Not just politics.  Some of it tied to territory made it really like a Civil War back when.  Moderate votes really really matter now.  And, consultants.  We can't ignore what is undermined by this.

     Because democratic socialism is anti-Republic.  Tied to actual place and people.  Voted, so not just programs.  More of a checkmate where it's happened.

     Justices and the military are under extreme pressure in such times.

     Political nightmare landscape.  It's why Hamas was able to October 7th.

     "How do you think us Cubans felt?"  One older lady asked.  She had a bit of cake frosting on her lip and a grand-daughter wiped her lip.  "STOP THAT!" She smacked his hand away.  "I'm not drooling yet," she told everyone close to her. 

     "Or the French?" Another even slightly older woman asked. 

     "Were they affected by partying louses bossing everyone around as government?" 

     "Especially by the effeminate ones," she raised her eyebrows and plucked a cracker with tuna on it from the platter.  "Protein," an EMS person identified the foodstuff.  "That's good for you." 

     "What, do you think I was born yesterday?  I KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR ME." 

     "Damn straight.  Me too," an older middle ager said and drained her red wine cup.  She smiled big, all red lipstick and purple teeth. 

     "You kids are cleared," a woman in uniform with a clipboard licked her finger of a swipe of cake frosting.  "Who ate all the cake?" 

     "Whhhyyyy?" 

     "I might have to check sugar levels." 

     "Nobody!" 

     "Yeah, I'll drink to that.  Nobody ate the cake." 

     "That's who they'll let eat cake now.  Nobody but themselves.  You watch." 

     "Be quiet, I'm reading," the naptaker hushed the room.

      "I want to be a scholar like that" had led to small groups of women meeting to discuss how that might happen.  One group was a mix of religion: Judeo-Christian, political persuasion, and generation.  This allowed for more than HELLO, I'M SO-and-so...these are my checkboxes...and you all know what my values are...conversations.

     Complaining of cramps was spoken of a young woman gone to lay down and nap.  

     "Why do we complain about something that happens over and over?" 

     "My husband calls that Squeaky Wheel Syndrome." 

     "Mine just gets me what I need." 

     "He does?" 

     "Yah." 

     "Everything?" 

     "Chocolate, wine, and pads." 

     "Why complain about the pain that brings the miracles?" 

     "Miracles?" 

     The woman was getting dark circles under her eyes from the physical and emotional stresses of war.  She poked at the air with a spatula of cake batter and warned, "Survival of the generations is a miracle." 

     Another woman looked up from a Bible.  "I found it.  I couldn't recall which Psalm it was so I've been re-reading the whole book." 

     "Will you look at it with us?" A Rabbi was asked. 

     "I can but I know everyone here is capable of reading and understanding God's Word." The vote of confidence settled everyone.  Some took out their own Bibles from various styles of bags, in various styles of covers.  "Yours matches your sweater," someone noted.  "Yeah, I'm pretty matchy-matchy." 

     "I can't afford all that designer stuff," one woman said of a hand-drawn, graffiti'd cardboard cover.  "That is so cool," one young person said as three went to sit down near her.  "Can I hold it?" 

     "Sure." 

     "It's been tense," the woman said. 

     "In the Psalms?" 

     "Yes.  In the Psalms.  But also as a multi-national mom and teacher.  And now with the spectre of even more war on the horizon..." 

     "I've been having the worst dreams." 

     "Do you think it's just spectre?" 

     "I'm not really sure." 

     "I don't think anyone is." 

     "Factors?" 

     "Lots of moving parts." 

     "And people at the mercy of others." 

     "And, and, and." 

     "You want we should avoid this topic?" 

     "The specifics yes." 

     "Someone actually criticized someone for having a warrior spirit the other day in a weekly planner review."  Eyes looked at, looked down, looked inward thinking on criticisms given the atmosphere.  "And I thought, well I thought a lot of things, but mostly I thought of young people." 

     "Not tough skins, not fully formed in their opinions, not confident in us..." 

     "Not true." 

     "Yes, true.  And why would they be with the world as unsettled as it is?" 

     "I hate settled," One said. 

     "You're an adventurer, that's to be expected." 

     "I just hate that settled means far away," another woman said. 

     "With our own lives.  That's not to hate."  

