Kenneth Edward Hart

A New Jersey author

The World Has Passed Me BY (part two)

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Recently, I have heard Joe Manchin described as a non-binary politician. Why did he achieve this distinction? He does not conform to the standard description of what a Democrat is. He is a Democrat in a largely Republican voting state. It supposes that the word Democrat is not inclusive enough to accommodate the political philosophy that he embraces. If one is a Democrat, one must be this or that, and if Manchin does not fit under the somewhat restrictive umbrella, he must be something else.
This is not surprising. We have done the same thing with gender. We have limited the scope of what male or female means to the point of needing 35 gender designations. While to some this seems perfectly normal and awakened to the new reality, to me it seems an extraordinarily limited view of what it means to be either feminine or masculine.
Does it mean that all of the people who are in our culture who once thought they were gay were really victims of the “haphazard natal gender” to which one is born? Is that not insulting to all of the gay and lesbian children who may have interest in things traditionally considered interests of the opposite sex? Our Trans activists with great confidence are encouraging children who offer even the slightest alternative gender proclivities the chance, and in some cases the obligation, to assert their transgender status because they are victims of gender dysphoria.
Is this done after counseling and introspection? I have a question about this. How deeply does one believe a preadolescent child is able to contemplate this decision? In order to answer, it becomes necessary to dismiss much of the brain research that has been done about the developing mind and the formation of the prefrontal cortex. We know that this is the last aspect of the brain that develops and that it controls, among other things, decision making and impulsivity.
Many have laughed or sighed with friends and family when reflecting upon the outrageous behaviors of youth. How often have you heard the refrain, “we are lucky to still be alive.” We make laws in our culture based on the reality for the need of this development in the human brain. We have age of consent laws. We have age minimums for driving and for voting and for marriage and for the consumption of alcohol, tobacco other substances. We even have laws about this when it comes to the highly emotional decisions about abortion. What do we rely on? Is it not generally the age and mental competency of the person in question? Do we not temper the lack of impulse control with parental and societal guidance?
Is this standard applied to the young community who may be encouraged to pursue a transgender life? Are children encouraged to wait until they are capable of making an informed decision, or are they guided by a group who have great interest in proselytizing gender dysphoria at an earlier and earlier age?
Is the natural rebellious attitude that is part of preteen and teen years in our culture given the option of now voicing their rebellion by claiming gender dysphoria? Imagine the immediate satisfaction that comes from setting the adult world on its ear by making such a declaration.
Perhaps it is just a phase that kids now may go through. This is something that may or may not be real. In the in-tact parental structure of an atomic family, it can be accommodated, considered and ultimately accepted as being the case or not. In a family that is no longer intact, this is not the case.
There we are graced with the intervention of the family court system. Surely everything is being done that can be done to enlighten judges to this new sense of development, isn’t it? Or is the training being done, in large part, by Trans advocates who push an agenda of inclusivity that suggests that this declaration is cause for celebration and affirmation not introspection and counseling? Do they not tend to advocate or push the gender dysphoric agenda?
Perhaps it is a tempest in a teapot and maturation will continue to reveal its true proclivities. This would be true if maturation was allowed to continue at its normal path, but now we have the additional complication of tinkering with this development through the use of puberty blockers.
We are told that puberty blockers simply “postpone puberty” and can be a good psychological and physiological tool for gender dysphoric children. If this is true, there should be studies on the results for kids who took puberty blockers and then changed their minds. What happens to those children? Are there any studies? Are there any examples of kids who started these blockers and then stopped?
I have not found any. Some contend that is because puberty blockers are a one way ticket to a transgender approach to life. Some suggest it is a decision that is particularly difficult, if not impossible, to reverse. But we should be able to have this discussion with professionals who rely on such data in their decision making, shouldn’t we?
I have not found such studies but would be happy to read them when they exist.
So now let’s return to our political subject from West Virginia. Is democrat so narrowly defined as we need a new label for Mr. Manchin? Or have we become so narrowly defined that we cannot embrace the differences that naturally occur in political parties and in children?
There was an episode in The West Wing that illuminates this problem perfectly. A senator from a western mining state is pushed and insulted by the White House for not being democratic enough. The result was that he changed parties. This was not the outcome for which the White House longed. But in their hubris of knowing what felt right, it was what they wrought.
Are we really to do the same thing with our children?

