Posts Tagged ‘perspective’
Our Comeuppance
There isn’t a vast amount of international perspective that I can refer to from my limited travels to other countries of the world, but I believe it’s been enough for me to understand that my home country doesn’t deserve to boast about our democracy as if it is the beacon of greatness above all others.
In fact, I have come to believe that our form of government is proving to be a failure. Our democracy isn’t working. Voting for individuals to represent us is supposed to give power to THE PEOPLE. If the majority of people in this country don’t want our government to bomb boats or commandeer oil tankers from Venezuela, our representatives should have sway in the actions of the current administration.
If we don’t want ICE agents to wear masks and travel in packs, driving in unmarked vehicles to nab citizens off the streets without legitimate charges or warrants, THE PEOPLE should be able to persuade our elected officials to adhere to our laws.
Judges on the Supreme Court should be ethical and unbiased. When it becomes obvious they are not, THE PEOPLE should have a way to ensure that our government officials in each branch are being held accountable.
I admit that I once thought our democracy was better than most of the governments in the world. I’m embarrassed that I thought poorly of populations that allowed atrocities to occur by their leaders, or corruption to run rampant in their systems of governance.
Well, I now can understand it when people around the world feel the citizens of the United States are responsible for the inappropriate actions of our government. We thought we could rely on the checks and balances of our form of democracy to keep the wishes of THE PEOPLE in place. I’m afraid it’s not working.
We, the people, have made this mess. It appears we are getting some comeuppance.
At least my ATV and plow are working well again. We probably gained 6 or 7 inches of new snow from the last system. There was no evidence of my boot tracks from Tuesday night on the driveway yesterday morning.
That’s my path through the new snow upon returning from the barn after feeding the horses. After plowing the driveway, I moved to pulling snow off the roof in the two problem spots. While shoveling away the mess that had been created on our front steps, Cyndie texted that we would be receiving feed for the horses in around half an hour.
That meant I needed to switch focus and get down to the barn to dig out the big doors and slide them open. One of the doors wouldn’t budge. It took some creative persuasion to eventually bust it free, and I got it done just in time to see the huge red Gertens Garden Center truck coming up the driveway.
I had tried to plow that circle around the hay shed extra wide in advance of a hay delivery sometime in the near future. I wasn’t thinking of the feed delivery. The last few times, the driver parked on the road and drove his forklift up the driveway. The driver yesterday had never been here before. He decided to back out to the road and bring it up on the forklift.
He wasn’t confident that the big truck wouldn’t slide sideways. I’m happy he chose the safer option.
I’m feeling a lot less cocky about everything these days.
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Different Perspectives
Some horses get no respect.
That is Mia’s placemat. It’s hard not to interpret this scene as having been done intentionally. Especially because it tends to happen with some regularity. I’ll be embarrassed if I find out that it’s Mia who is doing it. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if it was her sending a message that she doesn’t like that spot.
We know she prefers being at the nook just beyond the overhang, but when it rains, we specifically don’t want her standing out in it. For the most part, she copes well enough there.
My gut tells me it’s other horses soiling her mat, but I have no idea whether any message is intended. As a general rule, their distribution of manure is pretty random. I have always thought that animals had a natural aversion to pooping where they eat. These horses long ago learned that I pick it all up, no matter where they dump it, so maybe they figure it’s not something they need to concern themselves with.
I took a couple of photos yesterday to share that we have a tree showing signs of color in its outer leaves, and Asher was supervising my mowing job. When I looked at them on my computer screen, I noticed something interesting about the way the hay shed looks.
From that view, it appears to be tipped backwards. Perspective is everything.
Same hay shed from a different angle. Straight up. And color showing up on the fringes of the maple tree!
Maybe perspective explains the horse apples landing on Mia’s placemat. It could be that the horses just don’t see it from their angle.
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Usual Elevation
Home again at an elevation my lungs are more accustomed to, my mind lingers in the Black Hills of South Dakota and the priceless fellowship of precious friends sharing an affinity for bicycling.
Yesterday, I drove from sun-up Mountain Time to sun-down Central Time in a completely different muscle-stiffening endurance exercise than pedaling nonstop for hours on end. I crossed most of South Dakota and Minnesota to get back to Beldenville in Wisconsin, where Cyndie and Asher were awaiting my return.
It’s good to be home.
The wide open expanses of South Dakota offered a stark reminder of how small our little rectangle of fields and forest really is. The massive hay production underway for mile after mile was remarkable to see now that I know a little more about the process.
The horse ranches are just as impressive. We saw real cowboys wrangling cattle as we whizzed by at over 80 mph on I90.
As I made one of the last few turns around a cornfield toward our driveway, the clouds looked busy in the sky. When I pulled in, I came to Cyndie walking in my direction. She was looking for Asher, who was chasing after a cat that appeared on our property.
