There are horrible things that go on in the world, over which I have no power or limited power. There is a war going on in Ukraine, for example.

A war in the Donbas region of eastern Ukraine, against the native ethnic Russians, has been prosecuted by the Ukrainian government, currently led by Volodimir Zelenskyy, despite a ceasefire ignored by Ukraine. These actions are what prompted the Russian intervention to protect the native Russians in Donbas.

What makes matters worse is that the United States sabotaged a negotiated settlement by Turkey, between the belligerent powers in early 2022.

The United States of America gives aid to the Ukrainian government, in prosecuting the war against the Russians. The Ukrainians have committed serious war crimes against the Russian soldiers, including the execution of prisoners of war and use of chemical weapons, dropped from drones on Russian positions. The weapon in question is hydrogen cyanide gas, the same lethal gas used by the Nazis at Auschwitz.

You won’t hear about this in the “legacy” media, the Washington Post, New York Times, CNN, MSNBC, ABC, CBS, NBC, PBS, Fox(with the exception of Tucker Carlson) You won’t hear how desperate the Ukrainian government is, the true extent of their battle casualties, or that American and NATO troops are in Ukraine as “advisors”.

News organisations like Redacted, Inc, and experts like Doug MacGregor and Scott Ritter are reporting the real situation. By ignoring the true situation, the legacy media are doing the government’s bidding, as the USA and NATO push, not simply for Russian defeat, but to overthrow President Putin.

There is strong evidence, reported by legendary investigative journalist Seymour Hirsch, who exposed the My Lai massacre in Vietnam, that the United States is responsible for destroying the Nordstream Pipelines, supplying Russian natural gas to Germany and the rest of Western Europe.

It used to be we would blame a “rogue” CIA, under Allen Dulles or Bill Casey, for conducting actions. including war, that contravened the stated policies of the elected leaders. Now the proxy wars are conducted with the knowledge and consent of the Biden Administration and the predecessor Administrations, with the possible exception of the Trump Administration.

The government, once again, is lying to the people. The government is keeping the War State going, impoverishing this nation in the process. We didn’t have one hundred billion dollars on hand to give the Ukrainians. We borrowed it.

So I’m losing sleep.

Alternative Series Finale

Things are looking bleak for the castaways. They’ve run out of food on the island. Hunger has made them desperate. And depraved!

They’re driven to the thought of cannibalism.

But whom will the majority devour? They consider amputating a leg of one unfortunate victim, but, given their emaciated conditions, one scrawny leg will barely suffice.

Finally they decide on the hapless subject who will be killed, roasted and eaten to prolong the marginal chances of survival for the others.

Just as the victim’s throat is about to be slashed….

a Coast Guard helicopter lands and rescues them.

I really don’t care about The Chinese Balloon. I guess I’m not as patriotic as I should be.

This weight loss journey has familiar stops, like the bus I rode downtown when we lived on Patterson Avenue fifty seven years ago.

I’ve lost weight before, then over the years gained it back. My first effort was in 2006, when I was 55. I simply changed what I ate, reducing the fat and the sugar. The weight dropped steadily. My goal weight was attained. I felt great. This whole process happened a second, maybe a third time.

And then… I felt empty inside. I wanted that empty feeling to leave and sugar and fat helped fill it. The same familiar stops on the same long trip.

Even though I’m 72, I want to feel sexy and loved. My body, scarred as it is, is responding to new foods, just as I learn to cook new dishes. Vegetables are now my “friends”. Their exotic names rutabaga, butternut and acorn squashes, kale, arugula, for starters, have a poetic sound.

Doing new things follow the new outlook. I’m reading again and watching new genres of film, particularly silent movies and film noir.

And I’m throwing out stuff, as if there’s a new life starting for me and I no longer need the books and the clothes that formed the old character I crafted as I rode that bus downtown.

Today I crushed a cardamom pod into my demitasse cup before I put in the turbinado,then poured in the hot espresso. 

It was the little touch of the exotic in this world  where the magic is mundane that we need more than we need the toys of Toyota, or the dope of Denver.

Marriage: The place where dreams go to die.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I resumed following Weight Watchers nutritional guidelines, using the Points budget for daily eating. For me, it works. I’ve lost about 10 pounds in the last three weeks. My zest for cooking and living in general has been revived.

Last night, as I walked through the aisles looking for a bottle of borscht, I observed just how much salt and fats and sugar are added to damn near everything. My shopping foray involved four (4) stores. Publix, Food Lion, BJ’s, and Kroger, as I hunted for hearts of palm and oat bran. Publix had all the canned beans, cannellini, red kidney beans, and garbanzos, plus Italian green beans that I needed for homemade minestrone, but no oat bran or hearts of palm.

