Live To See Another Day [Davids blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Kerri and I do almost everything together which is ideal until we go to the department store to buy new bras. For me, it is a perilous undertaking. The ladies sneer at me the moment I step foot into the bra department. It is no-mans land. It is the place women go to escape the dude-o-sphere and deal with the baseline realities of womanhood. I’ve learned that, in this clear and present danger-zone, I have only two paths for survival: 1) try to disappear. On the surface, disappearing seems like a wise option since the aggression from other bra-shoppers is palpable and violence is a real possibility. However, I’ve learned from experience that I could become the invisible man, a tiny mouse, and they’d still know my exact location, they track my every step. The danger does not disappear even if I do.

The better option is #2: become the efficient executive assistant to my bra-shopping wife. Survival means keeping her organized through a very difficult and complex series of decisions, refiling the rejects, pulling options for consideration, bolstering her courage when she is overwhelmed, reinforcing her ideals of beauty when she launches into inevitable self-denigration. Slowly, I become the secret envy of every woman in the department. I know that beneath their disdain, they are wishing they, too, had a helpful witness to their travails, an executive assistant to make their task a wee-bit easier. I am careful to be all business and not to become cheerful. No matter how helpful, cheerful men in the bra department is a step-too-far.

I know I am safe when, after several minutes of following along, holding an armful of possible options, I say, “What about the Bali?” to which Kerri, knowing the danger I am in, replies, “No. I like the Warners.” And I say, “Right, Bali can be too fancy-schmancy.” For a brief moment the frowning mouths twitch into smiles and I know I will live to see another day.

To cement my survival I purposefully pick up the wrong bra and suggest, “What about this one?” Kerri takes the briefest of glances and says, “No. No underwire, remember?”

“Right!” I declare and add, “I always forget about the dangers of the underwire. I mean, who would think that was a good idea! Bras must be designed by men!” The angry shoppers look away to hide their amusement. I say to myself, but loud enough to be heard, “No underwire. Stay away from fancy-schmancy. Got it!”

read Kerri’s blog post about FANCY-SCHMANCY

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Just In Case [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Just in case you were confused, there is no such thing a clean coal.

Just in case you were confused, mining and drilling in National Parks destroys the park. The purpose of the “park” designation is to protect the land from commercial exploitation.

Just in case you were confused, the Environmental Protection Agency was meant to protect human health by protecting the environment. Having been gutted, industry now considers you and me as acceptable losses in their pursuit of profit.

Just in case you were confused, the CDC, The Center for Disease Control and Prevention was meant to protect public health and safety. Having been gutted, the severely reduced CDC now “benefits specific political, corporate, and decentralized entities. This primarily includes pharmaceutical and supplement companies marketing alternative or deregulated products, certain private healthcare conglomerates, and political advocates promoting decentralization over federal oversight.” (A-EYE) In other words, corporate profit and quackery triumph at the expense of public health.

Can you see the pattern? The same agenda has been applied to every-now-obliterated government protection agency. FEMA, The National Weather Service, USAID, Veterans Affairs, Consumer Finance Protection, The Social Security Administration, Medicaid…Privatization over people, profit over principle, pillage over prudence. And for good measure, destroying the Department of Education guarantees generations of uneducated people; an ignorant populace is more easily exploited.

As John K used to say, “Penny-wise and pound-foolish.” A new brand motto for the republican party? They love hoarding all the pennies while sending their not-quite-sincere-thoughts-and-prayers to the future.

(for a template of government that works for people, merely flip the current agenda on its head: public service that serves the public rather than corporate profiteering. It is not so hard to imagine.)

read Kerri’s blogpost about THEIR QUEST

*Fool by Christopher Wool

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Somebody. Nobody. [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“The comparatively affluent can withstand the moral effect of being subsidized and supported by government; not so the poor.” ~John Kenneth Galbraith, The Culture of Contentment

It is among the greatest bait-and-switch tactics played on the American public: While the Reagan republicans and the generations that followed crowed that Welfare Queens were robbing the public, 50 trillion dollars moved from the lower 90% into the personal pockets of the 1%. The misuse and abuse of the system was not – and is not – the woman using food stamps to feed her child.

