The Thing About nazis

From Holocaust Museum, Washington, D.C.

Most, if not all, of my remaining conservative friends will roll their eyes and mutter “Harrumph! BS!” and not read this. Makes me sad, frighteningly sad. I’m copying the speech that Illinois Governor JB Pritzker gave as his state of Illinois address. I’ve attached the YouTube video, the text below starts at about thirty minutes or so into the video, jump to that point. (Thanks to MaryAnn McKibben Dana on Substack for the reference.) Whether you’re a liberal, conservative, agnostic, or whatever, this message is for you because when this regime is fully in power, none of the above will count.

The speech:

“As some of you know, Skokie, Illinois once had one of the largest populations of Holocaust survivors anywhere in the world. In 1978, Nazis decided they wanted to march there.

“The leaders of that march knew that the images of Swastika clad young men goose stepping down a peaceful suburban street would terrorize the local Jewish population – so many of whom had never recovered from their time in German concentration camps.

“The prospect of that march sparked a legal fight that went all the way to the Supreme Court. It was a Jewish lawyer from the ACLU who argued the case for the Nazis – contending that even the most hateful of speech was protected under the first amendment.

“As an American and a Jew, I find it difficult to resolve my feelings around that Supreme Court case – but I am grateful that the prospect of Nazis marching in their streets spurred the survivors and other Skokie residents to act. They joined together to form the Holocaust Memorial Foundation and built the first Illinois Holocaust Museum in a storefront in 1981 – a small but important forerunner to the one I helped build thirty years later.

“I do not invoke the specter of Nazis lightly. But I know the history intimately — and have spent more time than probably anyone in this room with people who survived the Holocaust. Here’s what I’ve learned – the root that tears apart your house’s foundation begins as a seed – a seed of distrust and hate and blame.

“The seed that grew into a dictatorship in Europe a lifetime ago didn’t arrive overnight. It started with everyday Germans mad about inflation and looking for someone to blame.

“I’m watching with a foreboding dread what is happening in our country right now. A president who watches a plane go down in the Potomac – and suggests — without facts or findings — that a diversity hire is responsible for the crash. Or the Missouri Attorney General who just sued Starbucks – arguing that consumers pay higher prices for their coffee because the baristas are too “female” and “nonwhite.” The authoritarian playbook is laid bare here: They point to a group of people who don’t look like you and tell you to blame them for your problems.

“I just have one question: What comes next? After we’ve discriminated against, deported or disparaged all the immigrants and the gay and lesbian and transgender people, the developmentally disabled, the women and the minorities – once we’ve ostracized our neighbors and betrayed our friends – After that, when the problems we started with are still there staring us in the face – what comes next?

“All the atrocities of human history lurk in the answer to that question. And if we don’t want to repeat history – then for God’s sake in this moment we better be strong enough to learn from it.

“I swore the following oath on Abraham Lincoln’s bible: ‘I do solemnly swear that I will support the constitution of the United States, and the constitution of the state of Illinois, and that I will faithfully discharge the duties of the office of Governor .... according to the best of my ability.’

“My oath is to the Constitution of our state and of our country. We don’t have kings in America – and I don’t intend to bend the knee to one. I am not speaking up in service to my ambitions — but in deference to my obligations.

“If you think I’m overreacting and sounding the alarm too soon, consider this:

“It took the Nazis one month, three weeks, two days, eight hours and 40 minutes to dismantle a constitutional republic. All I’m saying is when the five-alarm fire starts to burn, every good person better be ready to man a post with a bucket of water if you want to stop it from raging out of control.

“Those Illinois Nazis did end up holding their march in 1978 – just not in Skokie. After all the blowback from the case, they decided to march in Chicago instead. Only twenty of them showed up. But 2000 people came to counter protest. The Chicago Tribune reported that day that the ‘rally sputtered to an unspectacular end after ten minutes.’ It was Illinoisans who smothered those embers before they could burn into a flame.

“Tyranny requires your fear and your silence and your compliance. Democracy requires your courage. So gather your justice and humanity, Illinois, and do not let the ‘tragic spirit of despair’ overcome us when our country needs us the most.”

