Saturday, March 29, 2025

From the Land of Rainfall

 Since the move to Olympia, I have not been in touch enough with many of my friends. This post may help a little, though actual conversations will be even better.

How's it going? Like this:

  • I'm teaching three online classes this semester and dealing with the red tape and required trainings of two colleges
  • unpacked with my brother for days after his and Mom's stuff arrived; a transfomer blowout killed the power while the movers were unloading
  • had major problems with the moving company at all points of the process; I would not recommend them for any task including breathing
  • unpacked my stuff on my own; it filled the garage, which only two days ago finally had room for my car
  • bought and licensed a used car in very good condition
  • supervised a bunch of renovations, including installation of a stair lift for Mom (which took weeks because of a glacial state permit process), replacement of a furnace--in the attic, replacement of a stove (a gift from my brother), installation of a step-in shower for Mom in place of a tub shower (still waiting to get the doors for the shower installed), minor repairs and drywall work by a good handyman, and I'm sure I'm forgetting others
  • helped mom with unpacking and sorting
  • cooked nearly all evening meals plus shopped for all the groceries and other things
  • drove Mom to hair appointments and so far one doctor's appointment
  • had a doctor's appointment myself
  • rearranged rooms and furniture
  • tried to settle in to my bedroom I'm at about 75%
  • hung wall art with my brother though I have a bunch of smaller ones to hang on my own
  • changed addresses and set up new accounts for things like internet, power, HOA, etc.
  • wrestled mightily with Kaiser Permanente procedures and systems not designed for use by humans
  • ran into ridiculous numbers of electronic and online roadblocks as I tried to do simple tasks
  • figured out where pharmacies and grocery stores and Home Depot and shredding services and Trader Joe's and Costco and other things are, though that's still in process
  • took astonishing amounts of corrugated cardboard and plain (moving) wrapping paper to the county recycle center along with glass; both glass and cardboard can't be put in recycling bins here
  • recycled used electronics and scrap metal and a burned-out CFL bulb
  • donated a whole bunch of stuff that we decided we never should have moved to Goodwill; gave away an extra office chair to the handyman
  • tried to get on a routine schedule during the week, but both Mom and I are still adjusting and so I forget to check the mail or come back inside to find my glasses when I'm about to drive somewhere, or we forget where we stashed something
  • doubtless I'm forgetting other major items

Busy is putting it too gently.

But there's much to like here. The land of rainfall and humidity has improved my allergies and dry skin. I've enjoyed spending more time with Mom. The south Puget Sound boasts good bookstores, libraries, and restaurants though I haven't had a chance to try many of the latter yet. Trees including many evergreens are everywhere. It's fun exploring a new area--I've just started and there's much more to come. It's another blue state--several neighbors have Ukraine flags up and one down the block posted an LGBTQ+ support sign. All the contractors and installers and such that we've encountered have been pleasant, talkative, and skilled at what they do. On all socio-geographic accounts, so far so good.

Gas today at a nearby Costco is $3.69 a gallon.

Plus I won $100.15 playing just $20 on a Planet Moolah slot machine yesterday at the Lucky Eagle Casino south of here. I've been checking out the local Indian casinos for an upcoming lunch-and-slots outing with Mom, or at least that's my excuse.

I have not had time yet to make new friends here, though now that house renovations are in later stages I hope to make that more of a priority.

And I miss my friends. All of you Bay Area people, I wish I could see you and hang out and sip beverages while talking and laughing until after midnight. I hope to visit briefly in August, so maybe we can arrange some of that.

I think of you often and wish you were here.


Wednesday, October 30, 2024

Is Donald Trump a Fascist?

 Please read the whole thing (less than 1700 words), but here’s a hint: it’s not about ideology but about behavior.

As a political scientist, I approach the application of the term “fascist” to any contemporary figure with caution.

My reluctance is based on three major reservations. First, people often use the term pejoratively, sometimes out of ignorance, and not technically. Just ask President Obama. Second, using a term so closely connected to particular historical figures such as Mussolini, Hitler, and Franco can be misleading when we consider how the term might be used at present about far-right authoritarian figures such as Viktor Orbán of Hungary. The historical context might actually distract us from understanding contemporary varieties of fascism. Third, in political theory this term is essentially contested, meaning that no consensus definition exists.

