sonora2sonoma

  • From somewhere deep in the recesses of my time-addled brain this morning popped up the phrase “patience comes to those who wait.”

    An online search quickly revealed my rescued phrase to be an example of what’s called a  “mixed idiom,” a jumbled joining of “all things come to those who wait” and “patience is a virtue.” (1) I also learned, as an interesting aside, that tee shirts are available online from a source that specializes in such mangled malaphors.

    But back on point, my excursion into idiomatic insults originated while I was brewing my morning pot of coffee and observing, as I often do during that activity, the annoyingly unpredictable interval of time it takes for the water to come to a boil. At these times, another turn of phrase—“a watched pot never boils” often resounds through my brain.

    Another online search revealed this little gem to be a proverb—a “short, common saying or phrase that gives advice or shares a universal truth.” (2)

    While undoubtedly useful as a means of noting that time seems to pass more slowly when we are waiting for something to happen, it seems a bit disingenuous to equate the parlance with proverbial phraseology since, while it may be a means of mollifying our mortal proclivity toward peevishness, it is by no means a truism: I discovered this morning that a watched pot actually does boil, if the observer has the patience to wait.   

    Tim Konrad                                          January 23, 2021

  • A Time to Exhale

    A time come to exhale,

    Our breath no longer hold;

    A time come to embrace the new

    And let go of the old.

    The author of the madness

    Who actions caused the rift

    Has caught a flight to Florida

    And left us all adrift.

    Or so he might have wished for,

    In all his fevered dreams,

    If reason hadn’t come along

    Upending all his schemes.

    The fog has finally lifted.

    The sun is shining through.

    But, joyful as transition is,

    There’s much we’ve still to do.

    A new day is upon us

    But much remains to do.

    The issues that divide us

    Demand a full report.

    The criminal acts and bogus facts

    Must have their day in court.

    The misdirected vitriol

    That brought about sedition

    Must evermore be weeded out

    And brought into remission.

    The ears and eyes that bought the lies

    Still feeding the division,

    Their hearts and minds so compromised

    And needing of revision,

    Must be a part of any art

    That seeks to bring communion

    If we’re to mend the deadly rend

    And reconnect our union.

    But leaders first must quench the thirst

    Of those who long for clarity

    By making sure that truths endure

    And lies receive no parity.

    The myth of the steal demands reveal

    From the lips of its presenters;

    With their word may the truth be heard

    In the ranks of the dissenters.

    Only then may what has been

    Begin to lose its power

    And, with a new day, show the way

    For unity to flower.

    The fog has finally lifted.

    The sun is shining through.

    But, joyful as transition is,

    There’s much we’ve still to do.

    A new day is upon us

    But much remains to do.

    Tim Konrad

    On the Inauguration of Joe Biden & Kamala Harris

    January 20, 2021

    Coda:

    A time to exhale,

    Breathe a sigh of relief.

    A welcome repast

    From the whirlwind of grief

    Of the prior four years

    That seemed more like eight,

    Distinguished by avarice,

    Underwritten with hate.

    But that’s now behind us;

    Its hour is passed,

    To be mulled o’er by scholars

    Obsessed with the past.

    We now may take comfort,

    Sleep better at night

    In the knowledge that goodness

    Has overcome might.

    (A republic or a monarchy, Franklin was asked, responding, “A republic, madam–if you can keep it.”)

    TK

  • If the situation we find ourselves in today were instead merely a horror movie, this would be the part where the peasants would be massing with their pitchforks and torches and storming the king’s castle.

    While some might say that already happened last week, those who believe so are overlooking the fact that the building they sacked was the wrong one.

    Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting the violence, the lawbreaking, was okay. Of course it wasn’t. I’m merely pointing out the cognitive dissonance inherent in the acts of misdirected rage directed toward the wrong targets, for equally wrong reasons.

    Had these folks been  grounded in reality, their ire would have been directed toward the real source of their troubles, the White House, and the sinister figure who resides within, a man who’s succeeded in channeling their anger in directions that benefit only him at their great expense, while totally convincing them that he is the one and only answer to all their problems.

    I suppose we should congratulate the president for his adeptness at pulling the wool over so many people for so long that, despite reality’s practically screaming the truth repeatedly in their faces, they continue to remain unmoved, seemingly immune to logic, unpersuadable.  But I cannot go there. The man is a terrible human being, plain and simple, and deserving of nothing but scorn.  

