The Sunday Morning Muse, September 2, 2012

Serious rain yesterday. My prize two and a half foot balsam is sprawled on the driveway with a 4 foot amaranthys drooped on top of it. Sunflowers leaning to the left, bushes of crackerjack marigolds doubled over a low fence. Worst for last: 16 foot castor bean stalk with huge leaves, now bent like an old man, pulling out the tomato stake behind it. More rain to come.

Thankfully the power stayed on. No computer problems. TV is okay to watch golf today.

Musing about things I learned this week. A new respect for abject poverty, while reading Frank McCourt's Angela's Ashes. Growing up in the Irish slums eating bread and tea and pretty much that was it. Living in squalor, babies dying of pneumonia. Little lives lost. I picked up "Tis" the sequel to the first novel. It is also a good read. Now I am out of the slums and into the Army Now... McCourt's memoir takes a very different turn in the second novel. No longer life lived through the eyes of a child. The language is a bit colorful, but rings true. McCourt is a great storyteller. This book begins with his adventure coming to America as a young man, struggles with his Catholicism, and years in the Army. I see me picking up Teacher Man, the third book, in the near future.

Seeing the devastation caused by Hurricane Ivan this week reminds me how fragile everything is. Breaks my heart to see people lose everything, just like that. Puts my flower loss in perspective.

On politics this week...Paul Ryan didn't run a marathon in under three hours. I knew it was BS when I heard it. He lies when the truth is better. His whole speech the other night should have been rated "pants on fire." The five biggest lies are found here. And this isn't partisan BS. These are clear lies or omissions that interfere with the truth. It is pure cynicism to count on people being stupid.

The whole Clint Eastwood thing was just Bizarre. The Daily Show was all over it. It was a gift to the comedy writers. An angry, old white man with seven kids to five women, talking to a chair. He came across like Grandpa Simpson.