Vicki Lane's Blog, page 23

Monetizing the Presidency

                                                               

 "Thanks, Mr. President!" was the headline from some conservative journalist, thanking the Orange One for pausing the ruinous tariffs that have sent the world economy into a tailspin. 

Yes, the pause engendered a huge leap in the stock market. But to thank the Meddler in Chief for this pause is like thanking the man operating the rack for taking a break from twisting the screws.

Like so much else, this is a disaster of his own making and he deserves no thanks. What he does deserve is an investigation into how this gross manipulation of the stock market benefits him and his family and friends.

And how about the Executive Order disbanding the group investigating cryptocurrency fraud? Just as the Trump family moves into the Bitcoin market. Shameless!

Thanks Again, Martha!

They always catch me by surprise -- one day a bunch of tight green buds and then suddenly a glorious explosion of deep pink. And I always think of Martha Stewart and the article in her magazine about her bed of tree peonies that inspired me to acquire one of these magnificent shrubs.

I'd love to have more--but they aren't cheap.

And maybe I wouldn't appreciate this one so much if there were more.

Whatever. But once again I raise a silent toast to Martha S.


 

A Hollow Shell

                                     

Dear Sen./Rep.________,
As the billionaire wrecking crew and the ship of fools that is the Cabinet, headed by the Golfer in Chief, continue to hollow out our government, I am at a loss to understand how men and women of conscience can stand by and allow the Executive Branch to manufacture emergencies that allow them supreme power.
A Department of "Justice" that deports a legal resident through and administrative error then refuses to bring him back...
Massive cuts to the Social Security Administration that have resulted in poor to no service for frantic seniors, fearful of losing vital payments. . . .
Ridiculous punitive tariffs that will hurt all consumers and tragically lower the standing of the USA in world opinion . . .
Measles epidemics; abandonment of long time allies; an FDA that mustn't use words like 'water' or 'climate' ; a military that can't talk about minorities or women; a financial stranglehold on free speech at our universities . . .
I could go on but your intern has probably stopped reading.
But, as usual, I'd like to know what YOU plan to do about all this.
Your disgusted constituent


C

Mute Monday

 

Bloodroot and Re-Wilding

 I was startled and delighted to see a drift of wild bloodroot blooming in a neglected area on the north side of the house. It's a slope too steep for the lawn mower and so it only occasionally gets attacked by the weed eater.

That's okay. We can't maintain our property as we once did. At one time I did most of the weed eating and enjoyed it. Alas, no more. John still does a lot, but there are some areas that we are content to give over to re-wilding. 

And now and then there's a lovely surprise like this.

                                                 

The first picture was taken in the morning; the second and third in the late afternoon and the flowers are furled up.

Progress

Any time I go somewhere, I pass the river and what was, pre-Helene, a lovely meadow, tended by an absentee landlord who used what was the land across the road from the old home place to pasture his fat black steers.



Helene wiped out many of the trees at water's edge and deposited a thick layer of sand over most of the pasture. It was a sad sight.
But in the past month, wonderful progress has been made. Heavy equipment has been hard at work. The broken trees have been removed, the trunks salvaged for firewood and the rest shoved into a huge pile and burned, then buried.  Drainage ditches have been dug, lined with gravel, and drains installed. 
And much of the choking sand has been  pushed into a sort of berm along the river. Perhaps with enough vegetation on it, it will divert the next flood.
I look forward to see grass growing here again and fat black steers grazing.


 

Blue Benches, Yellow Flowera

 

A Moral Moment

                                   

Dear Sen./Rep. _______,

I'm guessing you didn't pay any attention to the marathon speech Cory Booker gave, so I'd like to give you a Cliff Notes version of it.

Quoting Heather Cox Richardson (whose Letters from an American it would do you good to read): 

" Booker called out the Trump administration’s violations of the Constitution and detailed the ways in which the administration is hurting Americans. Farmers have lost government contracts, putting them in a financial crisis. Cuts to environmental protections that protect clean air and water are affecting Americans’ health. Housing is unaffordable, and the administration is making things worse. Cuts to education and medical research and national security breaches have made Americans less safe. The regime accidentally deported a legal resident because of “administrative error” and now says it cannot get him back.

"“These are not normal times in America, and they should not be treated as such,” he said. “This is our moral moment. This is when the most precious ideas of our country are being tested…. Where does the Constitution live, on paper or in our hearts?”

So many things to address. Could YOU begin by being outraged that, through an administrative error, a legal resident has been sent to a foreign prison and the administration that sent him there isn't trying to get him back? 

Let this be YOUR moral moment. Or is the word "moral" on the ever-expanding list of words proscribed by this immoral regime?

Your sincerely outraged constituent

 

 

Dancing Woman by Elaine Neil Orr

                                      

A childhood in Nigeria left its indelible imprint on the author's sensibilities, and the sights, sounds, smells, flavors, and textures of that beloved land fill the pages of this rich and thoughtful novel.
1963, and Isabel, a newly married American who has come with her aid worker husband to a small town in Nigeria, struggles to find some meaning in her life. Her husband is busy with fulfilling work, often leaving her alone. She attends a party with friends and is at once drawn to a charismatic musician.  That single night will have consequences both devastating and rewarding.
Soon, while digging in her garden, Isabel discovers an enigmatic terra cotta female figure that somehow seems full of meaning. As she attempts to decipher the message, she returns to painting the watercolors that once gave meaning to her life, until a casual criticism stopped her pleasure in creation. ,The novel is full of incident and reflection. And always, Nigeria, the place and its people, speak to Isabel-- and to the reader.
Of course, I particularly enjoyed the vivid descriptions as Isabel created her watercolors. And by the end of the book, I was so invested in the characters that I found myself hoping for a sequel.

Rabbit, Rabbit

 

Where wild violets come from . . .