    But perhaps the greatest of his many abominations, certainly in terms of lives lost and families forever prematurely diminished, has been his pitiful mishandling of the pandemic, that, awful as it’s been, is now capped by the following revelation from today’s Washington Post:

    “A promising announcement earlier this week from Operation Warp Speed — that the government would release more vaccine doses that were being held in reserve — was dashed when the group admitted to states that the reserves never existed. Officials had hoped to expand access to millions of elderly people and those with high-risk medical conditions.  One state health official called the revelation “extremely disturbing.’”

    So much for “Operation Warped Feed!” The Post article continues:

    “As Americans prepare for President Trump to leave the White House, they face a sickening reality: Nearly 400,000 people have died of covid-19 under his watch. His administration led a bungled response from the start, health experts have repeatedly said, for which the nation has paid a devastating price. American deaths make up 20 percent of the global toll — which just crossed 2 million — despite being just 4.25 percent of the world’s population.”

    And from the BBC today:

    Funding for a program in Thailand created to identify and study viral transmission in bats that is vital to the prevention of transmission to humans,  the “10-year Predict programme, was allowed to expire by the Trump administration, although US President-elect Joe Biden has promised to restore it.”

    These real-world implications, in which millions of lives  have been lost and many more millions imperiled, underscore the importance of never again permitting the  science-deniers among us to shape or otherwise affect the science-based  policies, research initiatives and preventative efforts enacted and supported by our government or those of like-minded governments across the world.

    Soon, tr*** will be gone, but the damage wrought by this man will persist for decades. For the nation to truly heal, a full accounting must be made, beginning with the complete and total denunciation of the myth of The Steal by every elected official who’s endorsed and perpetuated it. Those who refuse should be removed from office in disgrace.

    In addition, efforts must be undertaken to somehow counter the propaganda being strewn across the airwaves and the internet by Right-leaning media outlets and their spokespeople, who’s poison has been spreading unimpeded and  virus-like, for far too long.

    And their leader must be held accountable—criminally, civilly and in the Court of Public Opinion. Only then will it be possible to begin the work of healing the nation.

    Tim Konrad                                                                     January 15, 2021

    Post Link:

    BBC link:

    https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20210106-nipah-virus-how-bats-could-cause-the-next-pandemic?xtor=ES-213-%5BBBC%20Features%20Newsletter%5D-2021January15-%5BFuture%7c+Button%5D

  • T’is a great privilege

    to dance in the rain

    To play with abandon

    And never complain

    Succumb to a verse

    With the sweetest refrain

    It’s joyful to dance in the rain.

    T’is a great privilege

    To bask in the sun

    Submit to its warmth,

    With your sorrows undone,

    To finally slow down

    And relax in the fun

    Of enjoying the warmth of the sun.

    The joy that you feel

    When you let yourself go

    Allowing yourself just to be

    Puts you in touch

    With that which hearts know

    When they’re allowed to run free.

    T’is a great privilege

    To romp in the snow

    To roll down a hillside

    To go with the flow

    To fall without worry

    Of what lies below

    T‘is wondrous to romp in the snow.


    All of the wonders

    That life has to share

    The echoes and rainbows

    And girls with red hair

    They all hold the power

    To banish despair

    For anyone willing to dare.

    The joy that you feel

    When you let yourself go

    Allowing yourself just to be

    Puts you in touch

    With that which hearts know

    When they’re allowed to run free.

    T’is a great privilege

    to dance in the rain

    To play with abandon

    And never complain

    Succumb to a verse

    With the sweetest refrain

    And not ever have to explain . .

    It’s joyful to dance in the rain.

    Tim Konrad                                          January 13, 2021

  • Last night, I watched about 20 minutes of Sean Hannity.

    That was all it took.

    (Seems oddly telling that his name rhymes with ‘insanity.’ As Joe Leaphorn often noted, there are no coincidences.)

    As I watched, I observed the host and his guests putting forth a version of “reality” diametrically opposed to the one in which I and those close to me live. I find comfort in saying that I am fairly confident the reality I inhabit is the one that most accurately comports with objective reality.

     I am not surprised at hearing these men declare t**** the honest one and label anyone of a different view as lying, nor did it startle me to see them parroting the untrue talking points of their great leader, one after another. I was caught off guard, however, by the deceptive way in which they aired crudely spliced video segments of prominent leading Democrats, representing the speakers’ remarks, removed from their original contexts, in such a way as to create a false narrative that suggested they were espousing views in complete opposition to their original intent—the very definition of deceit itself.

