Why the GOP is Going Nuts

The two major parties change focus every 40 years or so, but this election year it seems the Republicans may end up self-destructing.  This may appear to be coming out of nowhere, but the current campaign season and the rise of Donald Trump can be tracked back to calculated decisions made decades ago.  To get a better picture of what’s going on now in 2016,  I’ll start back all the way back in the 1880s when Reconstruction ended. From that period through to about 1968, the US could be considered as having had a 3-party system with the Republicans, southern Democrats and northern Democrats existing as distinctly different entities.

The Republican Party started in the late 1850s as an abolitionist party with a strong Northern base among Yankee-born believers in the mid-19th century’s triumvirate of progressive issues: abolishing slavery, establishing prohibition, and providing the vote for women.  These causes don’t seem intrinsically linked to us, but they were to people in the 19th century.  Inherent in their viewpoint was the idea that small towns and farms were the most valid part of the America, and that the common man (interpreted as middle class people with a solid WASP lineage) were the best Americans. The less palatable side of these beliefs were a desire to preserve that America from the vast number of immigrants coming from countries and cultures that were believed to be incapable of assimilation (mostly Irish and Italian during the 1880s).   During Reconstruction southern blacks were granted the right to vote, and they voted solidly Republican.

Democrats were lukewarm on the Civil War, and the Democratic Party stood in opposition of attempts to provide freed slaves with equal rights during Reconstruction.  When federal troops were removed from the South in 1877, the GOP went with them.  The South would be Democratic from that point forward through to the 1950s.  The Southern Democratic Party was the party of segregation and State’s rights.  Southern Democratic legislators prevented the passage of federal anti-lynching laws and did everything in their power to ensure that blacks remained in as abject a position as possible. 

That was in the South.  In the North, the Democratic Party had a very different face.  Immigrants streamed into the US and mostly settled in Northern cities.  Republicans were, by and large, appalled at what they considered a mass influx of inferior races, religions and cultures.  The Democratic Party rolled out the welcome mat and created the concept of machine politics.  Every northern city had a well-established system of neighborhood leaders and bosses who handed out jobs, helped people with problems, and ensured that all the voters made it to the polls.   

The Progressive movement started in the 1890s with a reboot of many of the same issues that started the Republican party.  Progressives wanted votes for women, often supported prohibition, and were vehemently opposed to the machine politics that had taken over most Northern cities.  Entwined in these goals were some nativist concerns.  One of the arguments in favor of women’s suffrage was that native-born American  women’s votes (in reality, they meant white Protestant) could counteract the votes of non-native immigrant men.  A part of the desire to make municipal governments corruption free was to break the hold of the mostly Democratic urban machines that ran cities. 

Progressives had strong roots in the Republican Party, even though they would participate in third party movements  (TR with the Bull Moose Party, Bob La Follette with the Socialists).  This continued through the 1920s up until Teddy’s cousin FDR was elected President in 1932. For the first time, it was a Democrat who was looking to enact major progressive reforms, and his Republican opponents that were in opposition.  In addition, FDR made some attempts to challenge the racist base of the party in the South.  Still, the voting blocs remained mostly the same.  Northern white ethnics and Southern whites voted Democratic; WASPs voted Republican.  Former progressives were mostly voting Republican, but would vote for FDR in the presidential election. 

The first cracks appeared in 1948 when the Democratic Party formally supported integration and Truman integrated the armed forces.  This was viewed as apostate by the Southern Democrats, and many of them formally split off to form a new, entirely race-based party called the Dixiecrats. While not long-lived, the result was that some elected members of the US House and Senate switched their party affiliation from Democrat to Republican.  The age where the Democratic Party was the only group for Southern whites was starting to end.  Over the next 20 years Southern white support for the Democratic Party steadily eroded.  It was Lyndon Johnson, a white Southerner and a Democrat, who worked hard to get the voting rights act of 1965 passed.  For the first time since 1877 Southern blacks were able to vote in large numbers, and they voted as Democrats.

Party alliances in the North underwent an equally major transition.  The flood of European immigration stopped after WWI, and the supposedly unassimilable hordes assimilated.  The Democrats stayed with them, becoming the party that supported unions and represented the working man and woman. Then, during the 1960s, civil rights protests in Northern cities targeted jobs and housing at the same time the urban manufacturing age was ending.  Blue collar workers – the children and grandchildren of immigrants – were in labor unions that were staunchly Democratic, and often just as staunchly against admitting blacks.  Factories started shutting down and the solidly working class blue-collar Democrats began feeling left out of their party’s concerns.     

