You may remember a picture I posted here about a year and a half ago, an old shack in the snow, a tattered flag in front and my caption about the place still being open for business.
A lot has gone on since then, some of it good, but a lot more not so good if you ask me.
We have a well spoken ditherer in charge of the store, slim, deep voiced and pensive to a fault; calm to the point of somnolence, nearly on the cowardly side of recollected response to problems, and timid where boldness is required. It might be expected that someone who spent much of his professional life as an “organizer”, who had hope and change as his strong horses, would be able to do more than, in response to his own cry that “Yes, we can!”, wave weakly and say, “A moment, please, while I give this some more thought.”; or, “It is, after all, our own fault.”
And so, it seems to me again, that what business we may do within the neighborhood is being taken from us, or we are letting it go to the friendly and not so friendly competition, while many of our customers drift away, and our suppliers cheat us of goods needed to keep body and soul (a much disputed concept in itself) together or abuse our trust and bring ruin on places of beauty through carelessness, incompetence or laziness .
In that vein I offer you this photographic metaphor of the State of the Nation, a building which stands alongside a road in the close to failed State of California near the headwaters of the Sacramento River; the Golden State you may recall.
I was not near enough to Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama or Florida, or I might have offered a photograph of some oil slimed sea birds, hundreds of docked fishing vessels, angry citizens, closed motels or miles of goo gobbed beaches for your meditation on the matter of the current state of affairs in these Untied States: