April 2, 2018--Sabre Rattling

One good thing about the resumption of the Cold War is that we'll finally get to see what if any goods Putin and the Russians have on Donald Trump.

During the entire 2016 campaign and the first year of his administration Trump had nothing but positive and admiring things to say about the Russian leader. For someone who was attempting to project a tough-guy, commander-in-chief image, in regard to Putin, Trump came off as quite a wimp. 

Some said that Trump the crypto-totalitarian had genuine admiration for how the Russian strongman governed. He was a role model for the draft-dodging Trump. 

Others claimed that Trump was blackmailed into overlooking Putin's dictatorial methods because the Russians knew about Trump's history of money laundering, including direct Russian involvement, and sexual peccadilloes. There is that titillating BuzzFeed dossier hanging over Trump's head that allegedly alludes to Trump's bad-boy behavior during the Miss Universe pageant in Moscow in 2013.

In response to Trump's obsequious behavior, Putin for the past two years has made a version of nice. Unlike with Obama, who he wouldn't even pretend to look in the eye, Putin has had many flattering things to say about candidate and then president Trump, calling him, for example, a "genius"; while Trump cooed back, "He has done a really great job of outsmarting our country." 

A seeming bromance. And perhaps, as unlikely as it might seem, some speculated that with Trump and Putin maybe actually getting along, there would be the opportunity for a genuine reset in Russian-American relations.

But then the Russians poisoned Russian ex-spy, Sergei Skripal, and his daughter in London in early May. Seizing on this to revive her collapsing political fortunes, British prime minister Theresa May somehow manged to get NATO allies to condemn and sanction Russia. Diplomats were expelled from England, France, Germany, and a host of other western European countries. Leading the world in expressing outrage, May even got Trump to agree to send home 60 Russian diplomat/spies and shut down the Russian consulate in Seattle.

Wounded by this, the Russians retaliated, expelling equivalent numbers of our diplomats and spies and shutting down our consulate in St. Petersburg. It was Cold War deja-vu all over again.

And to make his actions emphatic, Putin had the Russian military fire off one of their newest Satan 2 intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) that has the capacity, they claim, to carry up to 10 miniaturized hydrogen bombs.

So now we not only have North Korea launching missiles that can reach America, we have the Russians doing the same, claiming that their missiles are "invulnerable" to American defenses.

If you're having trouble sleeping nights, this may be the reason. If you have kids in school, expect them soon to be diving under their desks during "take-cover" drills.

And if Trump gives in to his aides (read, John Bolton) who, the New York Times reported, are calling for "tougher Russia policies"--presumably increasing economic sanctions against Putin and his billionaire cronies--expect Putin to reply tit-for-tat. 

Then, if we get deeper into things, such as killing more Russian "volunteers" fighting in Syria, if he has salacious stuff about Trump, expect Putin to begin to leak it out.

That will manage to push Stormy Daniels off the front pages.

March 24, 21017--Upon Westminster Bridge

In 1802, William Wordsworth composed this sonnet upon the same bridge in London where there was terrorist carnage earlier this week that killed five and injured more than three dozen.

Especially now it is worth pausing for a minute, as Wordsworth did that early September morning, to remind us that life and beauty are to be found everywhere, even at a time and place of evil.

Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear 

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 

Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

September 26, 2013--Behind the Times

A friend from England is in the area. Siting with her yesterday morning on the top step of the house where she is staying, looking out into the sun over Muscongus Bay toward Monhegan Island, she said, "This is the only place in the world where I sleep well."

"Why is that? I ask because that's also true for me; and though I have my own thoughts about this, I'm curious why this is such a restful place for you."

Not taking her eyes off the waves lapping the granite ledge, she said, "Some of it has to do with the sound of the water. You know those sleep machines that play an endless stream of natural sounds as a way to free one's mind and help one sleep? There are birds sounds, whale songs, sounds of the wind and forest, and of the tranquil ocean. The ocean being the most listened to to induce a peaceful night. So right out my door here, without the bother of one of those machines, which to me seem so artificial, I find a natural form of calm."

"Maybe it's because our remote ancestors came from the ocean."

"You mean how the sea is the-mother-of-us-all sort of thing?"

"Well, we did descend from fish. There is overwhelming evolutionary evidence about that."

"I thought you Americans don't believe in evolution." She was tweaking me. "But, I know that's true and it may have something to do with being instinctively connected to the eternal that is so conducive to peaceful rest."

"There's something else," I said, "that works for me beside the ocean and air and sky."

"What's that?"

"The isolation. I should say, how I here feel isolated enough."

"That's a curious concept--isolated enough." She glanced at me then turned again to face the water and the horizon.

I said, "We don't live deep in the woods or isolated from neighbors. In fact, I like having neighbors. Even the occasional pesky ones. I am from the city, after all, and too much tranquility and quiet can make me anxious. I need a little more than just nature."

"I understand that. I'm from London though now I live mainly in Brighton. So I as well need a little human activity."

"For me the little part resonates since I like some action as long as it's just that--little."

"I also like being a bit out-of-step," she ruminated. I looked at her curiously and she said, "I'll give you an example."

"That would help."

"That recent tragedy in Kenya."

"The barbaric killings at the mall?"

"That's it. It happened while I was here but somewhat out of the reach of the news. When I'm here I do not take the paper or watch much TV. Almost none at all. And so news of that slaughter took some time to filter to me. As if I were living, as they say these days, off the grid. Rather, half-off the grid."

"This is true to me too, but because of my blog I do need to keep up with the so-called news."

"Sorry, but I forgot about that. What's it called again?"

"Behind the (New York) Times, with the New York part in parentheses."

"I remember that. How you're wanting to have it both ways--you tend to write about things reported in the New York Times that provoke you and also you are signally that you personally are a bit behind the times.  Having a little fun at your own expense. Saying you're perhaps obsolete, no? Behind the times?"

"Exactly."

"So here especially, in a similar way, I too am behind. The mall murders, the debate about Iran and what to do in Syria, your debt ceiling crisis, all of these impinge upon my awareness but in a less immediate and worrisome way that when I'm in New York or London or even my sleepy Brighton."

"You're speaking about what I meant by isolated enough. Not that isolated so that if there were a real crisis that affected me or us directly it would be possible to know minute-by-minute what would be important, even essential to know to avoid a conflagration--a big Sandy-like hurricane--or to be able to mobilize one's thoughts and actions as a citizen because of a major terrorist attack, God forbid, directly on the U.S."

"Isn't this also a stage in life thing?"

"Say more."

"We are after all getting a bit older," not me, I gestured, "and at these latter stages one tends to want to be involved in more generative things. Which by definition means less engagement in the here and now, no matter how vital all of that might have been a few years ago. But now is considerably less compelling."

"I suppose there is some truth to that, though remaining vital is still important to me."

"You feel vital enough to me, if that's any consolation." She smiled wistfully, still gazing toward Monhegan 15 miles off shore.

"But I do need more rest than in the past and that again is where we began--with sleeping."

"You are about to have a birthday, aren't you?"

"Next Wednesday."

"It's a significant one isn't it?"

"At this point they all are."

"But, as I recall, this one is a real number."

"Yes, real. As real as it gets."