Do you remember the cry, “Waste, fraud, and abuse!” It is the same strawman/woman tactic used to sell The BIG UGLY BILL that is now stripping medicaid, healthcare and food assistance from millions of citizens – all to provide a tax cut for the morbidly wealthy. Consider this: Elon Musk’s personal wealth is built on billions and billions of dollars of government funding, subsidies and tax breaks. His DOGE bros successfully killed any and all government oversight over his business practices and use of tax dollars. His morbid wealth is accelerated by tax breaks and a tax code that shifts the tax burden of the nation onto the poorest citizens.

It is a corrupt band that only has one note in its repertoire: the same gross stereotype, variation on the Welfare Queen, is fueling the rampant misinformation that now leads to mass deportation of immigrants or, to be more specific, the deportation of black and brown immigrants, people who fled violence and came to this nation seeking a better life. The Welfare Queen tactic worked so well to shift wealth into the hands of the few that it is now being used to vilify immigrants. We hear that they are “soaking up tax dollars, afforded benefits that we are not, depleting resources meant for us…”

“Without fail, each Tax Day a prevalent myth resurfaces that conceals the truth about immigrants’ contributions to federal, state, and local taxes. Bolstered by social media and other outlets, it misleadingly asserts that immigrants, particularly those who are undocumented, evade taxes. The facts don’t back up these claims.”

The facts have never backed up these claims.

White nationalist elites are slobbering at the success of their modified Welfare Queen smear campaign, the rapid erection of concentration camps, the shameful support of their false-narrative by the court Supremes. All the while, the president and his men grift and rob us blind; his personal wealth has increased 4 billion dollars since inauguration day.

When fox news poisons the brains of their audience with a cry of “Socialism” or “Communism”, they are utilizing the same stereotype to fuel the same intention: create a fact-free-diversion by fueling fear, all the while moving the wealth of the nation – and the constitutional protections of the nation – into fewer and fewer hands.

When the current occupant of the White House and his Project 2025 co-conspirators cry that illegals are stealing our elections or that women are ruining our nation and should not have to right to vote or that people from Haiti are all rapists and riddled with AIDS…it is the same game, the same gross stereotype used to distract and deflect the public from the real rapists of our society.

It’s an age-old magician’s trick with a pickpocket intention: distract and steal.

Imagine the public good 50 trillion dollars could provide – could have provided – if it was actually dedicated to serving the public? The best healthcare for all. The best education in the world. Safe and secure bridges and roads. Stimulus for small business. World class research. A solvent social security and secure Medicare system. A stable and educated populace that would recognize when they were being fleeced.

Here’s the greater point. Terms like Welfare Queen are lobbed like bombs at us because they dehumanize people. They explode a victim fantasy in the minds of the easily distracted and render the target of their slander as less-than-somebody (“The welfare queen is taking your money!”). Sadly, in the process, we dehumanize ourselves, too. In “doing unto others,” we do the same onto ourselves. We become less than somebody, a disposable people who cannot afford housing or food or the gas in our cars. An easily controlled throw-away mass perpetually fighting each other, blind to the orange man and his tech-bro-party of urchins actively, gleefully, picking our pockets.

There is only one line remaining between our future as a class of nobodies or as a nation of somebodies, a government of, by and for the people, is to vote. Our vote in November will affirm that we are somebody – or it will deliver us into the hands of those who daily reduce us, strip us of our rights and believe we do not matter. Welfare Queen. Illegal. Antifa. Dumocrat. Loser.

Vote as if your life and our democracy depended on it – because it does.

read Kerri’s blogpost about SOMEBODY

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Learn The Dance [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

In a confluence of wonderment, local celebrations for Juneteenth, the summer solstice, and Chicago Pride all landed on the same day. And it was a gorgeous day, ideal for uplifting and honoring the most marginalized people in our society. This merging of revelry had an air of push back: as the powers-that-be might try to scrub the rich color from our history, our diversity runs deeper than skin color or sexual orientation, our desire for equality dwarfs their white supremacy. The people took to the streets to parade and sing and dance.

