A Holiday Visit From Horatio

 

     Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was 

stirring, and none were expected.  But what to my wondering eyes should appear 

but my little thespian friend Horatio, wearing some quite dapper, holiday gear.

     As we exchanged greetings, I told him how fine I thought he looked in his 

Santa hat, and he thanked me and said that he wore it every year as a tribute to

one of his namesakes, his distant uncle Holiday, who once worked in Santa's

Workshop at the North Pole.  When I inquired about what kind of work his

uncle had been doing for Santa, he said that he believed the job was chief, candy 

taster, which Horatio considered very important, and I agreed with him.  Santa 

would have been scandalized, if he had given bad candy to all of the good, little 

boys and girls. 

     As I settled down to do a quick sketch of him, Horatio said that the primary 

reason for his visit, was to personally thank me for my original, greeting card, 

which he had found to be so appropriate to this particular year.  He said that he had

especially admired the way I had made reference to those last five lines of Ode 

To The West Wind, by Percy B. Shelley, in expressing my own hopes for the Spring 

and a much better New Year ahead, for all of us.   He said he particularly liked the 

way I had expanded the meaning of a harsh, winter chill, to refer to the four year

long, deep and wintry chill, of mendacity, and racism, which has been pouring

from the White House in an unrelenting, destructive stream.  He said that my 

words had helped to restore the true spirit of Christmas.

      I Thanked him for his compliment, and asked him if Shelley was his favorite 

poet.   He said that he liked many of the famous poets, including Shakespeare, 

of course, as well as the work of another of his own, distant relatives, William 

Wadsworth Shortfellow, who was known to have once written a wonderful, long, 

narrative poem of exploration and adventure.   When I said that I hadn't heard 

of that poem, he said that he was sorry to say, that the single manuscript of the 

poem had been lost before it was published.

     As I was finishing up my sketch, he asked me to please use my blog, to post 

my greeting card to everyone out there in our little kingdom of the animals, because

it might help give some glimmer of hope to those most in need of reassurance, 

that this plague too will pass.  And having said that, he gave me a nod and a wink, 

and placing a finger to the side of his nose, he hurried off.  And I heard him exclaim

as he drew out of sight,  "Happy new year to all, and to all a safe night!"

      No doubt he was in a hurry to spread more holiday cheer, and he had a lot 

of territory to cover  And I had the feeling, that he will be wearing his Santa hat 

for the full twelve days of Christmas, while he visits many of the confined and 

lonely neighbors in our troubled, little kingdom.  

                         As requested by Mr.Horatio H Hamster Esq.  -  five lines from

                         Ode To The West Wind, by Percy Bysshe Shelley - 1819

                                 Scatter as from an enextinguished hearth 

                                Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!

                                Be through my lips to unawakened Earth 

                                The trumpet of a prophecy!  Oh wind,

                                If winter comes, can Spring be far behind?   

 

   To everyone out there in our little kingdom of the animals, from my little friend Horatio 

and myself - 

                           Wishing you a safe holiday season,

                           Finding greater hope and faith of Spring,

                          With bright sparks of beauty and truth,

                          After this past quadrennial chill of Winter.

                         And wishing you a fresh wind of warmth

                         And promise, to fulfill the prophecy 

                        Of an awakened land, with good health

                       And love for all, throughout the New Year.

                                                                 Eugene P. McNerney

 

     

A Year In The Red Zone, and - The Imperial Poinsettia

 

                                        The Imperial Poinsettia, an original acrylic painting on canvas

                                        20" X 24", unframed

                                                          ( click on image to enlarge )

     Last December, in this blog, I posted a photo of another of my poinsettia paintings, 

which I called Symbols of Christmas.  This December, it seemed symbolic, in a number

of ways, to bookend this disastrous year, with another poinsettia painting.  In that blog 

entry, at the end of last year, I was expressing the hope that the new year would turn out 

to be a much better one for all of us, than the three preceding years had been.   But 

unfortunately, as we all know, things went from bad to worse. The year began with a 

pandemic, which has been growing and spreading with intensity ever since.  Day by day, 

the map of our nation has turned evermore red, in state after state, as the infection rate 

increases and the death toll rises.  We have gone from hundreds dying each day, to 

thousands dying each day, and our hospitals and healthcare workers are overwhelmed.  

     In the meantime, what kind of leadership have we been getting during this crisis?  

Right from the beginning, our president deliberately downplayed the significantly fatal 

nature of the coming plague, claiming that it was no worse than the flu and that it would 

soon fade away, even though he knew that was not true.  He then proceeded to 

encourage everyone to avoid taking the necessary precautions, to help prevent the 

spread of the disease, and he has continued to promote that irresponsible behavior.   

Just like Nero, the Roman emperor, he has been fiddling ( or golfing ) while Rome burns.     

     So , where does that leave us, now that the new year approaches?   Our position is

much like that of the miniature copy of the Borghese, ancient Roman gladiator, in my 

painting, whose sword and shield are broken, as he seems to be battling out from the 

overarching, red menace of the poinsettia.  Our shields and masks are also worn and 

broken, but the new weaponry of inoculations is arriving like the mounted cavalry, and 

the sound of the trouper's, bugle call is music to our weary ears.   Let us all hope that 

the honest, leadership of the incoming administration, with a firm belief in the truth of 

science, will eradicate this plague, and truly make our nation great again. 

                                                                             Eugene P. McNerney

One Pilgrim's Hope For Progress

 

     Since I have been cautiously maintaining my social distancing, during this pandemic,

I did not expect to be seeing anyone for the Thanksgiving holiday.   So, imagine my

welcome surprise when my little friend, local thespian and sometime model, Horatio H. 

Hamster Esq., popped up unexpectedly, and he was dressed for the occasion. 

     "Felicitous greetings, good sir!", he said, in his dramatic, little voice.  "May I join

you in the hour of giving thanks for our recent blessings?"

     Of course I told him that I was glad to see him, and that I was always interested

in hearing the latest news of the happenings, here in our little kingdom of the animals.

I also complimented him on his hat and inquired if it signified any personal family history, 

and, as I suspected, he confided that he was wearing it as a tribute to one of his 

distinguished distant relatives. In this case, he was referring to "Hezekiah", an ancestor,

and another of his namesakes, who, according to family lore, came over to America 

on the Mayflower.  

      The reference to his "namesake" made it clear that the middle "H" in Horatio's 

name, now stands for "Hezekiah", for a while at least.  That would be a worthy

tribute, if the family story is true, but I did have doubts about its historical accuracy. 

When I suggested to Horatio, that his ancestor's name was not likely to be found

on the passenger list of the Mayflower, he explained that Hezekiah had been forced

 to hide "below decks, in steerage", to escape from injustice and to gain his freedom. 

