A chosen few…

The big one is coming.

Nope, not a birthday, I stopped counting those when I hit, ahhh, well, a few years ago.

Not an anniversary either and I’m not talking Armageddon or anything political which, at this point in time,  is a hot topic.

It’s one of those, often anticipated, much dreaded, high school reunions.  My 50th, in fact.

 

The New Rochelle High School Class of 1964 held it’s twenty-fifth celebration back in 1989 and I attended, gingerly clutching my yearbook in an attempt to match faces from years before.  The women looked great (a lot of cosmetic enhancements) and the men…a long story.  A sobering part of the gathering was a memory board with photos of those who had passed, some while serving our country in Vietnam, others from illnesses or different circumstances.  There were lots of hugs along with blank stares as classmates struggled to remember faces they had only passed in the hall way back when.  The preppies, tech students, sorority sisters and brothers and those of us who merely stood on the outside…looking in at those chosen few.  Now I think how fitting the song  “At Seventeen” would have been when I was in high school; Janis Ian’s timeless words still speak volumes for the pain of those who never really find their niche, even feel that they belong, during the formative years of education.

Thanks to social media, reunion groups flourish and, of course, I’m a part of one, sitting more as an observer than a real part of my graduating class.  Just the other day, someone who had been a friend from high school posted about making up name tags for the gathering next year.   I replied that it was a fabulous idea with no response other than this woman telling someone else that she sent them a friend request, never acknowledging my supportive comment. 

Really.

Chalk it up to the advancing years of my former classmates, possibly a little memory loss setting-in,  but it made me stop dead in my have to go to this reunion tracks.  What would be the point?  I can see it now.  People grabbing their eyeglasses,  (in some cases, magnifying glasses) to read name tags and share an obligatory smile,  moving on to someone more familiar, more comfortable.  Then there are those who will profess their need-to-know just everything about your life (while telling about theirs) and then…move on to someone…yup…more familiar and much more successful.

It is what it is.  This isn’t a case of sour grapes for I’m fairly grounded with who I am and where my life has taken me so far.   Certainly, I could attend, going on and on to anyone giving me five minutes of their time about my writing and still un-published book.  Of course, I would sing endless praises about my children and incredible grandchildren.  I’d toss-out my dedication involved with the rights of children and animals along with my desire to get all the trashy housewives of anywhere shows off television.  Sure, I would impress anyone leaning over to read my name tag.

 

Mostly, I will remain on page 105 of some worn and yellowing yearbook with long-ago friends and parting wishes.

 

 

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And yet another…war?

 

Back in 1966, the words of Lorraine Schneider appeared on posters everywhere in reaction to the Vietnam War.  Our country, still in the throes of dealing with unrest in Afghanistan, sits on the brink of yet another world conflict, this time, with Syria.

I don’t make it a practice to delve into political debates on my blog, not that I steer away from a healthy discussion involving current topics, mind you.   Today is different and I’m feeling there is a point to be made.  Chalk my ramble up to good old Facebook and a long thread of comments after the posting of a friend regarding possible U.S. military action in the Middle East.   Sometimes, it’s difficult not to lash out at the inane reasoning of others, even though we all know that everyone is well-entitled to their opinions.   Call this my need to challenge one random viewpoint if you will and, while you’re at it, don’t judge me.  Thank you.

Most, if not all of us, have grown up through some war event.   Keep in mind that war is a very, very broad term.  A little quick research brought up 194 conflicts or wars, since 1945,  which included great power wars, civil wars, genocides, terrorism, humanitarian intervention, inter-ethnic wars and could even include the Mexican Drug War.  

Getting back to the great Facebook debate earlier today, a comment was stated about how “war not only boosts our economy but is our biggest industry.” The poster went on to talk about how “Americans will never give this up being that the military employs so many people with few other options. And the manufacturing of war toys lines the overstuffed pockets of the 1%.”  

Somehow, I’ve never quite looked at war with such a Capitalistic point-of-view, in fact, I recalled The Broken Window Fallacy which is illustrated in  Henry Hazlitt’s Economics in One Lesson.  In short, Hazlitt’s view on the effect of war on the economy is that the argument can be made that war is a benefactor, since historically it often has focused the use of resources and triggered advances in technology and other areas while reducing unemployment. The increased production and employment associated with war often leads some to claim that “war is good for the economy.” However, this belief is often given as an example of the broken window fallacy. The money spent on the war effort, for example, is money that cannot be spent on food, clothing, health care, consumer electronics or other areas. The stimulus felt in one sector of the economy comes at a direct – but hidden – cost to other sectors.

The intrepid Facebook commenter continued on about war’s economic effect  with “It’s a machine we are all part of.” asking..” Do you think the majority of Americans are interested in really shaking up the lives we lead?   In some way, this individual stands firm in their belief that the majority of Americans are a select group of passive warmongers, more interested in checks and balances, completely unconcerned with the sacrifices of our military in the face of diabolical entities on this troubled planet.

What troubled me the most during this bit of social media drama was that the poster had no regard, no real understanding, for those who have and presently are serving in our military other than to label them as instruments in some great economic design by our government.  In every war, there are countless sacrifices and those lucky enough to return from conflict aren’t necessarily anxious to step back into another theatre of turmoil.  Most want peace but will always support everyone in military service who defend all that is precious to every American.

In a few days, even weeks, our President might gain Congressional authorization for use of force against Syria because of its use of chemical weapons which have killed hundreds of innocents in that country, many of them children.  The debate has lingered for days.  The United States can refrain from policing such horrific acts  or…respond in a strong show of force to punish the Syrians and send a message that this type of aggression will not be tolerated anywhere in our world.

There is no clear answer, no win-win solution. Syria, one of the most ancient civilizations on earth, has been embroiled in centuries of conflict.  Even today, terrified Syrians flee the civil war that sweeps across their country.  Any intervention or attempts to achieve political transition won’t be taken lightly or end quickly.   Peace, anywhere in the Middle East, is just a word thrown on some table of negotiation.

In the words of our President, “We are prepared to strike

And yet another…war?

 

 

 

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Her gypsy soul….

She’s someone that I admire, from a distance.  Her spirit dances on the wind and her heart soars above the clouds.  It’s impossible to keep up with the wanderings of her soul.  Like I said, you just have to stand back and gaze at the mystical whirlwind that she is surrounded by; her energy can leave you breathless at times.  If you look out the window during the light of a full moon you might find her gypsy wagon has found a home, under your windows, resting until life’s next journey.

       

Time and again, she’s dealt with some impossible odds and smiled back in the face of defeat.  Pain is tossed into one more raging bonfire as she stands back and glows in the shadows of the crackling embers that float up into the darkness.  I’ve called her an earth mother but she’s much more like a mischevious spirit, full of adventure, walking on the edge of excitement and always, always, on the move to somewhere… but no place in particular.  Home…is wherever she happens to be.  Love…will never be far behind.

For Kimberley………”Be humble for you are made of earth; be noble for you are made of stars.”

 

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