor Donald John may return next week to find that the political quagmire that threatens to suck him under has grown wider and deeper in his absence.  The man whom British and Vegas bookies both see as likely to be impeached or driven from office, appears to be sinking with alarming speed.

But that does not have to be the case.  Trump, at present, is obviously taking advice from an inept cadre of political hacks and inexperienced aides - and perhaps even some individuals who are surreptitiously plotting his downfall.  If there was ever a time for rampaging paranoia, this is it!

Donald John, it's not too late to save yourself.  What follows are a few of my humble suggestions to preserve and protect your reign over these United States.  Please feel free to use them as you like.

• Cover-up!  Lie, forget, stonewall.  Impede the investigation at every turn by using every dirty trick in the book.  The bastards are out to get you - don't do anything to make their job any easier!
• Threaten subordinates.  Keep those insects in a state of constant panic.
• Record every speck of White House conversation.  Some day it could be the basis of a really great reality television show - and you will own the tapes!
• Keep a tight rein on the press.  Journalists are nothing but a plague of two-legged locusts that need to be eradicated.  Avoid them, ridicule them, and spray them with your poisonous invective whenever the opportunity arises.  Never let them forget that they are nothing but inconsequential purveyors of fake news.
• Know your enemies. Who would be in line to benefit most from your downfall?  Let Mike Pence and Paul Ryan both know that if you go down you will take them with you.  Hardball, Donnie, hardball! 
• Tweet!  Tweet till the cows come home.  Set a goal of fifty angry tweets a day - that will show the world how tough you are.   They don't have to make sense and spelling isn't important, but the tweets must show your absolute strength and rage.  (A tray of martinis would probably help to juice up your thought processes.)
• Avoid exercise at all costs.  It's a known fact that people have died while exercising.  Don't become a statistic.  Paul Ryan is a gym rat, and you know you are going to be around to dance at his funeral - and probably make a grab or two at the widow while you stumble across the dance floor.
• Sleep?  Who needs it.  Nighttime is tweet time!
• Nourishment?  Culver's has a fantastic Butter Burger (order a bag full) and fried cheese curds, and Burger King has a bacon double cheeseburger that is to die for - and there's always the Big Mac!     All of that can be had with double fries, shakes aplenty, and soft dip ice cream and pie for dessert!  Salads are for rabbits - and losers!

Keeping your tiny hands on the levers of power will take hard work on your part, Donald John - but we are all pulling for you - honest, we are!

Trump's Most Excellent Muslim Vacation

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Yesterday Donald Trump began his first foreign trip as our nation's sort-of elected leader, and the world seems to be collectively holding its breath to see how the egomaniac handles himself on the world stage during this eight-day travelpalooza.

The first stop is in Saudi Arabia where, among other things, an assemblage of world leaders has been convened by the Saudi's to welcome their new best friend, Donald John, the American arms merchant.  (One has to wonder how many of those American-manufactured weapons being sold into Middle Eastern arsenals will ultimately be responsible for injuries and deaths of members of America's military?)

More than thirty of the world leaders gathered by the Saudis to meet Trump will be from predominantly Muslim countries, a situation that could be embarrassing for anyone capable of feeling either remorse or shame, but probably not for Donald John.  The man who trashed Muslims with wild abandon during the presidential campaign and played on the fears of his under-educated supporters, has now firmly shifted into his world statesman mode and all of that previous slobbering hatred has been relegated to the bin of  "just campaign talk."

While on the ground in Saudi Arabia, Donald Trump will be treated like a royal potentate by the Saudis, wallowing in a style he no doubt feels he deserves, but he will also have work to do.  Trump will there representing American businesses, and in particular arms dealers.  He also plans to deliver an address to the Saudis and the world to clear up some on his misunderstood views on Islam and to encourage the world's Muslims to unite against Islamic extremists.  According to H.R. McMaster, Trump's National Security Adviser:

"He (Trump) will develop a strong, respectful message that the United States and the entire civilized world expects our Muslim allies to take a strong stand against radical Islamist ideology, an ideology that uses a perverted interpretation of religion to justify crimes against all humanity."

Calling out religious extremism and encouraging responsible followers of the religion to rise up and counter the fringe forces attached to their religion is a sensible approach to addressing the problem.  It almost makes one wonder why Trump would not use that same approach here at home to quell the atrocities of Christian extremists.