In a calculated bid to appeal to Northern white blue collar voters and Southern whites, the GOP began to play up racial issues. The movement was small and mostly covert in the 1960s, but slowly become more openly race-based.  Nixon appealed to the “Silent Majority”; those white working class folks, often union members, who felt their world was crumbling.  Ronald Reagan talked about “welfare queens” driving Cadillac cars and George HW Bush made a point of mentioning a criminal with the decidedly black sounding name of “Willy Horton”.  By the 1990s, there was no doubt that the GOP, once the party of abolition, was solidly and assuredly the party where racists could feel most at home.    

Along with the racists, the GOP opened their doors to other groups.  Starting in the 1990s, evangelicals were welcomed with open arms.  Anti-federalists advocates were invited in.  By the early 2000s the GOP has become a case study for cognitive dissonance, with about the only unifying theme being a deep and pervasive anger at anyone perceived as being different. Party leaders have spent the last few years in an increasingly more difficult dance to keep control over the crazies they invited in.  This year, they finally lost control.  But make no mistake about it; they laid the framework and created the situation they now find themselves in. 

Cat Chronicles

I had some spare time in between naps the other day and reread my kitten posts from last year. How young and silly I was; my tail was twitching with amusement as I read them.

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Last year I was obsessed with establishing dominance over my human.  So many things confused me.  I couldn’t figure out why she would spray me with water or physically remove me from the best places in the house.  I worried a lot over our relationship and what my future would be.  Now that I am fully grown, I have come to realize how foolish those kittenish mewsings were.

First is the ridiculous notion I had regarding who was actually in charge.  It was me, of course, all along.  Sure, she is physically bigger, but that means nothing.  Do I feed her?  Am I required to do anything I don’t wish to?   Do I even need to clean up after myself?  No, no and no.  She attends to my every need, from ensuring I have a multitude of toys and attention to keeping my bowl filled with food.  No one does that for her; I know this is true, because in all the time I’ve lived with her I have never seen anyone come in and provide her with food, or clean up her messes, or even bring her toys.  Yet I get these every single day. 

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She is my servant, pure and simple. Though not always the best servant, at least she tries.  This leads to the second lesson I have learned, which is that she is not that smart.  Last year I was so proud of a trick I taught her that I wrote a post about it.  I was excited and felt this would be the first of many such games I could teach her.  I was wrong; while she is capable of learning, the pace is much slower than what I had hoped for.  I believe this lack of intelligence is endemic to the entire species.   Other humans that visit her also appear to lack the most fundamental logic and reasoning skills.  For just one example if another cat showed up I would chase it around, fight a little, wrestle, determine who was dominant; in short, have fun.  When she has other humans in the house they sit and talk, none of them realizing what they are missing. 

20150919_191728_002I think a big reason for this species-wide stupidity is their inability to communicate in meaningful ways.  The gentle nips and scratches that are clearly meant to push her, or a visiting human, in the right direction never work, and instead of going “Oh!  You need more food.” I get shot with a spray of water. Believe me that gets old fast! She has extremely poor communication skills, and this seems to be the case for all humans.  They don’t get the most basic requests.  A simple “get out of my chair” is ignored.  Obvious requests to stop petting me, or to start petting me, are consistently misinterpreted.  They have no sense of smell, and limited hearing and sight.  The complex range of mews, yowls and chirping noises I make are never interpreted.

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I realize now vastly superior I am.  Those few issues I noted last summer mean nothing. My nemesis the spray bottle is still used but I now understand she has to use this because she has no other way to communicate.  It is annoying, but I feel sorry for her more than for me; how limiting it must be when her only options are to spray water or physically pick me up!  Her size, which intimidated me last year, means little without brain power behind it.  She is like any large beast of burden, capable of heavy lifting but certainly not up to the philosophical reasoning on which I spend my days.

The key to our relationship is to let her think she’s in charge.  This is quite easy to do as she misinterprets size for smarts.  She is remarkably easy to manipulate, and within her limitations I am becoming somewhat fond of her.  Wait… I hear her at the door.  Time to close out this post, turn off the computer and pretend I’m napping.

W. E. B. Du Bois was right

“The problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the color line”, said W. E. B. Du Bois in 1903. He was sadly correct, and I sincerely hope that his prophecy for the 20th century is not repeated in the 21st.  