When I asked him if his ancestor had stowed away to get freedom of religion, he 

admitted that he thought it was more likely that Hezekiah was in search of the 

freedom to eat.   As proof of that, he said that, in those days, England and Holland 

were having, "a substantial shortage of such important foodstuffs as candied yams, 

pumpkin pies and turkey drumsticks".

      I didn't bother to inform him that the native foods of American Thanksgiving

celebrations, had not yet arrived in Europe, in the early sixteen hundreds.  I was more 

interested in talking about how to give thanks, for this troublesome year of 2020. 

I asked him what he was thankful for this year, considering that, due to the pandemic,

 the entire season of plays at the neighborhood's Quadruped Playhouse, had been 

cancelled, including the annual Christmas production of Dickens' Christmas Carol. 

     Horatio agreed that it will be sad for him, not to be able to reprise his role as 

Bob Cratchet, but he said that he was very thankful for recent changes at the theater

company.  He was particularly pleased that a majority of the company had voted to

expel Donald J. Skunk from the membership, so that he can no longer demand to

 always have the lead roles, even though he has never performed well at anything, 

and even though his personal stench revolted the other actors.  And furthermore,

it seems likely that the semi-blind and deaf fox, who served as Mr. Skunk's prompter, 

will have to assume a diminished participation in future productions. 

      Horatio said that the theater company still had a number of other personnel 

issues to be dealt with, including the stage manager, Mitch McTurtle, whose always

deliberately, slow pace often prevents good progress. and the itinerant ex-stage hand, 

Vladimir Pigley, who persistently hangs around the theater, gobbling up anything left 

unattended.  

     As I was finishing a quick sketch of Horatio, he asked me if I would like to 

collaborate with him on a project, or if I had any suggestions for him to consider

as good material for a future theatrical production.  With pilgrims already on my mind,

I said that since he is clearly a master of allegory, perhaps he should consider doing 

a dramatic adaptation of John Bunyan's allegorical novel, Pilgrims Progress, when we 

finally have put this pandemic behind us.  That suggestion seemed to strike him as 

being rife with possibilities for satire and comical dialogue.  He thanked me for the 

idea, and then he departed, leaving me with this closing admonishment.

     "Fare thee well, good sir!  And keep a watchful eye out for the greedy disciples 

of Satan, during your safe, holiday, shopping trips!"  

     I thanked him for the warning, and wished him a fond farewell in return, as he was

waving goodbye with Hezekiah's hat.  

     He left me with the hope that things are getting a little bit better, here in our little 

kingdom of the animals.  During this season of Thanksgiving, following this year which

has given us so many troubles, perhaps we should all be doubly thankful for our friends, 

no matter how big or small they may be.  If their hearts are in the right place, 

nothing else matters.

                                 Eugene P. McNerney

 

    

Truth revealed in art

 

     The poet John Keats said something to the effect, that the beauty of art 

reveals truth, and that beauty and truth are much the same.   In our country, truth's

beauty has had its image greatly tarnished lately.  For the past four years, we have 

all been listening to a steady stream of lies, pouring out from the highest elected office 

in our country.  The lies have never been told with any great degree of artfulness, 

skill or believable substance.  The verbal delivery has always been like the stance

of a child, who thinks that if he tells his lies loudly enough and repeats them often 

enough,everyone will have to believe him.  And at times, the lies have been spoken 

even more crudely, as if from a dictator, who has the unquestioned, full command 

of the country.

      Now that this totally inept and fraudulent leader of the nation has been truly

and unquestionably voted out of office, his infantile behavior is running true to form.

Just as expected, he is acting like a child, having a royal tantrum, to try and get

what he wants.  No doubt he will go on for the rest of his life, claiming that our

elections have all been rigged, and that he actually won the presidency for another 

four years.

     His term in office has clearly demonstrated that he lacked the ability to change

his life-long, narcissistic behavior, and then try to grow into a more creditable, 

altruistic human-being, worthy of the office of the presidency.  That life-long, juvenile

behavior has been on view to the world for four or five decades, and for years it has 

made him the frequent target of columnists, writers and cartoonists.  It has often been 

 the truth of the images and words of these individuals, which have most truly revealed

the childish character of Donald Trump.

     Recently, I ran across an old cartoon which is another example of that long. 

public awareness of Trump's childish, self-centered behavior.  The cartoon is a 2007 

selection from the comic-strip Non Sequitur, by Wiley Miller, a true master of that 

art form.  In the cartoon, Santa Claus has just completed his annual Christmas 

delivery of gifts and toys to all of the good little girls and boys, and he has returned 

home to the north pole.  Santa is resting in his big chair, with his boots off and his 

legs up on the foot-stool when the phone rings and Mrs Claus has answered and 

tells him who is calling.  That is when Santa leans back and says " Yes, I know 

Donald Trump didn't get what he wanted again."   

     So, clearly, very early in this century, Donald Trump's narcissistic behavior 

was already so well known by then, that the cartoonists didn't even have to draw 

him into their satirical panels, in order to create laughter.  All they had to do was 

to put his name in their punch lines, and the reader's knowledge of Trump would 

provoke their laughter.

    I don't recall what all it was that Trump was squawking about, in the news, at that

time period.  Perhaps it was one of his bankruptcies or one of his gambling casino,

resort failures, which may have been getting a lot of publicity then, but whatever the 

disaster was, Trump was sure to have been loudly denying any responsibility, for all 

the claims against him.  

     It is now abundantly clear to the nation and to the world, that Trump will never tell

the truth, even if his life should depend on it.  Lying is such an integral part of his nature

that he can not change that, anymore than a leopard can change it's spots.  Some

people would describe his perpetually untruthful behavior as simply pathetic.  My 

description of such a total fraud would be a great deal less charitable than that, and 

perhaps not printable for readers of tender years.

     On the twentieth day of next January, when the truth enters the White House again, 

life will become more beautiful again, for all of us, even for those who can't distinguish 

between the new genuine honesty, and the past, destructive, four-year long, unbroken-

string of lies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Ozymandias, and, Signs Of Our Time

 

     In 1818, Shelley published his famous sonnet called Ozymandias.  The poem is the 

tale of an egotistical, narcissistic king, who once ruled a vast, wealthy kingdom, with a 

capitol of great temples and palaces, all of which have been swept away by the ravages 

of time, and swallowed by desert sands.  The only visible remnant is a colossal, fractured 

statue of the king.  The top half of the figure is lying face-up, on the sand, where the 

king's "frown, wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command", can still be seen.  And  still 

inscribed on the towering, but crumbling legs of the king, is the proud declaration, 

"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"

     Sooner or later, time does have a way of bringing down dictators and egotistical

monarchs, no matter how much they do to retain their power, by building many giant, 

intimidating statues and portraits of themselves.  It is no different today than it was in 

ancient Egypt.  For example, the multi-story portraits of the Saudi royals, hanging on 

the faces of tall buildings, which seem to be regular features of the landscape, in Saudi 

Arabian cities.  And it is the same in Iran, where the giant portraits of ruling, religious 

chieftains, glare down at the people like the wrath of doom. 