    The thought struck me that Hannity and the other people party to this enterprise had no shame, that what they were doing to fool impressionable people into believing such dangerous and destabilizing nonsense was totally reprehensible, cruel, immoral, devoid of conscience. This organized, delusional fantasy they were feeding seemed a gross disservice to the show’s audience, undertaken without regard for their viewers’ best interests.  It was, simply put, utterly beyond the pale.

    By their actions, these men were willfully and deliberately poisoning the minds of their followers, with no discernible thought as to the consequences of their actions.

    As they decried Twitter’s exiling of t**** as further proof of the need to regulate Big Tech, I thought to myself, “these people are the ones who should be regulated.” Mindful of the ironies inherent in censorship, I mused, shouldn’t there be some way to “suspend” people like Hannity from being able to infect his audience without invoking censorship? Isn’t his brand of poison every bit as lethal as COVID and equally in need of containment? After all, the wolf we feed is the one that grows strong.

    But, how does a person (or a nation) separate suspension on social media from censorship?  Where does the notion of free speech fit into that schema?

    That the propaganda put forth by Hannity and his peers should be deemed permissible in a society such as ours, or, for that matter, in any society, raises serious questions about whether we are capable of the self-governing necessary to tame our darker passions. The behavior of those responsible for Hannity’s show and others like it argues, in the strongest possible terms, that we are not.

    One thing seems certain: without containment, the t**** cancer will continue to spread, as it has since his ascendancy, giving agency to the free expression of mans’ darker desires. This malignancy has been around for far longer than the time t**** has disgraced the scene, but it has grown exponentially through his constant and audaciously misleading messaging.

    It’s uncannily mirror-like how t**** followers view things the opposite of how we see them, only the reflections they perceive are darkly perverse, twisted and cynical.

     The sense of moral outrage we feel when viewing t***-inspired domestic terrorists ravaging the Peoples’ House is the same feeling the MAGA set experiences when being told how the country is going to the dogs because of liberal, socialist policies, or how they feel when listening to their leader lament about all the ways he’s been wronged by the Democrats, the media, and basically anyone else who disagrees with him.

    How are we to re-establish common agreement over what constitutes consensus reality with the almost half of the people who continue to subscribe to an alternate view of reality, folks who jumped on the crazyland train and can’t or are unwilling to find their way off?  Bridging that divide will be the challenge underlying the many social, environmental and economic challenges of at least the next several decades.

    This task won’t be easy, but it is and will remain an essential one if we are ever to find our way back to living under a government based on the principles—right to life, liberty, the pursuit of happiness, freedom, equality, justice—upon which our country was founded.

    Tim Konrad                                                                      January 9, 2021

  • A year for cheer is finally here

    When there should be no need to fear

    Another like we lived last year.

    The year behind us shall remain

    A year of hardship, loss and pain.

    We hope its like won’t came again.

    The failings of the sorry clown

    Who thought that he deserved a crown

    Almost brought the country down

    The plague this man tried to ignore

    Only served to underscore

    The need to show him to the door.

    Once covid made its dark debut

    The germ he’ll someday come to rue

    Turned out to be his Waterloo.

    But, slow to get the general drift,

    And still believing he was stiffed,

    He carries on his callow grift.

    Intoxicated by his lies

    He fails to sense he’s lost the prize,

    That coming soon the nation’s eyes

    Will all be focused on a man

    Who has the know-how and the plan

    And no need for a fake orange tan

    To do that which he never could

    And never could have understood—

    To act with honor, and for good.

    This man on whom we pin our hopes

    Does not associate with dopes

    And has no need to learn the ropes.

    He’s been here long enough to know

    The difference ‘tween friend and foe,

    That good acts don’t require a show,

    And honesty inspires trust

    And that you absolutely must

    Be true, be humble and be just.

    But for this dream to come to be

    He needs the help of you, and me

    If we are ever going to see

    A return to reality.

    Tim Konrad 

    December 31, 2020

  • COVID served notice

    Informing the pOTUS

    The lies that he’s told

    In hoping to mold

    The public, like plastic,

    To buying fantastic

    Ideas, and deceiving

    Folks into believing

    He won the election

    Despite his rejection

    Will not long endure

    When people abjure

    Disavow and forswear

    As they grow more aware

    That the sum of his squeal

    ‘Bout the Art of the Deal

    That held such appeal

    Has never been real

    And for what he was famed

    He ought to be blamed

    And his opus renamed

    The Art of the Steal.