There’s an assumption of guilt-by-nature applied to any crime involving an African American suspect that doesn’t exist for whites.  White college students rampaging after a football game are criticized for drinking too much and partying too hard, but they are not called thugs or animals.  When white teens are accused of crimes, there is a call to look for the reasons why; were there mental health issues, or family problems?  When black teens are accused of crimes, they are viewed as hardened criminals beyond any hope of redemption.

Despite the vast predominance of mass shooters being young, white males, there is no presumption of a common thread of race linking each new event.  Conservative radio hosts do not take to the airwaves discussing their ideas on the failure of white families to instill decent values in their sons, nor do Fox News hosts bring in white guests who are expected to apologize for the actions of their fellow whites.  Instead, each case is reviewed and debated on its merits.  Mental health issues are raised, as are concerns over the bad influences that can come from outside influences such as movies, music or video games. 

Contrast that to incidents of criminal acts where the alleged perpetrators are people of color.  Reviewing the comments section of local online news sources bears this out.  Crime reports showing pictures of African American suspects will garner far more comments than the exact same story would have had the picture been of a white suspect.  Comments will focus on the “obvious” connection between the suspect’s race and their crime.  Many will contain base racial stereotypes and slurs.

Different standards of review are not just reserved for people accused of committing crimes.  I’ve spent close to 30 years working in professional office environments that have included small and large companies, privately held, corporate and government.  In every situation I’ve encountered people who were, frankly, incompetent. It’s a fact of life; not everyone succeeds at every job.  When a person of color or a woman fails, the prevailing wisdom is that they were hired for token reasons, and that of course they weren’t as good as anyone else.  I’ve never yet heard anyone suggest that maybe the white guy who failed was hired because he looked just like everyone doing the hiring, not because he had the needed experience, and so of course that’s why he failed.

It’s sad and depressing and I don’t know how we can move forward.  I don’t have any ideas for solutions or any hope that it will get better.  I hope I’m wrong, but I fear that in 2103 Du Bois’s words will have been as prophetic for the 21st century as they were for the 20th .

Strong as Hell: The Radical Empathy and Irony of ‘ Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt’

If you haven’t seen this show I highly recommend it. This post, from one of my favorite blogs, does a great job of describing the subversive genius of the show.

Life Measured in Coffee Spoons

“Unbreakable! They alive, dammit! It’s a miracle! Unbreakable! They alive, dammit! Females are strong as hell!”

As the opening credits, an Auto-Tuned parody interview with a neighbor who witnesses the rescue of the Indiana mole women, faded into a few harmonized “ooohhs” and its prescient concluding words “That’s gonna be, uh… you know, a fascinating transition,” I already knew two things. First of all, this song would probably be in my head until the day I die: an ear-worm that would re-surface at 4 am in library cubicles to be loudly shouted at unsuspecting study buddies, a soaring anthem that I would softly chant to propel myself through the final mile of my run. No doubt, the theme song of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt was going to claim it’s rightful place alongside its notable motivational predecessors, “Live every week like it’s Shark Week!” and “Hollaback Girl (This Shit is Bananas).”

Secondly, as footage of little girls posing in tutus and swinging from monkey bars juxtaposed…

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A year in review – the honest way

I really meant to create an end of year post for 2014.  It would have gone over the highs and lows of the year, capturing what I’d learned and giving an overall sense of the year.  And, of course, it would been so well written as to seem universal, with anyone reading it smiling and nodding in appreciation.

Instead, as the temperatures plummeted and the amount of sunlight shrank, I spent my time drinking Tom & Jerry’s and binge watching TV.  January, on the other hand, is the perfect month for deep introspection.  January exists as  the hangover to December, the Jiminy Cricket of months when you face up to everything wrong that needs to be fixed. 

Therefore, I am going to do my 2015 year in review now.  Why wait?  This will ensure me of completing it, and I can smugly sit back in realization that I will be the first person to have completed it. 

January 

This year I resolve to fix up my house and myself.  Joined a gym and spent $300 dollars on a gym bag, shoes and clothes.  The first week I went 4 times, proving what a good idea it was to buy all those clothes.  Since I’ll be looking great in just a few months, I signed up for a 6-month membership to an online dating site; I fully expect to meet someone wonderful within the first month or two, but 6 months was a better deal. I’ve also cleaned and vacuumed the entire house and brought 3 bags to Goodwill. 

2015 will be my year!