     These past several months, have been the season of political portraiture in America.

We see the faces of candidates for office, everywhere around us now.  From millions of

yard signs to giant sign-boards, rising above the rooftops, their faces stare at us, with

snappy, printed slogans, trying to convince us to give them our votes.  But I wonder if

some voters opinions of candidates might change a bit, if those signs featured photos

which revealed more of the true character of an egotistical narcissist like Donald Trump.

Would some people feel differently about him, if they compared his behavior to that of

some of the most despicable tyrants of recent history?  This sign-board shows just a

few of the easily available images, of telling similarities, between tyrannical despots. 

     The pigeons are a welcome addition to this scene.  Having them roost on the top

of the sign-board, and poop on the faces of the monumental egotists below them, 

seems like the perfect tribute. 

                                                          ( Click on image to enlarge )

     Some people will say that it is not fair to compare Trump with men who are personally

responsible for the deaths of unknown numbers of their fellow human beings.  Such 

people should remember that Trump withheld vital information, early this year, about the 

deadliness of the coming pandemic, and failed to mount an aggressive plan of defense 

against it, because he thought that would hurt his chances of being re-elected.  He has no

empathy for the sufferings of the sick and dying.  He always puts his own self-interests 

ahead of the lives of others, and because of that, nearly a quarter million Americans 

have gone to early graves.   As Trump's own sister says, he thinks only of himself, and 

no one else.

     Even now, with the plague infection rate, and the death rate, on the rise again, our 

perpetually lying president continues to tell the mask-less crowds at his rallies, that the 

pandemic will soon vanish around some invisible corner, and that a vaccine will be 

available in a matter of days.   When, in truth, the pandemic is only getting worse, and

an adequate enough supply of vaccine, to give inoculations to everyone, is not likely 

to be available until well into next year.  

     There a number of other noticeable similarities Trump has in common with other

such narcissistic sociopaths.   He has cozied-up with some of the murderous thugs

who rule other countries, while at the same time he has decimated our own diplomatic 

corps, and sown mistrust of our own intelligence agencies and F.B.I.   Anyone in his 

administration who has ever demonstrated any sign of independent competence, has 

been fired for not licking his boots and praising him like a loyal slave.   He has replaced 

those ethical executives with sycophants and toadies, who will do whatever he tells 

them to do, no matter how wrong or harmful that action may be.   

     Eventually , Trump's fraudulent schemes, and corrupt and treasonable behavior

 will be fully exposed, and then it will all come home to roost on him, like a flock of 

pooping pigeons.  But now we need to remove him from office as quickly as possible, 

so that he will no longer have the power of the presidency, to help him avoid paying 

the price for his crimes. 

     I'm rooting for the pigeons.

 

 

  

What's the matter with Kansas? - and, Sunflower Daze

                                             ( I have previously shown this painting on the blog, but I

                                              am using it again here, as a stand-in for a new painting of 

                                             a large field of sunflowers, of which I do not  as yet have 

                                             good photograph.  I'll try to have the new painting up soon. )

 

     Some viewers of this blog may be wondering about the choice of title, for this entry, 

and why the field of flowers.  Most people will assume that the inspiration comes from

the fact that fields of sunflowers have been in full bloom, putting on a fine show across 

the mid-west.  That was partially my motive, but I was also interested in the symbolism 

of these large fields of tightly packed, flower-faces, standing together, like gatherings

of crowded, open-faced people, waiting to hear important words.  Perhaps I will say

more about that later.

     The title of this entry is a fairly well-known quote which dates back to well over a 

century ago, when a small-town, newspaper editor in Kansas, took a hard look at his

fellow Kansans, and what he saw made him angry.  He decided to write and print a 

harshly critical editorial, which he titled "What's the matter with Kansas?".  That new

editorial was picked up and reprinted by newspapers all across the country, and it 

made that editor famous.  That man's name was William Allen White, the owner and

publisher of the Emporia Gazette, and he became known a the sage of Emporia.

He was a frequently quoted, influential political figure, and associate of major political

figures, for the first half of the twentieth century, including presidents of the country.

     So, what was it about his fellow countrymen which sometimes caused his ire and

harsh criticism?  He was particularly concerned with political movements known as

populism, and with how thoughtless voters were so easily led to follow their worst 

instincts, by frauds and charlatans.  A look at the history of the period, provides us 

with two prime examples: first was White's battle with the KKK, which had taken 

political control of the southern states and Indiana, and was on track to control Kansas, 

and second, his war against the fraudulent, goat-glands doctor, Dr. Brinkley, who came

close to being voted into the office of governor of Kansas. 

     By the early nineteen twenties, right-wing populism was surging across Kansas.

The organizers of the KKK, were taking the opportunity to enrich themselves, by

appealing to the prejudices and fears of the xenophobic citizens, charging them the

equivalent of three hundred dollars, for membership in the Klan.  (The question of 

why anyone needed some "official" stamp of approval, to parade around in a sheet, 

shouting ethnic and racial slurs, didn't seem to occur to the members.)  Power hungry 

men have always encouraged people to blame all of their country's troubles on 

"the other", the citizens who have the wrong religion, or the wrong ethnicity, or the 

wrong skin tone, or anyone who somehow doesn't "belong" in their country.  

( The members of the Klan chose to forget the fact that they were all immigrants 

or descendants of immigrants to this country.)   As the Klan's membership in Kansas, 

swelled past forty thousand, politicians began to bow to the pressure of the Klan's 

demands.  Even as White was fighting to eliminate such influence, the mayor and police 

chief of his own town, granted permission for the Klan to parade through the streets 

at their will.  During the nineteen twenty four election campaign, for the governorship 

of the state, both the Republican and the Democratic candidate, were accepting 

support from the Klan.  As election day neared, White stepped forward to offer 

his name as a write-in candidate for governor.  He didn't win the election, but he 

won such a large percentage of the votes, that the new governor realized that the 

Klan didn't have the power to control his governorship.

