Thursday, July 24, 2025

Tales Best Untold

Trump has ruined everything. . . unless you like him.  For you, then, Trump has made things better.  

But I'll get to that. . . maybe.  No promises. 

I spent just shy of eight hours in the Emergency Room yesterday with my mother.  It was unnecessary.  They did a CT scan, took blood and urine samples, and had the results.  But my mother's blood pressure was elevated.  So we waited. . . and waited.  I don't usually show my irritation in these situations for I know that is counterproductive.  Most times.  But I had been sitting in a cafeteria chair or pacing four steps back and forth across the floor of the very small room.  My mother had a set of rotating nurses, each with a different story on what was going on.  We saw the doc at 9:30.  By four, I was losing my mind.  There were three stories floating around.  One was that they were keeping my mother overnight for observation.  Another was that they were going to place her in a rehab facility.  Yet another said that she was going to be discharged.  Having not seen the doc, we had no idea what the CT scan or the blood and urine tests revealed.  

This hospital group is big on satisfaction surveys.  I know this having spent most of the past seven months in them with my mother.  They send multiple people around the rooms to ask how the patient's experience was.  When one showed up in the ER room, I tried to hold back my anger, but my answers were not very flattering.  

And within moments, the doc showed up.  He was a peppy little guy.  He was having a good day, or so it would seem.  He ran through the options with my mother.  When my mother finally heard that one was going to a facility, she nutted up.  Nope.  She would not go.  She'd rather have me take care of her.  

24/7.  

That is not what she said, though.  She could take care of herself.  She knew a woman from her church who couldn't walk, so her husband put up railing all around the house so she could hold onto it.  She could only use one hand.  When he died, she stayed on her own, pulling herself around the house with one hand alone.  

Hence. . . my mother could take care of herself.  

So when we got home, I went to the grocers and bought the makings of the evening meal.  Then I prepared it.  Then I cleaned up.  My mother took care of everything else sitting in a chair talking on the phone.  

See?  A person can do anything they want to if they just have the mindset.  

I'm done with that.  My mother had broken no bones.  The cemented vertebrae were fine.  She needs to see doctors for her blood pressure and everything else.  She can no longer drive, so. . . .  

I've been driving her car.  It is too difficult for her to get in and out of my Xterra.  The car is a Corolla.  I am an old man driving a Toyota Corolla.  Sweet.  

I do like one thing, though.  Bluetooth.  Goddamn, it makes driving so much better.  Is this how people have been living?  It is another world. 

So. . . that photo at the top of the page.  It's allowed, right?  I mean, it would seem that the fellows in the bike cab are saying "yes" to having their photo taken.  Unless, you know. . . something happened and they changed their minds.  

People are photographed all day long, at least in my hometown.  There are cameras all over the Boulevard and adjacent streets "to keep you safe."  You are photographed at every convenience store, every street light. . . .  But taking photos of people can be very dangerous now.  

"And what about the children?!?!"

Oh, we should never forget about the children.  Nineteen people died including three children.  

A cop pulls over a Black Man in Jacksonville, Florida, because he doesn't have his headlights on in the rain.  The cop asks the Black Man for his driver's license but the Black Man doesn't oblige.  He rolls up his window and sits in his car ignoring the policeman's demands.  The po-po decides to break the window and punch the Black Man in the face.  He then drags him out of the car and punches him again.  

It is all on camera.  Several.  Everything gets photographed now.  But don't take pictures of people without their permission.  It can be dangerous.  Especially if you are filming a cop.  

The Community is outraged, but the D.A. decides not to press charges against the cop.  

Now we got ourselves A Failure to Communicate.  You are supposed to do what the po-po tell you to do.  

You can fall on either side of the fence on this one.  But the po-po is saying the camera doesn't reveal everything.  I think that is true.  

Were I the Black Man or The Community, I'd be asking for something, though.  How many tickets does the department and this officer in particular write for not having headlights on in the rain?  

The video doesn't seem to show rain, either.  The Black Man says it wasn't raining.  

Oh. . . the policeman was White.  

We live by the stories we tell ourselves.  My conservative friends live by different stories than my liberal friends.  Everything we know is brought to us through narrative.  We are the stories we live by.  We are the stories we tell.  

That is what I was thinking about yesterday as I sat in the confines of the tiny E.R. room.  I made my living explaining this for a long time.  Science is a story.  Mathematics is a story.  Religion is a story.  All of culture is.  Obviously, the two men in the tale above told themselves different stories about how that situation should go down.  They will end up in court where attorneys will tell stories.  Everything is a story.  

We like some stories and don't like others.  And so. . . there will be a judge and jury.  

Trump has a narrative that a majority of people like, though it is about a 50/50 split.  The thing many people like about Trump is his willingness to shut people up.  

"Don't let them tell THAT story!"

It is getting very, very scary.  Colleges, newspapers, and television networks are shutting the fuck up, at least about the things Trump doesn't like.  You may not be able to get the flu vaccine you want this fall because of the story RFK jr. likes to tell.  

Trump likes the A.I. story showing Obama being arrested, on his knees, and in a prison cell.  That is the America in which I live now.  In the story I've been telling myself, such a post could never happen.  

But what do I know?  I'm just an old guy tooling around in a Toyota Corolla.  

That's not a story I ever told myself, either.  

The sun is up now, and so is my mother.  I must go attend.  

Did I ever tell you my story of love and adventure?  No?  Oh. . . I should. . . sometime. 

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