We took the train to Chicago to see our son perform at Pride. It was a mass of humanity, packing the streets, surrounding the stage, pulsing together to the beat. It was impossible to stand still.

In a moment I was struck with a thought: looking across the crowd, bodies of every shape, size, color and preference, rejoicing together. There was no judgement, no emphasis on difference. There was complete support for and acceptance of individuality and unique expression. People proud of their bodies and their choices. A community that has – and still has to – fight for every inch of equal rights and recognition. My thought? “This is what morality looks like.” All of those who pull verses from a bible and claim moral superiority are, in fact, interested exclusively in superiority. As we are witness to again and again, there is no morality on their pedestal.

The people dancing and sweating and reveling and making way for each other to BE WHO THEY ARE, as they are, in a world with love enough to hold an ideal called equality – and live it – they are the keepers of the promise and the light. They are a community, forged by hot prejudice, that cares for each other, protects and serves each other. They are the change, dancing together in their own little corner of the world, hoping someday those living in fear and judgment on the false safety of their pedestals, step down, join the party and learn the dance of humanity.

read Kerri’s blogpost about BE THE CHANGE

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One Of A Kind [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

“When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety…” ~ Maya Angelou

The house shook. “What the hell was that?” she asked. Later, I noticed bits of plaster on the black couch, fine white dust on the hardwood floor, shaken loose from the ceiling. Our great old maple tree split and fell.

“Great souls die and our reality, bound to them, takes leave of us…”

It was the first blast of wind, the leading edge of a storm that lasted no more than a few minutes. It was enough. “My children climbed in that tree,” she told the crew boss sent to clear the mighty limbs from the road. The crew cut a piece for her to save. These burly men were kind.

She told me stories over the buzz-roar of many saws as we peered out the window, witness to the quick dismantling of her guardian. Heartbroken. The crew was methodical, efficient. The storm had taken more than a few of the old guard trees and they needed to beat the next wave of incoming storms. To them our great tree was one of many. To us, it was precious, one of a kind.

It is serendipitous. Maya Angelou wrote her poem, When A Great Tree Falls, to process the loss of her mentor and friend, James Baldwin. On the day our tree fell I was reading The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin; a book about our nation’s inability to deal with its history. He was a mighty voice, a giant tree. On the morning our tree fell, I read his prophetic words: “The subtle and deadly change of heart that might occur in you would be involved with the realization that a civilization is not destroyed by wicked people; it is not necessary that people be wicked but only that they be spineless.”

The end of an era. A methodical and efficient dismantling of our great nation made possible by the spineless. To them our great nation-tree is one of many, easily disassembled. To us, it is precious, one of a kind. Democracy.

Our tree shook the earth. “What the hell was that?” Plaster fell like snow from the ceiling.

“Our senses, restored, never to be the same, whisper to us. They existed. They existed. We can be. Be and be better. For they existed.” ~ Maya Angelou

“We can be. Be and be better.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE GREAT TREE

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The Question Remains [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

It’s hard not to sift everything through the lens of current events. I mean, we are alive in the time of an AI upheaval that is at least as revolutionary to society as Guternberg’s press, all the while white-knuckling it through an attempted autocratic takeover of our democracy that Timothy Snyder calls “superpower suicide”. And we mustn’t forget climate change. How could circumstance not shade almost every decision we make?

We are living in transformational times which means we are experiencing serious upheaval. The daily ups seem higher because the daily down is without bottom.

Through social media people are sharing the sounds made by newly built data processing centers. Isn’t it ironic that the infrastructure necessary to fuel this tsunami called AI, a technology that is meant to make our lives easier, roars and thrums and not only robs communities of their peace but requires them to pay the power company for their discomfort? The price of progress? Is this a down or an up or both?

