My mind is preoccupied with the misery of the USA Presidential Election which close to half of its population did not bother to vote, leaving the minority of Republicans to snatch away the election from an opportunity to give victory for the first time to a woman. As neither candidate had any great popularity with the public, breaking the “glass ceiling” would have been at least been a great moment in history.
Instead the art of rhetoric became the real winner of the election.
The Oxford Dictionary’s first definition of the word is:
“The art of effective or persuasive speaking or writing, especially the exploitation of figures of speech and other compositional techniques”
Then came the 1.1 “Language designed to have a persuasive or impressive effect, but which is often regarded as lacking in sincerity or meaningful content”
I would like to offer my version, a 1.2 if you will;
“The art of bold faced lying to anyone who will listen without shame or moral conscious.”
At 91, I seem to remember that lying was one of the most heinous acts anyone could commit. Honesty was part of who you were as a person and in my case, driven onto me from childhood onward.
We always knew that politicians would speak in “half truths” or be “misinformed at the time” or even “to the best of my recollection…” but now the veiled attempt at being honest has completely gone out the window. Society has not only given it’s blessing, but welcomed the ‘rhetoric/lie’ with open arms. We have shared it across the internet, embellished it, rationalized it, justified it, become violent defending it, but won’t call it what it is, lies.
To make the rhetoric/lie even more palatable we have created the “Fact-Check” where anyone can go and check the validity of any statement. The problem with this is, the gullible already believe the lie and won’t bother checking and for those that do look find the Fact-check to be littered with the words true, false or “partially factual” and “Acceptable if you consider…” which just comes down to rationalizing the rhetoric/lie.
So now you have Donald Trump, a business man, billionaire, who masterfully, without shame, used the art of rhetoric to win the U.S. presidential election. Is no one offended? I do not speak of whether you are a Democrat or Republican, man or woman, race or religion, but to you as a human being, do you not remember what it felt like being lied to?
Accepting rhetoric without moral outrage has opened the doors to a decline of ourselves as a society. Remember the phrase, “The end justifies the means”? That is precisely what we have done. We have made the lie an acceptable part of our culture because we became obsessed with our own agenda. We forgot to look out for each other. We accepted disrespect toward women. We blamed an entire religion and a culture because the rhetoric said so.
The damage is done and I wonder how long it will take to recover. For the moment those immortal words on the American Constitution are more a source of embarrassed uneasiness rather than that of an inspiration, “We the people…”
An excerpt from my book Dear Delaina, available on Amazon.com Let me know what you think.
Spiritual Forces Propel Me Into a New Life
May 18, 2013
Dear Délaina, It was on a Saturday, March 16th, that my Josefine escaped her human confinement and set off on her angelic journey. Josefine and I had enjoyed a marriage for 64 years. In the last two years, as it became apparent that her end was inevitable, she would occasionally say, “I will die before you.” My reply never varied, “And I will follow you within ten days.” She always rebuked me with the assertion that I had not yet finished what I had been put on this earth to accomplish, and that I would find another woman to help me, to which I would protest, “Nonsense, where would I find a woman who would have me, devastated and useless, without you Josefine?”
It was on a Sunday, May 12th, that Chantal invited me, along with my daughter, Virginia, and my daughter-in-law, Cynthia, for a five o’clock tea. It turned out to be a sumptuous buffet, but the loveliest part of the dinner was having you seated next to me at the table. I can see you, on my left. I was mesmerized by you, your beauty and your animated description of the river boat vacation you had taken on the Danube, passing through my home country of Austria. Your invitation to visit your apartment to have you show me your collection of photos of this journey was remarkable. I was delighted.
It was on a Friday, May 17th, that you greeted me at your apartment at five o’clock for supper and to show me your photos. The moment I met you, I was struck. I felt my head was turned around by a collection of otherworldly forces. I wondered day and night if you could possibly be the woman Josefine had promised I would meet. I felt I had to prepare myself to meet the challenge if this could possibly be true.
I arrived dressed slightly less than formally, and having dismissed roses as being far too obvious, I presented you with a picture book of castles and palaces from around Germany and Austria, along with flowers I had cut from my lilac bushes. I had even gone to the trouble to arrange the flowers in a vase filled with water. And secretly, I was prepared with a more special gift for you, in anticipation of our encounter leading to something more intimate. Yes, our mutual affection was obvious to us both, and I took the necklace of white enamelled trinkets which I had bought for Josefine decades ago in a bazaar in Tehran from my pocket. It was something special, but only because you allowed me to place it against your décolletage.
We were aware that something unforeseen, but potentially wonderful, had happened, but, with respect, we were careful not to cross lines into forbidden realms so early in our acquaintance. However, as we shared intimate details of our past and current situations, I felt a passionate desire to hug you, to kiss you, to caress you endlessly.
