Our bikes were down under in the parking garage and we wandered down to search for answers among the cars and campers that were stuffed efficiently in the huge open, metal maw of the ship.  Perhaps the big, overland trucks were more attuned to us and our mode of travel than were the cars?  Nomadic with destinations changing daily. 

We could picture the huge trucks drinking beer with their rowdy pals while the campers cowered and said nothing.  Perhaps the white BMW’s and Audi’s conversed, smoking silver-tipped cigarettes while the Volkswagens stared lackadaisically into the unknown, uninterested in anything.  Perhaps somewhere in the steel-tubing and sprockets of the few bicycles parked among the countless cars, campers and trucks, more pleasing, more thoughtful conversations were taking place like their ability to sneak into the back doors of towns silently and take in unnoticed worlds. 

Being invisible on roadways and how dangerous it sometimes was, but most of the time reminding each other how refreshing, having to notice the world around them, being forced to be self-aware and aware of their surroundings, being able to taste the air and feel every bump and every temperature change.  Perhaps they chatted about the ability to not be involved and silently roll out just as secretly as they rolled in. 

Maybe they were talking about how time slowed down, how they were not a beast on a road, but a ghost in the twilight, coming and going but always in limbo, blending with all of the worlds but belonging to none.  I turned over the sprocket just to be a part of their conversation.

Remember, it’s time to forget. It’s time to smile and understand. It’s time to soften up the unconscious frown and look up into the sky and admire the blues and pinks. It’s time to remember to notice the circular patterns in the tree limbs. It’s time to walk the dog. Tell someone you love that you love them. Know that they too are battling life one day a time.

The mornings are cold with just a little dewy ice on the grass, and the squirrels are always playing in the trees. The neighborhood is quiet, with just a little traffic noise in the background. It’s comforting. The houses are still asleep and the sun is peeking over the horizon, just a little. I like to remember these times, the cold on my face. The start of a new day.

Every meal cooked is an opportunity. Take the time to prepare food and give it the respect that it deserves. Cook because food is peaceful and the kitchen is welcoming. Take the pans out and listen to them clink on the counter. Take a look at the years of sauces and stews that have come to life and have left their marks. Remember each and every meal as if it were a child that has left your home.

Remember when you were young? Allow yourself to do such things. Play. Laugh. Take time to walk away from the memories that weigh heavy on your mind. Remember the time when memories were being made. They make us who we are. They are who we were. And the memories we make will give us reason to think, and to live another day.

Thinking the best of someone takes work, it takes trust. Something that we are programmed by evolution to do. To quote Malcolm Gladwell, we are trusting machines. Travel will teach you to, in fact, trust strangers and to recognize more often than not our fate is not in our own hands. Look around, our civilization is based upon the ability, our being trusting machines. Our economic system is based upon trust. Political norms are base upon trust. A civil society is based upon trust. It seems that we should never lock our doors. But we do.

And why is that, why do we lock our doors? The rhetorical question is easily answered by pointing out that there are people we cannot trust. People steal things. People lie. And so we lock our doors. We install camera doorbells and alarm systems in our houses. We come to call this normal, but it is not. We make it normal. Our trust machine is put into the background and we spend our lives looking over our shoulders.

People we love, our family, tells us that they support us, and yet…there is that sentence. Our families seem like loving and sympathetic people, but then why did they… We want to trust. We need to trust. We must trust others. But we must also adhere to truth. We must protect it and stand up for it. We must also realize that to trust we must lower our defenses and make ourselves vulnerable.

Both trust and truth are uncomfortable. But they are worth it. They are necessary, and they take courage to call a liar a liar, and a thief a thief. We must take it upon ourselves to do the work of being disliked at times, by someone all of the time. To trust we must be truthful and we must realize that others are not. To trust we must realize that we sometimes lie, and that others are truthful. It is not a game, but a philosophy of life. It is necessary for us to be happy and content. It is necessary for our survival.

Look around the world for the odd, the unusual, the few and far between. Look around for the special ones, the forgotten ones. Look in the darkened corners and burned out yards. Don’t pass them by, don’t turn away.