     In the nineteen twenties, there was another opportunistic fraud in Kansas,

who was taking advantage of gullible fools nationwide.  He became famous

as Dr. Brinkley, "the goat doctor", because of his widely promoted "cure" to 

restore virility in men, which consisted of the surgical implanting of goat testicles 

into his patients.   He achieved his fame because he had his own radio station,

 broadcasting his propaganda across the country, gathering a steady stream of

revenue, and hopeful fools to undergo the surgery.  Such opportunists who want 

to appeal to the populist mind-set, have always found it useful to have their own

active, propaganda machine, similar to Donald Trump's trumpeting from Fox,

while they constantly claim that reports from reliably truthful, news sources, are

"fake news".  ( Joseph Goebbels would have felt right at home at Fox. )

     White was in the forefront of sensible people who were telling the public 

that Brinkley was a total fraud, but the goat-doctor was unwilling to give up

his lucrative scam.  In nineteen thirty, he decided to use his propaganda 

machine for an additional self-promotion, by running for governor, and  he 

appealed to his right-wing, religious base by denouncing the theory of evolution.     

White wrote opposition editorials, refuting Brinkley's false propaganda as lies

"irresistible to the moron mind", and calling Brinkley's supporters "a great,

seething, moronic underworld".   Brinkley supporters who evidently didn't 

know the definition of the word "moron", but who thought they knew what 

White meant by his use of the "underworld" reference, wrote angry letters to 

the editor, proclaiming themselves to be "good Christian people".   So, White 

had to correct their misunderstanding, by saying "I didn't mean that you were 

wicked.  I meant that you were dumb!"  

     As things turned out, Brinkley actually got enough votes to have been

declared the winner, if the vote counting system had not been changed, shortly

before the election. So, he might well have been the governor, when his final

exposure as a fraud occurred, and we can imagine what  political chaos that

would have created.  

      Now that I have rattled on for longer than most viewers probably cared to

read, maybe I should try to get around to the point of what I want to say.  We

are now taking part in the most important presidential election, to the future of 

our nation and the world, that we are ever likely to have in our lifetime.

The man who becomes president for the next four years, may well determine

whether or not life as we know it, will be able to survive on this planet.  If some

aggressive steps are not taken soon, to reverse global warming, we will pass 

the tipping point, leaving our children and grandchildren with no world to inherit,

but the man who holds that office now, does not believe in science. 

     What is true of Kansas is also true all across our nation.  Too many of us 

have lost our sense of idealism, and are now too easily misled by frauds, and  

 too willing to give in to our worst instincts, as exemplified by Donald Trump. 

 George Washington signed a pact, dedicating his life, his fortune and his sacred 

honor, to his country.  Donald Trump has no honor, and he has dedicated his life 

to getting whatever he wants for himself, no matter what it costs everyone else.  

He has no sense of civic duty or responsibility: he takes pride in avoiding paying 

his income tax, saying that such maneuvers makes him "smart".  He encourages

the white-supremacists and other hate groups, who feel emboldened by his 

endorsement.  He withheld vital information from the American people, about 

the deadly severity of our pandemic, because he thought it would damage his

reelection campaign.  And, he specifically endangers the lives of his own, duped

followers, by politicizing the plague and discouraging the use of the proper safety 

measures, to limit the spread of the disease. 

      What could be a better example of Trump's indifference to the life or death of 

of others, than his political rallies, with his mask-less fans so tightly packed together, 

like those fields of open-faced sunflowers, receiving all of the viruses and lies being 

shouted their way? 

     Now, we are about to decide who will be in the White House for the next four

years, making critical decisions for our nation.  We can choose a racist narcissist, 

who thinks only about himself, or we can choose his opponent, Joe Biden, who 

has spent his life in public service, and who strives to achieve a better, more idealistic 

America for everyone.

     Anyone who thinks that we don't have a clear choice this time, must be one of

William Allen White's morons. 

                                                   E. P. McNerney                                              

                                                                     

  

                                                                                

         

 

     

Horatio's service to the nation

     Those of you who are familiar with this blog may recall my past references to the visits
from my little, quixotic friend, aspiring actor and occasional model, Horatio H. Hamster Esq.
I never know when to expect him, and after so many months of his absence, I was
surprised again yesterday, when he stopped in to say hello.
    We exchanged our mutual greetings and gratitude for surviving the pandemic thus far,
while he was maintaining the proper social distance. I couldn't avoid noticing that he was
wearing his laurels, and I wondered if that represented a new academic achievement of
some kind, or perhaps a costume for a play by Euripides.   Since I was aware that all
of the performances at his theater, ( the unique Quadruped Playhouse ), had been
cancelled due to the plague, his overall classical persona peaked my curiosity.
So, I asked him how he had been spending his time.
     The distance between us made it a bit difficult to hear exactly what he was saying,
so it sounded to me like he said, that he had been paying tribute to the enduring legacy
of the hypocritic oaf.

                            
     "Did you say,"hypocritic oaf",  I asked?
     "No, no!", he shouted.  "I said Hippocratic Oath!" And then he added a further,
distinct correction, saying " The hypocritic oaf is what lives in the White House!"

     I apologized for my mistake, and invited him to come closer, so that he wouldn't
have raise his voice, as he told me about his latest efforts to help defeat the pandemic.
His reference to the Hippocratic Oath, provided a clue to what the middle initial "H" in
his name stands for, at the present time. That part of his identity always seems to change,
in accordance with his involvement, in each, new crusade.   So I asked him if that
middle "H" could possibly stand for Hippocrates, and he admitted that, yes indeed,
the name was that of the famous Periclean Greek Asclepiad , who was the father
of modern medicine.
     When I asked him if he had any personal association with Hippocrates, he said
only that it was an old family name, and that a distant branch of his family still lives on
the Greek island of Kos, where Hippocrates was born.  He added, that during this
world-wide crisis, the name had provided extra incentive, for him to help promote
better health-care, and therefore he had been very busy, giving staged readings of
the Hippocratic Oath, to graduating classes of doctors.
     I was hesitant to question his idealistic efforts, but I did ask if he was being well
received.  He then acknowledged that his reception had been a mixed bag: some
young doctors thought he would be more useful in medical research departments,
and some others failed to give him the proper attention during his heart-felt recitations.
I could understand his difficulty.  I would never be so impolite as to mention
anything about his size to him, but there is no denying that he is vertically challenged.

     Even so, despite some rejections, he said his dedication to the cause, has not
wavered.  He remains determined to continue to promote the truth of the scientific
approach to the study of medicine, which was begun by Hippocrates, even before
the existence of the modern, scientific instruments of our medical practice today.
Horatio struck as dignified a pose as he could muster, and he proclaimed that we
must do all that we can, to counter the lies about the deadly coronavirus, and the
claims of false cures, which eminent daily from the nation's White House!
Referring again to the noble oath of Hippocrates, he said that it's foremost tenant
is to, "first of all, do no harm", but that the sociopathic oaf in the White House is
doing just the opposite, issuing steady streams of false information and continually
promoting false cures, all for his own political benefit.

     I couldn't help but be impressed by Horatio's steadfast and unwavering loyalty,
to the crusade for scientific truth in medicine, as this deadly plague rages on.

