The Silly Season Turned Mad

Summer                                                                           Park County Fair Moon

What’s going on out there in this silly season turned mad?

Scared, angry white folks. Siding with the Donald. Promises have been made to them. Promises of rising tides and jobs if only the unions and the regulators would get out of the way. If only the death tax and the onerous corporate taxes and the capital gains taxes were lowered or eliminated, then capital would rejuvenate the economy. Unleash the entrepreneurs, unshackle the men of Wall Street. Return public lands to the states. (they weren’t the state’s to begin with, but, hey, what’s a fact in this election year?)

The Donald has revealed the lie behind these ideas. A Glass-Steagall freed banking system drove us all to the brink of ruin, set back wage growth for the middle and working classes, crashed the savings vehicles of those about to retire. The tax breaks for the wealthy have served to enrich the 1%, not tune up the engine of capitalism.

The gloom unveiled in the Trumpet blast as he received the GOP nomination reflects the fears of those whose unearned privilege has eroded. And fast. The racist and nativist elements of the Donald’s civil war with the very elite of which he is a part are wrong and must be battled by every decent American, Republican or Democrat. But. The woes of the white middle and working classes are real. They cannot be explained away or discounted because those subject to them hang on to myths about their origins.

African-Americans, whose promissory note cannot find a decent bill collector, see their children shot, jailed. Their communities are often without investment, services. Each African-American, no matter their level of achievement, is at risk on the street or on the highways. Every day. They have been promised much and had so little delivered. And even that must taste like ashes in their mouths. The dead cannot be lifted up by affirmative action.

Latinos have similar problems today, though the root of their life here in the U.S. is different. They are largely voluntary immigrants, forced out of their countries by lack of economic opportunity. Their numbers are increasing and the full weight of their cultural influence on the U.S. is not yet felt. Many Latinos are here without documents and many of those are children born in this country. Their lives are unpredictable because our government cannot solve the problem of their futures.

Native Americans continue in their struggle to overcome the Indian Wars, sequestration on reservations, Indian Schools run by the BIA. The direst poverty in this land of opportunity exists on the res.

LBGT folk have made progress, real progress, but the recent legislation in North Carolina about transgender bathroom use demonstrates the often thin veneer of hope that progress offers.

Women still get paid less for equal work. Women still are vulnerable to the male gaze and the male sense of privilege over their bodies. Yes means yes. No means no. Yes, a woman may sit in the oval office for the first time, but it’s not enough and it seems very, very late.

My point is that the major political parties have had decades to resolve these fundamental problems of our democracy and they have failed. There are legitimate grievances felt by a majority of the total U.S. population. Where are the statesmen and stateswomen who can rise above party and find workable answer? The Donald is too childish, too self-congratulatory, too ill-informed to do more than give voice. Though that contribution should not be diminished. The next-up Clinton has ideas, but her personality and her character make her unlikely to be the healer, the unifier, the move us forward person we need.

What we may have in this mad season is a loud, chaotic revelation about the need for a functioning government. Perhaps it is not this election. Perhaps it is the next one that will produce candidates alive not only to the problems of our nation, but to the need for solutions that bind us together rather than pull us apart.

Tilt A Whirl

Summer                                                                     Park County Fair Moon

teton-pass-jackson-hole-wy-postcardSwirling. The world, or at least the part of it connected to me and mine, has taken flight, gone up in the air like dust devils. BJ had surgery on her shoulder in the late afternoon yesterday in Jackson Hole. Kate said she liked the surgeon, which is roughly the same as saying he’s a rock star. The Hitching Post, a motel next to the hospital, has rooms for $45 a night if a family member is in the hospital. She’s staying there.

Jon is rushing to finish remodeling a bathroom, put on a deck and doing other fix-it chores at the Pontiac house. He has to be out of there before Jen and the kids return on Monday evening. A restraining order makes it so. The heat-and, ironically for this arid state, the humidity-have been high. It was 99 there yesterday when he and I ate lunch at the wonderful dining table he built.

