Going Going Gone by Bob Johnson

I have spent my entire life accumulating.  My exception to this statement was when, for a short period of time, I lived a frugal, austere life in rebellion against society and its excesses. Remember the 60’s?  My youthful collections included ball bearings (go figure), stamps, coins (my grandfather said I was a good numismatist and I held on to the moniker for a long time to wow my friends) and the very educational Mad magazine.  Interest waxed and waned throughout the years and most items ended up in a box or drawer somewhere.  True accumulation came with marriage. Someone else had stuff too!  Plus, the ultimate insult came when our parents asked us to get all of our crap out of their attics, basements, and bedrooms.  Ok, we could find space for our cherished items, but when the babies started to come along, things began to heap.  Buy a larger home, they said, get more square footage, they said.  Made sense to me.  That happened six times in our married life. Each move was to a bigger home.  Ovation finally broke the insane progression.  The castles, finally, were in our rearview mirror. 

My wife and I enjoyed a long life of perusing antique shops, estate sales, and local garage sales.  We started to collect Wizard of Oz books and memorabilia (what else, my wife’s name is Dorothy).  Along the way we accumulated enough other books to rival a public library.  Our collection of over 180 pieces of carnival glass, of course, needed display cases and shelving. “More rooms!” I shouted. 

Late relatives, of course we all can relate, were another source of property.  Who could turn down Grandma’s shell collection, Grandpa’s wood working tools, and lots and lots of linen, photos, and the always wonderful salt and pepper shaker collection.  Multiply that process 4-5 times in your lifetime and that is a lot of stuffed cardboard boxes set somewhere in the house.  I know, you’ll get to them soon! Those folks (May they rest in peace) were not the only source of, shall I say junk?  I was just as complicit.  This past year we found bank statements and canceled checks going back to 1982 (you never know when you need to put your hands on that information), college class papers and text books, and the usual scrapbooks that were put together during our early youth. We discovered 6 boxes of items that were to have been sent to Goodwill about 4 years before.  Of course we went through them! There might be a misplaced treasure that was mistakenly discarded.

When the decision was finally made to make Ovation our new home, first and foremost on our mind was how to decide what in our existing home would have a continued life in a smaller space.  A daunting task lay ahead and we had to be brutal, for lack of a better word, with our possession accumulation. The attempt to ignore was short lived.  Reality was in our face.

It is unimaginable how much “stuff” can be squirreled away in every nook and cranny of a home.  How did it get that way? The answer is simple. When you don’t know what to do with something, keep it.  When you will never use an item again, keep it.  When something is broken or a piece on it is missing, keep it. When you paid more for something than you would ever be able to sell it for, keep it.  If you are sure your beloved antique will someday make headlines on the Antique Roadshow, keep it.  I had enough tools from my grandfather and father to outfit the finest machine shop.  I was sure the welding supplies and drill press bits would be important parts of my retirement plan. Dorothy was much more meticulous with her treasures. Her procedure of evaluation was simple. First, should I keep it, secondly, what is it and what does it do, and thirdly was it really ours?

The process began. We “surfed the net” for downsizing information, read articles on retirement, and talked to others who had taken the plunge.  We were told not to agonize over possessions because when we were gone our children would have no problem “taking care of our stuff.”  We did take time to look at what was essential for our new home, what hadn’t seen the light of day for years, and what I borrowed from a neighbor months ago and needed to return.  First call went to our kids.  They needed some major appliances for their businesses, furniture and beds for houses as they were upsizing, (little do they know what is in store for them), and some pictures and knick-knacks they wanted. The toil of a huge yard, fruit trees, grape arbors, garden plots and the annual leaf accumulation of 8 maple trees was over.  Garden equipment and many assorted tools went to Habitat for Humanity and other groups that restored and distributed mowers, rototillers, and trimmers.  Goodwill, Saint Vincent DePaul’s, neighbors, and friends were involved in the dispersal process. Someone suggested we pack up items that hadn’t quite cleared the ‘stay or go’ category.  I thought I would try that.  Bad idea!  I have two medium sized cartons somewhere in the garage stuffed full of “we must keep these and decide later” items.  I wonder if Ovation is planning an annual garage sale.  I’ll be ready!  We used a local auction house, and finally the ultimate feeding frenzy, the garage sale!  Signs that read “Moving Sale” and “Everything Must Go,” brought some enthusiasm, but when we filled the $1.00 table with the slightly used merchandise, we had ourselves a party. 