     His visit was short, as usual when he is involved in a noble, patriotic cause.
And then later, as he was preparing to leave, I asked him if he had gathered a
general consensus, about the health of our nation, from all of the doctors he had
talked with, during his tour of medical colleges.  He replied that he had gathered
just such an accepted and factual diagnosis of what is ailing all of us, and he gladly
summarized the diagnosis for me.

     "The doctors agree that, for the past four years, we have all been suffering from
one gigantic and unrelenting pain-in-the-ass!" he said.  "It has kept us all in a long,
constant state of such stressful anxiety and depression, that we haven't been able
to sit down and rest comfortably, in that whole time!"  
     "But fortunately, as they all are reminding us, we now have an important, federal,
doctor's appointment, to keep, in early November, to get that big, ugly, and inflamed,
orange boil, lanced and removed, so that we will all once again be able to sit down
and comfortably relax!"
      "There is no excuse for anyone to miss that medical appointment", he concluded.

     I couldn't have said it better myself.

                                                             Eugene P. McNerney
   

Invitation To Carnival - Reprise

   
     In my blog entry for last weekend, my thoughts about the poor response we have
made, to abate the pandemic, became my primary focus, so once again I didn't say
much about the painting.  I will try to correct that now, but I have to first take note
of some of the developments which have occurred this week.
     Things seem to be growing a bit darker with each passing day.  The death toll is
now nearly one hundred and fifty thousand, and we are loosing over a thousand more
victims every twenty four hours.  If that continues, more than a quarter million Americans
will have perished before our presidential election in November.  If we think about that,
it will be as if all the people in an American city of a quarter million, were wiped out
in just a matter of seven or eight months time, leaving nothing behind but the forgotten
dreams of its citizens, and a dead and abandoned city.
     Trump's falling, popularity-pole numbers have convinced his new campaign team,
that he has to start acting like he is concerned with the health and welfare of people
other than himself for a change.  So, he is finally saying that we should wear masks,
to slow the spread of the infections, but when he says that, his hollow sincerity level
is something like what we might hear if Pinocchio were president.

     Now, as to my choice of subject matter for the painting Invitation To Carnival,
the theme is probably self explanatory to some viewers, but some additional, factual
references and information may be helpful.  The well known Carnival of Venice, is a
popular, annual event in that fabled city.  During Carnival, people compete to win the
competitions for the most elaborate masks and costumes.  One of the more frequently
seen mask and costume variations, is that of the court jester or "fool", and another is
the mask of the plague doctor, a visual reference to the long history of plague in Venice.
The combination of those two characters seemed to reflect what is happening in
America today.   They symbolize the foolish, suicidal behavior in which some of us
are engaged, while our health-care professionals are struggling to cope with the mounting
toll of infections and deaths.
     I chose to leave the face mask of the fool, plain and understated, rather than
painted and jeweled, because I wanted to place the emphasis on the eyes of the
person, peering out of the holes, with a perhaps sinister motive, as he or she invites
the viewer to come to Carnival.
     The background figure is a hybrid combination of monk and plague doctor.
During the plague pandemics of Venice and the rest of Europe, the monks and other
tender, care-givers were among those most likely to fall victim to the disease, because
of their close contact with infected patients.   It was the plague doctors who wore
the face and head covering masks, with the big, bird beaks and goggle eyes.  They
also wore an outfit of full, protective covering, from head to toe, including boots
and leather gloves.  They stuffed their beaks with fragrant herbs or vinegar soaked
sponges to ward off the smells, which they considered the possible sources of the
infection, and they carried canes to uncover and examine patients from a distance.
There is an engraving by Paul Furst, from about 1791, of a plague doctor in Marseilles
he called Dr. Beeky of Rome.   I 'm showing that image here.

     Now that we better understand the origins and causes of new contagious diseases, our
dedicated, modern scientists are working rapidly to try and come up with a preventative
vaccine, and there seems to be some hope that this medical miracle could be available
next year, or even a bit earlier.    But in the meantime, an increasing number of homes
across America, will have newly vacant chairs around their dinner tables, and nightly,
tear-stained pillows on their beds.

                                                       Eugene P. McNerney

To Mask, or Not To Mask?, and - Invitation To Carnival

                                                  Invitation To Carnival
                                                  An original acrylic painting, on primed canvas panel
                                                  24" X 20", unframed

                                                   ( click on image to enlarge )

     "To be, or not to be?"  That was the question that Shakespeare's Hamlet posed for
himself, and that life-or-death question is still the one which remains for us today,
although in a slightly different form.  Now the debate asks, "To mask, or not to mask?".  
     Masks seem to have become as much of a political issue as they are a beneficial
means of reducing the spread of the pandemic.  The irrational refusal of some people
to comply with such a sensible precaution, seems to be increasing exponentially with
the surging rise of infections and deaths.  The most shocking examples are the reports
of people entering stores and brandishing weapons, demanding to shop without the
inconvenience of wearing masks.

     The madness of crowds is also still evident in some areas, despite the efforts of
some governors to restore a shutdown of bars and clubs.  Our nightly newscasts
continue to show us examples of happily, oblivious party-goers and revelers, gathered
in crowds, without a sign of masks.  When these new groups are questioned about
their irresponsible behavior, they tend to proclaim that they have the constitutional and
God-given right to risk their lives in any manner they choose.  Again, they don't seem
to give any thought to the notion that their actions could put other people's lives in
danger, nor do they question what kind of God it would be, who would condone
their possible transmission of this lethal disease to dozens of their fellow party-goers.

     Some unbelievable examples of this kind of stupidity, are the stories about the people
who attend "covid-19 parties", where the first one in the group to catch the virus is the
"winner".  If we did not know it was true we would swear it was fiction.  It sounds a bit
like some kind of drunken, Russian roulette game, where a revolver, with only one of it's
bullet-chambers loaded, is given a spin and passed around to see which man would get
the final, fatal pull of the trigger.

