IMPERMANENCE . . . in “Gloomington”

June 28, 2026

The glorious Stargazer Asiatic Lily, the latest photo of which I took yesterday, showing yet more blossoming . . .

. . . came under attack last night. By a deer, of course, at just the right height for them . . . chewed off two blossoms. (Also took the beautiful single red rose that had recently blossomed.)

We figured the combination of fencing (not eight feet high, however) — and especially dogs (two), one of which definitely senses trouble and comes out, barking, at night) — was keeping out the deer who roam the neighborhood.

No longer!

Beauty destroyed. Just like that!

C’est la vie!

Impermanence!

Meanwhile, impermanence is producing huge bounty in our large, well fenced vegetable garden. Today’s surplus for those who walk by:

For more on garden goings’ on, see posts on greenacresvillage.org. I’m about to begin to create a new post on today’s work party . . .

It’s been so cloudy, rainy, and foggy and especially, unbelievably humid, for so long now (humidity at 100% at times; I didn’t know humidity could exist that high without rain!), that I’ve begun to call Bloomington “Gloomington.” And gearing up for the next few days . . . up to 95° temps . . .

Like living in a rain forest. And the plants all love it.

 

Astrological Wanderings (USA, DJT); plus croneversation

June 27, 2026

I just spent the better part of two hours looking at six charts, trying to make sense of the bloviating narcissism of Trump’s personality as it relates to the natal chart of the United States. In the process, I also set up the transits and progressions of both DJT and the USA.

At this point I’m thoroughly confused. Not surprising, given the complexity of what I seem to have embarked upon. Perhaps this foolish project, an attempt to “understand” both the USA and DJT,  and their relationship — their synergy? —  will take me through these upcoming holidays. Pulling out and chewing on little bits at a time.

 

What got me going was sitting with a neighbor — I’ll call her Sybil — outside on her porch a few blocks away. This was the second time we had sat together. Both times on my evening walks. The first time she had yelled “Ann” from across the street. The second time, yesterday, I saw her out there again, waved, and Scampi, pulling on the leash, pranced me over to her side as she reached down from her chair for him.

Sybil: “I’m going to have to get some dog treats!”

Ann: “Yes. You are!”

I had been barely acquainted with Sybil, many years ago, when she seemed more distant, even stern, in her demeanor — while displaying an unusually beautiful and tasteful design for both front and back yards (that someone else cares for). She is clearly an artist, though she has a PhD and taught something technological at Indiana University!

So thus was a croneversation born between an 83-year-old and a 94-year-old, both still conscious and alive, though Sybil is obviously more halting than I am, and has to adjust her ear pieces to hear me.

The first evening, she had mentioned Trump in a disparaging manner, as if, of course we have that in common. Everyone in this town agrees: Trump is the problem. Period.

I just didn’t respond.

Yesterday evening, when she did it again . . .

I said I actually supported Trump.

WHAT?

But she didn’t bat an eye. Good for her!

Then I called Trump a bloviating narcissist, while still supporting him. She loved that!

She wondered how I felt about Mamdani, thinking of course I would support him? I just said, I’m not a socialist. Equal opportunity, YES! But not equal ownership of everything. Because of course, we’re all different, with different skills and talents and backgrounds. It’s up to each of us to set our goals and work towards them without feeling like victims.

She didn’t pursue it.

At one point she asked, “Do you read the New York Times?” Like, of course I would. I’m not an idiot.

“I did until a few years ago,” I said.

This last was on our way out of her yard. Scampi wanted to get home. But it reminded me of when I did stop the NYT, and turned to the internet instead. To pick up on a gigantic range of sources that opened my mind to infinity. Whew! And then of course, the endless epistemological conundrum: what’s fake and what’s real, what can be trusted, what not, and why? And what else do I need to hear or see about this to grok it more thoroughly. What’s the source, the context, etc. And of course any context is, or can be, endlessly increasing and deepening. There is no fixed Overton Window, a concept I will introduce her to next time.

At any rate. Thank you, Sybil, for your sudden, growing friendship at this late date in our all-too-human lives.

P.S. She told me during our first conversation, and then again yesterday, each time with a impish grin, that she’s hoping to die suddenly, in her sleep, like many of her relatives managed to do.