Trump, however, cannot rail against Christian extremists because he is their love child.  He can only gnash his teeth and bemoan those terrible, awful, horrible, Mooslims.

In the world view of Donald Trump and his peeps, the Tsarnaev brothers were  religious extremists.  Dylann Roof and Eric Rudolph were not. 

Religious extremism, it would seem, is in the eye of the beholder.

Tillerson Gives Dumbest Answer Ever

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Rex Tillerson, a billionaire businessman who was the long-time head of Exxon, may be smart enough to run an oil company, but as a diplomat on the world stage, he still has a lot to learn.

This past week as one of the Trump scandals broke - the one where Donald John posing as a statesman blurted out state secrets to two visiting Russian diplomats - Russian President Vladimir Putin, being ever so cutesy-putesy, offered to provide Congress with a transcript of the meeting that had occurred inside of the White House.

Journalist Andrea Mitchell seized on this bit of Russian bravado and turned it into a question which she then proceeded to ask Secretary of State Rex Tillerson.  Mitchell's question, in response to Putin's offer of a transcript of the meeting, was this:  "Do you think the Russians are bugging the Oval Office?"

Tillerson, who is a bit of a cold fish when it comes to cultivating reporters or dealing with the public in general, stammered back:  "I have no way of knowing that."

The answer was no doubt correct.  How could someone as august and important as a United States Secretary of State possibly know if listening devices had been sprinkled among the ferns in the Oval Office or sewn into the historic room's curtains?

But, more importantly, how could he not know?  Does the most heavily armed nation on earth just allow foreign agents to waltz in and out of its corridors of power planting bugs willy-nilly?

The answer should have been "no," Rex - and not "no" but "hell no!"  When you speak to the press or to any diplomatic assemblage you are a voice of the nation, and not just the vocal expulsions of some bumbling bureaucrat.  Putin was playing a game with his challenge to provide a transcript, and you ceded the diplomatic victory to him with your milque toast response.

Smarten up - or shuffle off!

Do the Russians have the Oval Office bugged?  Hopefully the Secret Service will rip the place apart to find out for sure, but my guess would be that they do not.  Why go to all of that trouble and expense to learn what the President is up to when they can just call Trump and ask him - or tell him!

Boone Macy Graduates from High School

by Pa Rock
Proud Grandpa

My oldest grandchild, Boone Macy, turned eighteen less than two weeks ago, and tonight he will graduate from high school.  Everyone in the family is very proud of him.  Here are a few of my thoughts on this significant transitioning point in Boone's life - presented as a letter to him.

Dear Boone,

Tonight you will walk across the stage and receive your high school diploma, graduating "cum laude" no less!  It will be a big night for you, and hopefully only one of many grand achievements that you will chalk up in life.  You have always been a good student, and I know that your natural curiosity and inquisitive nature will serve you well as you start college in the fall.  

The years that you spend in college will help to set a direction for the rest of your life.  It will also be in college where your world will begin to rapidly expand as you become friends with students from other parts of the state, the nation, and the world.  Some of those friendships will last a lifetime, and a few will be instrumental in the job choices that you make and the places you choose to live.  College will be an important experience in your life on so many different levels.

The courses you take and the interests you pursue in college will not only set the general direction that you will take in life, they will also be key in building the knowledge base and collection of skills that you will use to forge your way forward.  

Your time in college will come and go very quickly.  Make good choices while you are there, and take as much from the experience as you possibly can.   Go to class, read assignments, ask questions, and listen to what everyone has to say.  If something catches your interest, dig in and study it in greater depth.  College is all about growing and learning.  Find your passion and cultivate it.

College will be an adventure, Boone.  Enjoy it and learn all you possibly can.  Never forget that you have lots of people in your corner who are rooting for your success in life.  Make us proud.

Much love,

Pa Rock

Republicans Fleeing Trump are in Full Stampede Mode

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Yesterday in this space I commented on the Trump scandal de jour, which was his blabbing of secret information to Russian diplomats, and noted that some prominent Republicans were beginning to jump ship in order to distance themselves from their leader.  That story fit a developing pattern with the administration's handling of leaks:  a story breaks in the press, there is an immediate "White House" denial, and then Trump finally comes forward, usually in a tweet, and says essentially, "Yeah, I did it - and so what are you going to do about it?"  When all else fails, let loose the bully.