Still, since the term is flying around like Mr. Trump’s hair in the wind, I’d like to decide whether it is appropriate.

A variety of definitions for fascism have been suggested by political theorists, politicians, and cultural commentators. I’ve selected a recent one from the throng that seems to shed the most light on the current situation. (Several others are similar in large degree; if we can’t come to a consensus definition, it seems to me that political theorists can probably agree on three-quarters of the term’s meaning.)

The definition I’ll use is by Columbia history professor emeritus Robert Paxton from his book, The Anatomy of Fascism (Vintage Press, 2005, on page 218):

“A form of political behavior marked by obsessive preoccupation with community decline, humiliation or victimhood and by compensatory cults of unity, energy and purity, in which a mass-based party of committed nationalist militants, working in uneasy but effective collaboration with traditional elites, abandons democratic liberties and pursues with redemptive violence and without ethical or legal restraints goals of internal cleansing and external expansion.”

Taking relevant phrases one-by-one will serve as my evaluation of Mr. Trump and his supporters. (I must evaluate his supporters at least generally; fascism may feature one man but must be, by most definitions, a mass movement.)

1) “obsessive preoccupation with community decline”—At the core of Trump’s message, this theme drives much of the rest. He asserts, and his followers declare, that America has fallen from greatness (in no particularly defined way). The “Make America Great Again” slogan sums this up neatly. This theme has been visible in his bashing of many American cities as crime-ridden and decrepit though this view is not factually in line with a number of recent trends in many cities.

2) “humiliation or victimhood”—This sums up Trump’s hazy views of foreign policy and helps explain some of his haphazard actions in that sphere. America, he says, is treated as second-rate by China and disdained by Iran and ignored by others in the international realm. Bluster and isolated military action (for instance in Syria) were his response. Trump also evokes as victims the citizens who are working class or small business owners, not prospering economically, white, and male. The fact that Trump, a big business owner who has shown little concern for workers in his own dealings, perhaps causes some measure of this victimization is an irony apparently invisible to many of his supporters.

3) “compensatory cults of unity, energy, and purity”—Trump pays ample lip service to unity, by which he means absolute agreement with him. He continues to tout his energy (and that of his supporters), but in the current campaign has often looked tired and has rambled bizarrely, causing many observers to question his fitness. He has since 2015 continually disparaged immigrants as a form of support for white American purity. Some of those comments are so extreme (“they’re eating cats”) that they provoke laughter—and then deep concern that he would say such nonsense and be taken seriously by anyone.

4) “mass-based party of committed nationalist militants”—This seems to be how he regards his base, though because they number about a third of the electorate, he must also appeal to independent voters. The ultranationalist commitment of many Trump backers, and their willingness to excuse anything he says and does, remains as clear now as ever. Also, some of his most militant supporters include the KKK, American Nazis, and other white nationalists who exhibit fascist characteristics.

5) “working in uneasy but effective collaboration with traditional elites”—The Republican Party to a great extent has become the Cult of Trump. Leaders such as Sen. Mitch McConnell disparage Trump on occasion but usually treat him as the party leader and support him in public. Many in the GOP back him without question or reservation despite the anti-democratic comments he has made and actions he took as president. A large minority of prominent GOP officials and staffers have refused to cooperate with him this election, including his own former vice-president and more than half of his cabinet officers plus many from previous Republican administrations and former-nominee Mitt Romney’s staff. Still, the bulk of the GOP, the traditional elites, support him. Also, economic elite contributions to Trumpist candidates for office continue to flood in. Would many GOP leaders wish for a different candidate? Yes, but despite their misgivings, they did nothing to make that happen.

6) “abandons democratic liberties”—He’d like to. He does not respect democratic process or norms, civil rights, freedom of the press, separation of powers, and ethics laws and norms. The list of events in which Trump has thwarted or attempted to thwart the rule of law is too long to catalog—if a person is unaware of it, that’s simply self-delusion. In particular, his disdain for the electoral process (or rather his warped view of it) has continued unchanged from his 2015 candidacy.