The movers did a wonderful job in getting us to Ovation at Oak Tree, but the real heroes were myself and my wife for plowing through the process and accepting our success of the entire episode. 

We are strangely free from the weight of a lifetime of needing to be surrounded by possessions. What we have in our new home is what we need.  Why didn’t we do this years ago?  Ovation hadn’t been developed yet, silly.

Almost 80 by Sue Drummond

I’m almost 80, can that be?

Where is that younger one of me?

That girl I was with skin so smooth

And not a wrinkle to remove

That girl who partied till the dawn

Replaced by me who hides a yawn

That girl I knew so very well

Who ran full tilt and never fell

That gal whose hair was natural then

And one whose knees could always bend

And how she  loved to dine at nine

But now, at four, it’s senior time

That  girl whose body parts and bones

Could move about without those groans

And  yes, when chocolate passed her lips

It didn’t land on waist and hips

It seemed so very long ago

When life was fast, and not so slow

That age when I could give a damn

And store clerks didn’t call me m’am

And life was just one big affair

My youth was longing to be there

But now,  I’m older.. some say wise

I’ll leave that fun for younger guys

I’ve found a niche, a slower pace

Still running in the human race

I would be younger if I could

But being older has some good

I rise without alarm wake up

And enjoy my coffee cup by cup

No need to hurry up and run

To jobs or duties  never done

Card games can be played all day

And friends are always up for play

The bones they ache and hurt a lot

But, I’m thankful for the ones I’ve got

I guess that younger one of me

She just matured…and now is free

The person that I’ve always been

Will always be my closest kin

So,  I’ll kick my heels and tip a beer

I may be old, but I’m still here

Saturday Bath by Mel Grieves

Taking a bath on Saturday afternoon brings to mind my grandmother Maude. Gone more than 20 years now, memories of her can still make me laugh. And sometimes shed a tear.

Each Saturday, Maude announced to whoever was in the house that she was taking over the bathroom for her weekly bath “whether I need it or not, so get your business done and get out.”  Seven people in one old house with just one small bathroom—that’s how it was in those days. I was just glad that by the time I turned three and cared about such things, the family had moved from the farm into town, had indoor plumbing, and baths no longer took place in the big metal pan tub, set up in the middle of the kitchen floor, boiling hot water dumped from the stove kettle to mix with the cold water carried in from the outdoor pump.

Like Maude, I loved baths, from the moment I first slid into that claw-foot porcelain job at the new house. I could sit and play in there til I turned blue and pruney. My mother, through trial and error, discovered that the only way to coax me out of the tub was to convince me I would go down the drain with the bath water once the plug was pulled. Then she’d hover over the tub, fingers poised to yank the rubber stopper, while I screamed and scrambled to make a quick exit. Hey, I was only three. She had no such power over her own mother though, and Maude used every minute of her reserved bathing hour.

At the 30-minute mark, Maude would holler for me or my little sister to come scrub her back. She made no attempt to cover her large, saggy body. Instead she’d say, “Bet you wished you looked this good naked.” For a woman whose mother was a minister, Maude was downright irreverent. I’ve heard it said that bonds often develop between members of every other generation, and for us, it was true. My mother took to her prudish grandmother’s ways; I gravitated to my own grandmother’s risqué humor. It was Maude who taught us the preferred body washing method: “First you wash down as far as possible, next you wash up as far as possible, then you wash possible.”

Maude had moved in with us when I was eight, leaving her second husband to tend the farm by himself, or maybe with the help of the woman he was fooling around with. Maude never talked about it, but as a quiet, observant kid, I learned things. Like the fact that she’d divorced my grandfather, her first husband, because of his drunken rages, and made her way through the 1920s as a single mother with two young daughters. Later she’d married Rube, the farmer. I never liked him. He was an ornery, foul-mouthed man, something Maude couldn’t cure him of. On that count, she settled for a bit of vengeful mischief and taught her parakeet to repeat: “Rube’s a sonofabitch. Rube’s a sonofabitch.”  Maude always found a way to make life fun, no matter what. And she’d seen some pretty hard times.

She wanted her back scrubbed with a bristly back scrubber and Ivory soap, then massaged with a hot washcloth. I think I would have been embarrassed to perform this task on my mother, but with Maude it all felt natural. Once I tried to count the freckles on her back. Now I realize most were age spots, mixed with scars from decades of hard work as a farm wife, and maybe a few from my grandfather’s beatings. Still, she was a big woman who stood straight and laughed loud.

