27th August, 2018 Monday
I dreamt last night about a landlady for a place I had to stay a time at had changed a standard treaded staircase to a loft space I used as a temporary office to a ladder with rungs made of reclaimed pieces of irregularly shaped wood which turned as you stepped on them as well as being spaced so close together your foot wouldn’t be able to fit through. As I complained to the hipster dressed landlady, criticising the unusable nature of the design and material usage of her ladder, she looked at me and shrugged and left me to fume.
I dreamt I was putting my youngest on a plane with a group of her fellow students to fly somewhere. My daughter was about six in the dream so her group was being escorted by a group of teachers. They all had to recieve shots for some ailment which was such a threat to the population on the plane as well as the destination that should any of them show symptoms green runny noses they before take off they would have to stay. I was very invested in her departing. She was vaccinated and as we said good bye I noticed her runny nose was a clear stream and I hoped it wouldn’t turn green at least until she wouldn’t be put off before take off. Take off wasn’t for a long long time. I waited…and she did not appear again and that dream scene shifted to another I cannot remember…
The morning. Sunny. Clear. Cool. The house has the feel of settle. I was aware moving through it this morning that it has the feeling of a space which holds the rhythms of lives who have found purchase in it. I remember when the last house started feeling home this way. Quiet, calm, still. Objects have found space within the space. We are home. With all our shades, light and dark.
John McCain, eh? An icon for sure. But let’s keep in mind, his was the brilliant strategy to threaten this country with the possibility of Sarah Palin as President if he had won the presidency and ensuingly died in office. And as I recall, some of the unearthed during his campaign had the strong smell of misogyny in the man. I read his daughter’s tribute to him this morning in the Times, the New York Times, that is. Of course I hold his family in heart for the ride through astounding grief all parents’ passings unleashes, but his daughter’s words portraying him had hints of threat, hard, sharp, that he forcefully molded her. And he alone was responsible for her shape, not a mention of her mother’s impact on her. No, I think I would have liked the man even less than I thought. However, he was possibly the last Man standing in the Republican Senate against Trump.
But what do I truly know or am qualified to say about all that Mess. Jesus. How have we gotten here? Trump? Really? But some would say I guess that he really isn’t that much of a surprise. His like has always been part of us. We are, after all, made up of humans, stumbling for purchase. That the lofty principles of Equality and Freedom For All were words penned by White Anglican Men of Education, Privilege, and Position who did not write them as defined by contemporary melting pot’s definition of ALL. It meant those that could read, write, owned property, had a penis, and were White. All was NOT White Anglican women, White Catholic men or women. All was NOT Black, Brown, Red or Yellow men and women who toiled to find food and shelter, the backs upon which these men of Pens and God could build and rest to cogitate on these ideas to define the boundaries of a Country in which they would have no higher authority to answer to. Some would argue that its very inception was paradoxical, an equivocal concept by today’s diverse population’s hungers. Its language speaks of an intention for total inclusion but the time during which it birthed had not socially evolved to implement that concept. The time was full of inherent cultural prejudices. Each immigrant wave was dirt to be used and spat out not to mention the enslaved brought here to build and die building so more could be brought. We have been horrible to each other under the roof which prides itself on being the symbol of the manifestation of the Angels of Our Better Natures. Its a beautiful idea, that we have them Angels. But how many of us actually see them day to day in ourselves or those around us. For sure, Our Darker Natures’ Angels are clamoring on both sides of the Trump divide.
I am descending into the mud of these times, guilty as charged of Pontification. I apologise.
I could and will , no doubt, sometime vomit more of this, but the morning and the dogs, the bird, oh yes, lets not forget the bird, are calling not to mention a little thing called bills. Oh, yes, those. We all have them.
The Zoi pup. Oh, what a lamb. And she is one of the Pack of Six. Two Deerhounds, a Saluki and two long haired mini Dachles. Zoi, Saluki and Deerhound are all Sighthounds. They are a different thing than lab, or pit, or shepherd. I am still in my day a lot and like it that way. Sighthounds melt into furniture and rise to run a bit and melt again. I love them…
The Zoi pup came two months ago at just four months. All the way across the planet she flew. She has grown in stature and in grace. My daughter’s corgi, mini aussie mix, an almost two year old went through a struggle for a bit. An injury had her isolated with her doting parents for a while and when rereleased for play with others, she busted forth with rage at sharing anything. For a few months we all despaired and worried and separated.
Then Zoi came. it was love at first sight for Zoi, this long low fiesty bitch who snarled and zoomed. Zoi soon figured it. She knew the way to play and please please please play with me, my beloved Low!!! As she has grown so fast, we had to watch as Zoi went through the testing of her big and bigger frame while it felt too big for Low one. And then Zoi figured it again. Her heart arrives in everything she does, you see. It is a beautiful heart.
About a week ago, we saw the change. How Zoi had crafted how she ran to be slow enough to chase just fast enough so Low would run with fun not fear. And then, switched, Zoi would run just slow enough so Low would feel the rush of chase. I found my phone just fast enough to catch them last night down in the field. Enjoy.
Tea is black with cream and honey. Day is warm but fall like. I am home again.
Tea With Me 