7) “pursues with redemptive violence and without ethical or legal restraints”—Trump has incited violence, both during the 2016 campaign and during his term, particularly against scapegoated groups. He incited violence on Jan. 6, 2021, in what may be most accurately called sedition. His verbal attacks in this regard have almost no parallels in the history of presidents. And, as stated in 2016, “does Trump have personal ethical restraints? Have we seen any? (I’ll state this as an open question in the hope that someone will point out when he took an ethical stand that would not also result in some benefit to himself. My internal reference point on this topic is the Trump University scam and his series of lies by way of explanation.)”

8) “goals of internal cleansing and external expansion”—Trump’s internal cleansing as president took the form of deportations of undocumented people with no clear strategy or consistency; the targeting of Muslims from particular countries but not others (with no rationale to explain the distinction); the targeting of sanctuary cities, which are usually liberal and opposed to Trump in general; withdrawal of federal support for the civil rights of particular groups of citizens (for example, people of color and the gay and transgender communities); and vicious attacks on the free press. So far, Trump has not emphasized territorial expansion, though bellicose actions and rhetoric without a clear rhyme and reason were his presidential norm (as with Syria, NATO, Iran, and North Korea). He appears to be isolationist rather than expansionist. However, the “internal cleansing” agenda, including threats to his political opponents if he should be elected again, is clear.

A few relevant items may be added to Paxton’s description.

He has spoken and acted in such a way that he received the endorsement of white nationalist groups and leaders. They are in essence fascists. His endorsement by both Jean-Marie Le Pen and Marine Le Pen, the famed French fascists, is in keeping with this theme.

He holds no respect at all for fact and truth. If he truly believes all the contradictory things he says, then he has a serious psychological problem. If he does not, he’s an opportunistic, manipulative, and constant liar. Many fascist leaders historically have exhibited this characteristic—indeed, have specialized in it.

As president he surrounded himself with far-right advisors—that is, when he was not engaged in nepotism.

He cannot, for more than a few minutes at a time, behave publicly as presidents need to behave. His erratic statements and visceral loathing for anyone who disagrees with him—his bullying threats, his personal put-downs—are not remotely presidential and are unworthy of that office. (They are, however, reminiscent of a couple of famous fascist dictators.)

Finally, theorists speak often of a charismatic leadership principle in fascism. Trump’s few policy statements are notoriously vague, inconsistent (some are fairly liberal, some conservative), and frequently incomprehensible. The most famous is probably his grand claim that he would make Mexico pay for his “beautiful wall.” How would he make China kowtow to American trade interests? How could he accomplish any of the changes he advocated? Trump’s answer: he will do these things through the force of his personality and will.

But of course he was not able to. He had enough charisma to get elected in 2016—barely. He does not have enough to govern effectively, or to gain the cooperation of enough people in government to achieve his goals. For example, his failure to effectively address the COVID-19 pandemic created quarrels inside his administration and contributed to his loss to Biden in 2020.

Is Trump a fascist? Not ideologically, because he’s not ideologically much of anything except a plutocrat. However, to the extent he was able as president, he acted, functioned, as a fascist.

And that means it’s time for Americans of all political stripes to stop him, by any legal and ethical means, for example in the 2024 election.

What’s at stake? For Republicans, your political party is being undermined and sullied by this crass authoritarian. For all of us, the stakes are our liberties, our identity as Americans, and ultimately ourselves.

 

Note: During the 2016 presidential campaign, I posted an evaluation entitled, “Does This Term Fit That Candidate?” I updated it in August, 2017, after half a year of a Trump presidency. Now, with the 2024 election less than a week away, here are further thoughts. I’ve revised all earlier comments.

Tuesday, February 28, 2023

Setting a Book Aside

 2/25/23

          About two years ago, I picked up a Thomas Merton book and read a few pages and put it down and later gave it away.

          Merton wrote about the virtues and benefits of solitude.

          He knew what he wrote about, having lived and contemplated for years as a monk and many people I know appreciated his ideas, among them Kris. The book was his, found in one of the boxes of papers I sorted through alongside photographs and fifteen-year-old notes from friends and piles of ancient receipts and ephemera. I kept a handful of his books and gave others away.

          I’d always thought I might read Merton, having encountered him at essay length and wanting more. But at that moment reading a paean to solitude jabbed me, reopening fresh wounds.