He came running to me soon after in a special “welcome home” that only dogs excel in performing to such a degree.
This morning was a treat to reconnect with our horses. I smirked to myself while cleaning up their manure after a week of dodging cow messes on the trail. I’m glad I don’t have to clean up after cattle herds.
I’ll be thinking a lot about the previous week while I am mowing the overgrown grass that grows so thick at our much lower elevation compared to where I huffed and puffed while pedaling that marvelous gravel Mickelson Trail.
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So Weird
What I find weird about hateful, angry people is the level to which they are succeeding in unabashedly flaunting their rude or disrespectful statements and behaviors. It has become increasingly difficult for honorable people to collectively compensate for the onslaught of unsavory energy trashing our world.
It is weird how the prevailing narrative of a US Presidential election is that one person winning the office will instantly solve all the problems considered most important to that candidate’s supporters. I don’t think it works that way.
It seems rather weird that people willingly draw attention to their allegiance to a rude and disrespectful ideology. Big signs, big flags, and blatant vulgar language intended to profess adamant support for arguably the weirdest candidate who repeatedly violates laws and standards.
Weirdness prevails despite the desire of some people to have their version of normalcy universalized. Is up up today or is up down? Group thinkers against group thinking. There should be only good news in the world and we are willing to kill people to achieve it. I’m not weird, you’re weird.
If two wrongs don’t make a right, does doubling down on weirdness make any outcome less weird?
Is it weird that people who lie tend to get angry when presented with facts that counter their lies? Imagine if they didn’t. It would be mind-blowingly weird today if liars suddenly accepted correction and ended their deceit.
For some people, weirdness is considered a badge of honor. Those who wish for an absence of nonconformity are unlikely to see it that way.
I find myself returning to the phrase, “[Thou] doth protest too much.”
The more energy a person puts into protesting being labeled weird, the more likely they are cementing the authentication of said weirdness.
If the shoe fits, weirdo…
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For Granted
My perspectives of our surroundings have shifted back in time due to my frequent visits of late to archives of local newspapers published in the 1860s/70s. When I pedal my bike past farms, I find myself thinking about the first family to start clearing that land and how the surroundings must have looked in their eyes.
While having breakfast beside the raging Cannon River last Thursday, I tried to imagine what impression that threatening-looking torrent would have presented to people in a time when there were no bridges.
It occurred to me how much I take for granted the ease with which we traverse rivers now.
Think about immigrants who found life so difficult where they lived that they would cross an ocean with what little they could carry seeking new opportunities. Somehow, they make their way across half the North American Continent to a frontier with little infrastructure and come to a river that looks like this one.
They’d already accomplished heroic feats to make it so far, I marvel over how anyone could maintain sanity in the face of each new challenge.
If I get hungry, I walk to our refrigerator or look in a cupboard for instant gratification. If the weather is bad, I close windows, shut doors, and adjust the comfort level on our thermostat.
For every gripe I come up with about modern life, there are innumerable conveniences I am taking for granted.
My big plans for getting in some hours on my bike and using our trimmers to reclaim our trails from overgrowth yesterday did not come to fruition. As the wind shoved my car all over the road on our way to a brunch date in Edina, I appreciated that I wasn’t trying to push my bike pedals into the gales. We returned home with plenty of time to tackle any morsel of the much-needed trimming.
I opted for a nap in my hammock instead. I’m not convinced my body isn’t still working on clearing out the remnants of viral invaders.
One thing I don’t take for granted is the luxury I enjoy in choosing how and when to work on our never-ending “to-do” list in maintaining our property and when I’d prefer to rest instead.
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Time Flying
It’s not as if anything is guaranteed to turn out the way I expect. I’ve been exercising my opportunity to explore being idle lately between sessions of walking Asher and tending to the horses. No agenda. No goals. Occasional spontaneous naps. A few streaming series, a random movie here and there, a lot of listening to music, watching suggested YouTube videos, and meandering down the rabbit hole of Reddit comments on news or popular posts.
There are plenty of ways to visit worlds completely foreign to my reality. Did you know there are still people who discuss everything that a certain defendant-in-chief says or does? It’s weird how stark the difference is between reading news from other places compared to standing out among our four horses.
Yesterday was the “final four” day for NFL playoffs. This morning there are fans for two of the teams who couldn’t be happier and fans of the other two teams coping with a heaping serving of dashed hopes. I feel their pain.
On the subject of spectator sports, last week, Major League Baseball announced the 2024 Hall of Fame election results. This has provided a stark reference for the passing of time in my life. Twin Cities hometown superstar, Joe Mauer was voted in on the first year he made the ballot. He was born about a year and a half after Cyndie and I got married.
A couple of blinks later, Joe was winning batting titles, Golden Glove awards, MVP awards, and All-Star appearances, all while playing for one team: his home state Minnesota Twins. The next thing I know, he has retired from playing baseball. Now he is in the Baseball Hall of Fame. His entire career seems like just a blip of time to me.
