Another first chapter

Where do I begin? At the beginning, I suppose. But that’s the trouble — when did the story begin? And what is the story, anyway? Some might say there’s really no story to tell, or at least anything unusual or special. But that would be missing the point, wouldn’t it? Now, you might counter by asking what the point actually is, and if you can’t see the point, maybe we have nothing to talk about — and that would be something to talk about all in itself.

It probably began with the great upheaval, but who can say with any clarity when the great upheaval began, right? One day we were all neighbors and hey how are ya and how are the kids? And the next thing you know, how dare you and what the hell were you thinking?

I’m from the old school, I still love my neighbors, praise God. I have no idea what they think of me anymore, sadly. All I can control are my own thoughts and feelings, and I try so hard to keep them positive, because hey, life is short. Life goes on and on for a long, long time until one day you’re thinking how quickly it all went by. Instead of somedays and you just wait, life has become the blink of an eye and how can it be almost over.

In any case, it doesn’t make any sense to figure out where it all began, except in the sense of trying to avoid whatever started it over again if we get the chance. I’ve never met anyone who was really trying to pick a fight, they always seemed to believe it was the other guy who sucked them into this.

Maybe they’re right — there’s nothing to see here, so we should just move along, move along.

But if there’s nothing to see here, then who do we hold accountable for all that happened? We do want someone held accountable, don’t we? Can’t we even agree on that?

It’s so hard to tell. I have some ideas, but who cares what I think? It would be nice to go back to the beginning and start over, but we can’t even agree on when it started and who started it or even why.

And so we tumble around in a state of great upheaval, and any attempt to love one another gets a slap in the face. It’s all a big mess.

That’s why I decided to sit down and try to make sense of it all. OK, here goes. Now — where do I begin?

Love and peace as a public stand

I’m on the back deck again, the temperature around 60 and the sun in my face. I’ve gotten a little housework done, and the yard work is taunting me as if to say, “You do know the weather is perfect for working outside, should you ever decide to get off your duff?”

Beyond this idyllic scene, gasoline is up to $4.50 a gallon, about $2 more than before the U.S. government started to bomb Iran. I liked it better when the president was bragging about how many wars he had ended. It seems to be inevitable that the weapons industry will eventually get a bug in a president’s ear and convince him to start blowing things up. Once the explosives are deployed, of course, new explosives need to be ordered to replace them; after all, the war racket must be maintained.

I have tried to keep politics out of my blog, but “Love God and love your neighbor” has become a radical political statement these days. I still believe we are born with certain rights — rights that are certain — beginning with the rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. My personal pursuit of happiness led me to love God and love my neighbors, and judging from the anger, hatred, violence and viciousness rampant in our public discourse these days, I have to believe I have been more successful than a lot of people in securing a modicum of happiness.

Chaos agents across the land are trying to drive wedges between neighbors, and they have had more success than I care to admit. I’ve said before that my top expectations from politicos are promoting freedom and peace, and that no one in the ruling class cares about such things — they are too busy stirring up hatred and fomenting civil unrest. But we need not heed the chaos agents, not when such a better path is open before us.

It’s spring planting season, and we need plowshares more than we need swords if we’re to eat next winter. I refuse to hate my neighbors, a group of people that includes even you who insist I should be seething with hate.

At least that’s how I see life on a sunny day on the back porch in early May. The cardinals, goldfinches and blackbirds are chirping agreement.

A first of May

Oh my. Back on the back deck. The sun is beaming down, the weather app says it’s 55, the sky is blue, the grass is green. This will do nicely.

Five blackbirds are sitting in a tree — now six — maybe 25 feet away and above me. Perhaps they are plotting my demise a la Hitchcock? More likely they are wondering what I am and what this big structure is and why I need such a large home in the middle of their territory — not to mention why I am sitting so close to the platter filled with seed for them to eat?

Do they gain any solace from seeing that these two gentle creatures sitting by my side are clearly not afraid of me? Or are the dogs, like the birds, anxious that I feed them?

My preference is to sit here in the sun even though there is plenty of work to be done on spring cleaning and maintenance. My excuse-o-meter objects: “It’s the Sabbath. Rest, rest.” I accept that for now, but I’d better not still be making excuses Monday morning.

There is a proverb about sitting, folding one’s hands, and resulting poverty. I should heed that, too.

Way in the sky beyond the trees, two birds sail briefly through my field of vision. The first pelicans of the season? or simply gulls? The glimpse was too quick and distant to be sure.

The blackbirds are still gathered, checking me out. The sun on my face is comforting. Being outside is freeing. I take deeper breaths, I see farther, I hear more. A small plane drones overhead. The blackbirds chitter, a mourning dove coos somewhere. So this is rest. I like it.