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24 January 2021

After The Storm


Dear Reader and I used to converse, comically, about the Adult Children with whom we were dealing, our own and so many others. Her consistent and persistent concern was romantic in nature. Her most pressing question was:


“But will She ever find Mr. Right if she stays with this guy?”


I stated: “A gal can stay a long time with Mr. Wrong before she finds Mr. Right. Unless, of course, Mr. Right also becomes Mr. Right-Now!”


It was never my intent to upset this woman, or any woman with whom I interacted regarding those Millennials running around in circles, trying to find . . . a straight line toward stability. It is always my opinion that sooner or later Mr. Right and Miss Right pair up. Nature finds a way to perpetuate the species. Having done your bit, please stay out of their bit.

This situation was a major storm for Dear Reader, one that eventually resolved itself; but because of that storm in her life, this woman had been confronted too often, and too much, with the past storms of her life. She’d not faced those crises in ways that worked to her advantage, or in her own best interests. Basically, she was facing herself, and not this other person, in her mirror of mothering. Those whirlwinds of her life kept returning, in various guises and disguises, in the lives of others around her, including me.


I took those opportunities to review my past life, or past lives, as a result of those lengthy discussions. I believe that Dear Reader, to some extent, did the same for herself. Perhaps that result was part of my purpose in her life. From the maelstrom of those years, almost a decade of them, I gleaned much wisdom about the vicissitudes of life, and how people confront them.

After the storm of life has passed, regardless of what it had been, there is always the tendency to look back upon it, and, depending on the personality, or nature, of the person, to re-vision it in any of several ways.


The pessimist will look back upon the Storm, and guarantee that it was not nearly as bad as the Next One will be. The optimist will opine that the Storm was not nearly as bad as she thought it was. The cynic sees it as much worse than it really was, but not nearly as bad as the Next One will be.


The realist marvels at his ability to have weathered that tempest, with the hope that it might teach him something of value to face more bravely the next one. The naysayer believes the Storm has not yet ended, and never will; you’re just being fooled into thinking it has. And the starry-eyed idealist claims it really wasn’t a storm at all, just a ruffling of the feathers of life!

I suppose it really does not matter how you look at the Storm of Life, as long as you view it as honestly as you can, and do all that you can to prevail over it, without creating havoc and hassle for others around you. Life in the modern world has become saddled with the Media, and the Digital Universe, complicating matters that used to be straightforward and simple. Life is not more complex than it used to be; in many ways, life is more efficient (though not more simple) because of machines and devices and apparatuses to detect, discover and detail our paths either through The Storm, or around it.


I’m the type of person who by nature wants to barrel through the storm; figuring out a way around it takes up too much time and energy. If I must create a pathway around it, I will, but a large part of me does not enjoy such an activity. In contrast, or opposition, to my method of problem-solving, there are the engineers of life (and I have worked with them) who construct the most elaborate of plans and maps and maneuvers to bypass any storm, any crisis, anything!


Regardless of how you encounter that Storm of Life, meeting it eyeball-to-eyeball, or building a magnificent road around it that will withstand even nuclear attack upon it, there exists the vital need to accept the fact that The Storm of Life exists.

Hiding away from it is not living life, and it is not the will of God. With the constant barrage of Armageddon heading your way with every Digital-Alert, a person must deploy the survival skill of sizing up the reason why News has become the enemy of not only The People, but of life itself.


My Dear Friend lived in a world where the Wide-Screen was ubiquitous: in every room of the house, out on the front lawn, the back patio, in the car, every car. Her time with me, her moments with me, were devoid of electronic anything, even the I-for-intrusive phone. Whenever she was with me, she relaxed and breathed a sigh of relief, one that vanished the minute she had to re-enter the world that she admitted to me was crazy.


Whenever it was that Local became Global, the inevitable was underway. The mere idea of The Corporation controlling the Individual is farcical. The past 50 years have borne witness to the maniacal attempts by those International Masterminds to try to control the minds of the Schlubs they hate. What a mismatch that dynamic has been!

Ergo, the Schlubs stopped listening long ago. The Masters of the Universe have yet to wake up to that fact of life! I’d say they are facing Annihilation, on a global scale, that trumps Hurricane Katrina, yet another political storm; or Super Storm Sandy, the Election Twister that got twisted all out of political proportion.


Those twisters of life are nothing compared to how any natural disaster can unnaturally zap a President-in-Office or can slavishly zoom a Zero back into that oval room.


The Storm of Life is not what drove us all nuts. What drove us nuts, eventually drove us all back to reality.


The broadcast-barnacles clinging to their hocus-pocus boats in dry-dock, fabricating and fomenting fears for profit — they have driven us away, far far away from their high-definition dingbat dogma. Their cesspools of industries no longer serve any useful positive purpose, and I doubt they ever did.

Those ghouls generating hatred in their delusional orbits around a world that does not exist, and never did, except in their own minds, in their own manufactured maelstroms — they have driven themselves nuts. Is there any better definition, HDTV or otherwise, of deranged insanity?


We peons were merely unfortunate onlookers to the psychosis spinning out of control. And we have looked away — to pay attention to lives to live, lawns to mow, laundry to fold, meals to cook, maybe even a book or two to write.


It’s high time we all go fishing!