Pandora's Other Box

There isn’t much going around right now other than politics and, although we have dabbed into that a couple of times in the past, that isn’t really what this blog is about. Years ago, in another time and life, I’d get up in the morning ready to take on the world. Play tennis, do some gym work and tackle the day with a full-frontal attack. Today, forget tennis… I still have a racket and a bag of tennis balls which are becoming rusty and somewhat deflated. The bag lies there in the dark closet in my office at home, until those times when one of our younger set members comes bearing his/her four-footed children. At that point, that bag of balls becomes handy and it gives up one or two of its well-guarded treasures so they can become the object of a chase and play game. If I ever manage to create a 3 on 3 tennis game ( me, being one of the third players, stationed semi-motionless at mid center court …) I may be able to play again. Otherwise… no comments, please. Sometime ...

A friend sent this piece to me and, after reading it, I can’t truly add or take away any of what is presented. I can only say I wish I had written it but then, its impact would not be what it is. It was penned by a 26-year-old, a so called “millennial", who is coming to understand the danger of populism. I do not know his name; I wish I did to give him/her proper credit. It can only be surmised from reading that he, or she, is a Florida resident. Would that this and other notes like it could find their way to the eyes and minds of many young people who, for the sake of going “against the establishment”, are willing to make important decisions without the benefit of different, or differing, viewpoints. I understand and know the dangers of wielding blind opinions; I was there once.  A long while ago, it seems. It reads: “I’m sitting in a small coffee shop near Nokomis (FL) trying to think of what to write about. I scroll through my newsfeed on my phone looking at the l...

There are moments when I truly feel that I am lost in the folds of time. Functioning within a slow-motion, somewhat off-color and loosely patched-together film. Yet, fascinating and sometimes difficult to watch because I am the primary player and I guess the unwitting or, perhaps, very willing scriptwriter and director. Looking through a discolored window into a sometimes foggy garden; a garden of life, my life. Moments, places, episodes, conversations, silences… There are many instances of this long passage included in this running blog ( lately, more of a “crawling” blog ) but when I look at the total picture, there is the realization that much has been relegated to forgetfulness. Because time deletes some of these memories. Perhaps because the mind will do the same, pushed by an encroaching inability to remember some of those details. I think this last may be an expression of subliminal and deliberate self-defense. Survival instincts. Early summer, many years ago… perhaps ...