     "Give me the baby," said the woman baking the cake.  A woman with a baby on her lap got up and brought the little one towards the kitchen area.  She was waved away.  "Naw, not that one." 

     "Not this one?" She looked around for other babies. 

     "The baby Jesus.  We need to put him in the cake." 

     "Have you lost your mind?" 

     "Yes.  More than once.  It's a tradition.  It's for my friend." 

     "Not for us?  You're making a cake in my kitchen that we don't get to eat?" 

     "I didn't say that." 

     "What Psalm is it?  I'm going to have to get going.  I told you that." She had indeed left her coat on. 

     "I usually read the ones before it and after it too." 

     "Context." 

     "Yeah.  Better sense." 

     "137." 

     "One thirty seven?" 

     Some people wrote that down.  Some opened to it. No one recited it off the top of the head. 

     "Give me the Jesus." 

     "Do you think this will just cascade into total war?" 

     "Like going to hell in a handbasket?" 

     "Read the Book." 

     "By degrees.  All things happen by degrees." 

     "Like my cake if I can get Jesus into it." 

     "It's in that coat pocket," someone said at the pile of winterwear. 

     "Better a Jesus than a file," the answer to a quiet why?

     

     "How could this Psalm writer be so angry?" The question hung in the room like an arrow shot at an apple.

Article about an application of "fluidic logic"

     One part of the training included shadowing Security detail.  Since flights all over the world were delayed a bunch of us tagged along to a large complex hotel.  Observing each other and analysis of strengths and weaknesses was helping sort us into "best fit". 

     "It's still off-off-Broadway," a woman was chewing gum and touting.  A more crispily dressed woman held out her hand in front of her.  "Not making any money yet.  Didn't you hear me say off-off?!" 

     "The gum Simone.  Give it." 

     The woman took it from her palm and stuck it on the inside of the wastebasket's side.  "That way they have your DNA." 

     A wall of monitors showed key points from airports and train stations to the hotel's lobbies, hallways, and service areas as a panel.  Everything seemed orderly.  "Ever seen violence?"  Someone asked the Monitoring person.  The person's eyes rolled and mouth made many contortions before settling into speaking.  "What kind of question is that? This is Vegas honey.  What isn't violent here?"  

     "How do you deal with that?  Personally?" 

     "Can we skip the psychoanalysis Ladies?"  A man with folded arms unfolded his arms to ask.  His suit coat arms were well-wrinkled at the folded-arm posture points. 

     "It's a valid question." Someone advocated. 

     "I go horseback riding." The Monitoring person said while dialing a zoom-in on one of the screens showing vending machines. 

     "That's a lot of dials," another man moved closer and photographed the controls above and looking out from the seated person.  Said, "In our State we're working to recruit youth to apprenticeships doing this kind of work.  Such photos might help populate brochures." 

     The Monitoring person put a hand in front of the lens while moving out of the way.  "But, let's do this," got up while photographer held camera away and to the floor.  Moved levers to black out the screens and bring up a panel of TV.

 Early November 2025, Some travel news

Oh good, you're here!

     I ran towards her to give her a hug.  She threw down the handle of the roll-on luggage and took a Kung-Fu stance.  "You're all wet.  Oh my God.  Where'd you come from?" 

     She looked over both my shoulders.  "You alone?"

     "Sort of."  

     "We need to drag the seat out of the lake." 

     "The seat?" 

     A man walked forward from the shadows binoculars still pressed against his eyes.  Her phone rang.  She raised a foot and made her arms into the swooping crane pose.  "Would you get that?" 

     "The phone?" 

     "The phone." Her head nodded in the direction of the ringing pocket. 

     "You want me to answer it?" 

     "Open it put it up here," she tried to look in the direction of her ear.  "I've never seen you with flat hair," the man said.  "Open it, open it." 

     "The flight?  The flight was great.  Oh, cab's here.  Curbside service."  She jutted her head at me and mouthed done.  

     Headlights coming from a road behind her.  Crashing through the woods voices and more people.  SHE CAME OUT OF A MIG, a guy in a hunting suit and neon gloves thrust the section of newspaper identifying military equipment towards me.  

     "Now that's a scholar," another man's voice said.  The hunters shone flashlights all around.  The light fell on a silent, standing still row of vehicles.