          In early 2021 we neared the end of the first plague year. I’d been cut off from nearly all friends and family for months, and Kris had succumbed to cancer the previous August. Solitude, like any good form of discipline, can become too extreme. Circumstance had isolated me so extensively that I was probably clinically depressed but that didn’t seem unusual or special at the time since so many people experienced that, then. I missed Kris terribly. I saw a few friends once a week, people who were already Covid survivors as I was, and that kept me going. Barely. Solitude in excess nearly cut off my air.

          Sometimes a good book arrives at the wrong moment. I may take it up again or another Merton title someday. We’ll see—because today I ran across the following prayer from the same book, words I don’t recall having read before, but they became at once my prayer too.

Merton wrote, “My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone” (from Thoughts on Solitude, 1956).

Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Time Waits for No One

Waiting.

Waiting for an email response from a local non-profit that I’m trying to donate some in-package printer cartridges to. This is the third organization contacted; the first took a full week to respond.

Also, I’m waiting for a message or call from a key person before we can proceed with setting up an event. (Vague on purpose.)

And I’m waiting for a local jeweler to reply to an email about setting up an appraisal and possible sale of a number of Kris’s old items. (This was the earliest I could face doing it, a year and ten or so months after his exit, so before this I was waiting on myself.)

Also waiting for a response from my medical provider to a question about how much it will cost if I start using a recommended prescription medication. Waiting since last Thursday.

And, more immediately, I’m waiting for students to submit an assignment due today so that I can grade them. So far five people have turned it in though there are twenty-five in the class.

Other waits are happening though they are less tied to specific moments. I’m waiting for social opportunities to resume at full tilt. I’m waiting for news, later this summer, about whether I’ll be teaching in person with a mask on in the fall. Waiting to see what the United Methodist Church will become as it whirls apart over LGBTQ inclusion. And I’m waiting to meet a special someone (though plans to make that happen keep shifting and evaporating like a movie project in Development Hell).

At least I’m not waiting on a list of songs about time and waiting. They keep popping into my head.

“Time Is On My Side,” Irma Thomas, ripped off by the Rolling Stones.

“Tired of Waiting for You,” the Kinks. And so perfectly languid.

“Wonderful Tonight,” Eric Clapton, about waiting for his wife to get dressed to go out.

“Anticipation,” Carly Simon. “Making me wait.”

“Sooner or Later,” the Grass Roots, but I do not agree with the inevitability implied.

“Stranded,” Van Morrison. He sounds cheerfully resigned.

“You Can’t Hurry Love,” the Supremes. Painfully accurate.

“Time the Conqueror,” Jackson Browne. Among the conquered are all of us.

“The Waiting,” Tom Petty. Yes, it’s the hardest part, just as he says.

Plenty of other songs describe aspects of this universal experience, John Mayer’s “Waiting for the World to Change” and “I’ll Be Waiting” by Adele among them. Like the writers of those songs, I’m tired of watching the world take so long to change; of friendships and relationships progressing at what feels like such a slothful pace.

It’s possible to make quite a playlist but instead of taking the time to do so I declare myself ready for all these waits to be done.

Because, as Mick and Keith say in another Stones song, “Time waits for no one/And it won’t wait for me.”

Monday, September 13, 2021

Hidden Though They Shine

 

Hidden Though They Shine                                                               9/7-11/21

 

          I’ve been walking in the early evening most days, aiming for about five times a week for health purposes but motivated more by getting out of the apartment for a break. Like many people during the pandemic, I’m at home a great many hours.

          Recently I’ve been leaving the apartment just before or right after sundown. This allows a walk in a reasonable temperature and quite a few other walkers in my neighborhood use those moments, too.

          I’ve noticed a few things.

          A reasonably good dog census could be formulated based on how many are wandering the streets while towing owners, plus the number of barks I hear from inside houses and behind fences.

          Quite a few people own pleasant suburban houses in my part of San Jose. This means they are millionaires, or at least they will be when they sell their homes. Many of them already have pricey cars.

          But what has captured my attention most often in the past few nights are objects beyond the neighborhood streets.

          Venus has been rising as the sun goes down and that planet is the brightest object in the sky after the sun and moon. I’ve noticed that it’s visible within a quarter of an hour after the sun sets, a point of brilliance near the horizon and ready to be mistaken by the unwary for a nearby plane or UFO.