Though, for those of you in the Gopher State who read this, I know it’s been pretty bad there, too. Both places remind me of Singapore in April when Kate and I visited Mary. We managed to hike across the Singapore Botanical Gardens on a day when the temperature was within one degree of an all time record and the humidity created a watery, heated bubble around us as we walked. Can anyone say carbon tax?

Timberline Painters finished staining the garage, shed, and two decks yesterday. One garage door is green, the other will follow. Interior painting starts on Monday. The dogs, who have to be inside while the painters are in the yard will be happy when this is done. Yesterday, while Gertie and I were in the loft, unbeknownst to me, the painters sealed off the door out of the loft with 3M plastic. The mammoth bone handle knife gifted to me by Tom Crane came in handy as I sliced through the plastic. Felt like I was being born again as I stooped through the small hole with Gertie behind me.

In Colorado, so far, it has been the summers of our discontent, the winters have been fine.

Wildfire

Summer                                                                              Park County Fair Moon

wedding gwangjuKate had to take a large detour due to a forest fire in southern Wyoming. She spent the night in Aspen, both north and east of Utah. The next hundred miles will take her to Driggs where she’ll pick up BJ and drive her into Jackson Hole for a new hospital bed and examination by the shoulder surgeon. If the shoulder’s swelling has gone down sufficiently, the shoulder repair will happen at 5:30 pm.

Jon’s situation has gotten more difficult. The path forward has become murkier for right now. So much of his life is changing and in ways not fully predictable. He’s still working at the house in Denver, trying to finish before Monday when Jen and the kids return. I’m going in today and we’ll have sushi in Lodo, a trendy neighborhood near downtown.

The dogs and I have the house to ourselves. With the exception of the Timberline painters. They completed the first coat on the garage yesterday. The deck on the house, too.

Black Mountain Drive exists in the eye of a family hurricane. The winds are fierce further out in Denver and up in Driggs, Idaho. Here on Shadow Mountain we exist in relative calm.

Now

Summer                                                                          Park County Fair Moon

Hard to believe how much the Republicans want Hillary to win. In any other combination of opponents she would be up against the ropes with her gloves covering her face. In this case however Trump and crew bang their head repeatedly on the ring posts, leaving themselves bloodied and confused. The convention so far: rogue delegates try to unseat Trump’s nomination, plagiarism, former candidate refuses to endorse. Wonder what they have for us today?

Mark in Saudi ArabiaBrother Mark is doing well in Saudi Arabia. He’s in his second year of teaching at Jubail, his students members of the Saudi Arabian navy.

Kate leaves today for Jackson Hole where her sister, BJ, will be moved tomorrow. A fan of BJ’s, a former anesthesiologist at the Jackson Hole hospital, has found a very well respected orthopedic surgeon for her. He only does shoulders. They may operate tomorrow after her move. Kate will be there tonight.

Jon had his sawzall at work cutting through the old bathtub in their downstairs bathroom when I visited yesterday. He’s made a lot of progress, but the working conditions, hot and humid, are brutal. The divorce continues with the level of conflict continuing to amaze both him and me.

Staining still underway. The shed has had two coats as have portions of the garage. The monsoon rains here have impeded progress somewhat.

 

The Fall

Summer                                                      Park County Fair Moon

Rebekah Johnson
Rebekah Johnson

Kate’s sister BJ is a classical violinist who bows with her right arm. She has, for many years, played the Teton Music Festival in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Schecky, her significant other, a cellist, called Kate yesterday to say that BJ had suffered a bad fall trying to climb down from the deck of their new home in Driggs, Idaho. They live in the Beacon Hotel on Broadway in NYC and spend a lot of time apart due to their career, so Schecky being in NY while she’s in Idaho and Wyoming is not unusual.