But today is a new day, and, of course, we are now knee-deep in another scandal.   Late yesterday it was reported in the press that last February, one day after he fired National Security Adviser Michael Flynn, Trump pressured FBI Director James Comey to drop his agency's investigation of General Flynn and his ties to Russia.  The "White House" has denied the story, and now the country is waiting impatiently for Trump to own it - and dare anyone to do anything about it.

Here's what is known:  Director Comey was invited to the White House for a meal and conversation in mid-February.  Also present with Trump and Comey were Vice-President Pence and Attorney General Sessions.  After the meal, Trump dismissed Pence and Sessions so that he could have a private talk with Comey.  According to a memo for record written by Comey after the meal - and then shared with other officials at the FBI, Trump said the following regarding the FBI's investigation of Flynn:

"I hope you can see your way clear to letting this go.  He's a good guy.  I hope you let this go."

Pressure, pressure, pressure!  Comey, however did not let it go, and three months later he was fired by the man who had tried to get him to drop the investigation.

If the GOP rats were jumping ship yesterday to get away from the ever-expanding Trump drama, today they are in full stampede mode and trampling one another as they rush to save their scandal-scarred hides.    Fox News, long a stable for Republican talkers, could not find any member of the GOP willing to say more than "no comment" regarding today's scandal.  CBS This Morning reached out to twenty prominent Republicans to comment on air on the Comey memo - and all twenty declined.

But a few are talking.

Now some Republicans are even letting the word "impeachment" slip into their running commentary on the collapsing Trump administration.  Rep. Justin Amash of Michigan was asked by The Hill if the Comey memo was true, would it merit impeachment?  Amash's to-the-point answer was "Yes."

Crusty old John McCain, who yesterday had been "disturbed" by Trump leaking classified information to Russia, now says that allegations against the Trump administration have reached "Watergate size and scale."  (Journalists hungry fro a good quote know that Johnny Mac can always be relied upon to go well beyond a puny "no comment.")

John Dean, who as a young man was Richard Nixon's White House lawyer, is still kicking - and talking.  Dean says that the Comey memo is the "smoking gun" that could bring Trump down - "like Nixon."

It's getting wide and it's getting deep.

Republican Congressman Jason Chaffetz, the head of the House Oversight Committee, has suddenly kicked into gear.   The once reluctant investigator on behalf of the American people, now seems to have taken an interest in finding out what is really going on in Trumpland.  Yesterday he sent a letter to the acting head of the FBI requesting all "memoranda, notes, summaries, and recordings" of discussions between Trump and Comey.  Chaffetz noted in his letter that he has he "subpoena pen" at the ready.  He set a May 24th deadline for the FBI to voluntarily comply.

Politicians, like rats everywhere, know a storm is coming.  As the dark clouds of impeachment begin to gather on the horizon, their survival instincts are kicking into gear and they are running for high ground.  Some will make it, others will get trampled, and still others will be pulled under by a desperate despot as he flails in vain to make himself great again.

Trump's Rats Are Jumping Ship

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

Donald Trump assumed the presidency, an office for which he was totally unprepared, less than four months ago, and during the several weeks of his reign of petulance and bombast he has proven time and again that he is completely unfit to lead our nation.   Even without Trump's continuous and shameless attempts to promote his personal businesses through the presidency - and his unnerving closeness to Russian oligarchs and the Kremlin, Trump shows an almost daily determination to be his own worst enemy.   Regrettably, as he destroys himself, he is also pulling our country down with him.

Yesterday the Washington Post broke a story that Trump had shared classified information with Russia's ambassador and foreign minister when they visited the White House last week.  The nature of the information was apparently something which would expose covert American intelligence sources to the Russians.  The information was reportedly so sensitive that it had not even shared with our allies.  Today it was reported that the source of the intelligence was Israel, our closest ally in the Middle East.  That probably has Netanyahu wishing he had his old nemesis, Barack Obama, back in the White House.

(Be careful what you pray for, Benjie!)

One of the scenarios being floated as to how something this outrageous could have happened has the pompous Trump bloviating to his Russian guests, trying to impress them with his deep knowledge of world affairs, - and proving his point by openly discussing highly classified information.

The White House initially went into full-denial mode, but Trump later owned up to the incident through his favorite medium - Twitter.    Essentially he said that a president can declassify and discuss whatever he damn well pleases - and, for once, he is right.  But being right about process does not abate the potential of harm caused by his rash and careless action. 