For now, let me just say, with true love and desire, that I believe spiritual forces have propelled us into an extraordinary new life. We have been brought together for a purpose. We have been given a destiny by the power of love which we must cherish and protect. My dear Délaina, with my love and affection always,
I appreciate any and all thoughts that you may have, as I have always considered my blog as an open forum for anyone to express an opinion. To get more of a sense of the book you can read the synopsis here.
Photo from Google images
My book has finally been published! The agonies of edits and rewrites, then more edits and rewrites, choosing a cover design, a spine, a back cover, replacing character’s names with pseudonyms, having the inside formatting completed, the logistics taken care of, the marketing plan set up, is now in the past. The entire process took almost three years and yet I still fight the urge to add to it, to tweak it, rework it… or maybe I should just hide it in the closet and forget that I ever wrote it. As Ernest Hemingway once said, “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” So, with that said, I have decided that I’ve bled enough, and it is time to ask you to be the judge and decide if this piece of my biography is worth the paper (and proverbial blood) it has consumed.
I give you, here, the prologue. I would greatly appreciate any feedback you may wish to offer, be it positive, constructive, or even negative. Kudos can only inspire, but criticism may inspire more.
Prologue How This Story Came About
This book began as a collection of documents compiled over T his book began as a collection of documents compiled over T the course of ten months. Documents such as e-mails, eulogies the course of ten months. Documents such as e-mails, eulogies, letters, and newspaper articles. Documents of love, despair, grief, joy, hope – of beginnings and endings. Names of people and places were left intact to bring animation to the story in my mind as I relived it. The innocent have now been protected with pseudonyms, but my memories have not been dulled. Only a gentle slip into dementia or death will let me ever forget.
On July 4th, 2013, I watched the United States celebrate their Independence Day on television. Neil Diamond sang his signature song, ‘Sweet Caroline’, and I considered using this popular phrase for my heroine’s identity, to protect her and to convey the overriding emotion that this special lady invoked in me. However, the touch of sadness in those two words would have tainted the story too sweetly. The original ending of this book was meant to be sad, but I see now that there is no end. The story continues to burn like an ember, a glowing heat buried under the ashes of once red-hot flames. Pieces of the story have now been extinguished, but life continues to smolder.
I was born in Austria in 1925. This country became an independent republic again after World War II, but the post-war conditions in both Germany and Austria were such that many left for America for a promising new start in a land of plenty. So, I too, with the urging of friends who had already gained privileged entry into the US as refugees from the Nazis, joined the queue for immigration. Restrictions on the quota of Austrian immigrants permitted into the US would have meant a wait of seven years in that queue, but friends in New York, along with a brother in Montreal, managed to facilitate my crossing into a new northern land within a short period of time. From my tiny home country, I crossed into the vastness of Canada, arriving in Quebec with my wife, Josefine, my two-year-old son, Simon, and ten dollars in my pocket, in April of 1953. I never left.
After having lived here for nearly sixty years, my three children scattered across three different countries, I suffered the loss of my wife in March of 2013. As she lay on her deathbed, I declared I would follow her within ten days. She admonished me vehemently, “Don’t you dare die! You have not yet fulfilled your mission. You have not yet written your message to humanity, for which you were put on Earth.” She also told me that I would meet another woman who would give me the strength and inspiration needed to carry out this mission. Needless to say, at the time I did not heed her predictions. Simon, Virginia and Thomas had gathered in the old house in Quebec to see their mother off on her journey to the other side, but having lives of their own, left shortly after her cremation ceremony. My spirit was devastated. I had been rebuffed by Josefine when I had promised to join her, but I began to drift into a state of self-neglect nonetheless. I stopped taking my medication, eating regularly, or even living in general. I cared for nothing, not my children, nor the house, the garden. I felt useless in this world, lonely and lost.
After a couple of months, I was still hanging on in the present dimension when Virginia returned to continue tidying away the possessions of a soul no longer in need of material things. She packed clothing and shoes, ancient kitchenware, magazines, and selected sentimental articles to be wrapped until such time as she could collect them. Disturbed by the chaos of my living conditions, she suggested that I return with her to Germany where she could take care of me. Bereft and simply floating through the motions of every day, I considered the invitation as a stray leaf might consider allowing itself to be carried by the current of the river.
The day before Virginia was to depart once more, we were invited to a Mother’s Day celebration at the residence of a close friend. A small spark of life enabled me to gather my senses, dress appropriately, and smile. The day was sunny, a glorious May freshness with leaves budding out and flowers peeking from green corners. The table set in the garden sparkled with expensively cut glass and china and silver. I sighed, glad to be out of the house and away from memories of my wife, if only for a little while. I obeyed the call to be seated for the meal and found myself next to a French-Canadian woman, dark hair and dark eyes, and bubbling with vitality. She didn’t seem quite real, a spirit perhaps sent from heaven to make me laugh. We spoke, we shared stories, and eventually, she pulled me from the river.
Available at: Amazon.com
In the Olympics, Equestrian is one of the very few sporting events that men and women compete equally.
I wish everyone predisposed to Venus a Happy International Women’s Day.