Apparently the door to the deck slammed behind her and locked. When she couldn’t get back inside, she decided to climb down. She fell, experiencing a bilateral fracture of her pelvis, a dislocated shoulder and a humerus broken at the ball that inserts into the shoulder. On her right arm.

So this summer of interesting times for the Buckman-Ellis/Olson family has gotten more interesting. Kate’s driving up on Thursday to Driggs and will stay a while, maybe a week or so. I’ll remind behind with the dogs, the Timberline painters and Jon. Family is forever.

 

The Cause

Summer                                                                     Park County Fair Moon

My brother asked, “What do you think is the cause for the recent turmoil in the U.S.?”

We used a promissory note to build our early republic. Its collateral was the freedom of African men and women captured and brought to the New World as forced labor. Slavery. The transaction made economic sense. The winding together of these two, slavery and economic advantage, created a long rope of unearned privilege, unearned wealth. This rope supported, and, to our everlasting shame, continues to support a bridge, a suspension bridge, whose terminus is Edina, the Upper East Side, Nantucket, Orange County, Cherry Hill, Jackson Hole, Vail, Aspen, the Gold Coast, Hyde Park.

As in the Monty Python movie the Holy Grail, there is a bridge keeper, one who lets only certain people cross from the realm of the ordinary to the realm of the moneyed, the elite, the one percent. The first question he asks is, “What color is your skin?” The second, “Where did you go to school?” The third, “Who is your family?” If you answer, give the wrong answer, you immediately fly away from the bridge back to the ordinary place from you which you came. Read the recent novel Sport of Kings if you want a literary explanation.

The turmoil so painfully evident right now is but one instance of an attempt to collect on the promissory note, but the debt collectors have little power and those who cross the bridge are far away from them. Affirmative action, reparations, integration, voting rights, model cities, all of them attempts to change the bridge keeper’s questions, have altered, to a modest extent, the foot traffic on the bridge. But only for a very, very few.

 

Not Quite Yet

Summer                                                                   Park County Fair Moon

“We’re in grave danger”

“The lineup of speakers presented a United States in danger, threatened from abroad and from within, a once-proud nation on the very brink of chaos and dystopia.” NYT, GOP Convention, Day 1

rain over black mountain
rain over black mountain

My post about Mutual Homicide might give you the impression that I agree with this analysis of the immediate future. Nope. Standard and Poor’s and the DOW have both reached record highs in the last couple of days. There are signs that the climate change movement has begun to get traction. The Cubs are winning. Von Miller finally signed with the Broncos. US demographics portend an increasingly diverse nation, with contributions from many cultures strengthening our common life. We’ve just had two full terms of an African-American president and are probably near our first woman president. LGBT rights have increased as has an understanding of transgender individuals. Women have entered more and more careers, have more real power. We are not spiraling into the earth. Not yet.

My mutual homicide conclusion, a dark one, possibly too dark, comes not from the near term, but from a very long term view of the way we humans are acting. We have in place an economic system that does not account for externals, the costs to the public good of private profit seeking. This fact, by itself, is enough to explain the dire distant future I imagine. When the engines of our ingenuity (to borrow the title of an NPR feature) rely on diminishing natural resources and cost-free toxification of the air, the land and our water, then economic advance (like the records for the DOW and Standard and Poor’s) is really a blinking red light. A stop sign. But together we choose, over and over again, to run the light imagining that there is no truck marked CO2 concentration barreling through the intersection.

Can we agree to change course? In theory, yes. In practice, with the state of anarchy that exists among nation-states, it will be very difficult. We need not just one but many statesmen and stateswomen to move into leadership. And unfortunately this is not the trend around the world. No, the world has begun to move toward more and more nativist politics. The Han chinese. The Hindu nationalists. Brexit. The increasing strength of far-right parties in Europe, especially Austria, France and Germany. Donald Trump.

I know, after writing this and the mutual homicide post, that I owe you all a strategy, a path to a future where we do learn to live sustainably on our planet. I’m thinking. I’m thinking.