     One man who became seriously infected at one of the covid parties, said that he
had thought the disease was a hoax.  We can all recall where he may have gotten that
warped idea.  One of Donald Trump's first claims about the spread of the virus was
that it was a hoax, created by "the Dems", as a political attack on him.  How insane does
a man have to be, to say that some mysterious, political entity created a world-wide
pandemic, just as a personal attack on him?  And yet he still continues to try and hide the
truth about the growing danger to all of us, by weakening and hindering the work of the
Center For Disease Control, and making personal attacks our medical authorities, just
because they are telling us the truth about what we need to do, to slow the spread of the
disease.
     Trump expresses no empathy for the victims of this cruel pandemic.  His attitude
is much like that of the observations of Samuel Pepys during the Great Plague of
London ( 1665 - 1666 ).  Pepys wrote in his diary, about the inconvenience to him,
of having to step over the bodies of plague victims, which would accumulate in the
streets at night.  Because of that hazard, he tried to leave earlier from his government
office in the evenings, when there would be fewer corpses cluttering up his route home.
     Trump continues to act like this disease is simply going to melt away, and that we're
all going to get back to normal, with everyone working, and the economy booming,
before the November elections.  He doesn't talk about about the true nature of plagues.
The history of plagues shows us that they can linger for years, and then come back
again, in repeated waves of death and disaster. The Italian peninsula was struck by
outbreaks of plague in sixty eight percent of the years between 1348 and 1600.
There were twenty two outbreaks of plague in Venice between 1361 and 1528.
An especially deadly outbreak struck in the republic of Venice from 1478 to 1482.
During those years, in the Venice-an territories, well over three hundred thousand
people died.
     Now, with Trump's encouragement, the madness continues.  He holds his
no-mask political rallies, like a performing, court jester, where hundreds of people
can sit side by side to applaud his clownish inanities, while some giant amusement
parks are also opening to senseless crowds of people.  It's party time!
     So, come one, come all! Come to the party. It's Carnival!  Don't sit at home!
Drop all your cares and worries and join in the fun.  There's nothing to fear. Just drop
those masks and join all the  people.  Listen to the bands, drink the wine, spend some
money and have a good time.
       "Welcome to Carnival!" ...........( Or should that be, "Welcome to Cabaret?",
and should I be singing that, in English, French and German? )
     Oh, and by the way, don't pay any attention to the guy in the plague-doctor mask.
he's a real party-pooper!
                                           Eugene P. McNerney

Mort Noire - second page

     I am adding this second entry to my post from yesterday, because my post became
so long-winded with my thoughts about irresponsible people spreading the pandemic,
that I failed to say anything about the woodblock print in the title.   But at least, in the
hours since I posted my views, I am glad to see that the governors of some states are
now closing down some of the bars and clubs where the most thoughtless individuals
have been congregating. ( That's not to say that my words have any influence anywhere
or on anything. )

     The woodblock print is an old one: it dates back to a time when I still had some
living grandparents, and before the horrors of Vietnam, and more decades ago than
I like to calculate.  I ran across the print in storage recently, and since the image of
the dark, mask-hidden figure, seemed to fit in with my observations about all the troubles
our nation is having now, I decided to include the print in yesterday's, blog posting.

      Artists have always used the death figure as subject matter in their work.
The traditional image is a usually a skeletal, shrouded figure, carrying a scythe
and an hourglass, to symbolize lives being cut off, as our time on earth runs out.
Sometimes the artist's used such simple reminders as skulls, placed somewhere
in their compositions, perhaps labeled vanitas, or perhaps  Thanatos, for the Greek
god of death.
       It is those imponderable questions of life and death, which always occupy the
minds of our philosophers, poets, composers, playwrights and artists.  It is not
just how long we live which is their major question, but how well we use the time
we are given to be on this earth, and then how well we face our deaths, when our
time comes to go.  We see the results of their thoughts about those questions,
when we see their creative work, on stage, or on canvasses, or in great books,
or when we listen to their music.  Those great questions may not always be overtly
visible in the work, but they are always there, at least in subtext, or else the work
will seem fairly shallow.

     The woodblock was never really completed.  In my youthful enjoyment of all
things dark and macabre, I hadn't considered the idea that most art collectors
might not find death to be an appealing theme, no matter how abstract and
strong the artist's composition might be.  At the time that I was cutting the design,
I was planning to add other elements, including a skeletal hand emerging from
the robe, to hold the mask, and a skeletal foot below the robe's bottom hem.
Later on, as I was beginning  to have second thoughts, I decided that perhaps
I should change those particular elements to be a gloved hand and a fancy,
dress shoe.  But then, before I could continue, as so often happens, there were
interruptions of some kind, and the block was stored away, to be finished at a
later time, and then it was eventually forgotten.
       After I discovered the print, I went digging to see if I could find the
woodblock, and to my surprise, I found that I do still have it.  So now comes
the question of whether or not it has been worth keeping it all these years.
Is it likely that I will ever pick up the block and work on it again, after all this time?
Who knows? ........But I'm not dead yet.
                                                                  Eugene P. McNerney


   

The madness of crowds -- and, Mort Noire

                                                             Mort Noire, an original woodblock print
                                                             14" X 32" , unframed
                                                             ( artist's proof --  unfinished )

     There is a long-standing myth, that says lemmings have a tendency to
commit mass suicide.  Modern studies have proven that myth to be false,
despite the on-going efforts at reinforcing that myth, by such distorted
film making as the old Disney studio's, wild-life movie about the Arctic.
In that supposedly true-life, animal film, the production crew gathered
lemmings and tossed them over a cliff, in order to film them falling, as if
the rodents had herded there en-mass, and were then busily hurling
themselves to their deaths in the ocean.
     The human species does not easily give up its mythological beliefs.
The primary examples are the creation myths, invented by tribal elders,
to help explain our existence on this planet, before we had the revelations
of science.  Those myths are the foundations of the worlds religions, and
 a majority of people on this earth will continue to hold them to be true,
to their dying breaths, despite the irrefutable, scientific proof to the contrary.
We humans are all masters of denial.
     What I've been getting around to saying is, that it is the human species
which most often displays behavior resembling the myth about the mass, suicidal
habits of lemmings.  As our exploding pandemic continues, every night on our
news broadcasts, we are treated to scenes of people, herding together, and
partying in bars and restaurants, and at pools and beaches, without a sign of
masks or social distancing.  When these fools are asked about their irresponsible
behavior, they say that they are making a political statement, in line with the
president, about expressing their personal freedom of choice.  In the meantime,
they remain in total denial about the rising numbers of infections and deaths,
from this highly contagious virus.
     Their behavior reminds me of the final scenes from an old movie.  I believe
the title of the film was The Day The Fish Came Out.  The plot concerned an
accidentally disastrous release of highly radioactive materials on a small, Greek
island, which was becoming a tourist destination.  The tourists are experiencing
something like a nuclear meltdown, while being totally unaware of the intense
radiation which will soon be fatal for all.  At the end, the dead and dying fish
are floating to the surface of the bay,  while the clueless tourists are dancing the
night away.  They are the dancing dead.
     Is that too dark a comparison, with the fools who go partying in the bars and
resort areas of our cities, during this lethal pandemic?  The movie was fiction,
but this lemming-like, stupidity and denial on the part of these party animals is
a very alarming reality.   

