…well, not really.  This is me, after all.  But following along in the vein of the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, who made the same announcement during the worst of the debacle at Kabul’s Hamid Karzai International Airport, and then followed it with several hundred more of their words, here–with the hope that I’m more on point, or at least more interesting, than their Royal Wokenesses–I go:

I just came back from getting a cortisone shot in my knee.  I’ve probably got a small tear in the meniscus, and I may need surgery at some point, but we’re taking it one step at a time.  Jen (the Physician’s Assistant) is very good** and it didn’t hurt much–very unlike the one I got a few months ago for trigger finger in my left hand.  That one was excruciating.  And it didn’t solve the problem long-term, as they assured me it does in about two-thirds of the cases.  So most definitely surgery in my future at some point for that one.  Deep joy.

Most of the trip home from the doctor’s office (about nine miles) is Interstate highway.  Once I get off the Interstate, I’m on narrow country roads which may, or may not, have road markings.  They’re not heavily traveled, and we don’t speed because of all the bends and the hills.

About a year ago we had a minor flood.  The line feeding hot water to a jacuzzi tub in my master bath decided to leak.  The tub, made of cultured marble, had once been repaired and the repair failed.  Cultured marble, we found out, is difficult if not impossible, to repair.  We had plans to replace the tub, but contemplating a new tub led to thoughts of replacing our aged shower, then redoing our entire master bath, and quickly, the project became so complex and painful, the tub became a place to put a presorted laundry hamper and we forgot about it.  Then, ten years later, the leak.

I never liked that tub.

The leak was just a pin hole, but overnight, it made up for its size with amazing persistence.  The insurance company rushed in with a remediation team and within a few days, the shower, tub, surrounding drywall and flooring, and the ceiling below, were demolished and the debris hauled off.  For weeks, blowers roared behind flapping plastic partitions.  A technician made daily inspections, testing the sills and subfloor for wetness and mold.  One by one, the blowers were removed until they were gone.  The insurance company sent us a settlement.  I pointed out that they had factored our deductible into their figures twice.  They sent a correction, and perhaps as a matter of procedure or out of guilt, added significantly to the original settlement even though we’d not complained.

Secretary of State Antony Blinken spent two days testifying before Congress and the most important takeaway is summarized in just ten words he spoke.  When asked by Senator Chris Coons (D-DE) what plans for a future Afghanistan evacuation had been passed along to the administration from its predecessor, Blinken replied:

“We inherited a deadline, we did not inherit a plan.”

These are fraught days for Americans. History is said to be cyclical but there is widespread concern that we are in inexorable decline. Our leadership role in the world which seemed secure three decades ago is under serious threat. Polls show that confidence and love of country are in decline, especially among the young. Traditional American values like freedom of speech, free-market economics, and responsible fiscal policy are openly attacked.

Meanwhile, e pluribus unum is facing replacement by a culture obsessed with racial identity. MLK’s dream of a society where skin color doesn’t determine our judgments of each other is now itself deemed racist.

America, though, is the longest-running liberal democracy in history for a reason: our Constitution. Our great freedom document connects us to our roots, the sources of our strength. It can direct us away from hyperpartisanship toward mutual respect and agreement on shared principles – if we respect its authority.

If you will allow me to brag a little, I will tell you that despite my clumsy parental performance I have a pretty wise daughter. The other day she was knee-deep in an intense conversation with her young son. Without going into the problem at hand it will be enough to say that the youngster was angry and upset. At that point, Daughter #2 told him, “Right now you go and saddle Gunny and ride for about an hour and come back and we will talk this out”. Then after using a rail on a fence to mount the most dependable roping horse/kid horse on the place, the boy rode off for an hour in the pastures and among the cedars.

After a return the matter was settled, or at least discussed and agreed upon. As she told me about such times in her earlier life, “I could ride Brandy (a Sugar Bar breed mare who could turn on a dime) off for an hour by myself and the whole world felt different”.

We all have things that feed and quiet our souls. They are gifts from a divine hand that created us to be much more than busy creatures hurried by survival. Oh, survival and passion and purpose are meant to be very much a part of our life. In fact, purposeful effort is one of those gifts. Because of those gifts, we don’t just feel hurt and pleasure. Our most meaningful feelings as not physical. They are much deeper than that, much more lasting.

Remember the story of the Exodus, of the Jews’ leaving Egypt? From the beginning of their journey, when they encountered the Reed Sea, they complained; they saw the Egyptians pursuing them in chariots, and they were certain they would die. It didn’t occur to them that they would be rescued by G-d. When they were saved, the Torah says that “they had faith in G-d and his servant Moses.”

But did they?

When they left Egypt so quickly, they were unable to bring much food or drinkable water. So, they complained again. Moses asked G-d what they could drink, and G-d showed Moses a way to make the bitter water sweet. So, their faith in G-d was restored. Right?