The Winds Have Changed

Deep Run Park

As our rulers alter more and more of the U.S. governing apparatus to support their economic oligarchy, I’ve decided to make some changes. Hah…that sort of makes me smile since nothing I do will move the iceberg into which we’ve floundered. Nonetheless, I’m going to try.

Our court system has been corrupted by money and our election system has been corrupted by money. As evidence of the court corruption: the rich and powerful wear their opponents down by constant motions and maneuvers bankrupting any opposition driving up the cost of protecting any sense of justice or equity. The elections are decided by whichever party can invest the most in misinformation and constantly, constantly, constantly repeating lies or half truths.

My changes…well, again, perhaps I’m cutting off my nose to spite my face. (Side note: crooked nose, awkward face so maybe an improvement. Smile.) I’ve left twitter (and would sell my tesla, if I had one). I’m going to leave Facebook…not right away but after a few more posts about where I’m going. I’m leaving Instagram, not sure I was very good at it and probably didn’t appreciate what I could do, on the other hand, to do well seemed like a full time job. My target date is mid-March to leave FB & IG with Amazon soon after.

Yes, I’m leaving Amazon, including dropping their prime. This will be quite an adjustment since I’ve gotten used to getting what I need in 24-48 hours without having to leave the house. Perhaps finding those things will be an adventure (or I’ll discover I didn’t have such a great need). I will definitely miss my occasional visit to Whole Foods, the people in Whole Foods are friendly, professional and accommodating. But, I’ve also discovered a small local store that, although they don’t have the huge eclectic selection, they have good stuff and great people. (Yellow Umbrella)

I’m switching most of my writing to Substack, Substack is a place for people to create, mostly to write but it’s also for photographers, painters, muses…for people. Yes, it has it’s nazi posters, the world is full of hate which is a machine, an engine for the current oligarchs, but, it allows folks to connect, to create communities of like-minded and opposite-minded folk. I know the owners of Substack will probably become billionaires someday (if the current regime allows it) but I’m hoping it takes a while. In the meantime, please join me there. I’m going to increase my publication of stories, memoirs, and poems. The subscription is free although there’s a lot of pressure to charge for intellectual energy. Some folks get fussy about that, at one point, I did too. Then Napster started (I just dated myself) and I recognized that the creative energy of artists shouldn’t by default be free. But right now, mine is.

Oh, and I’m also trying Bluesky…but that’s a lot like instagram and I’m not sure how I’m going to use it. Substack has an IG like thing called “Notes.” I’ll probably jump down that rabbit hole.

Substack? Me? Yep.

Life’s Orange Cones…My Thoughts on Substack

I’m having a moment. Sorry. Not sorry. I will gradually reduce my Instagram presence, not sure I’ll eliminate it, but, who knows. Same thing with Facebook. FB is the only way I keep in contact, sparse as it might be, with friends from decades ago and frankly, I wish there was another way. I long ago gave up Twitter and I’m not good at Threads. So, I will use Bluesky. More importantly, I will write about Things I Notice on Substack. It’s a free subscription, you can comment on Substack similarly to FB and IG. I hope you come over.

DAYS OF TWO

Dumbarton Oaks Gardens, DC

Loss. Looking for words to describe the indescribable.

Years ago when COVID was just beginning its death march across the globe I was in a writing workshop at George Mason University. Our task was to use a line from a well known poet in one of our poems. I chose Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib, an Indian poet who wrote in Urdu and Persian. I tried to imagine my feelings if I lost a loved one…these are the words that came out.

______________

Days of Two

I would have liked a solitary death,
Alone, without having to make excuses.
Life was not like that. I was one of two
For years and tears but then was one.
Each day of two, a song, a dance and joy
Morphing smoothly, slowly into quiet peace. Each day.
A Two Day’s song wrapped strong us two
And made the day fire the sparks of us. Each day.
The dance, the joy, the ever present two
Was what…was what…was what there was. Each day.
Without thinking, without trying, without
Others or things or rules, just two. Each day.
On days of two the highest mountains only had one step,
With days of two there were no oceans deep.
And now there’s only one and others come
But, I would have liked a solitary death.