At Food Lion, I found lightly salted pistachios at a better price than Publix, plus a brisket on sale. Red bananas and Bosc pears were calling to me. The pears go in a pistachio and pear salad that Caralynn over at Beauty Beyond Bones featured recently. No oat bran. No hearts of palm.

On to BJ’s, where I knew I could score a jar of hearts of palm. BJ’s had two jars, wrapped in plastic, for $9.90. While I was there, I bought a package of lavash flat bread.

Undaunted in my quest, I pushed on to Kroger, There, in the hot cereal section, among the dozens of varieties of microwaveable oatmeal, the usual cylinders of regular oatmeal, quick oatmeal, and boxes of Cream of Wheat, I found Bob’s Red Mill Oat Bran. Good Ol’ Bob came through for me.

Returning home with my treasures, I fixed a salad for dinner, then treated myself to half of a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar. Finally I made some espresso. This is one of my new indulgences.

Maybe espresso does have a lot more caffeine than regular coffee, as I write at 4:30 AM.

I awaken around 430, go to the other bedroom, and attempt to sleep in that bed. Then, after about 5 minutes, give up, get dressed, go downstairs.

I make coffee, toast a whole wheat English muffin and wait for The Northbound Silver Meteor to pass through Ashland, headed to New York.

This train is an impressive sight,pulled by three locomotives today, with coaches, sleeper cars, a dining car, and the baggage car bringing up the rear.

After the train, I watch Brasilian Samba dancers do their simultaneously sexy and wholesome shuffle, in heels, making this move look oh so easy. When we understand and appreciate samba, we can understand Brasil.

Next I move to Russian Orthodox liturgy from somewhere in Russia. One of the constants in the West is our wilful indifference to Russia, from the days of the boyars, to the Romanovs, the Communists, and now Putin. Seems as if because they’re different, they must be bad, must be feared, and must be destroyed. The Orthodox faith strikes at the heart of the fear. It isn’t Catholic or any particular shade of Protestantism. The Liturgy is a near constant chant, before the icons. There are no organs, or any other instruments, save bells. The congregation stands, sometimes for up to three hours.

I move back to trainspotting in Ashland, as dawn breaks. While it’s still dark #86 stops in Ashland to allow commuters to board, on the way to Washington.

Back to reality, the kitchen is a mess, with pots and pans needing to be stored, along with clean dishes from the dishwasher.

Now I want to, need to, go back to bed!

I am making the effort to leave the house. I went to an AA meeting, then dinner with my buddies afterwards. I had a bowl of New England clam chowder. The chowder was OK.  The fellowship was priceless.

I went shopping after dinner. They did not charge the posted sale price for a two pound brick of Velveeta, so I received $1.52 or double the difference back.

Now I’m watching a documentary titled  Berlin 1945 ,about Berlin in the final days of WW II. I can’t help but  think that war is the real obscenity and still I watch this stuff, as if a pile of rubble is somehow interesting.

The first date I went on was a “Sadie Hawkins” dance, where the girl asked the boy. The girl who asked me out has her birthday two days after mine 23 January. I wonder whatever happened to her.

I’m losing weight and I feel better. I’m doing more.

I’m stopping now.

It’s Sunday, early afternoon, and it’s damp and grey, chilly and misty. I’ve been too lazy to pick up last week’s Sunday New York Times from the den floor and today’s is here waiting to be sectioned out, glanced at, maybe even read.

My digital Internet window, YouTube, is opened to Ashland and her railroad tracks. One train has passed, #79, The Carolinian, Southbound to Richmond, ultimately Charlotte.

In the overcast chill, I see one couple, dressed in black jackets, dungarees , walking towards The Henry Clay Inn, searching for breakfast or lunch or brunch. They’re probably a couple, but now they don’t walk side by side. The man is walking several paces ahead, as. the woman lags behind. No hand holding. They walk like a couple that used to fuck, but haven’t in a while. Now they desire nothing more than a plate of eggs or a chicken salad sandwich.

When it’s sunny, a “nonbinary” chap rides around town on their bicycle, wearing a hot pink miniskirt, pantyhose, and cowboy hat, grooving to tunes on their radio, occasionally raising their arms in glee. Ashland Nonbinary Person is one of the harmless eccentrics of this little town.

They are who they are. And nobody really cares.

Meanwhile, a “rail fan” shows his homemade sign to the camera, then walks away. Where are the trains? A passenger train, headed to New York fromTampa, should be coming along, as well as a freight hauling garbage, southbound from DC, should also be passing through, headed to a giant landfill in Charles City County.

I’m wondering if that couple will find a restaurant, eat their eggs and will they make love later, his paunchy belly and her callipygous bum slapping together, in their conjugal bliss? After all, it is Sunday and the kids aren’t around.