The World Has Passed Me By

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I have become familiar with the maxim the world has passed me by. I am not sure where the world is going, but that certainly has become the case. I know that I have not grown a dependency on the electronic appendage of a smart phone. I did relent and get one, when necessity required it. I did adapt by devoting a block of my time to computer usage each day. The difference is that it does not travel with me. When I get up from my desk, I am no longer connected. I know that this might amount to trauma for some, but I have always smiled in condescension and continued on my way content in my sporadic connectivity.
I felt that the world caught up to my generation when it came to civil rights. I applauded the introduction of laws allowing for the reality of gay marriage. I do not feel like I am the bearer of white racism, even though I have not been penalized by the pigment of my skin. I do believe in a social safety net. I do believe in voting rights and the democratic rule of law. In this regard, we are all thrown into the struggle for America, even if we do not choose to admit our investment.
I have watched the progress of the people who wish to defend the planet from those who are blinded by the profits that come from destroying it. I am both frightened by and stand in awe of the implications of genetic science. I have studied with the groups of people who mapped the human genome, and see only a fragment of the immense value for learning and understanding. I am eternally curious about the workings of the brain and all of its awesome implications.
Then, I witnessed the “cancel culture” and the “me too” movement. While I understood the need to have a cogent voice to explain the tragedies of history, I cringed at the proposed solutions. I recalled how the statues of the favored were erected then erased in other cultures. I thought about Ozymandias and laughed at the antiquity and obscurity of my metaphors. I thought to every season.
I cringed again when I heard stories about the denial of free speech on college campuses. I see the confusion of free speech and hate speech and do not know exactly where to draw the line between them, except to know that what I believed was right had not really changed. But what I felt was right might become a story that was no longer told.
I applauded the taking down of moguls like Harvey Weinstein and Bill Cosby. I was far less energetic about its use against Al Franken. Did that mean that I had a sense of discrimination, or a political blind eye? Are there not degrees of offense? I recall from my reading that there was one penalty for crime in early Japan, death. Was I now to adopt a version of that philosophy in order to keep up with the times?
I began to ask myself if an accusation was enough to enact a penalty. I was dismayed by the hypocrisy of the answers that I got. What are our new measuring sticks? Has it come to the sensitivities of the crowd vs. the rule of law? I decided to put my faith in the rule of law and thought that I was on firm footing, until I was confronted with instances of the involvement of the rule of law. Here is one that I saw and felt.
Domestic abuse is a wide-ranging topic. One would think that because of the damage it inflicts, that the laws would be quite clear. They are as clear as their enforcement. There seems to be a decided reluctance for family court to address domestic abuse. Unless the damage is physical and egregious and attended by sustained police corroboration, it isn’t addressed if the abused party just agrees to dissolve the union.
What becomes of the children in such a domestically abusive situation? After the separation has been adjudicated, what prevents the abuser from using the court and, in the name of “father’s rights,” continuing the abuse? What safeguards and laws have we put in place?
New Jersey is a progressive state when it comes to instances of domestic abuse. In 1990, it passed the Domestic Violence Act. Harassment and terroristic threats are against the law, but is this law enforceable?
In particular with regard to custody disputes, will the court entertain the application of this law in its renderings? Or is the court swayed by New Jersey’s efforts to ensure fathers’ rights?
Will lawyers refuse to take this kind of case because it is not clear cut? There are no hospital records or photos and even if there are old examples of the abuse, the court seems to look askance at their use. So, I wonder in this brave new world of Wokeness, how the abused spouse is to proceed? Should the abused party keep records? But what if the people involved are not interested in the documentation because it is messy? Do the records indicate a level of paranoia on the part of the abused party?
What is the court’s wisdom when it comes to helping the other victims of this abuse, namely the children? Well the court might appoint a guardian ad litem. The court might also appoint a parenting coordinator. But what agendas do these people come with? And what is the agenda of the family court judge? Does our new-found wokeness provide guidance in these circumstances?
In some counties in New Jersey, judges all begin as family court judges. This seems to indicate that those with the least amount of experience and those most wanting of advancement are placed in these courts. It would then be natural to see what judges normally do in order to achieve their advancement and how this correlates to their decisions when it comes to cases? There are few such studies.
So let’s focus on the child for a moment. Let’s say a child was witness to the repeated trauma of abuse, when it was physical, and as it continues as verbal and emotional abuse. The child watches how the adults handle the situation and takes cues from that.
Do the parents continue to act in the best interests of the child, or does the animosity felt for the other partner cloud judgement and make this very difficult? Suppose the abused parent has finally gotten up the courage to get help from an abused women’s therapist. Might the parenting coordinator deem that having one parent cast in the light of being abusive creates an unfair prejudice against the allegedly abusive parent? Might this court appointed lawyer require counselling to stop or no longer involve the child?
What message does this send to the child? Is the message that it is really OK for Daddy to do what he does to Mommy? Is the child supposed to navigate this complex set of understandings alone or will the court provide counseling? What will be the nature of this counselling? Will the counselors have an agenda if they are court appointed? What is the role of the parents during this counselling?
This is clearly uncharted territory, or at least I have not discovered the guidelines that have been charted. I would like to know what guidelines are followed to ensure the oft mentioned best interests of the child. What is the scope of the information considered?
Now let’s follow this child as the pitfalls that have been placed in front of him or her are confronted. One parent sets no rules and showers the child with gifts. This parent makes no complaints about behaviors and surely does not involve the court. The other dutifully reports, attempts to parent by establishing limits and providing a healthy environment. Not only will the child find the showering parent better, but the court seems to rather the showering of gifts to the squeaky wheel parent who continues to point out her abuse. Whatever documentation there can be of emotional or verbal abuse, is often dismissed as being not pertinent to the “well-being of the child.” How then is this “well-being” achieved without the acquiescence of the parents?
Now let’s shift back to the perspective of the child. Perhaps in times of parental stress, the child has been blamed as being the reason for the lack or harmony between the parents. Perhaps the child has been weaponized to the point that any expression which does not go along with the supervising parent’s wishes, results in bad experiences for the child. The message is clear that the kid should shut up and go along. The child has no power. Let’s further assume the child is ten years old and this kind of conflict is all that is in the child’s memory banks. What does the court suggest? How does it provide guidance? Does the child have any rights other than the well-being that is mouthed with frequency and unaccompanied by clear action?
The child’s natural response is withdrawal and a search for avenues of escape. Enter the wild hair of gender dysphoria. Suppose all of a sudden, with no inkling of warning and contrary signs of natural development, the child now declares “I am a member of the opposite gender.”
Surely, an announcement like that would be met with surprise and a need for explanation, would it not? Surely the child would be recommended for help to address this brand new response.
Not in New Jersey. In New Jersey it is necessary to “affirm” the child’s decision. It is mandated that if either parent is not totally supportive of the child’s declaration, that parent is considered “transphobic.” The court becomes highly interested in affirming the child’s new gender because it aligns with the LGBTQI+ community’s advocacy. The voracity of the decision becomes secondary to its affirmation. Not unlike the Me Too or Woke communities, there is a single penalty: one is labeled trans-phobic if there is any questioning.
The world has passed me by. I was born into a world with two genders. Now I am told that there are at least 33 and perhaps as many as 35 genders if one counts those who say their gender is the moon. I am not employing hyperbole. There is a current group petitioning for the moon to be a gender.
It is not considered Woke to apply scientific logic to this, because it is based on the feelings of those who make these declarations. They may well be real, but they may be made for other reasons. There are currently no contingencies for they may not be real. Only the expression of a very young person who is looking desperately for escape and some sense of control over life.
The child is has now shifted to a 2-2-5 parenting schedule based on the guardian ad litem’s recommendation. A confused child who now is not sure which night provides lodging where and is now spending massive amounts of time being transported to and from, because her father decided to move over an hour away. Two Two Five, as it is called, gives each parent a guaranteed two nights a week with alternating weekends.
The child speaks of suicide but only with the abused parent. The father contends the mother is the cause and threatens to sue for further custody, which has now been reduced to 50/50 by the guardian ad litem’s recommendation and the judge going along. The father has remarried. He bribes the child with a dog that the child can only have at Daddy’s house.
The mother continues to struggle on her own. His new wife files complaints of child abuse. All of which are dropped but all of which are cited as evidence by the father’s lawyer.