Gutenberg’s press made books available to the masses and soon transformed an illiterate populace into a literate society. The Renaissance and the Reformation would not have been possible without the press making literature and education accessible to the masses.

In his book Technopoly, Neil Postman posited that our daily glut of information would ultimately make information a form of garbage: “Because it is severed from theory, meaning, or purpose, it is incapable of answering fundamental human questions or directing coherent solutions.”

In an act of irony I asked AI to describe Neil Postman’s warning about AI: “Neil Postman warned that making information effortlessly accessible severs it from human purpose and action. He famously argued that an overwhelming glut of data creates passivity, leaving us drowning in irrelevant “disinformation” while remaining hopelessly impotent to solve real-world problems.”

Neil Postman was prophetic. His warning accurately describes our current challenge. We are drowning in irrelevance and misinformation. I cite the ballroom. We seem hopelessly impotent to solve our real-world problems but infinitely capable of creating tax breaks for the ultra-wealthy. We have lost our free press and any attachment to fact or truth. I cite the current resident of the White House, the incessant gaslighting, the party that enables him and the propaganda mechanism that stuffs his lies with credence. We are easy marks since we seek information that confirms our bias rather than accurate information that might challenge our opinions and expand our knowledge.

We are told that what goes up must come down and vice versa. The question remains: Can we survive it?

read Kerri’s blogpost about IT WILL COME BACK

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Do The Opposite [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

I am not a Gnostic nor do I identify as Christian but I very much appreciate a bit of text from the Gospel of Thomas: The Kingdom of the Father is spread upon the earth, and men do not see it. I pulled it up on my magic computer to find what comment the AI master might offer: “…divinity is staring us right in the face in our daily lives, but our earthly preoccupations, illusions, and dogmas make us blind to it.” 

It is right in front of us. We do not see it.

When I was younger I learned to meditate. I was chasing presence. More than once I came to the hysterical realization that my chase was in fact doing the opposite of what I intended. Presence is not something that can be chased. Rather, it is experienced when stopping the chase. Stand still and breathe. Feel. See.

I recently had a conversation about connection and control. It brought me around again to what I learned in the folly of my chase. There are so many things I thought I could control – many that I didn’t know that I was trying to control – and my efforts to control brought me a mountain of frustration and nothing more. I found it an exercise in futility, a seemingly impossible task, to try and control my illusion of controlling. Just as presence cannot be chased, controlling cannot be controlled. One day, in a flash of no-duh, I understood that all I need do is the opposite: connect to the moment instead of trying to control it.

It was right in front of me all along. Control is born of fear. It is to erect a barrier, to contract. Connection is the opposite. It expands. It releases. How many times have I learned that the heaven I seek is available and visible if I simply stop, let go, or turn around and look? How many times have I learned that what I sought was right in front of me, patiently waiting for me to open my eyes.

read Kerri’s blogpost about HIDDEN IN PLAIN SIGHT

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The Daisy Path [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Sometimes life gives you a second chance. My second chance met me at an airport. She was holding a daisy so that I would recognize her. Wouldn’t it be lovely if every time life opened a heart-door, a second chance, “the right path”, it was marked with a daisy so that we would recognize it? I saw the daisy. We skipped out of the airport.

That day was thirteen years ago. The daisy has lived on the dashboard of LittleBabyScion since the day she held it at the airport. She held it when we skipped to the car. She put it on the dashboard for the drive from the airport where it remains to this day. It is now a very fragile shadow of a daisy but no less of a talisman. It heals. It inspires. It connects. It reminds us how very lucky we are.

The quote at the bottom of my 1440 newsletter today was from Martha Washington: “The greater part of our happiness or misery depends upon our dispositions, and not upon our circumstances.” The daisy on the dashboard is both a thread that binds us to our origin story and a gratitude-marker reminding us each and every day that we have nothing to complain about, that his big ole universe extended an abundance to us that few people ever enjoy. We do not take that gift lightly. Our circumstance over these 13 years may have been rocky but our happiness continues to grow greater and greater because we never take the daisy-path for granted.

