The Burrow

I used to really love Cornell.   I did volunteer alumni interviews for 40+ years; my name is on a plaque somewhere.  TBG and I donated a landscape installation alongside a well traveled path; our names are on a bench there, too.  I've been on Alumni Boards and College advisories and been president of our local alumni club.   We've donated every year since graduation; Cornell is mentioned in our will.  At least it has been up until now. First, there were internal machinations within the Colleges that drew my attention and ire.  I protested and supported the student protesters and wrote letters/emails which received boilerplate, anodyne responses.  Then, the administration complied instead of fighting the bullying, sending control over $60 million to the Felon in Charge.   That's when we stopped sending them money.  I didn't stop telling every entity asking for my dollars why they were being denied.  There was a say-nothing ...

You'll be reading this on the date the National Weather Service has decided our monsoon ends.  The official declaration notwithstanding, that same NWS predicts lots of rainfall for the rest of this week. It poured all day.  Big fat raindrops making a satisfying plop on the pavement.  My windshield wipers working overtime.  People driving 20 miles under the speed limit because, y'know, it's raining. But now the sun is out.   The air smells of creosote. The sky is blue overhead, though there's a storm brewing over Mt. Lemmon that is heading our way.  I'm going outside to pull weeds and plant seeds, taking advantage of the softer, rain drenched soil. I'll be back tomorrow with something deeper.  Right now, the earth is calling.

He showed up on my news feed.  He was interviewed by one of the lesser MSNOW talking heads.  He sent me a solicitation text for a minor candidate somewhere not in Arizona. When asked, he intimates that he is, in fact, still considering a run for the 2028 Democratic nomination. I'm not so sure that will go well for you, Senator Gallego. His BFF in DC was Eric Swalwell, former darling of the left leaning media until his sexual predations made him untouchable.  Ruben, Eric's doppelganger, disappeared at the same time. Here's Eric. Punchbowl News Here's Ruben. Wikipedia.com Aside from Eric's squinty eyes, they look like privileged white boy twins, and the media used the besties interchangeably.  Ruben spoke on immigration more than Eric, but they both spouted the DCCC script-of-the-week.  They were reliable, dependable, predictable, and useful until they weren't any more. As young adults, TBG and I had a friend who made questionable choices.  I ignored the rumo...

The big, beautiful sunflower was the victim of monsoon winds and rain.   Even the tiny bugs and birds are uninterested in anything much any more. But another giant beauty, a little different but stunning all the same, joined us from another container. The bees are very interested in this one. He's carrying a plug of pollen in his tiny little feet/pincers//fingers/who knows.   I was so taken with the whole operation I forgot to take his picture until he was just about out of focus. You can really see the Fibonacci spirals in this one.

In the stories, accepting the gifts of fame and fortune often leads to disaster.  Recently, I've begun to think about an old issue through that lens. How much would I have to pay you for the opportunity to do something you love and you do very well; with the promise of fame and fortune beyond anything you've known; with opportunities available no where else; with the chance to bring joy to others and the power to be heard when you use your voice? Strangers will look up to you, emulate you, admire you.  You'll have generational wealth, enough money to do real good, should you choose, or to live indulgently, if that's your bent. And all it will cost you is somewhere between a 25 and 40 percent certainty of developing CTE , a degenerative brain disease. I read that article and  this article  and I heard about it on NPR and the evening news, and I kept asking myself how much money it would take for me to accept that risk. Just posing the question makes me shudder. 

Monday was Yom Kippur. Senior year in high school I wondered aloud why turning down the corner of a pledge marker during the service was allowed, since it was obviously work and dealing with money.  Freshman year in college I broke the fast at an all you can eat chicken place. Junior year I sat on my bed and contemplated my life, then went out with TBG and had a great time, with only a modicum of guilt. I could always find a free place to pray with others as I aged, although the urge to do so has withered on the vine.   Not so the need/desire/opportunity/tradition that has me spending a good portion of today thinking about my life, my friends, my community, my country, the air that we breathe, and the coming AI Apocalypse. Where do I fit in?  What can I do better?  How scared should I be and what should I do about that? It's an interesting exercise, having nothing to do with bribing God to inscribe me in the Book of Life for another year.  I'm not living to...