Food disorders were born of the same logic, except the affirmation that starving one’s self received, was not as praiseworthy as what happens to the self-declared gender dysphoric child. Yes, there was the adage that one can never be too thin, and there was the fashion industry touting the emaciated look, but people who pointed out the unhealthy aspects of the condition were non considered “thin-phobic.”
I realize that an eating disorder is not comparable to exhibiting gender dysphoria. Dysphoria is defined as a form of dissatisfaction. From where does this dissatisfaction emanate? Is it not a feeling that something is wrong inside with who you are? Is it the result of biological miss assignment or are there other related reasons?
Now let’s return to our warring ex-spouses. What will they do when confronted with this new reality?
The parent close enough to understand that there were no hints of this inclination in the past and, in fact, there was a decided prejudice in favor of one’s natal gender is viewed as transphobic, while the less involved parent who sees this as a way to make points and a way to continue to torment the abused spouse, might have no questions at all. Why question a new weapon before you see what it can do?
This becomes a quagmire of wokeness. The Woke, for example, are not unaware of the dangers caused by extreme use of cell phones. They choose to disregard them because they feel that they cannot live without that appendage.
The Civil Rights movement, by and large, walks hand in hand with LGBTQI+ community and blissfully dismisses and difficult questions that their stances may render.
But we are left, in this case with a child who found an avenue of escape from the ongoing tension of conflict and could not now voice feelings to the contrary without incurring everyone’s wrath.
Has this child been Woke?

