When reeds are dead and a straw to thatch the marshes, And feathered pampas-grass rides into the wind Like aged warriors westward, tragic, thinned Of half their tribe, and over the flattened rushes, Stripped of its secret, open, stark and bleak, Blackens afar the half-forgotten creek,– Then leans on me the weight of the year, and crushes My heart. I know that Beauty must ail and die, And will be born again,–but ah, to see Beauty stiffened, staring up at the sky! Oh, Autumn! Autumn!–What is the Spring to me?
This violet, seen here when I was renovating my current home, is about – oh, forty years old. At least. It belonged to my paternal grandmother, who always had African violets in her home. When she died in 1990 it came to my mother, who kept it on various kitchen counters in various homes in a lightweight plastic flower pot also seen here.
It survived thusly for decades until my mother and father’s deaths, in 2007 and 2010 respectively, when it came to me. I had it my old house, on yet another kitchen counter, and then I brought it to the house and valley in which I now reside (notice the unpainted window framing, pretty far along in the reno but still…) and, whadda ya know?! WHAM ALAMA-AH-DING-DONG – it exploded. But before it exploded it grew; it spread; it deserved an upgraded pot and it got one… you can’t see it here below, and because WHAM happened, this larger pot (which y’can’t see), sits in the basement waiting for another chance…but here we are, midway toward the explosion…
In fact I think I should split it, if such a thing can be done; it’s got three heads (?) at least, and yes, first I must do a little research so as to not kill it, because that’d be a right drag, a heart hurting possibility that has had me hesitant to do anything at all other than stand back in wonder.
This is it’s third and largest pot and as you see it’s bursting at the seams. An embarrassment of violet riches. Grandma would be so thrilled. Mother would say oh of course it did. For you, it blooms and grows, not for me! Oh mother. Sigh. It’s not personal. This house simply gets more light. And, maybe, it began life near here? Not sure, as that would make the original violet very old indeed. Possible, though; maybe?
Violets are succulents. I love purple and the seductively tactile, rough, almost hairy nature of their leaves. They don’t need much, but – clearly – they love the light in this house. And I love that. Here’s to another forty years? Not for me, but – for it? If I split it, I shall give parts, babies, to my beloved younger things…
According to the interweb, “African violets symbolize or are associated with modesty and virtue. Their understated yet elegant appearance makes them a symbol of humility and integrity. This flower’s simplicity and beauty remind us of the value of modesty in our lives. These flowers also signify devotion and loyalty. Gifting an African violet to someone is a gesture of deep admiration and unwavering loyalty. Whether it’s a close friend or a family member, this flower conveys a message of enduring trust and respect.” Okay.
I am, of course, speaking of my overly large mini-pony, Diego, who started life as a little bug, yet has long been just that – a mini-pony. I’m away from him this week, and when I am away from him, I miss him a lot, and – momma needs a break from meeting Big Boy’s needs. Examples abound. His incessant need to go out and back in chasing squirrels away from the lawn and bird feeder, barking at hunters driving up the road only to turn around and drive right back down again (isn’t hunting supposed to happen in the woods, not from the cab of your truck guys?), barking at imagined who knows what when outside because – perhaps he’s simply expressing himself? It could be.
Below: baby Diego, chewing on some kindling. I believe I was actually deluded enough to think he wouldn’t get as big as he did, has – as he is. Oy vey.
And I really can’t fault him for keeping me on the move, up and off my duff every ten minutes or so, and often less than that, or for keeping chipmunks away from the sunflower seeds. He’s a good boy, and when I look at photos of him as a baby like the one above (one of my great regrets is not having photos of other beloved canine companions, especially when they were adorable pups) I am struck by the absolute cuteness, even as I wonder at his present day size, and overwhelming handsomeness. He’s such a goof, and – as I regularly assure delivery folks and others, there is not one mean bone in his body. Truth! Besides, it’s good to have warm bodies near us, however they manifest…big or small. He can’t help it if he’s huge; that’s genetics!
This photo isn’t even him at full size; it’s The Big D at only 14 months. LOL. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!! Still, love is love, and there ain’t no accounting for it!
In 2008, I was audited by the IRS. I remember getting the notification in the mail; my accountant at the time was in NYC, which I had left just a couple of years prior. She was recommended by a friend, and had promised when we first started working together that if I were ever audited she would be there, holding my hand through the entire experience. She was not. Subsequently, I fired her, because other than a paragraph of basic instructions and ‘good luck’, she did nothing, absolutely nothing to help. Buh-bye!