Donnie Boy, if you were a reader and/or had even a basic knowledge of American history, you would have undoubtedly come across the old World War II slogan that encouraged all of America to be very cautious regarding military information    Posters across the nation reminded the patriotic folks at home as well as those on the front lines that  "Loose Lips Sink Ships."  Sooner or later people with the ability to start the impeachment process are going to get tired of watching you sink your own battleships - and ours!

Democrats, with the possible exception of Senator Joe Manchin, are fairly open in their disgust with the reckless behavior and excesses of Donald Trump.  Now, not too surprisingly, Republicans, who stood pretty much en masse behind their deeply flawed candidate last November, are also starting to air concerns.  Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell told Bloomberg News:

"I think we could do with a little less drama from the White House - on a lot of things."

 Or, to paraphrase The Mitchster:  "Hey Fat Boy, STFU!"

John McCain, the geriatric senator from Arizona, said that he is "disturbed" about Trump's erratic behavior - and if McCain is disturbed, Lindsey probably has the vapors!

Tennessee's Bob Corker,  one of the more respected and sensible GOP members of the Senate, observed that the Trump presidency appears to be in a "downward spiral."

But, perhaps most damning of all are the views currently being expressed by Satan's Pit Bull, Ann Coulter.  The rabid right-wing commentator and book huckster is openly talking a splitting with Trump, a candidate she ardently supported last year despite what she saw as his "grotesque personality."  The severely disillusioned Ms. Coulter laments the fact that Trump is utterly failing to keep his campaign promises - and she seems to be especially chagrined that construction of the much vaunted wall between the United States and Mexico no longer appears to be a Trump priority.

Rats, it would seem, know instinctively when a ship is about to sink.

Monday's Poetry: "A Goose and a Duck"

by Pa Rock
Poetry Appreciator

Life ebbs and flows on a farm.  This past week witnessed the passing of Caesar, the little goat who had been in residence at Rock's Roost for less than a week - and yesterday an older friend also appeared to be preparing to depart this idyllic rural life.

Hector, the senior duck at the farm, has been a fixture here since his birth in a incubator on my kitchen table top last July.  The beautiful black Cayuga was undoubtedly lonely through most of his existence here at the farm, being the only creature in residence with webbed feet.  Six weeks or so ago I brought home four little Cayuga ducklings and six Toulouse goslings.  I kept the little birds together in a caged area for a month or so until I felt they had reached sufficient size to survive life in a penned compound.  Hector, who had begun to notice that they bore some resemblance to himself, offered no resistance when I ushered him into the penned area to join them.

There is a garden shed in the pen, and Hector wisely slept there the first night, but the little water fowl dog-piled into a corner of the pen for safety.   Nevertheless, some stealthy predator entered the pen and made off with one of the ducklings the first night that they spent outside of the caged area.  The next day I smartened up and erected a couple of barricades behind which the little birds could hide.  I also set up a radio in the yard and let a classic rock station play across the outdoor area for the next several nights, giving the illusion that humans were active throughout the evening hours.

The radio worked amazingly well, and I believe that the syndicated radio program, "Nights with Alice Cooper" was especially instrumental in keeping the predators at bay.  Now I only play the radio at night on an occasional basis, yet the raids on the poultry have not resumed.

Thanks, Alice.

Hector is a strange and crafty duck.  He often disappears in the evenings, and try as I might I can't figure out where he goes - but he is always back by the next morning.  Some mornings he would reappear within the closed hen house, meaning that he had actually been there all evening, but the not-too-bright farmer was not able to find him.  Once Hector moved in with the ducks and geese, he began hiding and sleeping during the day and then patrolling the pen at night.

But Hector disappeared for a couple of days, which was unusual, and did not reappear until yesterday afternoon.  He presented as weak and lethargic.  When some of the young roosters decided to take advantage of his weakened condition and attack, I jumped in and sent the feathered bullies fleeing for safety.  Then I picked poor Hector up, something he would normally never allow.  He emptied his gullet of water as I held him - and he looked to be very frail.

Hector, in his nearly a year at the farm, had never discovered the small pond that sits over a slight rise about a hundred yards from the hen house.  I carried him to the edge of the pond and sat him down.  He waddled out into the water and went for a swim.  I came back about an hour later and found him still in water sitting among the reeds next to the bank .  He appeared content, though far from frolicsome.   When I again returned just before dusk, the duck was gone - and he was not around this morning.

