Burnt Chocolate Stories

 My brain is a muddle this morning. Through no fault of my own, there was a water leak into my apartment on Thursday that has left me with noisy machines interrupting my sleep. So I'm tired today and worn out from the noise inside my apartment and outside in the world. What do I worry about? Nothing that I can do much about. I worry about the damage being inflicted on all of us by a totalitarian nutcase who just can't seem to have enough power, money and control. Years ago, a man who made 400 million dollars a year was asked in an interview if he felt that was enough money for him. His answer? No. Imagine how many yachts, airplanes, and villas the man must have had and still, not enough for him. What a miserable way to live your life. I think Mother Nature has become impatient and angry with us for not appreciating her gifts and allowing the worst among us to take over. What was Covid, if not a way to keep us chained inside so the skies could clear? Freezing temperatures here ...

 I start my mornings the same way every day: play the NY games, make myself a latte, and take some deep breaths. A friend suggested I try the app Balance, which provides a deep soothing meditation that is a great way to begin the day. Then I read what Heather Cox Richardson has written because she is so thoughtful and brilliant and even handed in her remarks which provide some protection in the face of political rhetoric that I know is wrong. And then, sometimes, FaceBook breaks into my sense of calm with a jab. Here's one. When someone says to you, "But these immigrants are illegal!" as if the horrors inflicted upon them by ICE is appropriate. Or that the protesters should be arrested, pulled out of their cars, beaten within an inch of their lives and sometimes murdered by ICE who look and behave exactly like brown shirts in Nazi Germany in the 1930's, here's your answer. "You voted for a convicted felon who breaks the law every day!"  Immigrants, like ...

Steve and Michael in Spain, 2012 When we moved into Saint John's in 2018, I loved everything about the place with one exception. When someone died, a photo was hung on the bulletin boards along with the dates of their birth and passing and an announcement about the funeral plan and memorial. Not every day, or even every week, but more than once a month, someone would be gone. Not surprising with a community of around 400 persons, but still, seeing the announcements was a little like reading the obituaries, something I never cared to do.  I've come to feel these notices are a gift to me as my numbers grow and I'm closer to passing on. After all, we're all headed in the same direction. Best to accept the inevitable and see it as a normal part of life. At least that how I've come to feel most days. I find my tears are further away from me and I hold onto the belief that when the body is filled with pain and trauma, it's time to let it go. But when someone dies who ...