This is one of my first blog posts at this site caren-albers@blogspot.com. "Vintage Caren" can be found at my previous blog, carenalbers.blogspot.com
Glad your are here!
Smiles,
Caren
Sunday, January 24, 2021
Welcome!
No Regrets
In my early writing days, I wrote more than 500 blog posts on a women’s empowerment site. I only know the number because the charismatic leader congratulated me on my contribution. My participation came to a screeching halt after I attended an in-person event in Los Angeles. Five minutes into the Friday night cocktail mixer, I realized it was a cult.
“Life changing” programs were pushed hard, Ones where they tear you down and then build you back up, Ones costing thousands of dollars, Ones marketed with questionable tactics,
To people who I questioned could afford them.
My spirit was crushed. How did I miss this? After a quick call home to tell my husband the shocking news, I returned to the mixer. Now I needed a glass of wine. As I began meeting and talking to other women there, I soon realized, I was in the company of big dreamers.
Beautiful, earnest, vulnerable people hoping, needing a break. One particular group I friended had a fascination with Iraqi currency. Believing the Dinar would be revalued soon and anyone holding it would get rich. There were plans drawn on cocktail napkins about chartering private jets to fly them to collect their enormous gains and Cayman Island banks.
They believed it so much, I wanted to believe it, too. Not the private jet part that was crazy.
The part where this could happen for them. That they could finally step away from the financial cliff that was making the draw to the flame so irresistible.
I may or may not have some Iraqi Dinar tucked away in a drawer that didn’t live up to its promise…yet. My pay to play was a small wager that luckily I could afford. My reward, standing in the company of believers the likes of which I had never met before.
Priceless!
No Winners
The president has the Coronavirus.
The man who denounced mask wearing.
Who scoffed at social distancing.
Who equated wearing a mask with weakness,
or worse, being a Democrat.
The man who just the night before, at a rally,
already showing symptoms,
said the virus is rounding the corner and will be gone soon.
The man who disagreed with his own health experts.
The man who encouraged others to deny the science.
The man who claimed the Coronavirus was a hoax.
Compassion does not celebrate but the irony is not lost.
Some people have to touch a hot stove to learn.
Some people never learn.
I watch all day the thing I’d sworn off, TV news.
In the morning, they say “he has no symptoms.”
By noon “he has mild symptoms.”
During the day he received an antiviral cocktail.
By dinner, he’s boarding a helicopter for Walter Reed Hospital.
Everyone wearing masks, including President Trump.
The man who travels in superlatives everywhere he goes,
“The Best, Most Amazing, Most Perfect, No One Better,”
released a short video as the helicopter flies off.
He says “I think I’m doing very well.”
As the evening progresses more dominoes fall.
Several around the president test positive.
Many of them his surrogates.
Many who dealt in half truths, lies, and conspiracy theories.
Casting doubt, calling everyone else “fake news.”
Surrogates that helped him divide our country.
Even in something as simple as mask wearing.
Surrogates who support his “It is what it is” statement.
Referring to over 200,000 Americans killed by the virus.
Surrogates who will cross any line in support of him.
Compassion does not celebrate but the irony is not lost.
I wake up in the middle of the night afraid to look at the news, afraid for our country.
Tears betray my eyes for all the chaos and sadness of the last four years.
For all the damaged institutions and threats to our democracy.
For the dog whistles and fires of racism stoked daily.
But mostly, I cry for the families divided and friendships splintered.
Compassion does not celebrate but the irony is not lost. There are no winners here.
© 2020 Caren Albers
From Upcoming Book HOMECOMING
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