                                   Eugene P. McNerney 

Gardens Of Lost Innocence, and - Alice In The Garden

                                                  Alice In The Garden - an original acrylic painting
                                                  12" X 16", unframed - 17" X 21", framed

                                                           ( click on image to enlarge )

    How often do we remember the definition of the word kindergarten?   Do we  think
enough about the truth of  that idea, that all children are similar to tender, young plants
in the gardens we create for them, in which they can learn and grow, and that we, the
adults, are the gardeners. who may not always give them what they need to grow up well?
There is an old saying which cautions parents against dishonest and distorted lessons
in human behavior: "As the twig is bent, so grows the tree."   We were all innocent
children in our parent's gardens at one time, and our parents passed on the lessons
they received from their parents, often without considering whether or not what they
were saying was true.  Innocence is often lost at a very tender age.
     The saddest thing about telling little children lies, is that they accept everything adults
say as the truth.  And so we often grow up burdened with a heritage of distorted thinking
and ugly prejudices.  What about our little girl Alice, for example? What is she thinking
about, in her innocent garden?  Did she perhaps just recently overhear one of her
parents using an ugly, racial slur?  If she did, she has processed that as the normal mode
of reference for a specific type of  people, and her innocence is already tarnished.

    Now our nation is embroiled in a series of violent protests and riots, due to yet
another brutal example of twisted thinking on the part of a man who has a distorted
idea of different races of  people.  While at the same time time. the twitter-twerp
who is supposed to be the leader of the nation, is fanning the flames of hatred and
violence, instead of calling for justice and reform in all our law enforcement agencies.
      Another little girl named Alice, is a classic British literary character created by
Lewis Carroll.  She had a cat she called Dinah, and one day she followed a
white rabbit down a rabbit hole.  Her adventure that followed was something like
a bad,  acid trip, a century before that kind of substance abuse became a fad.
That surreal world of mindless creatures, is a reminder that every day in this
country, has seemed like just such a bad, acid trip, ever since the current
administration assumed office in 2017.
                                                                  Eugene P. McNerney

Social Distancing, and - A Place In The Sun

                                           A Place In The Sun,  an original acrylic painting
                                           16" X 20" , unframed

                                              ( click on image to enlarge )
 

     My last posting to this blog was titled Beware the ides of March.  I was using that
famous quotation as a duel reference to both our current pandemic as well as in its
original, ominous warning to Julius Caesar in forty four BC.  Caesar didn't heed the
warning, resulting in his assassination, followed by two hundred years of bloody, civil
war, and culminating with the new emperor executing the Roman senators who favored
the loosing, republican cause.
     Last January, we had our own ominous warnings, about this deadly, new virus
which was headed our way, but the leadership in Washington didn't heed the alarm.
Trump dismissed this new threat as just another simple, flu outbreak, which would
evaporate when the weather warmed up.  That miscalculation on the part of the
president, resulted in the nation being ill-prepared and ill-equipped to fight off this
catastrophic disease.

   So, now we have to learn to accustom ourselves to a whole new lifestyle of social
distancing, isolating and hiding away in our individual bunkers.  This is particularly
hard to bare for the extroverts among us, for whom the daily interaction with others
is like the bread of life.  It is going to be difficult for many, to try and adopt a more
introverted, self-sufficiency, and find comfort in our own. inner beings.
     This situation is not really new of course.  When we review the relatively short
history of western civilization, we remember that plagues have been a fairly frequent
occurrence.  The most devastating was the black death pandemic (1347 to 1351 in
Europe) which resulted in global deaths of up to a hundred and a quarter million,
and killed thirty to sixty percent of Europeans.  It took two hundred years for the
European population to recover to its former levels, and some regions (such as
Florence) did not recover until the nineteenth century.
     The Florence region served as the setting for a literary classic of social distancing.
Boccaccio's Decameron is a collection of a hundred tales told by ten people, who
fled from Florence to a country villa, in an effort to escape the plague.  While they
maintain their distance from the plague ridden city, they tell each other stories, as a
way to entertain themselves during their isolation. The book had a far reaching
influence, including in the works of Shakespeare and Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.
Perhaps this current stay-at-home policy will give us all an opportunity to become
better story tellers.
     As our cabin fever continues to rise, maybe we should try to emulate the attitude
of our cats.  Cats have never had any difficulties with social distancing.  They often
disappear completely, until they hear the call of the food dish. Give them a quiet,
cozy spot in the sun to take a nap, and they are in utter contentment.  Perhaps, if and
when this is all over, we will be able to find our own, quiet places in the sun, to lick
our wounds and heal, but not forget the heroic efforts of all our health care workers.

                                                      Eugene P. McNerney

Beware the ides of March.

     Last month I added a Valentine's Day posting to this blog, in which I remarked
about how little we human beings have changed in the past three millenniums, as it
is evidenced by our same unchanging obsession with love and romance.  But that
is not all that we still have in common with our "ancient" Greek cousins.  The deadly
influenza outbreak which has begun to erupt across our country, has created fear,
panicky hording, and a steep decline in commerce, which is lowering the value of
our stocks and currencies, a situation which the residents of Athens, in 430 BC,
would have been all too familiar.  That was when the famous Plague of Athens
took place, while the city was besieged by Sparta, during the Peloponnesian Wars.
It is estimated that over twenty five percent of the population died, including their
commander Pericles and his sons.  Athens was so weakened after the epidemic
that its final attempt to outmaneuver Sparta ended in a disaster and total.defeat.

     All shares in businesses, and currencies are only as valuable as the strength of
the companies and nations they represent, and they quickly become worthless when
companies and countries fail and fade away.  But the coins which are produced
at that time do at least retain the intrinsic value of their metal content, if not the
original intended buying power of the coin.  The more ephemeral instruments
of commerce are soon lost to time, but some of the old coins still remain as
testaments to history.

     The drawing below is a fairly accurate rendition of the design of a silver,
two-drachma coin from Greece during the time of the Peloponnesian Wars.
I have darkened the silver background of the coin to help the figure be more
distinct. It is a tiny rendition of the sun god Apollo, who was also the god of
such things as music, dance, poetry, and, interestingly, also the god of disease
and healing.  Historians reported that the citizens of Athens were appealing
to Apollo for help during the disastrous plague, but as their dire situation only
worsened, they felt that he actually favored the Spartans.  All gods seem to
become deaf during epidemics, but at least some of them are a bit more
entertaining than others.

     In this little vignette, Apollo is evidently out for a stroll, on a nice sunny day
(naturally) and he has paused to kneel down and pick a flower, to admire its
beauty.  He is also carrying his lyre, in case he decides to rest in the shade by
a peaceful stream, and compose a few top-forty, hit songs, which would
of course be instant classics.
     Considering the very small design created for the coin, the skill of the artist-
craftsman, has to be admired.  He had to engrave it into a solid surface, to serve
as the mold, to accept the measure of molten silver, and then press that in with the
reverse, designed side of the coin,  And he had to do all that without the aid of
modern tools or magnification assistance.