          On the other side of the sky, Jupiter appears early in the evening, almost as bright as Venus, remote but vivid due to its size and currently at opposition. Draw a line from the sun through the Earth and extend it; Jupiter will be near that line right now out in its orbit. Saturn is just visible, higher and not far from Jupiter, following a track similar to its huge cousin as they both trace roughly the sun’s course across the sky. Little by little they move about, differences evident only by comparing this night’s view to the scene in a week or more.

          Saturn is hard to see; a small handful of stars are visible from my city street.

          Once I was in the Sierra Nevada mountains on a moonless, crystal night and saw a multitude of stars. The Milky Way and smudges that were galaxies and nebulae covered the heavens, a breathtaking display. In my city now, with light pollution and smog, I see a dozen or at most two. And I can barely make out Saturn even when I know exactly where to look.

          Thousands of stars are hidden though they shine on.

          As I got home last night and paused to scan the sky again, now well past sunset, I wondered what most human beings, living at most times in history, would think of our night sky.

          Light pollution and smog are byproducts of the industrial revolution, and no, I’m not suggesting that we go back to the days before factories and machinery made modern life possible. Those mechanisms mean I have more clothes by far than a person with a comparable living in 1750; those changes also made possible or contributed to later revolutions in chemistry and medicine and precision equipment of all kinds. I’m fond of electric light, and my medications and refrigeration and automatic blood pressure cuff and recorded music. Especially the music.

          People exchanged old for new in the transition to factories and technology-as-product, for good or ill. This one was certainly unintended. The consequence of electric light run rampant along with expanding cities was to obscure a view into the cosmos that had been the shared experience of nearly everyone. It could be useful, too, to watch the skies for regular events that informed planting or harvest or aided navigators. But the planets and stars and galaxies and rare visits by comets and flashing meteors also provoked awe and wonder. They prompted on many nights conversations about our place in the cosmos. Those sights were with us from the first moments that anyone could have been called human until, depending on where one lived, some point in the past 200 years. A few people far from cities still see the cosmos revealed every cloudless evening. I’m envious.

          We have artificial light, and therefore increased safety in our growing cities, and the advantage of extended hours for pleasure or work. Few of us would permanently trade places with those billions who lived before the industrial revolution. We hold many wonders.

But they had the stars.

Tuesday, August 31, 2021

Birthday Approaching

          “Firm, Baby, Firm” is the name of a new lotion with collagen I just started using. The skin on my arms and hands seems tissue-thin these past few years and I get little unexplained cuts and abrasions; the doctor suggested the collagen to address what he suspects is a medication side-effect.

          I take more medications now than ten years ago but so do most of my friends who are roughly my age. We’re good at playing “Name That Statin.”

          Just started using an under-eye roll-on to attack dark circles and puffiness. I glance in the mirror and see a raccoon.

          “After age 70 it’s just patch, patch, patch,” Jimmy Stewart once said to Johnny Carson. To explain to those who are young, Johnny Carson was star of the Tonight Show for a long time and was awfully good at it. Jimmy Stewart was the Tom Hanks of his era. If you’re too young to know who Tom Hanks is, I cannot help you.

          I’m not 70 yet but the digits increase every birthday and somehow I’ll be a prime age but not a prime number on my next birthday—63. It’s not possible to explain how this happened. As a child I thought 19 was absurdly old. The five-year-old me would have no idea what to do with this gray-white, bearded, emotionally weathered version of himself, and to be fair I wouldn’t much know what to do with that kid other than give him dessert and try to answer his barrage of questions with exotic lies.

          Aging is bizarre. We don’t sign up for it but are enrolled anyway, somewhat like a cable TV marketing scam. It’s not our fault but we’re supposed to cope with it as it gradually robs us of powers we once took for granted.

          What’s happening? Among other things, our telomeres are unraveling. I have just enough understanding of the science of this to say that it’s bad—quite bad. Some geneticists suggest that if we could re-wrap our telomeres, the effects of aging could be halted or reversed. I’m hopeful that we might do better than halt aging some day so that I can once again have fine motor control and neater eyebrows, but I’m not betting we’ll learn to fix telomeres in time for me. Perhaps for some millennials though they’ll complain anyway.

          Are there benefits to aging? Well, AARP has some nice discounts. That’s all I’ve got. But don’t us older folk have a greater stockpile of wisdom? Sure, but also more short term memory gaps and an urgent, escalating desire for simple flip phones.

