Graffito

"There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically. "You never can tell," the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the neighbors exclaimed. "You never can tell," replied the old man. The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. "You never can tell," answered the farmer. The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. “You never can tell,” said the farmer."--Anonymous.

I missed Monday with Margie because I thought I had caught a cold, but maybe it was just allergy. You never can tell. We have pollen alerts right now. This bit of art and philosophy is on a wall that encloses a very narrow driveway where many cars have left a bit of their paint while attempting to exit the parking lot for Bipartisan Cafe, where I met Martin and Anne Dawe so long ago when they visited Portland. Not much of a blip, but my energy is low and I don't give much of a damn today.

There were two protests I would have liked to document today, but I couldn't drag myself out to them. One for the absurd abortion bans being instituted in the Trump states, and one having to do with immigration bans. Bah, humbug. Ban the bans, I say.