She sang as she soaked, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Everything from hymns to bawdy saloon diddies. My parents thought she was downright shameful at times, but we kids loved her. During years of my own family’s chaos that adults couldn’t keep hidden from sensitive youngsters, Maude provided a safety net of funny stories, knitting lessons, home cooking and silliness. As my sister says, “Maude was a gift.”

Last Saturday afternoon I sat in my Greek soaking tub, floating a bar of Ivory soap like a kid playing with a toy boat, and tried to remember the words to one of the bawdier songs she used to sing. What came to mind, instead, was an old Sunday school song, one she’d learned from her mother. “I washed my hands this morning, so very clean and white…” I don’t remember all the words to that one either. But I will never forget the vision of Maude sitting in the tub, her broad back clean and white, the scent of Ivory soap, and the warmth of the tiny, steam-filled bathroom.

Part of me is not exactly happy that I have turned out to look “as good” as she did naked. On the other hand, she set a welcome example of a woman who could love life and herself with all their imperfections. I sat in my tub and considered my own saggy body, and all the years gone by. Perhaps the only thing I regret about not having children is the lost opportunity to be the Maude in an unsuspecting grandchild’s life.

Appointment at Tyburn by Michael C. Smith

Midnight bells rang far off in the midst of London’s slumber. Wary and alone Maryanne Stewart pushed herself to walk faster past Marble Arch toward her home on Connaught Square. She was almost there.

“Stand and deliver, Madame!”

Startled by the demand in a rich ringing baritone, Maryanne turned in the fog to find that there was no one there, she was completely alone.

The streetlights on Bayswater Road glowed like warm fuzzy fireflies in the thick hanging fog. The light they shed barley made it to the sidewalk below them.  So thick was the murky night that she could barely see across the road to Hyde Park. She shivered and pulled her muffler closer to her chin and turned to walk on.

As she crossed Edgeware Road to the little traffic island a vaporous figure emerged before her in a swirling black cape and a three-cornered hat. If sky blue were flames, he carried them within his eyes.  What burned there was all that was visible of his face above the black silk kerchief that covered his nose and mouth. He held two Pirlet flintlock pistols aimed right at her heart. Maryanne’s mouth flapped open to emit only a chilled gasp.

The man took two steps toward her, lowered his guns and laughed. “I will do thee no harm Milady, nor shall I take thy coin purse or jewels. Such beauty as you hold within your face makes a beggar of any man you look upon. Believe it honest and true, I have never clapped eyes upon, nor am I likely ever again to behold such a woman as you in this life or the next.” His devilish eyes fell to her mouth. “What I will take with great pleasure and at any cost be it gold or the hangman’s noose is a kiss from those perfect lips.” He doffed his hat and gave her a courtly bow.

Maryanne looked him up and down then narrowed her eyes. “Get out of my way!”  She took a swipe at him with her tote bag and to her surprise it sliced though him creating a rolling wave of vapor which slowly and amazingly found its way back into his form  She looked from side to side to see if she were truly alone and the only person on the street to witness this apparition. A bus trundled past with only the driver on board.

The man pulled his kerchief down around his neck to reveal a face unsurpassed in the realm of male splendor. He leveled his gaze upon her and gave her a dazzling smile. “If not a kiss, then what say you to a midnight ride with me on the back of my horse Black Bess?”

“Look here Mr. Ghost, I am tired, and I want to go home. Besides hasn’t anyone told you it is not only very rude to frighten people but also quite out of fashion. Now if you will excuse me?” She stepped boldly forward and walked right through him. Half a block down the street she looked back. He was gone.

Along Stanhope Place Maryanne heard the clip clop of horse’s hoofs. She turned her head slowly to the left. There following along on the street was the apparition and its horse, the huge beast snorted, and its eyes glowed with the banked embers of hell. Black Bess no doubt.  Once again, the specter doffed his hat and bowed from the saddle. Maryanne sighed and turned her nose into the air and walked on. Black Bess and her master kept pace. When she reached number 20 Connaught Square, she unlocked the front door and stepped inside. As she shut the door on the street, she saw that he was still astride his horse in the middle of the street, watching her house with those eyes. Incredible eyes they were she had to admit with a slight shiver and a smile to herself. That night she kept the lamp on beside her bed.