I fear that this time Hector is gone for good - which is sad because he was on the verge of having a community of web-footed friends with whom to share his farm existence.  Not only are the six goslings, now half-grown, and three Cayuga ducklings all still doing well, but two weeks ago I brought home an additional four Cayugas.  Rock's Roost is fast becoming "Ducks and Geese R Us!"  Hector would have so loved that - particularly as he would have been the Big Duck in the very small pond.

(In related news, Sony Pictures has announced a remake of 1964's "Father Goose" which will feature a mature Ryan Gosling in the title role  - and MGM/UA is set to begin filming an as yet untitled psychodrama staring Ben and Casey Affleck as a pair of obnoxious insurance salesmen.  The musical score for the untitled flick is being composed by Drake.  Honk!  Quack!)

Please enjoy today's simple and fantastical farm poem, "A Goose and a Duck" by Jade Elizabeth Trainor.  If Hector has moved on to a different life, I hope he has a goose, or some other friend, to be his companion.


A Goose and a Duck
by Jade Elizabeth Trainor

A goose and a duck walked through a farm,
Holding each others wings like arms,
The farmer froze and watched them cross the yard,
His wife stock still and staring hard.
 
A dog started to bark loudly at the two,
It startled them so into the air they flew,
Past the farm and into the town,
It never occurred to them to look down.
 
Past the town and into the city,
The air smelled stale and slightly gritty,
They landed in a large flock of birds,
But neither could understand a single word.
 
Into the sunrise they set off the next day,
They didn’t have time for the slightest delay,
Side by side the flew through the air,
The city folk all stopped at once to stare.
 
Upon their return home to the farm,
The cold night air still and calm,
They flew into the barn to sleep,
Wings around each other not a peep.

Missing Mom on Mother's Day

by Pa Rock
Proud Son

Mother's Day 2017.

This is a day for honoring mothers, the hearts, souls, and unifying forces of families all around the world.  My own mother, Ruby "Florine" Sreaves Macy, has been gone for over thirty years now, but there is hardly a day goes by that I don't have occasion to stop what I am doing and think of her.  She was a couple of years younger than I am now when she passed away back in the winter of 1986, a life cut short by chain-smoking and a never-ending stream of hard work and service to others.

It's the little things that I remember clearest about Mom.   She always had a job and often my little sister and I would have to scramble to come up with breakfast or lunch, but Mom always had a good supper on the table.  The evening meal would include some type of meat, often meatloaf - but never steak, a vegetable, and fried potatoes.  Her fried potatoes were wonderful, crisp and brown, crunchy and tasty.   Desert was often coconut pie or Mom's wonderful spice cake, both of which seemed to permanently reside on her kitchen counter

Mom dressed nice, but on a budget.  She wore many of the same clothes for years, raising and lowering hemlines in order to stay fashionable.  Dressing her children properly for school was the priority. She liked to sew and make clothes, particularly for herself and my sister, and for awhile she worked for J.C. Penney in the backroom doing alterations.  In her time Mom made dozens of household pretties like doilies, throw pillows, quilts, and all of the household curtains. 

In her later years my mother joined a group of ladies who were all learning to paint, and through the Riverside Art Guild, Mom created many beautiful landscapes and rural scenes that have honored places in the homes of her children and grandchildren today.

My mother grew up and came of age during the Great Depression and World War II.  It was a time when young people were were literally thrust upon the world, whether they were ready for it or not, and through those rugged experiences, she realized the need for her children to become independent and self-reliant.   Nevertheless, I will always remember the first time she and my dad visited me at college.  I had been away from home for about a month, living in the dormitory, when they came on a Sunday afternoon to take me out to lunch.  After the meal Mom said that she would collect whatever dirty clothes I had accumulated and take them home to wash.  She was surprised (probably shocked) and obviously disappointed when I told her that I had been up late the previous night getting all of the laundry caught up myself!

She had taught me well.

Mom, I miss you.  Thanks for the good start in life.

And while I'm at it:

Happy Mother's Day to my daughter, Molly Macy Files, and my daughter-in-law, Erin Macy.  Molly is a stay-at-home mother of three children, ages five to nine.   She does everything but stay at home.  Molly is constantly on the road running a Mom Taxi to various schools, lessons, play dates, and all of the other child-related obligations that populate modern life.  Erin works outside of the home almost every day but still finds time to be an energetic and involved mother to two little ones, ages five and almost one.  When I visit either of these young women, I barely have the energy to watch them, much less even try to keep up with them.  Mothering ain't for sissies!