It was a mail audit, much better and easier than an in-person interview, also meaning it could be conducted via the US Mail or FAX, which I could send directly to the hardworking auditor in suburban D.C., Maryland or Virginia. I don’t remember where, exactly, and while I have the records, still, just thinking about that very adrenaline-ized experience makes me feel a tad queasy, so no, I’m not looking.
It was daunting. It as as if – to a few of those I mentioned it to – I had ebola. “No!!” they shrieked, as they physically distanced themselves from me. It was educational, in that way and others, fascinating, instructive. Turns out, I had overpaid in 2007, but no, you’re not getting that money back (it wasn’t much), and – after faxing them supporting documentation numbering over 400 pages, the IRS left me alone. Yay.
Y’see I sold an apartment – a co-op – in 2006 and then in 2007 and ’08 my income saw a very large drop from the filing for 2006 because, duh, I had sold a major asset, my former principal residence in NYC, but in subsequent years I had not. Pretty simple, pretty straightforward but for whatever reason it had been flagged. And, I determined after phone calls and lists of required documentation – as well as having had to go through a somewhat similar process when installing my mother in a nursing home – that I would kill ’em with an abundance of paperwork proving what, what, where and whatever. Take that, you anal-retentive fools!
The only issue (and it may have helped, even) was the fax machine I used, which kept being overwhelmed, and so I would start again 20 or 30 pages back just ‘to be sure you got it all’, with yet another cover letter letting them know, hi, it’s me, remember me, just finishing the rest of the 467 pages from where I believe it cut off, page 184!! Have great day! Thank you for all your hard work.
I might’ve even meant it. Grind it out. Thank goodness I keep my receipts. You should too, peeps.
Terry Pratchett: “Many phenomena -wars, plagues, sudden audits–have been advanced as evidence for the hidden hand of Satan in the affairs of Man.”
No, I am not going to explain what that is, because like most left or left leaning political groups/concepts/ideologies it is a complex beast over which blue types will wrangle for, oh, ever. Rather, I will argue why in the richest country in the world, we can do better and be better – doing more for families and individuals, providing universal health care including dental, optical, and reproductive but also universal childcare, a basic income, and generous social support food, housing and other programs with few if no fcking goddamned hoops for the poor and disabled or disadvantaged to jump through, hoops designed to humiliate and discourage those who need assistance for a wide variety of reasons from getting that help.
At some point in all of our lives we will need help. We may need help. To deny it to anyone is wrong. If I were a believer I would say it’s a sin. It is a sin to ignore the pain and suffering of others, as it is a sin to hoard money or good or opportunity (the real affirmative action is legacy admissions, y’all) when others – any others – all others – have not.
Remember this, from Harry Truman, in 1952, as the ‘he’s a socialist’ attacks continue against NYC’s Mayor-elect Mamdani: Socialism is a scare word they have hurled at every advance the people have made in the last 20 years. Socialism is what they called public power. Socialism is what they called social security.Socialism is what they called farm price supports.Socialism is what they called bank deposit insurance. Socialism is what they called the growth of free and independent labor organizations.Socialism is their name for almost anything that helps all the people.
Work repeating: Socialism is their name for almost anything that helps all the people.
It really shouldn’t be that hard. But. Here we are, with an easily manipulated, slim majority of people willing to deny themselves good things just sos those fcking illegals or the lazy, indolent poor (the underserving poor, not them, they’re the deserving, honest poor), or GAWD FORBID Black, Bi-racial, Latino, Queer, Trans or any other subset of humans among the minority of us don’t get any.
When will we ever learn, when will we ever learn.
Republicans approve of the American farmer, but they are willing to help him go broke. They stand four-square for the American home–but not for housing. They are strong for labor–but they are stronger for restricting labor’s rights. They favor minimum wage–the smaller the minimum wage the better. They endorse educational opportunity for all- but they won’t spend money for teachers or for schools. They think modern medical care and hospitals are fine–for people who can afford them. They consider electrical power a great blessing–but only when the private power companies get their rake-off. They think American standard of living is a fine thing–so long as it doesn’t spread to all the people. And they admire of Government of the United States so much that they would like to buy it.
I would only add that Republicans in the quote above – also from President Truman – could be substituted with ‘Rich people’…
