Claude Monet: The Petite Creuse River (1889)

Decency Insists
I have lost interest in what passes for political news because it no longer contains anything remotely political. It's become spectacle instead, meaningless noise and uproar for the sole purpose of distracting. It has become an enormous distraction. The incumbent will neither become more competent because of it nor less guilty of anything. Yes, he's very likely guilty of everything he's been accused of, just as he always was. The Bill of Particulars already holds enough indictable accusations to impeach him fifty times over. The "geniuses" he hired to administer have steadfastly betrayed their publics. He's run out of criminals to deport, so he's replaced them with innocent citizens. No, he's not dismantling our system; he's only misusing it. The system he seeks to destroy was never as he imagined it. It featured laws and justice and experts, sure, but it depended most upon the decency of the American people, and he’s offended that decency, deeply so. The Third Rail of American Politics was never merely "The Economy, Stupid," but the price of ordinary things. Joe Six-Pack is now a five-packer, heading to four. Two hundred and fifty years ago, decency was measured in tea, and threatening that single ritual resulted in a memorable party given by those who would later be counted as patriots. For want of a cold one, a tyranny might well be lost. Decency insists.

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Weekly Writing Summary

Seventy
"I will not have heard the news because I wouldn't have been listening for it."
This FollowingChapters Story celebrates The Muse's Seventieth birthday!

The Muse turned seventy, a milestone that should evoke serious reflection but instead reveals her enduring vibrancy. While traditionally, this birthday signifies a transition to old age, she continues to thrive, taking on roles such as Port Commissioner and performing in piano recitals alongside children. I was not able to express profound sentiments on this occasion, acknowledging the mystery of creativity that often eludes straightforward expression. Despite the challenges of articulating our bond, I recognized The Muse’s essential role in shaping my identity and my creativity. This birthday called for celebration, prompting me to ponder who Muses for The Muse. The Muse, while sometimes elusive, plays a vital role in inspiring and directing our creative endeavors.


Sebald Beham: Moon: plate seven from The Seven Planets with the Zodiacs (1539)

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BetweenTimes
"…napping fitfully."
This FollowingChapters Story finds me living BetweenTimes.

I reflect on my return home after a trip, noting how my absence disturbed the routines of both myself and my pets. The cats, especially Max, exhibit anxiety, seeking constant reassurance. I express a longing for the novelty of travel, contrasting it with the sameness of local food options. I describe a sense of timelessness that comes from traveling, where daily schedules lose their meaning. Upon returning, I experienced a mix of energy and disorientation, struggling to reconnect with the world while finding solace in nostalgia. I acknowledge the adjustment period needed to reacquaint myself with home, recognizing it feels empty compared to the relative excitement of being away.


Ben Shahn: Untitled (Cherry Street, New York City) (1933-1935)

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FalsePretenses
"There never were any other options."
This FollowingChapters Story considers FalsePretenses.

This story discusses how project proposals often begin with misleading information, avoiding full disclosure to ensure approval and funding. Authors emphasize certain aspects while downplaying potential risks, leading to oversimplified narratives that satisfy funding authorities. This practice often stems from a fear of revealing too much, as full transparency could jeopardize support. Every project initially justified under these ‘False Pretenses,’ and while this approach may seem unethical, it reflects a common human desire for approval over criticism. Successful proposals often mask their flaws and uncertainties, with the understanding that every project was, at some point, deemed impossible to achieve.


Jan Sadeler I: The False Shepherd (c. 1575)

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Third_World
"Did I mention that beer prices have increased by about twenty percent in the last hundred days?"
This FollowingChapters Story finds me struggling to adapt to living in the Third_World.

I reflect on life in a deteriorating society, feeling fortunate to have previously avoided the humiliations faced by those living in the Third World. However, rising prices—like a twenty percent increase in the price of beer—signal a troubling decline. Essential services are often unavailable, and employment seems scarcer. Stores are closingalong our Main Street, supply chains have been disrupted, and even basic items like paint are increasingly difficult to find and costly. I express my frustration over the plummeting dollar value and the inept leadership that has led to these results. As prices for staples rise, the uncertainty surrounding daily life grows, leading to a bleak outlook on the future.


Katsukawa Shunsho 勝川 春章: Man Falling Backward, Startled by a Woman’s Ghost over a River (c. 1782)

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Septuagenarian
"…wondering what this Septuagenarian should do for a next adventure."
This FollowingChapters Story wonders what I'll choose for a next adventure after the current Septuagenarian painting effort finishes.

I consider becoming a septuagenarian, noting the lack of a clear transition into this new phase of life. While managing health issues and new medications, I continue engaging in activities like painting, feeling both vulnerable and indispensable. Despite enjoying these efforts, I confront the reality of aging and the limitations it brings. As the porch remodeling project nears completion, I wonder what adventures await me in the following chapter, pondering the future as I acknowledge the physical and emotional changes accompanying my aging. This one’s personal!


Lewis Wickes Hine: Untitled [Furman Owens, 12-year-old mill worker, Augusta, Georgia] (1909, printed 1929)

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LongHotDry
Here, near The Center of the Universe, I despise the tail end of one season that just seems too Long, Hot, and Dry!
Here, near The Center of the Universe, I despise the tail end of one season that just seems too Long, Hot, and Dry!

I express a deep connection to my desert home, which currently suffers from extreme heat and drought. I describe the struggle of gardening under such conditions, where watering feels more like a chore than a joy. Inside, the outside heat creates a stifling atmosphere, leading to sleepless nights and a sense of confinement. The cats adapt by seeking shade, while I reflect on my mixed feelings about the summer season. I recall the loss of a neighbor and my reluctance to engage in local events, attributing my discontent to the oppressive heat. Despite loving my home, I find the summer ultimately unbearable, reminiscent of the challenging seasons from other places I’ve lived. File this story under Complaint.


George Elbert Burr: The Desert (19th-20th century)

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This was an odd writing week. Unlike most writing weeks, I felt no particular compunction to create. I still rose each morning determined to fulfill my self-assigned obligation, not always for the betterment of anything. If there's such a thing as the doldrums of summer, and I believe there must be, I was sailing through those horse latitudes this writing week. Still, I persisted, if not necessarily to the benefit of my beleaguered-seeming profession. I began by trying to celebrate The Muse's entry into what might have been old age, except she foiled me by still being in the prime of her life. I wallowed in the disorientation common to every returning traveler in BetweenTimes. I thought my FalsePretenses piece said something significant. I am proud of having written that story, especially from the depths of my horse latitudes. I moaned while struggling to accommodate the inconveniences of suddenly living in the Third_World. (Yes, I know I've been uncommonly privileged.) I admitted that I must be older than I feel, wondering where I might find the instruction manual for proper comportment as an unwitting Septuagenarian. I ended this forlorn writing week with a complaint, bordering on whining, about the awfully LongHotDry season I have been struggling to tolerate. Thank you for following along as I strived to fulfill my meager obligations here!


©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #FollowingChapters, #PureSchmaltz