I am too...

angry, old, revengeful, mistrusting, cynical and conniving to write anything sensible on this date.

I would refer you to my daughter's blog: 'bamboo lemur boys are mean to their girls' (still don't understand how to put it in blue, sorry).

I second whatever she says. She is so much more eloquent than I, and younger and more idealistic and, perhaps, more observant than I, that in such situations I must defer to her.
I was brought up believing I was enjoying life amidst the most influential civilization since the Roman Empire. And now?; and now, I just don't know anymore. The platitudes I was brought up on don't seem to hold water now. Talk of torture, foreign prisons, rigged voting machines and a Constitution that no longer meets the needs of the people it was written for have left me unsure, doubtful and uncertain of my place, of my country's place, in the world.

So, for these reasons I'll let my daughter speak for me. Her view is more modern, fresher and, hopefully, will hold true for her
lifespan, unlike my own.

Watching one's beliefs wither and fall to the ground is difficult to accept, especially for old farts.

QUOTE OF THE DAY:

The care of human life and happiness, and not their destruction, is the first and only object of good government. - Thomas Jefferson

MEXICO (as I see it):

The town square in the pueblos of Mexico are where people go to observe each other and to compare how they are doing against the rest of their tiny world. This is especially true on Sunday when the cathedral is jammed to overflowing with hundreds of people out on the side walk receiving their weekly blessing by microphone.

Old men sit on benches watching their cronies limping by and
wonder what happened to them and why do they look so old. While
they're having their boots shined they may nod curtly to one another, half remembering where they know each other from.

Some passing slowly with canes tapping, others, more slowly because they refuse to use a cane. Their bodies bent and stooped from too much work and not enough pay.

An endless parade of women with children trailing. They chat about things that they have already chatted about a million times. They spend a lot of time marveling over the curly hair of someone's newest baby or how fat its cheeks are or how the baby
reminds them of their cousin's sister's youngest.

They buy popsicles, ice cream and other sugar treats for the children who get some of it in them, some of it on them and drop
the rest.

There are young boys poking and pushing each other, laughing and sneaking peeks at the promenading girls. A giggling of girls moving, and changing direction, in unison like a covey of quail.
While the boys posture for the girls, the girls, shoulders thrown
back with new breasts pointed skyward, show the lads why it's all
going to be worthwhile.

The 'zocolo' or the 'plaza' is the social center of Mexican culture. It's where one goes to see and to be seen. It is where
one learns what's 'in' and what's not, what's desirable and what
one must do in order to be on the correct side of it all. It's the place where Mexicans learn to be Mexicans.