The last few days, I’ve held my breath, waiting for the news about the “Occupy Wall Street” protest to hit the headlines; but I’ve been waiting in vain. Then, last night, I found a very short AP article about how 80 of the protesters were arrested. YouTube is far more forthcoming with news of the protest, though none of the videos’ view counts go over 50,000. As if finally ceding to the uproar about the media blackout, the NY Times shot out a quick, highly critical, painfully short of substance, article today where the obvious purpose is to fragment and vilify the story. The article implies that the protesters are nothing more than a few unemployed college students who have no idea what “corporate personhood” is. So, the information leaking out into the mainstream is only misinformation. None link to the Occupy Wall Street website, as though it isn’t easy enough to find via Google.
The horror is no less palpable today than it was last year or ten years ago. The specifics may have blurred with the passage of time, but not the pain, the despair, the trauma of the birth of a new and different way of thinking about life.
The 10-year anniversary of 9/11 brings a torrent of emotion, and try as I might, none of those emotions can be called positive.
My thoughts are with my friend Larry, who is awaiting quadruple bypass surgery in St. Vincent’s hospital in Little Rock. A tight chest and shortness of breath led him to the hospital before he had a major cardiac episode, but blockage is pretty severe. Surgery was originally slotted for 7:00 today, but has been rescheduled for tomorrow.
I’m sending healing thoughts your way, Larry. Be well, Old Man. Be well.
Like all horse-crazy little girls, I read all the Black Stallion books, cover to cover, over and over. Walter Farley gave the dream of feeling the power, the strength, the wind, the warmth and the heat of riding a horse. But, not just any horse. It was a big, black, incredibly fast stallion. I had no idea what a stallion was, and Farley didn’t quite explain it (other than it was a male horse), but I wasn’t all that happy that he chose to make the horse black. Black, at that point in my young mind, meant back luck, and the story pretty much played that out. So when Farley came up with a book about a red horse named Flame, I was in love. Hands down, a red horse meant fire, burning life and perhaps not so much bad luck. Even though a red horse, a sorrel, is the most common color for a horse and not exactly desirable, I still love a red horse.