Think, for a minute, think about how little it would take and how much it would mean. Think about the smile on your face that would flower out of nothing, that would grow ever so slowly and blossom. Think of the comfort you could offer.

The world is what we make it, it is more than those that are blind to its beauty, it is greater than the short-sighted, and more precious than the cheapskates. There is enough, there is enough to go around. There is enough time to take from, to look into their eyes and show kindness.

Love is not enough but for the time we take to be kind to those that need it most.

The last four years have been difficult for any thinking person, for any person paying attention. It has not only been difficult because of the criminal intentions and activities of the Trump administration, but because of the seeming blindness to those intentions and activities by those around all of us, our fellow country men and women who cannot, or refuse to see the nature of the administration.

There is a blindness to such unadulterated adoration for such a blatantly bad person and the Republican party that continues to support him and what he stands for. And what does The Trump administration stand for, and the Republican party support? If their actions and rhetoric are considered, then it would seem that they stand for spite, revenge, hatred, fear, greed, and ignorance.

But there is more to it, there must be. There must be because there are those we love who seem blind to these human weaknesses, these frailties, these shortcomings. There must be because we cannot love those with such blackness in their hearts. It is not the politics, those within are blinded by their own stupidity and power lust, but those people, those in our lives? Those that we care about?

They must be lying, but they are not.

They must know they are mistaken, but they do not.

They must be blind to their mistakes, and we must not be mistaken about their blindness.

I went for a walk today with my dog and my wife. As we enjoyed the bright, blue skies and the sunshine warming my back, people said hello and smiled.

It is strange these days to see a smile. It is strange for many reasons. But I missed it nevertheless.

Maggie, my dog, is getting old and she was tired but the sun in her eyes still shown bright as she sniffed unseen interests and wagged her tail at the passing dogs on their walks.

Her happiness is not strange. She is happy all of the time, but I never get tired of seeing her content.

My wife is worried and I am no good at comforting her. I can only tell her to look up at the blue skies and watch as Maggie’s tail wags when she scratches her head.

It is strange these days to see a smile. It is strange for many reasons. But I miss it nevertheless.

Do not get mad. Go Vote.

Do not feel sorry for yourself. Go vote.

Do not make excuses or wonder how we got here. Go vote.

Don’t be afraid, although it is sad to say this. Go vote.

Do not be bullied or intimidated, or talked out of doing it. Go vote.

Disregard how you feel. Go vote.

Do not listen to the news, or others, or social media. Go vote.

Go vote like our future depends upon it.

It does. Go vote.

The hour is upon us and yes it is that pinnacle of importance, but never forget that life is short and does not need to be brutish and fought with tooth and claw.

The day comes when the direction we traverse is changed and the course is determined, but there is hedonism and then there is happiness. Pick one over the other carefully, and remember to touch someone every once in a while.

The ugliness that humans do does not define the beauty of a night sky. The anger and raised voices do not overcome a morning in a forest full of birds. The injustice of a few does not make wrong right nor does it take away from the justice of the thoughtful.

And yes, we will overcome even this.

It is the same, the meandering cement and self-important chores of the lonely housewife. Strong coffee, the savior of us all will soon be poured followed by the grapes of wrath. There is death by gluttony and life one minute at a time.

The same window stares out and books replaced with bargains made with the devil. The same sky drapes across the pond replaced with the comfort of cake and the sound of children.

The silence of strangers strolling past on idyllic streets, strewn with flowers, each petal placed on succulent leaves by aging hands. The horses snorting and self-absorbed sit and a feigned smile forced upon the longing look of a lost friend dips down to feed the craving beast.

All is sold here, for the idea of strength, but perhaps with the knowledge of the lie, we wake and hope that in far off places there is still the untamed. The ground still fertile makes its way through the cracks in the places never seen. A lonely bell tolls for the god there never was, in pretty little steeples. There is no knowledge in these places, ling since forgotten, but kept in mind.

The trees fill with voices, almost gossiping and the forest is a town with no bricks. Taking in the sunlight and breathing out the sense that once made children of us all. And on that slippery slop we fall, giving up our childhood to praise the empty faces. This is, at the end, what Copenhagen is: a church with many gods with their followers in tow.