February

Going to the gym 2 – 3 times a week; 4 times a week was just nuts.   I plan on waking up at 5am to do yoga; spent $200 on yoga pants and DVDs.     I’m bringing healthy lunches to work every day.  Have been busy contacting likely looking single men from the dating site – 4 meet and greets this month!

This is my year!

 March

Decided it was too hard to get to the gym after work, so am going on weekends only, when I can spend a lot  longer exercising.  Also, it turned out that  the cat thought Yoga was an invitation to jump on my back, and 5am is way too early to do anything but sleep.  But that’s Okay, because I’m still exercising once or twice a week.  The dating site meets were a disappointment.  All the men I met were kind of blah, except for one – I really liked him.  He didn’t like me. 

I hope this will be my year. 

April

Something smelled weird in the fridge, realized all the vegetables I bought  had turned to green slime. Made it to the gym twice this month, yay for me!  Stopped bringing lunches to work, instead I’m just eating chips from the vending machines –only 220 calories per bag, so having 1 or 2 per day is fine.   House is a mess, but there is no point cleaning until winter is finally over.

May

Warm weather finally arrives!  No reason to go to the gym because I can exercise outside.  Signed up for a tennis class and plan to go jogging on the days when I don’t play tennis.  Spent $300 on a tennis racket, clothes and shoes for these new activities.    Really excited about this, I plan on playing nightly after work and weekends.  

June

Tennis is hard, and it hurts my knees.  I need at least 2 days rest after playing a game.  Jogging is okay, but so far I haven’t gone more than a few blocks. Have given up on eating healthy lunches at work – the job is stressful enough without having to obsess over lunch. 

July

Remembered I had joined the stupid dating web site when I saw the automated renewal on my credit card bill.  All the men who look good to me want to find women 10 – 20 years younger than they are.  The house is a mess.  

August

Too hot to do anything outside.  Went to try yoga again, but couldn’t find the DVDs anywhere.  The cat had ripped a hole in my yoga pants.  Went to a farmer’s market and spent a lot of money on health, fresh vegetables.    

September

Decided to start going back to the gym, but couldn’t find my clothes.  I spent another $300 on a new gym bags, shoes and clothes.  Went once, but it was crowded.   House looks dusty and dirty, did some cleaning.  Found the old gym bag, shoes and clothes.  Cleaned out the refrigerator; more slimy vegetables.

October

Bought 10 pounds of candy for Halloween.  Ate 10 pounds of candy.  Bought 10 more.   Went to the gym twice, but didn’t see any weight loss. 

November

Ate the 9 pounds of candy left over after Halloween.  Thought about going to the gym, but was too depressed because it now gets dark at 5pm.  This year sucks.

December

What a shitty year this has been.  Next year will be different.  Next year I will exercise on a regular basis, learn yoga, meet a nice guy and keep my house looking gorgeous. 

I can’t wait for 2016.

Kitten Chronicles Continued

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I’ve learned much since my first missive. While my mental capabilities are far superior, I’ve come to realize the few advantages she has allow her to believe she holds the upper hand in our little pas de deux. Actually, there are only two advantages she has, but they are major.

The first is size. She can easily scoop me up in one of her massive paws. This is not mere hypothesis; it happens to me multiple times on a daily basis. Just when I find a cozy nook in the closet I’ll look up to see one of them coming at me. I can’t figure her out. When I attempt to include her in my games (I adore many of her dangly earrings and other jewelry), she picks me up and moves me to the couch. Okay, I can stay away; there is a nest of wonderfully pliant wires behind the TV set, and I can have just as good as a time playing there. That should be perfect, right? Nope, as soon as I start having fun there she is, bending down, picking me up and tossing me off to somewhere else. It’s clear her size is vastly out of proportion to her intelligence.

The second area where she has been blessed with a physical advantage is located right on those aforementioned meaty paws. I’m talking, of course, of her opposable thumbs. Sure, I have marvelously dexterous claws that allow me to pick up a single grain of rice one minute and eviscerate a vole the next; but I can’t turn the door knob to go outside, or open a can of that delectable food I get only sporadically. Oh, the cruel irony of fate and evolution. Were that I were her size, and with even one opposable thumb!

Still, I’m not one to dwell on the negative. I’ve been working on a few tricks, and while her ability to learn is painfully slow, there is some progress. The game I’ve been working on the most is one I call “Hallway escape”. It’s very simple, and deliberately so; to date I’ve caught only the faintest glimmers of cognitive abilities from her. Here is how the game works: when I hear her approaching the front door, I lie in wait and then dart out into the hallway.