The Loyalty of Sadness

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The Loyalty of Sadness

I saw my first image of him on a website. He was staying at a kind animal shelter, one of those that does not put healthy animals down, one of those that walks them and feeds them well. I thought him beautiful.
We had 3 dogs with us before. There were two male Irish Water Spaniels and one mixed breed mostly Pitbull girl. I’ve written about the Irish Water Spaniels and the girl was among the smartest most independent and stoic girl that you could imagine.
We had thought no more dogs but my wife was ready and I was willing. We wanted a female dog with curly hair, you know the kind that does not shed.
My wife saw his picture as well and thought he was very handsome. And so even though he was a male and shed more than any dog I have ever had and weighed in at 106 pounds, we immediately knew that he was the one we wanted.
His previous owner had become a mother and what was explained to us was that he would do best in a house without children or other pets. He had been at the shelter for four months. They had to put him on Prozac because the idea of the shelter was not something he tolerated well. They told us that he would be shy when we met him, but he was not. He was pure black with a little grey on his muzzle and he ran like the wind and he came close and accepted petting and the warmth that the three of is exchanged.
The vet who visited him at the center was also our vet. They called him a German Shepherd Black Lab mix but she told us that he was more than 95% German shepherd. She explained how to ween him from the Prozac.
He took to our home immediately. We had a large fenced in back yard and he romped and ran with the joy of his freedom. He chased birds and found that a groundhog had the audacity to cross into his yard. He did not kill it but it never did come back.
Sy was very vigilant and so in need of love. He yearned to be petted and be close to us. He loved his snacks, his off favorite being ice cubes. He did not like strange people in the house and he had a very powerful bark that let them know was there. After he went and sniffed them he would settle down but their departure would bring on a fresh round of barking that I never could quite figure out. He was content to be behind a closed door in my study while they worked though.
It was hard for him to relax unless we were both there and then he would settle down and from time to time come to us for petting and kisses and of course the hope of a snack. But he never one time ever took what was not given to him. He could easily reach the table or counters where there was all kinds of food but he never did. He accepted food gently and with a soft mouth. If one of us was out he would lay by the door to await a return. If we were both out he would not eat or drink until we came back. Although after a while he did take comfort in the smells of our bed.
Dogs living with a couple choose one as a favorite, one to whom they cling. For Sy that was me. He was too powerful for anyone else to have on a leash and so it was me who out on his harness and leashed him when we ventured out for his beloved car rides.
Seeing me get the harness and leash was always cause for his celebration. He would dance and run in circles around my legs and then slow down and wait to be attached. Then I would always say softly, “easy now” and he would wait for the door and then not pull but dance in the fresh air that must have seemed different from the back yard. He would leap into the backseat and wait for his window to lower and off we would go.
Sy took pleasure in announcing his presence with authority to passersby. Sometimes they were shocked and surprised. Some saw him and smiled and laughed at his need to let you know he was there. At first we apologized to people by after a time, I shared a grin with those who understood and was sympathetic to those that did not.
When we had to leave him in the car he would bark nonstop until we were out of sight but we could feel a quiet joy with our return. He didn’t care that the back seat was a bit too small for him. What mattered to him was that he was with us.
Sy was never destructive when he was left alone. We knew that he suffered from separation anxiety but he never displayed it by ripping anything up or relieving himself in the house. One of the reasons that we originally wanted a female dog was that we were sure that males were much harder to housetrain. This was not the case with Sy. He was totally trained in this regard. Not one time did he ever make a mistake. He would let us know when he needed to go out. Yes, sometimes he would fake it because he wanted an ice cube to crunch in his powerful jaws but that too was just his way of telling us what he wanted.
When he did go out Sy had a pattern of patrol for his yard. It covered the 60 yard deep long portion and went from side to side in the 35 yard of the more narrow section. When the house next door went vacant we decided that we preferred that and would let Sy out into the back yard to patrol when we knew that there were people next door and my wife and I would giggle to each other about what the people who were looking at the next door property must have felt when they saw this very large very muscular dog letting them know that he was there. We even saw some jump back into their cars and pull away and this suited us fine.
Contrary to what we had been told, Sy did very well on the few occasions that young children visited. One three year girl approached him fearlessly and petted him and hugged him and Sy was as gentle as he could be with her. He took direction from my 10 year old grand-daughter and used that same soft mouth to gently take the snack that I gave her to give him.
On more than one occasion my wife said to me that he did not listen to her. I did not think too much about this because she has said the same thing about our other dogs. I assumed it had something to do with my voice or her voice. I tried to back away from giving him his daily meals thinking that if she fed him that he would learn to have more respect and be more responsive to her. But his devotion to me did not change. If anything it grew stronger.
If I was in my study he would lay outside my door and as my wife put it pine that he was not in the same room with me. My wife said that she was only his food dispenser and yet there were times when he would lay in bed and cuddle with her or get his large body up on the couch to feel her warmth and strokes. We constantly told Sy that he was part of the family now and that was his home forever.
Off the leash down by a lake Sy splashed in the water he ran with abandon but the sound of my voice would always cause him to come full speed towards me and he would sit patiently while I put his leash back on and reload him into the back of our car.
Sty shed profusely. I got a grooming glove and would take him out back and pet him with it which he tolerated best when I alternated between the gloved hand and my bare hand. It was the human touch, the contact that he craved.