The first and last lines are from the poem “No, I wasn’t meant to love and be loved,”
by Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib, translated by Vijay Seshadri

Dear Son,

Christmas Tree Closeup

Sometimes (often) my imagination runs away from me and lands in a place that’s different and uncomfortable. This might be one of those times. We’ve probably all played the game when we imagine being in someone else’s shoes. I imagined being in my mom’s shoes and writing me a letter…obviously a long time ago with imagined facts but real emotions.

____________

Dear Son,

We hope you and your family are staying warm! Christmastime is almost always cold where you live and this year it’s even a bit chilly here. I know the two of you are swamped with work and the holidays, but we always hope that some free time would pop up and you’d be able to visit. Dad and I were talking yesterday, we think it’s been 19 years since you’ve been home for Christmas. Time does fly.

We remember the last time you were home it was just you. Your kids weren’t even on the horizon and your wife was working 15-hour a day to catch up with an important project she had. We had a wonderful time but missed her a great deal. We are happy that her parents live so close to you and you’re able to visit them so often without interfering with your schedule.

We decorated for Christmas last week. Dad hung a wreath on the front door and I put a candle in the picture window. Years ago, we gave away the exterior lights, it’s a lot of work putting them up then taking them down and we just didn’t enjoy them that much anymore. I know you remember we don’t buy a real tree anymore; we have a three-foot artificial tree we balance on the credenza next to the bedroom hallway. Of course, that leaves us quite a lot of extra lights and ornaments. We can only use one string of lights, but I can’t stand to throw the other strings away and no one wants non-LED lights anymore, so they sit in the box.

And wow. The ornaments! We collected so, so many ornaments over the years. Most of them were for you and your sister and occasionally one for Dad and me. Some of them still have pictures of you kids taken the year we bought the ornaments. I can only hang a few of them on the tree and am often torn on which to hang and which to leave in the box. Each year Dad tells me to try for some sort of theme on the tree, you know, a color or shape or type. Last year the theme was red, this year it’s angels. I found ten angels in all, some made of straw, most of plastic, but a couple of glass. One of the plastic ones has a picture of you and sis standing in grandma’s garden, flowers up to your elbows. I think this is my favorite theme.

You asked if we were going to Christmas church service. Well, I’ve pretty much stopped going to church. Dad used to only attend at Christmas and Easter but now he’s more interested in late morning snacks and naps than dressing up and sitting on a hard pew for an hour. My voice has begun to crack and so I don’t sing with the choir anymore and so I have joined Dad at snack/nap hour. I know you remember that Christmas was a wonderful time in our church. Pageants. Manger scenes. Caroling. Lots of fun. We don’t know too many people in the church now, most of our friends have passed or moved to Florida. When we pass, no one except you will probably attend our funeral, everyone we know will probably be gone…one way or another. But I guess that’s okay, we won’t care. Smile.

We are very much looking forward to our Christmas Day celebration. We’ll begin by opening the gift you and the family sent. We are so grateful for your thoughtfulness and hope you enjoy opening the gifts we sent you two and the children. When you and sister were young, we’d have to stand clear as you two raced to the tree on Christmas morning. The gift wrap on “Santa’s gifts” would come ripping off and float down like confetti in a New York City parade. Some order was restored when we’d slowly and individually open the gifts from one another. I remember a plate shaped like a frog you’d made for me in 2nd grade art. Both of you made all the gifts you gave us in the first decade of your lives. In fact, I still have all of them in a box in the garage.

We’ll have an early dinner of Christmas ham and sweet potatoes with butter rolls. After we clean up, we’ll indulge ourselves with cherry pie and ice cream. I know that sounds like a very simple meal compared to the feasts we would have many years ago. Back then, we’d all pitch in to prepare, cook, serve, and cleanup. It was never a chore and was lots of fun. With many hands to help. The two of us don’t need as much. In fact, we physically can’t eat as we used to eat so the reduction of food perfectly matches our reduction in energy. 