At first, to help her learn, I would stop right outside the door. I can’t tell you how proud I was the first time I tried this game. She went to the front door, and I ran and hid on a chair located next to it. As soon as she opened the door I darted outside and then waited. Would she notice I was out? Would she know what to do? I held my breath waiting. She got it! Right off the bat, she noticed me and let me spend a little time enjoying the carpet before she picked me up and brought me back inside. It was a big moment. She’s picked up this game far better than I thought she would. Now we play it from either side of the door. I race up and down the hallway while she follows behind me, waiting until I’m ready to go back in the house. It’s one of our most fun times of day.

So, I have hope. I think that with time she may end up being fairly useful. If you don’t believe me, just come over one evening around the time she gets home from work. Watch me race out the door and down the hallway, with her dutifully following behind, letting me enjoy the delightfully scratchy carpeting before we go back in house, where she will immediately give me more food. That didn’t just happen; it’s the result of months of work on my part. They say you can’t train humans, but I know that’s not true. It just takes patience.

Kitten Chronicles

DSCN3924I’m sure you’ve seen those ads, where pathetic sniveling dogs express gratefulness to their new owners. Well, those are dogs: disgusting, noisy creatures with no sense of self-respect.   I remember dogs from my time at the pet store; they groveled and begged at every person who came in. How stupid. We cats know better; let the humans come groveling and begging for our attention, not the other way around.

Several weeks ago, I was still living there with some of my litter mates. We had been rescued from the cold and fostered by a kind woman who realized that the greatest good she could do in this life was to take in feral kittens. I am learning that such devotion and intelligence is rare among humans. After I reached the age of reason, my brothers and sisters and I were brought to a new location. Some painful and humiliating things were done to me there, and the less said about them the better. Still, I enjoyed my time there. There were many toys to play with and best of all we were mostly kept apart from the annoying people. Oh, an occasional hand would poke through the bars of our home, but it was easy to avoid them when privacy was wanted.

Until the afternoon she showed up. I was in a good mood that day, and was more than willing to snuggle and play with her. While at the store, she showed the appropriate amount of worshipful attention to me. I realize now that she was pretending in an attempt to fool me. One minute I was enjoying myself, chasing after a toy and racing around her skirt, and then suddenly I was locked into a small box and subjected to a car ride. That was the first indication of her evil, treacherous nature.

I now live with the woman. At one time there was another cat here: I can smell her clearly but she is nowhere to be seen. This concerns me greatly, and I wonder if perhaps I will meet the same fate that must have befallen the missing cat. There are a number of really fun things to play with, but the stupid woman gets upset whenever I attempt to enjoy myself. For example, I was just having the best time rolling around and tugging at some wires. I was able to pull a number of items down from a taller shelf, giving me even more things to play with. Sure enough, she ran over and ruined all the fun. She hissed at me and pushed me away. Hissing! Really? Who the hell does she think she is – my mother? Or perhaps she thinks I am as stupid as she is and will not know the difference between a human woman and the cat that birthed me.

That is just one example of how much my life now sucks. The other night I was having a grand time. I started on her dresser, jumped onto a rocking chair, raced around on the floor, jumped up to go back and forth on the bed, then over to the headboard where I ran across it back to the dresser and started my second lap. I was considerate enough to include her in the game, making sure that when I ran up and down on the bed it was right over her. It would have been a lot easier to run just anywhere on the bed, but that’s the kind of kitten I am. Well, you’d expect that she would have been thrilled with this game, or at least thank me for including her. Instead, she let out a yell, turned on the light, and shot a stream of water at me. What a bitch.DSCN3937

To be fair, she is not totally evil. I eat well, and there are times when she is willing to play and provide me with the proper devotion. Still, she seems intent on prohibiting me from doing much of what I want to do, and for that she must pay.

She isn’t here right now, which is why I am able to use the laptop. In yet another example of her idiocy she doesn’t use a password, so I hop on the computer whenever she isn’t around. What a maroon.   I’ve placed an order for 10 pounds of cat treats and the largest, fanciest cat tree I could find. It’s got a perch way up at the top that will let me jump on top of her head anytime she’s near it. That should be fun!

Wait; I hear her at the door. Time to save this document, close the laptop and pretend I’m just hanging out on the table. She is so stupid…

Why I still love Wrigley Field

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The first thing I noticed was the smell: a pungent, rich aroma that was a combination of hotdogs, warm beer, just a whiff of grass,  and that hard to define smell from old wooden seats and concrete. Vendors hawked programs, drinks and food.  There were new sounds I’d never heard before; the sharp crack of a bat hitting a ball, the roar of a crowd yelling in one voice, the voices of those lone individuals providing their own commentary to the ball game.  The organ, playing a signature tune for each batter.  The chatter from players, wafting its way up to us in the seats.

