We'll Do It Live!

Pardon me a moment while I preach to the choir.

An NPR station in Washington State will no longer carry the orange maggot's press conferences live from the White House. Instead, they will monitor and report only that which is factual and responsible in them. Basically, they're choosing not broadcast the man-child's campaign rallies which, more than usual, pose an imminent threat to us all.

I get that some people are going to disagree with this and many of them will go bat-shit crazy while forgetting that:

1. This is one NPR station making an editorial choice as news organizations should.
2. Fox doesn't often carry Democratic campaign rallies or news conferences live.
3. The briefings are available elsewhere.
4. The First Amendment doesn't require live coverage of Presidential briefings.

The station announced its decision on Twitter and read the tweet. I have long ago deleted my account but forgot two things:

1. Never read the replies to any tweet.
2. Visiting Twitter is swimming in a cesspool.

As I do often these days, I washed my hands thoroughly, this time mostly to wash my hands of Twitter, the hoi-polloi, and the maggot. I probably needed a shower.

Andrew Cuomo's briefings have been a comfort for me, but I didn't watch him live today. I read about it after the face and was fully informed.

Perhaps the maggot followers can't read more than a tweet. That or they're just out of their minds and have been for a long time.

This concludes my preaching to the choir. We now rejoin our regularly scheduled live briefing already in progress.

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This post's title comes from one of television's most beautiful moments.

Time To Rest

When I get an idea in bed, I write it on a sticky-note and go on to sleep. The next morning, I usually take the sticky-note downstairs and write the idea in my Morning Pages. I found an old sticky-note today, something I meant to write but for which I didn't have the time. I've got plenty of time now.

The note says:

The difference, lying in bed, between commanding "I have to get to sleep" and gently saying "It is time to rest."

I remember the feeling I had that night, lying in bed. It was late. I was tired, but my mind was racing, like it is most every night now. I looked at the clock, calculated the hours left before my alarm would sound, and told myself, "I have to get to sleep right now." I may have sworn at myself. That has been known to happen.

But then something caught me. I love when this happens. A warning light flashed in the control room of my mind. I opened my clenched eyes and let go the breath I had been holding.

"Rest," I whispered to the darkness. My wife was downstairs and the cat never listens, so I was the only audience for this. "It is time to rest," I told myself, my voice gentle and patient, as though I were talking to a child, someone I love.

I didn't fall asleep immediately. Life doesn't work that way. This isn't magic. Well, it is, but not that kind of magic. It's the kind of magic that eases the weight of anxiety by gently wafting it away.

I tend to yell at myself to change my behavior. Funny, because I had a sign in my classroom saying, No one ever changed my mind by yelling at me. The real magic was in the moment of realization that there was another way to go.

I can recycle that sticky-note now that I've written this. Although I'm tempted to stick it to the wall beside the bed, the dash of my car, the inside of my computer, or maybe just on my forehead, written backward, so I look at it every time I feverishly wash my hands and hope for the best.

A Run With My Daughters

Daily Page – March 25, 2020

I neglected my daily page yesterday. I'd feel badly, but we all need to give ourselves a break, especially now.

I do find the boundaries here useful. I write in my [Whitelines Leuchtturm1917 notebook] knowing that at the bottom of the page I have to have finished the thought. It's a good exercise in reflection and writing.

What are you doing to help get you through and work on your craft?

The Solution Is Right There

I write with a refillable fountain pen. The twelve-dollar bottle of ink on my desk lasts six months. Not bad given how much I write. Every third day or so, I refill the pen. This is my sixth fountain pen and has a peculiar behavior: no matter how well I clean the nib after each fill, the pen blots one glob of ink onto and through the page. What a mess. And it has been driving me crazy.

For months I've worked on a solution. I wipe the pen carefully, hold it upside down, and flick it to settle the ink, but that glob keeps blotting the page.

This morning, I filled the pen, wiped it oh so very carefully, and, as I have the last month or two, folded a scrap sheet and wrote a bit. Four words in, the pen belched a glob. After a dozen more, all was well.

Returning to my Morning Pages I wondered, why can't I solve this problem? when in fact I had just practiced a fine solution. I wrote the glob onto a piece of scrap. Ten seconds of scribble and the problem was solved. I've had it solved for months. How have I missed that?

I've missed it because I've been fixed on one solution instead of the problem. I've been willing to settle for nothing but a refilled pen that writes cleanly from the first word. Fixated on that, I missed having solved the problem of blotting on my writing pages.

I forgot to be aware of what's happening. Wishing for something, I missed the solution I had already discovered.

I'll bet that a blotting pen isn't the only problem I may have solved without noticing. It might be time to pay better attention.