Johannes Tavenraat: Twee vrouwen en een persoon met capuchon
[Two women and a person with a hood] (1840 - 1880)

So It Seems To Go
When my father was in his mid-fifties, he took early retirement from the Post Office because he could afford to. He retired not to a life of leisure but one featuring different kinds of work, for he had always been a working man and would get uncomfortable if he had too much time on his hands. He reserved time to watch his beloved Mariners, Yankees, and Dodgers, and to read his books, but he also had a large yard to care for, as well as a few rentals that always seemed to require his attention. Preparing to be out of town, he pushed himself even harder than usual so that when he showed up at my home in Portland, he was experiencing shooting pains down one arm and extreme tiredness. I ferried him over to Providence, where they decided to admit him. He was in the ICU for the following week and in that hospital for the next ten days. He was released to recover from his heart attack, not at home, but at my place, where he and my mom were welcome for as long as his recovery took. He was exceedingly weak, unable to even sit up for more than a few minutes at first. It was humbling to see this man, who had always been so physically commanding, so disabled. He never even thought of smoking another cigarette again, and claimed to have never missed them. My mom learned to drive their huge Chrysler around narrow Portland streets, and even, after an excruciating few more weeks, drove it the 245 miles home with him riding shotgun, a first in their long relationship. Everything was different after that.

I remain aware that I live in a time in my life when a single event could result in nothing in my life ever being the same again. This acknowledgement hasn't rendered me fatalistic yet. It might have made me a little sharper, more attentive, more appreciative. None of this was ever destined to be forever. It was for this time and no other. I say I write these stories to create a legacy. I imagine my progeny appreciatively reading about me, as if discovering themselves, though I suspect that notion is a fantasy. I write for now with the explicit understanding that my purpose might exceed its Pull By date by the day after I post my Weekly Writing Summary. So It Seems To Go.

——

Weekly Writing Summary

This FollowingChapters Story explains the source of Our Incumbent's most defining tell. He always insists that "A_Lot" of people agree with him without ever declaring what A_Lot might mean. It's a clear signal that he's lying.

Anonymous Germany 1499: Lot's Wife Turned to a Pillar of Salt (15th century)
"We know he's lying whenever he moves his lips."
—
This FollowingChapters Story found me attempting to plumb the Depth of political appointees. Our nearly universal dissatisfaction with their official performances seems to stem from an inherent shallowness in their chief executive.

Joseph Lisle: A diving belle (1818 - 1830) From the Thomas McLean Collection
" … the last thing they will have to celebrate until their own assassination."
—
I couldn't do better this morning than repost what I consider to be a brilliant essay I first posted on February 22, 2025: Golf. This story properly summarizes the extent and purpose of our incumbent's existence on this planet. It represents one of the sorrier testaments to a life spent fleeing life. (I am suffering the effects of my latest painting project. I'm just heading out to inflict even more of the same.)

This NextWorld Story focused on the unserious business our Incumbent engages in instead of fulfilling his responsibilities of elected office. Perhaps the most prominent aspect of NextWorld, Golf seems to be the purpose of the presidency now.

Jack Gould: Untitled [woman wearing dice costume playing golf] (c. 1950)
"He's absent without leave or purpose. This might be his greatest gift to us."
—
This FollowingChapters Story found me trying to find reasonable Expectations.

Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn: Beggar Man and Woman behind a Bank (1630)
"Should this realization motivate me to stop engaging?"
—
This FollowingChapters Story found me neither too young nor TooOld to be engaging in whatever activities I choose.

Jack Gould: Untitled [elderly women inside old house] (c. 1950)
" …when I was still considered too young to engage in any of this shit."
—
This FollowingChapters Story, Haven, finds The Muse and I transported into a subtly magical world right next door.

John McWhirter: Study of Wildflowers (19th-20th century)
"No camera could have captured what we witnessed there…
— —
Busy! This writing week, I responded to 'how ya doin'?' queries by claiming to be busy. In this culture, busy is not usually perceived as a positive experience but as an intrusive one, as if busy were keeping me from what I would have preferred to be doing. It registers as a mild to moderate complaint, as if sheer busyness had been trying to sidetrack attention from more important matters. I have no more important matters, just a set of expectations that occasionally backs up on me, leaving me feeling at least mildly overwhelmed and at worst, frozen in headlights. This writing week, somewhere between A_Lot, where I identified one of our incumbent's most reliable tells, and Haven, where I reported on a respite walk The Muse and I took into a local corner of heaven, I experienced a minor revelation. Minor because it didn't contain precisely new information, but the kind of message that seems to bear frequent repeating. I realized that I'm better off—as in happier, healthier, generally more satisfied—when I'm "busy." In this sense, my reporting that I'm Busy seems roughly equivalent to reporting that I'm doing fantastic, even though I've been rising even earlier than normal to complete outside work before the heat exceeds what I can tolerate. I reported on how I've been working out of my Depth for pretty much all of my life. For the first time since I started writing these story series eight years ago, I one morning recycled one of my stories instead of creating a new one, due to busyness, this one about Golf. I admitted that I have no clue how to set or even identify reasonable Expectations and whether I'm actually TooOld or still too young to be doing all I've been attempting. Thank you for following along, though I know you're probably too Busy to be here, too.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #FollowingChapters, #PureSchmaltz