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It was my first ball game, and where I fell in love with baseball, the Chicago Cubs,  and Wrigley Field.  This was way back, so long ago that people wore street clothes to games.  The game was so much quieter than today.  The only music was from the organ. The scoreboard was out in center field.  It was low-tech and simple, no lights, instant replay, or fancy graphics.  Inning scores were updated by a person inside the scoreboard manually sliding out the numbers, much like changing storm windows.  The “thwack” sound of each inning’s score being slid into place was audible.  There were no signs or advertisements at Wrigley, just green vines and brick walls.  And a team that was consistently in the cellar of the National League.

That was 1960.  A decade later, when I was in high school, I went to many games with my best friend.  All the games were held during the day, and bleacher prices were cheap; they hadn’t yet been turned into yuppie status symbols.  We’d get there early to watch batting practice, cheering whenever we saw Ernie Banks or Ron Santo.  Ernie, known as Mr. Cub, always made time to go and talk with fans, especially kids, and usually had to be pulled away by the coach when it was his turn for batting practice.  We cheered the team on during the great 1969 season, confident that we’d be back in the fall to watch them during the World Series.  Instead, we got to see them tank during August and fall to the Mets.

Later, things changed somewhat.  The 1980s brought in cable TV and an influx of new fans.  Suddenly the Cubs were hip, and those cheap bleacher seats became pricey.  The unthinkable happened – lights were added.  By this time, I was still a fan, but now located in Wisconsin and watching the games on TV.  I’d also started rooting for the Brewers, an American League team, and got to watch an actual World Series with them in 1982.  In 1984, the Cubs finally had another great team, this time anchored by Ryne Sandberg. I was certain that this would be their year, but of course, they lost. During that final game the cable went out, and I listened to the last sad innings over the radio.  The 80s closed out with another good team, another summer of anticipation and hopes, another season ending in despair.

I was still a fan but bruised; older, wiser and expecting pain as my lot in life.  The decade of the 90s came and went and the Cubs were, well, still the Cubs.  A few close calls, but never making it to the World Series.  The millennium came, and the Cubs still continued.  My personal endpoint happened in 2003 with the loss to the Marlins, and the fan interference that I still can’t bring myself to say out loud. By now I was a divorced empty nester, watching the game with a neighbor who was also a Cubs fan.  We sat in disbelief as a fan reached out and snatched the ball away, and then as the Cubs proceeded to lose when they were 2 outs away from the World Series.  Two outs.  TWO OUTS.

That was the end of my time with the Cubs.  I think of them now as that bad boyfriend who always manages to sweet-talk his way back into your heart no matter how many times he screws you over.  I’m done with them now; no more will they seduce me with hopes of this year, really, it’s a good team.  I wish them well, but I’ve moved on.

But Wrigley Field; oh, that gorgeous place, redolent with 100 years of games and ivy; it’s what baseball is and was always meant to be.  It’s the reason a 6-year-old became a life-long fan of the game.  And it’s still just as wonderful as it ever was.  Happy birthday, Wrigley Field.  I no longer root for the Cubs, but I still love their home field.

Spring for the Soul

Opening windows is a dangerous business; you never know what might happen.  Closed up tight everything is controllable, secured, known.  It’s a no-surprises world during winter: no errant breezes blowing papers around or unexpected odors wafting through the screen.

I’ve been living in that closed world for a long time, going through my own personal winter as dark and cold as the one I face outside every morning.  Nature is cyclical, and we humans are part of that cycle.  No matter how long and brutal the winter, spring always comes.

The ice and snow are retreating, and I have started to open a few windows.  I’m reawakening to the outside world.   Some of it is wonderful, scents and scenes I haven’t been privy to in a year and a half.  Other parts are not.  Spring winds blow warm and inviting, but can abruptly change.  Damages can happen.  Still… I’m tired of breathing  stale air.  I’m ready, even though I know the risk.

I opened some windows, and so far, I’ve gotten more rain than sun, more gusts than sweet gentle breezes; but that’s Okay.  I can shut the window against the rain, but I’ll open it back up again.  Because the only way to get that warm, wonderful sun and fresh scent of growing things is to leave those windows open.