My father and I used to like to antagonize each other over politics. I think we both deemed the session a success if we could get the other to crack a little. Sometimes I knew that he had staged things for me when I went for a visit.
One visit, he put the book “Ronald Reagan – An American Life” on the coffee table. I paged through it for a moment and saw him crack a small smile. I just glibly said, “talk about a complete waste of money” as I tossed it back on the table.
Then we ended up in the kitchen where somehow he had procured an autographed picture of GW Bush. He had it on the refrigerator. I don’t know how he got it. I said, “I need one of these for my fridge so I can lose some weight.”
It’s funny the memories that I now hold fondly.
This “trending” article popped up. The worry about fascism is real, but I have little interest in Albright or her new book. I’ve sworn off war mongers though one can learn from them.
Being a G+ (Google Plus) nutcase for years, I am pleased that there will be a way to move the data (to MeWe).
When My Opera community closed years ago, I was thankful that WordPress picked up that import.
I have a few dreams that have been recurring over the years. A new installment will come in every few months or years. One set of the recurring just got infused with recent events. The plot of this one is easy to guess.
In this dream, Guadalajara (Jal., MX) and Greensboro (NC, USA) are connected for me by a “passage”. On the Guadalajara side, I enter via a side street at the north end of Chapultepec near the old Aurrera store. I emerge on Market Street at Greensboro College, though sometimes it’s a block over on Friendly Ave. I can go either way. Sometimes it doesn’t work in the dream. I walk the entrance/exit points correctly yet the passage won’t open. I like the dream because I can magically get to places I like easily and on a regular basis.
The mid passage is a grassy trail, overgrown with weeds, and looking like there are lots of ticks and snakes. Sometimes children and dogs are running around. There’s a little creek midway that I can usually just hop over.
The last installment of this dream had a new wrinkle. I got the passage to open from the Greensboro side and was walking the usual trail to go to Guadalajara, but children kept running by saying, “gringo, hay problema!” (gringo, there’s a problem). I got to where I always cross the creek, but the creek had been replaced by a coil of concertina wire with a few old guys in uniforms on each side.
— They told me, “it’s closed”.
— “But I’ve been coming here for 39 years! I have friends.”
— “No exceptions at this time. You can wait just over that hill.”
I walked over the hill and was surprised to find a sports-stadium-sized crowd of humans wandering around and waiting.
What will the next installment bring? Maybe it just stops here. For now, my gig is up.