My wife and I love to travel but Sy made this more of a challenge. We could not bring him to a house where there were other dogs and we were reluctant to bring him to a place where there were children, even though he never ever exhibited the slightest aggression towards them. I looked into what would be the criteria to have him designated as an emotional support dog and it would have been pretty easy, but I knew that Sy could never tolerate strangers on a plane.
We have a cousin who comes by fairly frequently to do handyman repairs and Sy would play with him and he would rough house with Sy who enthusiastically took part by the rough play always gave me pause. However, when we wanted to go away for a couple weeks it was this same cousin who volunteered to come and stay at our house while we were gone and although I did worry about it some, we made arrangements to have that happen. We were confident that he would be well treated and as long as he was in his home and knew the person there with him all would be well.
It did not happen. One Saturday afternoon, I lay down to take a nap. Sy, as was his custom came with me. He always wanted to come with me. He would curl next to me and I would kiss him and he would lick me and then I would drift off and he would lay there guarding me. I did not realize that he was guarding me. When I woke up he was instantly alert and ready to go. This happened in the middle of the night as well. Sy would sleep on the floor on my side of the bed. A man of my age seldom goes through the night without having to urinate and I would swingout of bed and if I forgot my feet would land on him. He would give a plaintiff grunt and move back over to his bed while I got up. Then he would be back on my side of the bed.
On this Saturday, there were workmen doing renovations on the recently sold property. I slept and Sy guarded. My wife came into the room and opened the shade to get a look at them. He went over to look with her but quickly returned to the bed and watched. He was in a heighted state of alert. Because he did like to bark, my wife wanted to move him so he did not wake me up. She waved an absent hand in his direction to get him to move and he bit her.
I woke up startled. She said, “Sy bit me.” It still did not register. We held her hand under water and there was blood on her palm and blood on the top of her hand. I still did not grasp the import. My wife was angry. She said she wanted the doctor and did not want me to go with her. To my shame, I let her wrap her hand and drive to our doctor. She called and said the doctor wanted her to go to the emergency room. She drove back home and I met her and we went to the hospital. Sy did not come with us or make any move to express a desire to come.
There were no fractures. They gave her a tetanus shot and we came home. Her hand was swollen and the doctor at the ER advised that we contact our family doctor on Monday. For the rest of the weekend I took care of my wife and tended to Sy. She did not want him near her. She did pet him a few times but hesitantly and with trepidation. Sy seemed to not understand. He kept going to her and I would call him over. Of course he listened.
That Monday the doctor informed my wife that she had cellulitis and needed to be hospitalized immediately. They kept her for three days. I visited frequently, Sy laid by the door and waited for her to come home. My poor wife was pumped with massive doses of antibiotics round the clock.
Even when she was discharged she was told that she would have to return daily for infusions of antibiotics. We spoke on the phone while she was in the hospital and she said, “You aren’t being mean to him are you?” Of course the answer was no. When he left the door he came to me for reassurance regularly. I was lost. My wife was hurting in so many ways. We have been married for 37 years now. We have been round the block together. We are close and very much in love but she was angry and hurt at both me and Sy.
I had minimized her injury. I have wracked my brain but I don’t know why. I think that I could just not wrap my head around it. Our daughter, who had only met Sy one time, told me while her mother was in the hospital that Sy should be gone by the time she was ready to go home. I could not grasp that.
I reasoned that what he had done and the cellulitis were somehow different events. It was bacteria. He did not mean to hurt. He was in protection mode. I told myself all of these things. It was that one perfect storm, that one instant and he reacted in a way that he thought was protecting me.
When my wife came home Sy was happy to see her but she was frightened to be around him. She did, brave person that she is, give him a snack but then had to sit down and was visibly shaken. We spoke to our vet who had known him the longest. We spoke to people who work with dogs.
The vet could not guarantee that it would not happen again. He is highly vigilant and highly protective of me. Our cousin, who has spent her life working with dogs, urged patience. She said that he was trying to “make up.” But that next my wife told me that she could not feel safe in the house with him.
The shelter asked that we bring his bed with him and a week’s supply of food. He danced when he saw the harness and leash. He obediently jumped into the back of the car. My wife and I went inside and I filled out the surrender papers. We have them the bed and the food.
We went back to the car and he waited as he always did after I opened the door until I said “come.” I walked him around back to his cage, I put him in and handed the leash to the worker. “There won’t be any other dogs,” I said.
Si let out a keening sound of distress and pain. I can still hear it every day. I call the shelter as often as they will let me. He had a hard time. I am tormented by the idea that he must think that we never really cared for him. They will not let me visit him. They say it would be too hard on him. My family says it would be too hard on me. I can’t help but feel that he must feel disposable.
For me, it has been a month. I hear his keening every day. When I wake up in the night, I still reach with my foot to try not to disturb him. I look at meat leftovers with nothing but sadness. Each time an ice cube drops on the floor, my heart hurts.
Everyone has the right to feel safe in a home. We never have the right to promise forever to an animal. We just say that because it makes us feel good at the time. We don’t mean it.
Because of his size and age, Sy is 6 now, the director tells me that there is a 98% change that he will never have another home. He is too large. He is too nervous. If I could say one thing that he might not understand it would be that he should never try to protect anyone again. We just aren’t worth it.
But I tell myself that he is tended by kind volunteers but in my heart I know that he will always be remembered by everyone else as the dog that bit. There won’t be those happy memories of his affection and play because he did not die. He is in a cage a few miles away. People will not recall his grace and will refer to his strength with wariness.
So this is my love letter because he is more than the dog who reacted that Saturday afternoon. He is a truly magnificent creature.

