It's All About the Noise

Personally I think Donald Trump's "campaign" for the presidency has been a brilliant commentary on the state of what elections in the U.S. have become - noise.

Politicians talk to us constantly - they tell us they are sympathetic to a hefty listing of plights, they tell us what somebody else did wrong, and what America needs to do right (that's America in general - not the politician specifically). Ultimately it is rare that words match deeds. And so, to many an American, all of that talk is just background chatter -the kind of friendly bantering that takes place over drinks with your friends at the bar knowing all but the occasional gem of an idea will be forgotten come dawn.

Trump has brilliantly  demonstrated that to catch the attention of America a politician has to be louder than the back chatter. A politician has to SHOUT - content doesn't matter, in fact the more ridiculous the content the longer the SHOUT echoes in the minds of Americans.

Presidential campaigns feed Americans information via TV, radio, print & electronic publications, Facebook, Twitter - it's like watching the perpetually running ticker at the stock exchange - a blur of data until something JUMPS OUT.

Trump has shown us that the way to JUMP OUT is to toss shiny baubles. Like fish we are lured to investigate - and then we're hooked. Hooked by the ludicrousness of the Donald Trump Traveling Circus. The audience grows and grows - people wanting to see just how crazy things will get. 

The worrisome thing is that the Iowa Caucus should have shown us that deep down voters see the Trump campaign for the flim-flam that it is.  Trump should have been the guy with 10 percent of the votes. Instead, he's hanging tough - Americans are fixated on the noise.

Captain's Cottage

The window in the eyebrow dormer of the cottage was a dark eye peering from beneath a wind-sculptured layer of snow. The red paint on the window frame was flaking and sections of  silver-gray cedar siding were curling away from the sheathing beneath. On the first floor, moonlight reflected dully in the smudged windows flanking the heavy front door. The narrow portico sheltering the entrance to the cottage listed to the left.

In contrast to the exterior disrepair, my flashlight revealed an inviting interior. I could imagine a time when a ship's captain sat pulled up to a sturdy oak table puffing on a pipe and studying charts by the light of an oil lamp.

Aroma Embrace

It gathered me up the moment I set foot in the house, the welcoming aroma of home made soup that had been simmering for hours.

Even before I closed the door the January cold was forgotten. As many images flashed through my mind as there were spices in the soup. A country kitchen with blazing hearth and a trestle table set with simmering bowls, an upholstered chair with a jumbled afghan in the seat, my grandmother conducting dinner preparations with a wooden spoon.

Giving myself over to the comforting embrace of special memories I forgot to shed my coat on the way to the dining room. I dropped it next to my chair, a jumble of fabric just like the pictured afghan. Then I dropped myself into a chair and inhaled the aromatic steam rising from the porcelain bowl. An aroma that promised a real time embrace after dinner.

Signs of the Times

It used to be that the instructional signs on interstates and highways read:  Keep Right Except to Pass
Recently, in our area at least, the new message is: Slower Traffic Keep Right
Which suggests that those who monitor our roadways are admitting that posted speed limits have become guidelines rather than requirements - and that drivers who can't deal with it need to get the hell out of the way.

Why Wait?

Social media has been flooded with David Bowie tributes today.  While music appreciators have collectively mourned the loss of a talented artist they have also celebrated the music David Bowie gifted us with.

It's not an uncommon occurrence - sharing in grief - but technology has exponentially increased the impact. People around the world are brought together in a finite time period and the results are - well nothing short of amazing.

But why wait for tragic circumstances to come together as a community of music artists and music appreciators?  Why not celebrate annually  those uniquely gifted artists that cross generations?

Arrival Days they would be called. The anniversary of the day an exceptional artists first made his, her, or their impact. On Arrival Days we, as a worldwide community would share the impacts those artists have had on our lives - and the artists themselves could benefit from the world giving back.

Dandelion Love

She stood at my front door, all three feet and 7 inches of her, my granddaughter. On her face was a smile and in her hand was a yellow dandelion bloom.

Here, Opa, I got you a flower. I accepted the gift with the pomp and circumstance such an offering deserved.

Yes, any other day that same yellow bloom would have served as an unwelcome reminder that weeds were overrunning my lawn.  But right then that dandelion plucking was an an invaluable expression of love.

Celebration or Reinactment

It was the 4th of July and the quiet of dusk was broken by the cracks of igniting  gunpowder, explosive flashes, whistling rockets, and shouts of Hooray.

The celebration was taking place in 2015 near my home in Lewes, DE.

And yet it could just as well have been the year 1814 near Fort McHenry: muskets firing charges of black powder, glowing hot cannonballs arching through the sky, and shouts of Huzzah every time the ebb of battle changed.

Which makes me wonder if, when we celebrate our independence, we aren't subconsciously reliving one of the epic battles that got us there.