A Collective Sigh

Summer                                                                    Park County Fair Moon

staing begun

Staining the wood is an involved process. First, there’s power washing, cleaning and laying bare the wood, followed by extensive masking. These tasks took a week. The application of the stain is, itself, labor intensive. Though it can be applied with a power spray, it has to be back brushed to force the stain into the wood. Since the process requires two coats, that means each inch of the garage, shed and two decks will get stained and brushed twice. Longer lasting siding and much increased aesthetics will result. Nathan, Chris, Dean and Matthew have been working steadily.

fire-danger-high

While they were finishing up yesterday, we had a thunderstorm. As in Minnesota, a thunderstorm breaks the heat, but here it comes with a collective sigh. The rain has a salvific effect, much like the rain in movies after a long drought or the coming of the monsoons in India.

We’ve had several red flag warnings over the last week plus and the forest service signs, common along roads here in the mountains, have all had Smokey’s finger pointed at High. Jefferson County, our county, instituted a level 2 fire ban. No fires at all. The rains give us some respite from the risk of wildfire and that’s most welcome.

Jon is in Denver for the next five days working on finishing a deck railing, remodeling a bathroom and moving his stuff out of the house. Jen and the grandkids are in Orlando for a hemophilia conference. Today is a phone conference between Jon and Jen’s lawyers trying to hammer out some differences without the principles involved. May it be fruitful.

Indolence in Horse Country

Summer                                                               Park County Fair Moon

An indolent day yesterday. Kate, Jon and the grandkids left for Fairplay, about an hour west of here in South Park, headed to the Park County Fair. Neither Jon nor us has a vehicle that comfortably seats 5, so somebody had to stay behind. Me.

Did a little binge watching, read the Sport of Kings. This book, Sport of Kings, is a major American novel. It catches American aristocracy (that strange self-inflected club), slavery, westward expansion, effectively compares the breeding of blue-blood humans and blue-blood horses-thoroughbreds, the respective dynamics of working class, upper class and poor black families, all seen through the prism of Kentucky bluegrass horse culture. It’s one I may read twice.

Jon’s into Denver today to work on his and Jen’s house, getting it ready for sale in the red-hot Denver market. I’m following in just a bit to pick up some portion of his stuff: tools, clothes, walnut boards for the loft, machines for ski-making. This whole process has been icky so far, but I’m entertaining a hope (maybe, really, a fantasy) that this week marks a modest turning point in the acrimony.

Ladders rattle over the roof of the garage as the final masking is underway. The staining will commence on the whole very soon, perhaps today. The preparation for a good painting/staining job is painstaking, time-consuming.

Weekend Stuff

Summer                                                                      Park County Fair Moon

columbine Black Mtn DrWent to a delightful children’s movie, BFG, with the grandkids. A Spielberg film, it uses CGI as seamlessly as anything I’ve seen. This is a big-hearted movie with childish wonder spilling out all over the place. A Roald Dahl book. The story of an orphan who inadvertently sees a giant deploying dreams. He kidnaps her because she’s seen him. They develop a relationship, one threatened by other giants. Sweet and sad.

Ruth and Gabe were here overnight. Ruth and Jon worked on printmaking in the garage. He’s developing a body of work focused on found objects, metal objects crushed by traffic. He inks them up, then uses a press to transfer the ink to paper. Gabe and I talk because he likes to come up here in the loft and play.

penstemon
penstemon

The staining of the garage is underway. It will look good and last longer when this whole project finishes. The shed and decks, too.

Wandering the back yard now, looking at flowers that grow here with no help. I’m going to gather seeds, then reseed with them in the fall. We have two varieties of penstemon, wild flax, columbine, sulfur flower, indian paintbrush, daisies, shrub roses and a few I haven’t identified. Work with what already likes this soil and this microclimate. Encourage them.

Later in the fall we’ll plant lilacs and more shrub roses in the far back, perhaps some aspen. I want to plant some aspen out front, too.