By morning she had convinced herself that the entire thing had been a dream. On her way to Selfridges for a bit of shopping she came to the traffic island where she had seen the ghost the night before. As she waited with the morning crowd for the light to change an odd feeling came over her. She turned around. In the center of the island there was a plaque.  She had steeped over hundreds of times without ever reading it. Round and set flush with the sidewalk it simply read: “Site of Tyburn Tree”. She covered her mouth with both hands in shock. Of course, Tyburn, the place where criminals where hung in the 17th and 18th centuries.  Among the many who swung from the three-cornered gallows was the Highwayman who rode a horse called Black Bess.  What was his name? Her mind reeled as she shut her eyes and his face appeared once more before her. Of course! His name was Dick Turpin the most famous Highwayman of them all. And on this very spot, April 7, 1739 by His Majesty George II order Dick Turpin was hung until dead.

For the rest of her life when she walked alone Dick Turpin always gave Maryanne Stewart safe passage home. Whether she noticed him or not, she never made mention to anyone.

Reflections by Michael Grant

INTRODUCTION

Having retired six years ago and taken some time to travel, my wife Sally and I have now joined this group of fun and talented fellow residents in our wonderful new community. The sharing of our individual stories has been inspiring and thought provoking. Looking back over the life that brought us here led to a broader consideration of our generation’s impact on the world and the legacy we are handing off to our children and grand-children.

In a series of posts, I would like to share some concerns about significant issues which affect everyone, here and abroad, regardless of our individual affiliations, political or otherwise. Despite the undeniable advances made in technology and economic development, there still remain societal issues that our children and grand-children are already having to grapple with. I believe that our experience, accumulated wisdom and life-skills can help support their efforts to create a better world.

ONE

A woman in Massachusetts recently retired to her mobile home community and formed a habit of walking around the park getting to know her neighbors. When the property’s owner planned to sell out to a developer, she used those connections to rally the residents to buy the park themselves. The community succeeded together.

Our instinct is to share experiences. Successes and failures, good news and bad news. We gain strength and comfort from those around us. Groups form constantly to work together. Sadly though, that common purpose is breaking down at the national level.

We are seeing a troubling trend of isolationism. The international alliances that were formed to promote peace and prosperity in the aftermath of war are being threatened by factions intent upon narrow-minded and exclusionary policies.  The enormous sacrifices made by our parents, together with our allies, helped defeat extreme nationalism 75 years ago. Now we find it being embraced by leaders and politicians here and abroad. Even while the internet and social media have spread knowledge and understanding and brought people together.

The current global problems of poverty, homelessness, racial and ethnic strife, regional wars and climate change, will only be overcome by working together. These are problems that we can identify and comprehend and it should be possible to agree on solutions if we have the resolve. We here can be grateful to belong to  a community and to  enjoy sharing our lifestyle with others. It bears remembering that others may only be less fortunate due to the accident of birth or unforseen circumstance and that no one person is more entitled to safety and happiness than any other.

TWO

Some members of Congress have voted 70+ times to reduce their our health care options. Invoking a derogatory and misleading claim of socialized medicine, they dismiss the effective systems in all other industrialized democracies. In reality, this nation pays uniquely for an inefficient, overpriced and inconsistent system that benefits the healthcare industry over the population at large. While costing more than double per capita on average, when compared to other major countries, the US consistently rates at or near last for actual health outcomes. The data to support this are easy to find online from trustworthy, non-partisan sources.

Talk to a Canadian or a European and you will find that access to affordable care does not intrude on their planning to re-locate, seek advancement through a change of employment, start a family or other consequential life decisions. Perhaps the most tragic justification for the US system is the ability to attend an emergency department at a hospital and refuse to pay. In truth, that is a measure of last resort. The uninsured wait until it is often too late to treat a serious disease, when proactive care could have resolved the problem without the inflated cost or loss of a productive citizen. At best, they clog emergency departments, delaying response to true emergencies. There are claims that other countries ration care. Yes, acute needs are prioritized but that happens here too, even in well-served cities. Severe pain will get a prompt appointment with your doctor, while a wellness check, routine colonoscopy or other non-critical matters can take six weeks or more and lead-time varies with the quality of your coverage. Those who have access to health insurance through employment are reluctant to change a system that they are happy with. Fair enough, but stop a minute and think about who, ultimately, is paying for that system, even if it doesn’t show on a pay-stub.

Administrative costs for Medicare add less than 2%, in part by sharing registration information with Social Security. Private insurance adds more than 12%. The drug and health care industry has effectively lobbied and funded Congress to create a system with excessive cost and inconsistent results. They are even using the US administration to now threaten the UK National Health Service into dropping stringent drug price controls.

My sister in Wales has COPD. She has received doctor visits at home, long ambulance trips and weeks in hospital. She worried about leaving her cat, but not about receiving a bill.