     Now we are hunkering down in our homes, hoping that the war against this
new pandemic will be successful, so that we will never have to endure anything
near what those poor, trapped people suffered in Athens, twenty five hundred
years ago.  And, as we wait, let's all try to be kind and considerate to our fellow
over-stressed and worried citizens.

                                                       Eugene P. McNerney

Valentine's Day, and The Old, Old Art Of Love

     I don't know why some of us still call the holiday of love and romance
Saint Valentine's Day.  There is nothing particularly saintly about the observance
of the day.  Just as with Saint Nicholas' fading relationship to the celebration of
Christmas, Valentine's Day is another opportunity for commercial enterprise.
Now is the time when the purveyors of expensive jewelry, chocolates, roses and
sexy underwear are cashing in on the obligations of love.  And so, woe be to the
man who forgets his sweetie on Valentine's Day.

     There is an old saying that we should make every day a Valentine's Day.
But the truth is, of course, that love and romance, or the lack of it, is always
on our minds, and always has been, throughout history.  For proof of that
all we have to do is look back through the panorama of art history.  In every
period and style, Venus, the goddess of love and beauty, and her mischievous
progeny Cupid, have been popular themes in all forms of our art and literature.

     The older I become, the more conscious I become of the millions of years
it took for our human species to evolve, and more conscious yet, of how little
we have changed during the past several thousand years.  We are still the very
same people that we were in "ancient" Greece.  The only visible difference is
the fast and luxurious life-style we enjoy now, because of the advances in
science and technology.  We still have the same desires for love, as well as
the same urges for sexual gratification.  We still have the same hungers for
wealth, luxury and prestige, and we still seem to be easily duped by fraudulent,
self-aggrandizing politicians.  And most troublesome of all, our various
nationalities remain divided and war-prone, because of stubborn beliefs in
opposing creation mythologies.

     We get these reminders of how little we have changed, when we look
back at the art and designs of the everyday objects we used in "ancient"
Greece and Rome.  Most often the subjects which were depicted  in the
decorations, concerned the misadventures of the eternal beings, in love and
in war, serving as symbols for the daily struggles of life.  For example, this
bronze cover for a hand-mirror, which was made by one of my fellow
artist-craftsmen about twenty five hundred years ago.  This again depicts
the goddess of love, restraining her son as he practices his skills with his bow and
arrows, to target all unsuspecting mortals, and forever afflict us with the wounds
of love.  The Greeks called them Aphrodite and Eros, and in this case it looks as
though they thought that one of those love darts that Eros shoots, could accidentally
strike anyone at any time.  So. perhaps, as they say, it really is never too late.

     But of course, there are a couple of serious problems which can result from
being overpowered by an enchanted love-spell.  The object of one's desires may
not return your affections, or may not even be worthy of of your love at all.
Such scenarios have a part of our art and literature for millenniums.  Some of the
most, long-famous examples include Donizetti's opera The Elixir Of Love, and
Shakespeare's comedy, A Midsummer Night's Dream, in which the love potion
causes a queen to fall in love with an enchanted ass.

      I did enhance the image slightly to help restore it a bit and soften the corrosion
blotches on the metal, but I did not alter or change the lines of the artist's drawing.
The image reminds me of so many others, from the Renaissance to the old masters and
neoclassic period, and even the Pre-Raphaelites, in a long, continuous line of artists and
the art of love.

     One can imagine the elegant Greek lady who once owned the mirror, which this
cover fit over, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, as she applied her make-up or as
she arranged her hair, just as women still do today. while holding hand-mirrors.
And, no doubt, the thoughts, dreams and emotions are still the same as they were then
.........the eternal and elusive quest for beauty and attraction, and a truly lasting love.

                                            Eugene P. McNerney

The Grand Old Party

 

Horatio's Great New Role

     Those of you who are familiar with this blog, may recall my little friend, occasional
model, and thespian,  Horatio H. Hamster Esq., who sometimes pops up at my studio,
at unexpected moments.  Whenever I ask him what the middle initial of his name stands
for, he usually has a new answer.   Oftentimes, when he arrives, his freshly changed,
theatrical regalia provides me some clues about his latest persona, as was the case
when he turned up this time.  So, based on his new appearance, I asked him if perhaps
his middle initial stood for Harry, as in Harry Potter.   He replied that he and Mister
Potter were not personal friends, but that he had indeed just returned from Hogwarts,
where he had received some advanced training in wizardry.  When I remarked that such
a trip must have been difficult for him, he said that he had used one of the latest models
of brooms, transport "with all the spells and whistles", which allowed him to fly back in
a flash.

     He said that he couldn't stay long, because his new magical training was intended
to provide assistance during this latest dark spell which has overtaken our nation's
executive mansion.  When I said that I wasn't sure about which of the many dark spells
to which he was referring, he seemed shocked that I was so poorly informed.

      "Don't you know that Lord Voldemort is living in the White House?", he asked.

     I replied that some people think of the current resident of the white house as more
of an overgrown Oompa-Loompa, or The Hamburgler, rather than as a demon from
hell, but I couldn't help feeling that perhaps he wasn't too far off.

    As I was doing a quick sketch of him, Horatio reminded me of the current struggle to
evict Voldemort, which was now being waged by the party of truth and justice, against
the party of lies and hatred.
     "There is no-longer anything grand about that old party", he assured me.  "It's
members are hopeless muggles.  They may wear American flag pins on their lapels,
but it is their money clips, that they wear closer to their hearts.  Patriarchal elephant
sculptures can't represent them anymore.  Now it is the sculpture of the three monkeys,
with their hands clapped over their eyes, ears and mouths, which is symbolic of what
the party has become.  During this trial, the muggles have pledged that they will
"See nothing, hear nothing and say nothing!", to evict the dark demon from the
White House!".

     I reserved comment for the moment. I didn't want to add to his distress about the
G.O.P. member's predetermination that they would not see or hear the undeniable
proof of guilt, which is available in clear, and thorough abundance.  Horatio alone
will not be able to make them honor their sacred oaths, despite his new-found, wizardly
skills  They have already sold their souls to the devil in exchange for wealth and lofty
position.

     Before he hurried off to try and work his magic with incantations and spells, I did
caution him that I thought perhaps the "invisibility cloak", which he had purchased
second-hand, looked a bit like a plastic rain-cape, so perhaps he shouldn't count on
it to reliably conceal his presence in the halls of congress.  But he showed no sign of
diminished determination, as he charged out, brandishing his magic wand before him.

      I wished him a safe flight and a successful trip, but I have little hope that magic
on any scale, will help to remove these historic, dishonorable, black-spots from the
reputations of the Republican members of the United States Senate. 

                                                                                         E. P. McNerney