It is what it is

Whatever that may be, Gentle Reader.  We’ve moved into rather spring like weather here, albeit with the usual 30-40 degree swing between day and night.  It was 38 degrees in the yurt this morning, for example.  Still and all.  As long as we can keep it all in Perspective, we’re doing just fine for the most part.

Our lives, the Partner’s and mine, now kind of swing between ever continuous Harsh Reality, and the Unseen World.  The Unseen World is that place where ideas and spirits live, and we attempt to do our work, divine plots and dinner menus, and pull weeds.  The Harsh Reality is, like, that speed trap I hit at night on the way home from the bay area and got a ticket in.   I found myself thinking gratefully in the moment that neither of us was a young black male, especially since it was pretty clear to me the Officer had stopped us (in the dark, on Interstate 5) partly because he, as an Older Officer,  felt safe in assuming that there were no automatic weapons, methamphetamines, large amounts of cash or knives, or other contraband, in our dusty Subaru.  I was very glad indeed not to disappoint him in this instance.  Even the Partner, who is generally quite open to seeing when I make an error, remarked that this particular episode was reminiscent of the sort of piles we step over between our house and the landlady’s.  Poop, in short.  Not, in essence, my bad.  Radar gun cheating.   So that was rewarding.  And besides, as often as I have to Go Outside, sheer numbers would suggest an untoward occurrence of this sort to be not totally unlikely.  The amount of the fine will probably make me lay my head down and moan, but there it is.  What it is.  See how that works?

Meanwhile in my continuing struggle to Learn English, I have to ask precisely what the word “entitlement” means.  Especially when it is connected to something like “social security”.  I am confused here, so help me out.  If I’ve PAID INTO SOMETHING FOR A ZILLION YEARS whether I wanted to or not, doesn’t that make the return of that fund which was stipulated to be for a specific purpose such as my retirement, not an entitlement?  But more like honesty?  Really.  These politicians need to be beamed up or something before they kill us all.

Also, I got so depressed about Syria, and the fact that we here in our little community or part of it are now being policed by the same sort of armed individuals (keeping us SAFE don’t you know? since the county sheriffs take too long to get here….but what happens to anyone they arrest?)  who presented themselves in the Trayvon Martin shooting, that I decided to spend a day in the kitchen.  Where, along with scalloped potatoes, I came up with a dessert.  I’d almost thought I couldn’t cook anymore but this little number, with its blood oranges in a honey-cardamom syrup, port and vanilla pastry cream, and toasty brioche underneath it all, was a happy reminder that progress can still be made.  Even though the blood orange tree froze this winter after a big harvest,  and looks very sad indeed, hope springs eternal.  A reminder that beauty and magic exist all around us, even in the murk of our current days.

 

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