Later, if the weather stays reasonably nice, we’ll walk down the street to the park. Our almanac tells us that the moon will rise at 7:00 pm. There is a park bench we like that will give us a clear view of the moon rising over the horizon; we’ll hope for no clouds.

Merry Christmas and love,

Mom

Windows

Tampa

Windows are cool…they work two ways, or at least they should. Looking in and looking out. Sort of like memories, looking at an image I remember one thing, you might see the same image but remember something quite different. Kind of cool. Christmas celebrations are like that…my memories are very different than my family’s. And that makes life all the richer.

Over the years I’ve captured windows from many, many places. I did a thirty second test video on them. Not sure if I should press ahead to more. I’ll see.

Happy Christmas!!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone!! It’s normally a super busy time for everyone this time of the year and sometimes I “right my gyros” (that’s old pilot talk having something to do with gyroscopes…old technology) with walks alone in the woods. The images in the linked YouTube video are from several winter walkabouts at Accotink, I used to live about a hundred yards from the creek and a half mile walk from the lake. I understand it’s filling up with silt from the neighborhood drainage and won’t be dredged again. On the one hand it will be a great loss, on the other, a great gain of a wetlands area.

This is a shot of a male and female eagle who nested just a short distance from the path. They had a nest and for many years raised eaglets, fun to watch but during the “green” months you can’t really see the nest and all the eagles unless they’re flying.

OMG, My Hands

DC, Hirshhorn Sculpture Garden

The spots appear like little continents on the back of my hand.

“Age spots,” Kelsey calls them.

  “No,” I respond, “I can’t be old enough to have age spots!”

  Hmmm, well, maybe I am. Perhaps there’s another way of looking at them; I will think of them as continents filled with tiny beings doing things that only very, very small beings might do. I’m sure they are concerned when their continent begins to fade, or another continent erupts into life nearby theirs.

  Is the threat of rain or sunshine a bad thing or a good thing? I imagine they must have tiny beings whose only job is to forecast things like that…maybe based on the things my hands have recently done. What do they think if their entire continent is suddenly drenched in CBD lotion? What do they do if they sense their continent is fading away toward nothing?

  Perhaps they build tiny ship-like craft and prepare to move to a new continent should theirs fade too much. I imagine that at some point they would sound the alarm, jump into their ready craft and head for a new continent and home.

  Of course, they wouldn’t know where to go if they didn’t have scouts. I’m imagining some very tiny, very brave beings, the most adventurous on the continent, are the ones who become scouts. They train hard because their role is important, nay, critical! They must find and investigate new eruptions as potential home spots for their current population. Once in a while, I can see the scouts. If they stop on their journeys long enough in one place, they appear as small freckles. Sensing danger from inactivity, they disappear after a day or two and continue their search.

  When the evacuation alarm sounds on a disappearing continent, all of my tiny beings clamber onto their craft and head for the newest continent. There is a frenzy of action as the teeny craft motor on to the newly discovered continent. They quickly populate their new land and I can tell they are present and happy as the land reddens around their growing population. Sometimes I wonder if the scouts don’t actually create the continent themselves. I imagine that if they are cruising hither and yon on my hand and find nothing new, they all gather in one place and poof, a new continent!

I’m guessing only one set of tiny beings exist on my hand and the continents thereon. I mean if different types of tiny beings lived on the continents, they’d always be fighting for space and dominance and I’d have scratches, bumps, and scabs.

So…age spots. No, dear Kelsey. Not age spots but exciting life that roars and laughs and races about with derring-do. I mean, after all, they are my hands.

Going Home

Frederick, MD

A Short Story

Just one more bridge. That’s all, I told myself. Just one more bridge. I smiled as my mind filled with bridge clichés and Hallmark Coming Home movies and Prodigal Son stories but none of them is what I’m feeling now. My smile faded. I’ve been sitting on this rock in the ditch looking at that bridge for an hour. Looking at it, hoping for a sign or any indication of comfort or familiarity. I mean, for crying out loud, the bridge should know me! For 18 years I’d been carried over, walked on, or driven over that rickety pile of boards and nails. I hid underneath the damn thing to escape the rain or the enraged football rivals from just over the county line. I remember thundering tires, creaking beams, swirling dust, and dripping mud. But all mine! This was my bridge. The gateway to my childhood home.