    Tim Konrad                                                                  December 30, 2020

  • The clock ticks down and soon the clown

    Will meet his fate. The ship of state

    Will need a smudge to clean the sludge,

    A coat of paint to null the taint,

    An exorcist to round the list

    And tighter rules so future fools

    Cannot repeat his loathsome feat.

    No passing year will see such cheer

    His fate is made; he soon will fade

    Into the mist; he won’t be missed.

    Tim Konrad                                                                  December 29, 2020


  • The house has spun out of control!

    All the well-intentioned plans

    On how to take advantage of

    The surplus of downtime occasioned

    By the Covid-19 lock-down

    Created space

    For high-flying dreams

    Concerning the completion of

    The many unfinished projects

    That litter the landscape

    Of both my surroundings

    And my mind.

    The house has spun out of control!

    Exceeded its authority,

    Grown wild and willful,

    Tone-deaf, and unresponsive

    To my earnest entreaties

    That it be not foe

    But friend, in restoring

    If not perfection,

    Then the simple and calming sense

    Necessary  

    To make sense

    Of the scattershot state

    Arrayed  before me now.

    The house has spun out of control!

    And I, ambivalent,

    Hesitant to acknowledge the need

    To descend into that dreary dungeon

    Of desolation and despair, cosmological bait-box,

    Insinuation of inordinate disorder,

    Asymmetrical asylum of alienation

    And Snake-pit of surprises,

    And muster the forces

    Necessary for the crafting

    Of the existential astrolabe,

    The supranatural sextant,

    That will enable the charting

    Of a course toward

    Saner waters . .

    The house has spun out of control!

    Yet I remain,  nonetheless,

    Optimistic, hopeful

    That the time for restoring Order

    Won’t run out

    Before the all-clear sign

    Is raised,

    Heralding the return

    To that magical

    1950s version

    Of Mom, Pop & apple pie

    We tell ourselves is what

    ‘Normal’

    Is really all about

    Even though

    It never was either real

    Or normal.

    Tim Konrad

    December 23, 2020

  • The Rain

    In my childhood years

    The Rain

    Robbed me of joy.

    ***

    Kids & rain

    Spelled sickness

    Or so my mother thought.

    On the days

    When rain fell, therefore,

    I endured house arrest,

    Confinement,

    Sentenced to watch the Rain

    Descend

    In great billowing sheets

    Outside my window

    Without my participation

    Or consent.

    ***

    Resistance

    If such a thing had been feasible

    Would have come to ruin,

    Mattered not.

    The ultimate authority

    Rested with my mother.

    I had no voice in the matter;

    It had been usurped, or

    More accurately

    Not ever granted

    In the first place.

    ***

    Christmas vacation, 1955—

    Stands as an unfortunately

    Unforgettable Occasion. For

    Two entire weeks

    Rain fell

    Continuously,

    Mercilessly,

    Remorselessly,

    Making of my break from school

    The longest vacation

    On record

    And the least vacation-like

    Imaginable.

    ***

    I stared out the window

    Counting droplets fall,

    Feeling

    Like the wounded protagonist

    In a tale rife with

    Ironic woe.

    ***

    Back in those days

    When the Rain had the power to

    Manipulate my mother

    Scramble my schedules,

    Pre-empt my plans

    And modify my mobility,

    All the while appearing entirely innocent,

    Understated

    And unconcerned,

    My mother wasn’t the only one

    The Rain had the goods on.

    ***

    Back then

    The rain was not my friend.

    It did what it did.

    I had no voice in the matter;

    I had given it to the rain.

    ***

    Yet, complain I did.

    And try, I did that too,

    And finally,

    After years of learning

    To like the Rain, involving

    A long courtship,

    A whole lotta’ posturing,

    Some trial visits

    And becoming certified

    By a licensed meteorologist,

    Finally, I figured out how

    To make peace with,

    To take back my voice from,

    The Rain.

    ***

    T’is a great privilege

    To dance in the rain

    To play with abandon

    To cease to complain,

    Succumb to some verse

    With the sweetest refrain . . .

    It is joyful to dance in the rain.

    ***

    Tim Konrad

    December 22, 2020