DebraMilligan.com

 

Books for Everyone!

19 May 2022

A Sort of Wandering


Yesterday, I accomplished a sort of wandering, outdoors, without driving a vehicle to any defined destination. A high-wind advisory has been issued, and I decided upon a prudent course of action: stay indoors.


I did nonetheless venture outdoors that afternoon. There, I observed the dramatic effects of the brisk wind that was, indeed, in force upon the green leafy oak trees and the swaying pines of my beautiful woodland property.


I sat outdoors for about half an hour, aware that my sinus (the right one) would pay a price the next day for inhaling pollen, today, at an unavoidably rapid rate.

Calculating the cost of any experience, or experience cost, is a learned skill, although I think some individuals are blessed with an inherent sense of the price to be paid for certain adventures, or mis-adventures.


Nearly five years have passed, since the summer of 2017, when I last was able to sit at my little black wire table and chair set, and look out at my garden. Back then, I still lived in the Peach House, in Newcastle. Unbeknownst to me, I was on the verge of entering into the audacious and enterprising writing of a novel (THE POINT OF THE SWORD).


That artistic endeavour then led me to a series of discoveries and determinations and delights — which subsequently led to my purchase of this property in the Sierra Nevada foothills. The construction of my Dream Home thence ensued.


The little black wire table and chairs moved with me to the Rental Dump, but the feelings of comfort and relaxation were not with me. And, so, I waited until a serene sensibility awaited me.


Yesterday, those moments arrived, quite unexpectedly. I went with them, and achieved a sort of Wednesday wandering.

My mind wandered back in time to assess all of those actions and transactions of the summer of 2017. My decisions, in concert with those of Dear Husband, were risky, perhaps even perilous; but I knew that the time had come to move on with my life. When opportunity knocked on my door in September of 2017, I very eagerly answered it.


Luck played its part in this opportunity; preparation, persistence, faith, and courage were bigger players. I know without a doubt that had I hesitated then, my Dream House — today — would be just that, a dream, not a reality that materialized during 2017-2020.


Currently, the economy of the United States, oh, heck, the economy of Everywhere, is in recession, maybe even freefall. This fate is not the fault, and it is not the doing of the Patriots, the hard-working, God-fearing citizens who have had to put up with a mindless and madcap slew of insane and vulgar assaults upon our liberties.

The bear market is imminent, as if this result were beyond the realms of logic, imagination, predictability, financial reality, national history, common sense, the Ten Commandments.


Once you’ve grown up during a recession; and once you’ve got a few more recessions under your experience belt; and once you’ve aptly and accordingly accustomed your brain to recognize the rudiments of fiscal reality — you work to prepare yourself for the inevitabilities of the inescapable consequences of the feckless, reckless and reprobate actions that were so egregiously and arrogantly undertaken by the Tax-and-Spend species known as Liberal addictitus. The spineless slugs in The Other Party performed their lackey duties which surely earn them their special place in Hell.


The past two years in America have been nearly unprecedented, but the Ruling Class and their parasitic elites have been troughing for decades and decades.

The big fat cats in my country counted on A Recession to enrich themselves and their partners-in-crime friends. The planned recession that they’d greedily envisioned has not transpired.


We can all shed a tear for those treacherous pigs . . . never.


In the meantime, it is important for anyone to note that not everyone suffers equally during a deep economic recession that just might veer into a depression. It’s only been 12 years since the last hellacious financial debacle. And, for the most part, the creeps and cronies who caused the 2008 monetary catastrophe kept their jobs.


Sometimes justice does not come fast enough; and sometimes it does not come at all, on God’s green earth!


While I was soaking up those Vitamin D rays of the sun yesterday, I pondered buying a couple of new beach towels. My last purchase was sometime during the spring of 2002.  (See The Square Rigger.) Such an acquisition once every twenty years is not out of consumer-bounds.


I looked online to find Made in The USA merchandise, but the only decent cotton towels manufactured domestically are sold in bulk for wholesalers — which is a good sign.

I then scrolled to a website that announced The Summer Sale. Hmmmm. Mid-May is not summer. Time is running out on retailers and e-tailers alike.


I scouted out two sizable striped beach towels, made in Portugal, of that terrific Portuguese cotton. They were on special sale, with extra savings, using The Special Code, and — FREE SHIPPING!


(Of course, I may, in a few days, receive the Red-Letter E-mail of Backordered Status, to be followed, in another week or two, by the self-flagellating, we’re-so-sorry, endless apologies of The Cancellation because This Item is Not In Stock. And Never Will Be!)


By the looks of the clearancing of a minimal inventory of goods on this fairly good quality website, June 1 is the deadline for scooping up merchandise-on-sale that’s worth buying.


You have to be a smart cookie while the cookie crumbles.

The moans and groans and whining and caterwauling of the spoiled brats in my county are becoming vociferous and boring. All of this economic disaster, every single bit of it, was calmly, sadly, and solemnly predicted by our wonderful President in 2020. The deep-state traitors who rigged and politicked and paved this road to national ruination, they deserve every bloody back-stab that has come their way, and is about to come their way in spades.


To trust a thieving, lying, cheating fraud, while you’re thieving, lying, and cheating is to invite your own demise. The snakes deserve the poisoned fangs of each other in that snake pit known as D.C. The cannibalizing of the corrupt moral cretins will not bring about a slow death for the scoundrels who connived and contrived America Last.


Patience is more than ever a patriotic virtue. The family of faithful citizens is a large tribe, whose kith and kin must begin to protect our beloveds, and our beloved homeland.


Leon Tolstoy accurately wrote: “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

The unhappy family known as The Swamp is unhappy in its own way of barbaric betrayal, jetting around the world, sump-pumping payola payments for access to a nation whose citizenry loathes the very sight of them. The family members are not unlike the Mob, with racketeering in their blood. They form a dysfunctional blob of addicts, enslaved to mammon and pharmaceuticals, both legal and illegal, and to power. That power has been filched from We the People, who have survived in spite of the petty theft, the larceny, the embezzlement, the extortion.


Is 1,000 years-to-life a strict enough sentence for the Constitution-hating crooks? I suggest perdition, for starters.


We the People shall do more than merely survive this gang of ghoulish government gangsters. We’ve learned lessons that we would not have otherwise learned, had not the ugly, festering lesions of our own governments been revealed to us during the past five to six years.

Experience cost is sometimes costly. The price to be paid for learning truths that were always there to learn, but were ignored or denied, in the hope of avoiding pain, that price gets more steep with the passage of each day, month, and year. And the pain only deepens, in oh so many ways.


The cruel truths are now upon us. They are there, for all to see. He who chooses to persist in lying to himself, in deceiving his own heart, and dulling his own mind, that person has a hellish price to pay. I won’t be paying it, and neither will you.


My wandering of a sort rewarded me with more than one less trip to the gas-bandit. Even with a stuffed sinus today, I am breathing freely the air of liberty that moves, unimpeded, with the breeze of rebellion.