Flotsam and Jetsam

In my spam box there are at least ten messages a day promising to enhance my male appendage. Two things strike me: 1. the absolute volume of these messages day after day means that lots of men are buying, and most of it is bunk based on the manufactured lie that size equates with manhood; and 2. the titles on many of the messages refer to a love weapon, a love sword, a battering ram, a pocket snake and so forth. Since when is lovemaking a matter of battle, of force, of assault? Conquer thyself first, warrior.

Gore Vidal, in an interview with Amy Goodman, said that 9-11 was a very successful coup d'etat. A conspiracy theorist, they call people with that opinion. Only, what if he is right and people dismiss him just because they don't want to believe it? What would we have to go through to knock people off their pride and denial, how much destruction and death would have to happen before enough people say, "You were right"?

Last week I heard a client say that she stabbed her husband in a fight while he was drunk. It never got reported to police. Three weeks ago I sat on a kitchen tile floor for an hour and a half talking a woman down from suicide. Today I repeatedly told a client that she didn't have to rely on other people to give advice and make decisions for her, that she could make decisions for herself; how did she get to age 53 with nobody telling her that before? Two clients today nodded off in the office because they took pain meds or too many mood meds before coming in. My jobs never lacks for variety. And these are just the people whose problems have gone on long enough that they've gotten diagnosed. There are so many people out there with the same problems who never get help. And we make it a national priority to fight someone half the world away, spending five thousand dollars a second on the effort while cutting Medicaid benefits for citizens stateside who need help?

My roses are blooming. The simple, artistic complexity of the bloom just blows me away. Such effortless beauty. And I didn't even ask for it.

During Grandma Tressa's funeral on Monday, the family was standing outside the sanctuary just prior to the private family viewing when a double row of preschoolers, hand in hand, walked through our crowd. The symbolism wasn't wasted on an aunt and me: we had such smiles, seeing that new life exists side by side with death and the cycle goes on.