I’m still here
A friend of Jude and mine e-mailed recently to see if we are alright, since I hadn’t blogged in nearly three months. We are fine, Ms. G. Thank you for asking. I haven’t blogged simply because I’ve turned inward.
And why not? Trumpmania is ubiquitous. I continue to marvel at how he can make an outlandish statement, contradict himself, then contra-contradict himself and still really say nothing in a span of a few seconds. The consensus from polls and pundits can be construed any number of ways: he’s fading, surging or foundering in between.
I do still enjoy watching his handlers struggle to stay straght-faced or avoid retching as they attempt to polish the multitudes of turds that tumble effortlessly from the Donald’s pie hole. How ever will they spin his increasingly vile rhetoric about Muslims?
Trump would consider a national registry for Muslim immigrants. How about registering the millions of his supporters who would actually give the launch codes to a man with a personality disorder?
But the real reason I’m withdrawing is much closer to home. I turn 70 next cake. I’m preparing for my death. No time soon, hopefully, and with no cooperation on my part. I’m enjoying generally good health and getting lots of exercise as Jude and I build a firewood business from the unmarketable trees the loggers left behind. And I eat wisely, even with the occasional plunge into greased foods.
But it’s time, you know? Two male friends my age have just had sudden significant downturns in their health as a reminder. There’s not a great deal of paper work to it. I have no fortune to disperse. I don’t want any rituals. I’ve asked Jude to have me cremated, then sprinkled in the catchment barrel of our micro-hydro system so I can swirl through our Pelton wheel and on to a leisurely cruise through our property on my way to the Pacific.
In a way I got a head start on all this heavy pondering from my Marine service in Vietnam. I helped process several hundred corpses. On my 22nd birthday, the Viet Cong celebrated with rocket and mortar fire into my tent. I was in a helicopter when it conked out in flight.
About five years later, as I struggled with not-yet-diagnosed PTSD, I sought out help at a VA Hospital. A therapist described my plight through the framework of psychologist Eric Ericson’s stages of psychosocial development.
Allow me to overgeneralize. The eight main stages of life, from infancy to old age, have specific tasks that must be resolved before a person can move on successfully to the next stage. Faced with the distinct possibility of an early exit, we warriors — hoping only to survive to get laid again — were hurtled into the final stage.
“You returned to the states as old men in young men’s bodies,” the therapist told me. I had never had it explained it so clearly.
So I’ve had 47 years to let my two bodies synch up. Even with Trump and ISIS around, I’m steadily making my peace with the world. At this point, however, I would still appreciate it if all of them would kindly fuck off.
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Anchor Struck 
Happy happy happy almost 70 hooray
!!!
Sent from my iPhone
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Thank you, Cathy. I think I’ll have the hang of it by then.
It is good to hear you speak again…and I was wondering what had muffled you–though nearly dead now, you do get a chance at a whole year of 69 and you have maintained the glimmer of impishness I saw and knew when you (and I) were younger–though already aged as suggested by the Nam…peace my old friend
JB, old stick. It’s great to hear from you again! I very fondly remember our talks in 2012. The impishness is alive and thriving. I’m writing a lot of satire, and the crew that took on The Sound of Music last January will mangle West Side Story next February. My best to the Colonel.
Always like to read everything you have to say.
Kathy, I appreciate that. Even as I consciously shed worldly things, I still enjoy positive feedback.
The journies around the sun can be most interesting even without all the foolishness of our talking heads and fools like Trump
Indeed. One of the worldly things I struggle to shed is letting Trump and the talking heads bother me. But I still love THE Talking Heads.
Allen
I hope that Trump destroys the Republican Party so let him go. I am upset with Obama focusing on Islam in his speech and not the other murders by gun by Christians. Also the terroism that exists against Planned Parenthood. I have vowed not to read the news anylonger but seem to anyway.
Judith
Trump is such a megalomaniac that he might run as a third party candidate if he doesn’t get the GOP nod. As to avoiding the news, I read an intriguing article in which the author said she was constantly exposed to “secondary news”. That is, overhearing others talk, seeing it on TV’s in stores as she ran errands and the like. If it does get to be too much, we have an abandoned mine shaft near the house you can live in. It doesn’t have any electricity, but it does have running water.
Another good laugh as I imagined the micro-to-macro watery tour of your dry ashes. You are so silly funny. For that alone, I would have to love you.
Thank you, kind person.
Hi, Allen,
I haven’t written you for a while. Just enjoyed reading your entry; congratulations on your 70th and thank you for talking about your military experiences. Your writing is wonderful!
You might not remember me but I write the odd poem, some odd poems too. I got quite political this year, volunteered for the Liberal Party of Canada for about a year, and although Saskatchewan is just about as backward as we get in this country (no, Alberta is much worse!), the country as a whole did not vote Blue as much as they did.
I like some of the milestones happening in the world, such as a climate agreement, for example. For me, the air did lighten with our election, as I felt oppression sinking onto us the very first day that Harper started winning power here. I hope the U.S. will find some sanity now and try to move forward without these ridiculous old relics trying to control everything.
Julie
I do indeed remember you. You are still dispensing wisdom at the Cafe, yes? Congratulations on painting Saskatchewan blue. Here in NDP land, I couldn’t help Trudeau win, but I’m impressed with his efforts so far. I’m also finding sporadic reason for hope. I continue to be amazed by Trump’s success, but I still believe that 2016 will be looked back on as the year the Baby Boomers lost control of the political narrative.