As a kid who grew up with a sports fan dad, I looked up to athletes and their impressive accomplishments as permanent fixtures. Then one day I noticed the lauded draftees and excelling rookies making headlines were younger than me. At least Hall of Famers were still older.
Not anymore.
Time sure flies when you are having fun.
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Hard Imaginings
Looking back on stories I’ve been told about things that happened before I was born, it occurs to me that I’ve lived through a relatively long period of stability. Thankfully, the U.S. Civil War and the two World Wars didn’t end the United States.
I was four years old when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Too young to comprehend the full depth of such political turmoil. From my perspective, the world continued rather seamlessly.
My childhood occurred during the years my country was fighting the war in Vietnam. I was too young to be drafted into military service. I recall being occasionally aware of the risk, but my life was mostly insulated from any dramatic impact of the war. There were reports on the television news about casualties and protests, but as a kid, most of that drama went over my head.
My world involved stepping out our front door to hop on my bike and ride around the neighborhood to see who was outside forming a game of baseball, football, or kick-the-can. The first movie I saw that was rated “M” for Mature in a theater was, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” in 1969.
Throughout my life, I developed a naive sense of normalcy about my country. I trusted the local, state, and federal governments to maintain law and order. It was easy to turn a blind eye to our interference in other countries and abuses of power at home. I felt the truth would eventually come out and miscreants would be brought to justice.
I’ve lived a comfortable life. Even when the riots in Minneapolis broke out after George Floyd was murdered by police officers, my property was not at risk. Slowly, things calm and people return to their usual routines.
Is it possible now that the democratic system of government the United States has been operating under since declaring independence from foreign nations is at risk of failure from within? It appears the citizens of this country have shifted significantly from a time when there was broad agreement over who our enemies were, foreign and domestic.
Imagine if we suddenly lost our right to freedom of speech against an authoritarian ruler. The kid in me can’t reconcile how anyone in this country would accept for one second a politician who holds anything but contempt for dictators or communist leaders.
After watching the chilling apocalyptic thriller, “Leave the World Behind” on Netflix, it occurred to me that the majority of average people will have a very hard time on their own in influencing greater society if our government collapses. It is easy to see how things could devolve to every family (or person) for themselves.
It is my hope that the year 2024 will find a vast majority of U.S. citizens coming together to overwhelmingly dispatch any candidate who doesn’t honestly and seriously support our democracy with freedom of the press, equality for all, separation of church and state, and ultimately, liberty and justice for all.
Next November, vote to preserve democracy. Kleptocrats, grifters, and wanna-be dictators need not apply.
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Positive Outlook
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Wishing for the worst possible outcome not to happen
is not the same thing as
wishing the best possible might.
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Doesn’t Last
Even though I know that muddy conditions don’t last forever, I have a history of losing sight of that obvious fact after days of dealing with the worst of it. I was beginning to let it get to me last week.
This week was finally showing significant improvement on the mud front. I think that’s gonna end today. Snow is on the way again but I do know that the muddy conditions won’t last. Either we will get enough snow to cover the mud, or it will get cold enough to freeze the ground.
Or, it will just get muddy again and I will need to practice meditating on the fact it won’t last indefinitely.
Snow is another thing that doesn’t last. It might stick around until next spring, but it will eventually disappear and produce some sloppy mud in the paddocks. Maybe it’s time for me to reframe what gets my attention and start fixating on the days when the paddocks aren’t muddy at all.
I realize the preferred conditions don’t last either, but it becomes a glass-half-full perspective.
You know what else doesn’t last? Work gloves.
I picked up a couple of new pairs of my favorites yesterday and once again found myself fascinated by how dramatically these leather gloves change over a period of heavy use. I’ve tried a lot of different styles and settled on these for their versatility in a variety of conditions and because they are easy to quickly put on and take off.
In my outdoor activities, I find myself pulling off my gloves a lot. If necessary, I can shake one hand to throw off a glove. This becomes an excellent bonus feature when the other hand is unavailable because it is holding something in a firm grip.
My concern about work gloves is that this style won’t last as long as my need to replace them. I wonder if they sell these by the case…
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Winter Landscape
It’s not as harsh as it sometimes looks. I don’t mean to be gatekeeping, but images of a winter landscape are viewed best with a reference of having walked in the pre-dawn quiet with the squeak of snow under boots being the only disruption of the brisk surroundings.
To know the difference between how below zero feels on the skin compared to a day when it gets above freezing.
To see the muted lighting first hand, in a way a camera will never equally convey.
To absorb the full expanse of the sky from one horizon to the next while feeling the icebox chill emanating from the snow cover below.
A winter landscape is so much more than a photograph is able to capture, but that never stops us from trying.
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Relative Something 