My father, needing radiation, was checked into a residential cancer clinic near London, along with my mother, who was able to cook meals and otherwise care for him, in their private room, between treatments. Would he have been better treated in the US? Did the cost add to his stress? No to both.

In neither of these examples was my family put on a waiting list, nor sent to second-class facilities with second-class medical staff.

Many of us, as retirees, have hybrid Medicare Advantage policies allowing us to afford comprehensive healthcare as individuals. It is our option to use these policies instead of simple Medicare and maybe that could be a blueprint for a blended system that provides healthcare to everyone. Private insurance is also available in the UK, Europe and elsewhere as an optional enhancement to the basic national coverage.

Healthcare is a greater national aspect of safety and security than terrorism, street violence, traffic accidents and other threats that we assign to government protection. It merits more consideration than being dismissed with partisan slogans.

THREE

A nineteen year-old student in Bangladesh was burned to death by her fellow students for reporting the school principal for assault. Eleven conspirators, many of them adults, were arrested and the event sparked world-wide revulsion.  

In comparison, US gun deaths for 2017 totalled 39,773 with over 107,000 injuries. The response was resignation more than revulsion.

There is an opportunity for many of us with grandchildren, even great-grandchildren, to reflect on a legacy that we know little is being done to address. For we know that many of those shootings were in a school and innocent children died. Consider too, the enormous  psychological and economic toll suffered by the affected families and communities. When including suicide, the 2017 death toll from gunshot was 63,627. Current statistics are incomplete, but the trend clearly continues.

Among all the many arguments involving gun control, one fact is clear. Loopholes can and should be closed in the patchwork of Federal and State laws. Logic is being defied in a tragic absence of leadership and common interest. We can decry the craven self-dealing of legislators seeking re-election or the suspect arguments from lobbyists but, better yet, we can help our children and grandchildren take control of their future. Voter polling shows that the younger generation already understands the threat to their safety and that, in other countries, gun use, while permitted, is more responsible and disciplined.  In the meantime, we are the population group most likely to vote and we can do so with our precious grandchildren in mind.

FOUR

In 2008, my wife and I took our first Alaska cruise. During a port call in Juneau, we took an excursion to the Mendenhall Glacier just outside of town. In 2017, we did the exact same cruise. Standing again at the panoramic windows of the Mendenhall visitor center, I turned to a nearby ranger to ask if the glacier had shrunk. He directed me to a video screen playing a time-lapse on a continuous loop. I was stunned. You can view it here: https://vimeo.com/229580930. I had made my own climate change observation and it was deeply disturbing. Recognizing that the glacier will soon not even be visible from the existing visitor center, plans are being made for a portable structure that can be placed further back as the ice recedes.

The UN recently reported that a million species are at imminent risk of extinction, because their habitat is changing more rapidly than they can evolve to keep pace. The disappearance of the dinosaurs was  one of five previously recognized extinction events. We are now in the sixth and the situation is critical. Reversing current trends will take decades and willful disregard of climate change and deforestation threatens the world as we have known it.

Elizabeth Kolbert of the New Yorker won the Pulitzer Prize for her very readable 2014 book titled The Sixth Extinction. She chronicles her quest to visit the sometimes remote locations where scientific studies are being conducted and she takes us along on the field trips to observe the findings first-hand. It brings true meaning to the disputed concept. The book is available in hard-cover, ebook or audio book formats at the local Timberland library.

FIVE

Outside the happy oasis we know as Ovation, the nation is angry. Parts of the media and many in Congress are devoted to keeping it that way. Don’t go to bed angry our mothers told us. Well, maybe yours did, but it’s good advice anyway.

Humans are irrational and impulsive when they are angry and they damage the people and the things that they love and value. Later, they may be sorry but it is often too late. Multiply the individual discontent by many millions of us and the hurt that is created becomes deep and long lasting. Who suffers as a result? The provocateurs of the media? Of course not, they are making millions in a cynical play on the nation’s emotions. The victims are the angry people themselves.

This is not an issue confined to the United States, but we have most to gain by concentrating our efforts here. Currently, it is clearly a strategy of our politicians to foment fear and anger as a way to maintain a devoted following. Again, a self-serving policy. As long as we continue to play along, the strategy works. So, let’s all do something different.

The nation has been turning backward in its thinking – the irrational part, and tearing down policies and institutions which have served for the collective benefit of us all – the impulsive part. The impacts of poor health, toxic environments and climate change, for instance, are not selective. Everyone is exposed equally. Sadly, approximately half of the country has been led to believe that it is acceptable to increase these and other risks to themselves by reversing or blocking honest efforts to protect all citizens. My mother called that behavior shooting yourself in the foot.