          Aging creates new opportunities, too—now I play a game called “I know more people who’ve had knee surgery than you do,” and it spurs countless hours of discussion. One need not have had knee surgery to play although then one could count oneself in the tally.

          I’m tempted to rewrite a song lyric—this is a constant for me—and the one I have in mind is “War,” by the Motown artist Edwin Starr. To that tune’s chorus, try this:

                   Age! Huh! (Good God, ya’ll)

                   What is it good for?

                   Absolutely nothing! (Say it again)

          But perhaps that’s too defeatist. And turn up the music, damn it, my hearing was ruined by rock concerts a long time ago.

          Aging beats death so far as I can tell but only by half a length in the Preakness, and it won’t win races forever. So, it is but a state to be tolerated for a season, defied when possible by meds or physical therapy or what one friend calls Colorful Personality Disorder.

          In the end, aging will dissolve and I’ll see heaven or perhaps nothingness, and I’m not sure I have a strong preference at this time. To see Jesus and ask those questions I’ve always wondered about (what the hell did you mean by the sword statement in Matthew 10:34?) and be enveloped by God’s grandeur—sounds great. To sleep indefinitely also sounds great. Do not make me pick.

          In the meantime, it’s “Firm, Baby, Firm” and under-eye rollers and assorted meds and sundry colonoscopies.

          But I’m looking forward to Colorful Personality Disorder—which I’ll manifest the second I retire. You are forewarned.

Friday, June 4, 2021

How Am I Doing?

 

How Am I Doing?                                                                     June 4, 2021

          I’ve been asked that question several times in the past few days and I suppose it has to do with a move to a new apartment and some people noticing on the calendar that Kris has been gone for ten months.

          The answer is not especially simple. I miss Kris. Waves of grief still wash across my shore but not so often as, say, five months ago, though I agree with those who say that one never stops grieving. The waves are smaller with time, mostly, but they still come. I don’t go a day without thinking about him and not many hours pass without his face or voice or a particular memory filling my mind.

          I’m glad to be in a new apartment but Tuesday I turned in the keys and car tags and gate openers and whatnot to the manager of the old complex on Stokes Street and felt tearful as I walked to the car. I didn’t like that apartment much. The place was loud and oldish and overpriced, so I wasn’t mourning its loss—I think I was walking away from all of the moments, good and bad, that Kris and I shared there, and it felt overwhelming for a few seconds.

          The new place is better in several respects (honest-to-God air conditioning, central air, not that cheap and anemic wall unit in the living room that the old place had). I’m getting settled; some furnishings are on order and I plan to replace a few more things later. When my new recliner arrives it’ll start to feel much more like home.

          Though it’s going to be a good place, I think, it’s missing other people. I can’t have anyone over until there are more places to sit and it’s a small apartment, not suitable for much entertaining. But I can’t be here alone all the time.

          I’m trying to jump start my social life with a little success but living alone —because of the pandemic and because Kris is gone—is something I hadn’t done since 2003, I realized recently. Out of practice. And what I now recall is how lonely I was back then. As is true now, I’d see a friend for lunch or meet someone to go to a movie and then I’d be back home and by myself for 12 waking hours a day. It was too much. It is again.

          Probably this part will become easier as restrictions lift and those days are in sight now. I don’t know that I can do except keep reaching out.

          And I’m finding a few more things to do that had been suspended by Covid. Wednesday I drove by the Triton Museum in Santa Clara and was surprised to see it open so I stopped in for about a half hour. It’s not huge (not tiny, either) and often features artists with local roots and it’s been a regular destination about four times a year for many years now. That felt great, nearly normal. The moment when I can put away the facemasks is approaching and that, I think, will help enormously—gathering without restrictions. I need to be around people more, particularly people I know and love, but people in general, in brewpubs and ball parks and museums and libraries.

          The meaning of life becomes more obscure as I age, at least the meaning of my life in particular does, but a few things seem reasonably clear. Enjoy your friends and family. Do good work. Try to roll with the punches, even when they arrive in a bunch. Relish those museum strolls.

          That’s all I’ve got right now. How am I doing? I don’t have a clear answer except to say that I’m starting to look forward again.

Prayers of the Night

 I've just published a novella, Prayers of the Night, on Kindle. It responds to a question that occurred to me many years ago--what woul...