Creative Misreads

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Sometimes I feel like a silly man. Someone who has been distracted by influences that vary.
I used to ride on this highway every morning, it was named Route 10. It ran east to west and I mostly traveled east. On the westbound side was a building with a sign. As I would ride past and glance it read, “Car Wash and Dental Work.” This both surprised and intrigued me. Did it mean that you could actually get your car washed while your teeth were cleaned or cavities filled? I often mused about this during my commutes to work.
It was my wife who pointed out that it actually read “Car wash and Detail work-” I found it easy to laugh at myself. I mean really, Car wash and Dental Work? What was I thinking or seeing? I soon noticed that I misread other signs or interpreted them differently. There was the one that said “Wisdom is here.” Now that made me want to pause, but then I remembered that wisdom has become another form of parlor trick.
The “New Sal’s Deli” made me wonder how poorly the old Sal had performed and why there was a definite need to call it New Sal. Did Old Sal serve rancid deli meat? Was new Sal distancing himself from what had come before?
The Deli seems to be a recurring pattern. Recently I saw Tony’s TV and Deli. I wondered if he fixed TV’s on the side and served roast beef. My wife was hysterical. “It reads Tony T’s Deli, “she said. “There are no TVs.”
I am sometimes a silly man, though I try to hide it as often as I can.

This is not a new development. Although it seems to be one that continues to evolve.

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