Of course, the anger is real and justifiable as a result of the deterioration of many individual circumstances. Resolving poverty, poor housing and accessible education should be a priority for a nation as rich as ours. While the causes will be hard to reverse, they will worsen if not properly addressed. However, anger associated with discriminating against and demonizing others is a destructive attitude that we are free to alter. Avoiding the inevitable conflict should be a priority for all our sakes. We can choose to unite with a common sense of purpose or we can continue with the cynical and hypocritical politics that reflect a contest to win at all costs, in a mindless pursuit of power for its own sake.

Proportional representation, ethical behavior, control of election spending ($3 billion in 2016) and eradicating the corruption at the core of preserving incumbency will have to be part of the conversation. None of that will be easy, but what do we gain from maintaining the status quo?

SIX

You have probably heard the well-worn phrase “you get the government you deserve”. Usually offered in conversational response to grumbling about some political issue, it makes some sense; in a democratic process, whether you vote and how you vote determines the party in power and hence the governmental policies enacted.

How should we consider that phrase now?

It presumes a democratic government, so let’s examine that presumption. There is another relevant phrase, “one man, one vote”. Yes, to digress, one person, one vote would be preferable, but it was coined back then and we have made some progress in that area. It refers to the fact that everyone has a say in the government, more than that you cannot vote twice. Democracy is a word we all use frequently but, if asked, might define differently. Here are some comparisons between the UK and US; two democracies we are all familiar with.

Voting is by parliamentary constituency in the UK and by congressional district in the US. The terms differ but the effect is the same. We elect representatives by geographical areas and the population within each area varies. The effect in the UK is somewhat tempered by the fact that voters elect a majority party and the party representatives in Parliament elect the Prime Minister. Here in the US, the President is elected by a direct national vote, albeit with the complication of the Electoral College. Bottom line – the candidate receiving the most votes can, and does, sometimes lose. One person, one vote is an ideal, not the reality.

How are the voting areas determined? In the UK it is by a Boundary Commission, which operates under strict legal rules independent of the parties and must hold public hearings before changes can be confirmed. In the US, the process is political. Census information is used every ten years by the States to create districts which often favor the party currently controlling the State House – the process called gerrymandering.

How are the eligible voters determined? In both cases by age, legal status and voting district. In the UK under the direction of the politically independent Electoral Commission. Exceptions for lack of a permanent residence and to maintain anonymity are permitted. In the US, the situation varies by state. While many states have introduced policies to encourage and facilitate registration and voting, others have used political influence in various ways to discourage voting, either by cancelling registrations or by placing obstacles to registering, visiting a polling place or casting a postal vote.

How are their votes influenced? In the UK, paid political broadcast advertising is forbidden. During the short active election period, defined in a complicated process I will refer you to Wikipedia to understand, the UK parties are allowed access to broadcast channels for “party political broadcasts” under strict rules. In the US, especially since the Supreme Court’s Citizens United decision, it is effectively a free-for-all.

To simplify, the present government of the US is founded on the US Constitution signed on September 17, 1787, while the UK parliament established independence from the Monarchy with the Bill of Rights dated December 16, 1689, followed by numerous acts passed over the years. Reliant on adherence to tradition, rather than a formal document, the UK parliament has historically maintained a consistent set of procedures.

In this increasingly divided era, all the European democracies are facing challenges from activist positions, none more so than the UK. Recent un-democratic maneuvers to establish a separation from the European Union have pushed the UK parliament towards a political crisis.

In the US, extreme partisanship has compromised the fundamental separation of powers, the independence of the Judiciary, the Congressional and Senate rules, the freedom to vote and participate in Presidential primaries, and empowered corruption and influence-peddling on a significant scale. Recently, an embrace of behavior more appropriate to a dictatorship has further distorted the democratic ideal.

Which leaves the question: is this what we deserve?

Left To Write

Welcome to Left to Write, the blog for members of the writers support group at Ovation at Oak Tree, Lacey, WA. This is a place for members to share their creations. Only group members’ works will be posted, but everyone is welcome to read them. This is NOT an official Ovation-sanctioned communications site. There are no taboo subjects here. Comments and discussion are welcome; however anything “not nice” will be removed. Submissions are posted in order of receiving, with the most recent being on top. There’s a handy list of authors and posts on the lefthand side—just click on any one of them to jump to that post. But of course, they are ALL worth reading!