Becky and I would sneak out of high school every chance we’d get and head for my bridge. Once away from the school we’d walk slowly, hold hands, and pick daisies. When we were riverside, hidden under the bridge, we’d make a wish, throw the blossoms onto the water, and watched them swirl away. We imagined doing that same thing with our lives, swirling away and finding a new place together. One day we did swirl away. Just not together.

Dad would take me fishing under that bridge. He liked the bridge’s shade and told me the fish liked shade too. I doubted they did; I think in the ten years we fished under the bridge, we’d caught only five. I’d get quite frustrated about the lack of action and wanted to head somewhere else. He’d always say, “No, let’s give it a little more time,” and then he’d start to talk with me again. Even on the hottest summer day, it was always comfortable under my bridge. I asked him once why we didn’t fish at sunrise or sunset when it was cooler and a better hour to catch fish. He answered with a smile, “We aren’t here for the fish.”

My mom taught me to drive in a 1957 Rambler station wagon with a three-speed stick shifter on the column, a very, very manual transmission. I didn’t know then and I don’t know now, the magic of car mechanics but I do know this Rambler did not have power steering or brakes. I was only 14 and barely able to reach the pedals. Turning the beast while changing gears and accelerating or decelerating was a challenge. Of course, on the home side of the bridge, the road curved sharply, very sharply; you had to slow, change gears, turn, straighten, accelerate, change gears, turn, slow, accelerate, and then NOT hit the bridge! I’m willing to bet the marks from my first three Rambler bridge crossings are still visible.

Even the Hallmark Channel admits you can’t go home again and yet here I am.

I haven’t been back here in decades. I left in a horrible huff...angry, hateful stinging, stabbing words between us. I hadn’t seen him since that night’s fierce battle, and now, now I realize I never will. I just missed him, by only one day.

Time to head over the bridge. Hmmm.

Well, no, not quite yet, let’s give it a little more time.

Under the bridge, Frederick, MD

The Thing About AI

Readers Branch Dragons

I’ve been on the margins of AI for a long time…I’m a fan of Jules Verne, Asimov, HG Wells, etc., and was fascinated by “2001: A Space Odyssey.” HAL 9000 was a real thing, well, if not then it certainly is now. T’was inevitable that HAL would become real…truth starts in fiction and hope, I think. But the issue might be, where is the real edge between AI and “not AI?”

It’s not a stretch to say AI is a tool not unlike other tools we already use and are comfortable using. It’s also not a stretch to say that the first photographs were labeled “magic,” perhaps the 18th century version of AI. I’ve used AI for years in photography…I’ve adjusted the colors, the tones, the size and lots more to the images I’ve made. I’ve modified images as part of my art…the technology allowing me to make such images is, well, magic to me. I’m not a photojournalist and so am not ethically bound to never change an image…although I bet they adjust colors, etc. So where is the AI line?

The image above is partly from a new Apple program. The bridge is truly in my community, I “removed” the houses from the far side of the bridge making the bridge the predominant component in a lonely landscape. But then…based on a large “murder” of crows we saw yesterday, I wanted to add some winged creatures. I typed into the new Apple program the term, “Dragon roosting” and “Dragon flying” and got the two dragons you see in my image (the third dragon is a transformed image of the other flying dragon). So what is my image?

(Some of you are turning away in disgust muttering “Abomination!” )

I think it’s art…it’s not just a photograph, it’s not just AI, it’s a hybrid, my hybrid. It came from my mind, both parts. I found the image, I changed the colors in the image to go from RAW to what I remember; I wanted the feeling of a lonely landscape so I created one. And then I wanted to include something different…I asked Apple to create me a murder of dragons. Apple thought some, beeped, and I had them.

So I haven’t made up my mind on what I think of AI…well, except I do think it’s a moving target. Both AI and my opinion will continue to evolve. I don’t want a HAL 9000 watching my every move or SDIO Star Wars Brilliant Pebbles keeping international peace….no, I’m pretty much happy where we are.