Every day, I sit staring through the windows of the forest before me. And every day, its appearance changes—at least a little. Today, the substantial changes leave the trees looking taller and more gaunt. Their trunks and limbs appear more distant from me this morning. They seem more rigid, too, as if the air around them is perfectly still. And their colors have changed, as well—a little concrete-grey has entered the spectra, maybe to match the concrete-rigidity of their own immovable bodies.
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Both legitimate news media and frequently-untrustworthy social media have suggested, from very early on in the investigation, that: 1) the murder of the CEO of UnitedHealthcare was motivated by rage against the healthcare insurance industry and; 2) the guy accused the killing is guilty. I am not a PollyAnna; based on what I’ve learned (if it is true), Mangione probably is guilty of the accusations against him. But my thoughts about the incident and my beliefs about guilt or innocence are irrelevant. So are yours. His attorney, in response to a series of efforts by a news anchor or CNN to get him to “admit” that evidence against his client is overwhelming, noted that the implicit Constitution presumption of innocence, as stipulated in the Fifth, Sixth, and Fourteenth Amendments. The judges and trial juries along the way must always remember those protections and, the responsibilities they have for observing them. Complaints that the judicial system’s protections should be waived in “obvious” cases anger me. The speed (or lack thereof) of the system is upsetting to me, but I will gladly sacrifice speed to a greater degree of certainty and actual justice. I get miffed, too, when I hear denunciations of judges and juries for their verdicts, insisting that the Justice System failed. These complainers do not have access to all the facts available at trial etc., yet they feel “justified” in demanding “justice.”
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Last night we began watching (the first of eight episodes of) the Netflix short series, One Hundred Years of Solitude, based on the 1967 novel by Colombian author Gabriel García Márquez. The novel, as described on Wikipedia, “tells the multi-generational story of the Buendía family, whose patriarch, José Arcadio Buendía, founded the fictitious town of Macondo.” The article goes on to report that the novel is often cited “as one of the supreme achievements in world literature.” We shall see how it does on the screen. It’s not fair for me to judge television of late, thanks to my blurry vision, but I do it, anyway. If all goes well and according to plan, I’ll have my surgery for anterior basement membrane dystrophy on January 23 and a follow visit to confirm all went as expected. I probably should wait to rate films and series until then; but I won’t.
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I did not sleep worth a damn last night, due to multiple episodes of various unpleasant side effects of my chemo and/or radiation and/or drugs involved in the processes. While I feel sufficiently well to go to my radiation treatment this morning, the idea that I am not yet even two-thirds of the way through is less than exciting. Thirteen more treatments to go, then more chemo, then scans, bloodwork, etc., etc. to reveal whether any of this stuff is now working. In the meantime, I feel increasingly useless, with motivation to match. Enough whining for the moment, whine-master!
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Nihon Hidankyo, a Japanese organization of survivors of the atomic bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for 2024. I remain surprised, so many years after those stunning events, that the U.S. still has not issued a formal apology for unleashing nuclear terror on Japan. The arguments, pro and con, regarding whether the actions were “justified” will go on and on, I suspect. But from my viewpoint, the results are immune from justification. Last night, I watched an interview on BBC with the head of Nihon Hidankyo about the award. I wish the world would listen to the survivors. A deceased author (Dorothy Stroup), who was a friend of one of my sisters, wrote a novel (In the Autumn Wind) which gave a fictional treatment to the Hiroshima bombing. I absolutely loved the novel and the way it offered such a believable presentation of the bombing and its aftermath. A few years ago, I began writing what I thought was going to be a piece of historical fiction combined with a dystopian narrative of where nuclear ambitions will take us one day. One sentence, extracted from that 8-year-old utterly unfinished manuscript, might adequately explain the plot’s core: ” Shoko Matsumoto, the leader of a Japanese group that called itself Bushidō, issued the threat. Bushidō was formed in 2011 to exact revenge for what Matsumoto considered the most egregious acts of terrorism ever committed, the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.” The closest I have come to spending time in Japan took place during two layovers at Narita Airport: one a few hours long and one overnight stay (at the Hilton Narita?). Yet I decided to write about something of which I know next to nothing. I may return to it again, though, filling in my vast ignorance with information gleaned from the internet and double-checked for accuracy.
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I have just over an hour before I need to leave for today’s radiation treatment. Off I go to prepare, which involves getting dressed.