Happy Mother's Day to the world's true heroes!

Of Pots, Kettles, and Showboats

by Pa Rock
Citizen Journalist

This past week Donald Trump fired FBI Director James Comey.  He did so in a very calm and deliberative manner after carefully reviewing Comey's job performance and conducting a thorough appraisal of how Comey's removal would be likely to play out across on-going FBI investigations.  Donald Trump was the epitome of a professional executive as he terminated the services of a government employee.

Well, not exactly . . .

Trump apparently made the decision late last Tuesday afternoon to fire Director Comey who was serving the third year of a ten-year term as head of the FBI.  At the time Comey was in Los Angeles speaking to FBI west coast field agents.  Trump drafted a quick letter and sent it to Comey's Washington, D.C. office by courier.

It then fell to the administration full-time stooge and occasional press secretary, Sean Spicer, to notify the wolverines in the press corps.  Spicer's first instinct was to email the bombshell news to the  reporters who cover the White House, but his email system was having some performance issues, so the erstwhile flack stepped into his office doorway and "yelled" the news to reporters who were gathered there.  Tweets began flying, and within five minutes it was national news.

James Comey learned about his removal from office while speaking in Los Angeles as news bulletins flashed across a nearby television screen.  Comey said later that his initial reaction was to assume it was a joke - fake news, if you will.

It's hard to get more professional than that.  But Donald already had his shovel dirty and he was determined to just keep digging.

Trump's initial justification for the firing of James Comey was that it was based on a report submitted to him by Attorney General Jeff Sessions and Assistant Attorney General-designate Rod Rosenstein which outlined Comey's shortcomings in office, particularly in regard to the alleged mishandling of Hillary Clinton's email situation.  Trump claimed in that letter that Comey had told him three times that he, Trump, was not the subject of any FBI investigation - an attempt at misdirection so blatant that it led many to conclude that Trump's hostility to the FBI's investigation of ties between his campaign and Russia was undoubtedly the primary factor in the firing.

But he had a report from Sessions and Rosenstein - a justification for getting rid of James Comey.

Trump, however, is like a dog with a bone.  Once he buries the bone, he just can't let it stay buried - he has to keep digging it up and burying it again and again.

So his story changed.  By the end of the week Trump said that he had fired James Comey as a result of the report from the leaders of the Justice Department, but added the caveat that he had already determined, even before seeing the report, that he was going to fire James Comey anyway.

The following day, as if to underscore the Russian connection, Trump met in the Oval Office with two prominent Russian officials:  Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov and Ambassador Sergey Kislyak.  Photos of that brief meeting undoubtedly helped to strengthen the notion that many American's had regarding Trump's unusually strong ties to Russia.

But that wasn't enough of the old thumb-in-your-eye Trump style of communicating.  Minutes after the Russians left, Trump had another meeting in the Oval Office, this one with Richard Nixon's former secretary of state, Henry Kissinger.  The optics from that meeting helped to cement the growing public perception of a similarity between Nixon's "Saturday Night Massacre" and Trump's "Tuesday Night Massacre."

The Donald was either too dumb to parse all of that out ahead of time and realize the impressions that those meetings could create, or he was in his full emperor mode and daring the world to make something of it.

And then the leaks started as the White House and FBI headquarters both became veritable waterfalls of unofficial information provided by anonymous sources.  Particularly galling to Trump were reports that Comey had retained the loyalty and support of FBI agents - despite White House claims to the contrary.  Trump, in one of his Twitter rages warned that Comey had better hope the conversations he had with Trump had not been taped - because apparently whatever Comey's people were leaking could be counteracted with the tapes.  The only thing Trump succeeded in doing with that not-so-veiled threat was to make investigators aware that Trump was likely taping his meetings - a la Richard Nixon.  Hello, subpoenas!

A day or two after all of that, Trump got back onto the Comey firing again, saying essentially that the former FBI Director had become too self-absorbed and had turned into a "grand-stander" and a "showboat."

It was at that point that I began to develop my first glimmer of respect for Mr. Comey.  Being called a "showboat" by the showboat of all showboats should be an honor almost beyond measure!  Why, a man with that type of public affirmation ought to be a shoe-in for future public office and maybe even his own reality television show!

Pot, kettle - Mr. Tiny Hands - pot, kettle!