My sister-in-law once commented that Kerri and I work hard to keep the magic alive and it is true. We work hard but we also know a secret about the magic: the harder we work the easier it becomes. Cultivating wonder is a feedback loop; wonder cultivates us in return. Wonder is the hallmark of the daisy path and I am more than astounded that one day, thirteen years ago, I stepped off a plane and met my destiny holding a daisy.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THIRTEEN

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Everyday, Everyday [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

Sometimes it feels as if this great big old universe pops us on the head. It wants our attention. It wants us to hear its music beyond the noisy ruckus. This is one of those times.

Many months ago, late at night while Kerri was sleeping, I came across a video called, The Life We Have. I wasn’t paying too much attention and thought it was a hiking video so I clicked on it. I was not prepared for what I saw. At the end I had to stifle my sobs so I didn’t wake Kerri. So, when last week it popped up again in our feed, I told her she had to see it: Rob Shaver, living with stage four cancer for over 20 years, squeezing every ounce of gratitude he can from the life he has. His story is raw. His telling is pure. We both sobbed.

The next day L sent us a video of a man, a friend and teacher, speaking of orienting his life toward gratitude.

The next day D told us of his dedication to live from a place of generosity: generosity in thought, in action, in spirit.

The next day, while sitting in the backyard, seven vultures dropped from the clouds – seven – riding the thermals, spiraling low, just over our heads, and then circling higher and higher until they disappeared again into the clouds. It was gorgeous. Symbolically they represent purification and transformation. “I guess we’d better start paying attention,” I said.

In this past decade, ours has been a path of fire. Layers of dross and armor have been burned away. Bags of life-garbage have been reduced to cinders. We have no illusion that we are garbage-free but we are certain that the junk no longer dominates our view. We are not nearly as invested in murky grievances as once we might have been. We’re more and more clear-eyed in appreciating the moment we’re in and less and less interested in being anywhere else. More and more we hear the music in all things.

“The best thing you can do for your lungs is sing,” Rob Shaver said. This from a man who runs miles a day, a man whose lungs are filled with tumors. ‘”Everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday, everyday…be grateful for the life you have.”

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MUSIC

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See Number Five [David’s blog on Merely A Thought Monday]

How do I start this post?

Choice #1: Although it is a platitude, it is never-the-less accurate: where you place your focus grows. I have come to believe that one of the few choices we actually have is where we place our focus. (yawn).

Choice #2: Among my many flaws is a hyper-focus. Kerri just rolled her eyes. Okay, I can be…obsessive. Once I start a project it is nigh-on-impossible for me NOT to think about it. Shortly after we moved in together, we were carrying a desk from the upstairs to the basement. The doorbell interrupted our task and we left the desk standing on its end. After our visitor left I started for the stairs and Kerri said, “Let’s leave it until later.” I writhed all night and into the next day…

Choice #3: Combine choice #1 and choice #2 and call myself out on my hypocrisy. Do I have a choice of where I place my focus or not? Am I obsessive, meaning that I have no control over my focus OR am I the zen master I imagine myself to be and masterfully place my focus on the flow? The desk be damned! It will happen when it happens!

Choice #4: On social media I can be whoever I want to be! It is, after all one big viewfinder! I may not be able to control my focus but I can place your focus on my zen master identity and lead you to believe all manner of positive things about me! I can retract my story about moving the desk! I need never betray my obsessive focus dilemma. In my concocted self, I can claim to move through life obstacle-free!

Choice #5: The impact of a glass of wine on obsession.

Choice #6: The great truth of my collaboration with Kerri, my wife, my 24/7 companion, my creative copilot, is that I can’t get away with anything. If you happen to swallow my blather, if you fail to recognize that I am an obsessive gasbag fixated on moving a desk, she will set you straight. She will put your poor abused-and-confused focus placement aright! About me, she will mutter, “…teaching what he most needs to learn…”

Choice #7: If I was a magician I’d be a master of deception.

Choice #8: See #5.

read Kerri’s blog about THE VIEWFINDER

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