Ellie's Birthday!

A Happy Birthday to my wife. I'm not telling you, Bush, how old she is today, but at least she still stays a good bit younger than me... and young in everything she practices in her life. A shower of blessings on her for the coming year!
That said, I've been meaning to ask what Presidents do when they need a breath of air for the soul? I mean, aside from their personal devotions. One great thing to do in Washington DC (there have to some advantages to living in the nation's capital) is spend a couple of hours at the Phillips Collection. I say this because we did a walk-through, last night, of the selection from that wonderful collection which is currently on tour, and has reached our local museum.
Great pictures, Bush. I think you'd get a kick out of the magnificent big Renoir--the icon work, really, of the Phillips Collection--of a boathouse party by the river outside Paris. Then there's the three van Goghs, breathtaking, along with a stunning landscape through a window by Bonnard, a series of Picassos, and a Giorgio Morandi still life of a couple of vases and a jar that knocks you out with its absolute, unquestionable, simple there-ness. I don't know about you, but I get that little flutter of the heart in front of some of these pictures, reminding me that sometimes the human species can come up with something so undeniably great that all you can do is stand there and say, Yes! It's a refreshing change from the news headlines that hit us every day.
Anyway, then a birthday dinner for Ellie with good friends, who got me thinking again about what I'm doing with this blog, these Bush Diaires. My friend Donald pointed out that I risk alienating readers with the tone of this writing and some of the more obvious tricks that I resort to (calling you "Bush", for example, and talking about "your Rumsfeld" and "your Cheney", and so on); and with the somewhat irreverent attitude I have toward the President and his policies. He thought I might be more persuasive if I expressed myself with greater understanding and respect for opinions on the other side.
Which got me thinking once again about what I'm doing here. And one thing I realize I'm NOT doing is trying to persuade anyone to come over to my way of thinking. I don't think of my writing as political--though obviously it has political themes and political implications. I'm not attempting to be "fair and balanced". Nor am I attempting to address the issues of the day--though sometimes they do crop up. When I address you directly, as I do, it's not with the illusion that it's actually you, Bush, the President, that I'm addressing: I keep coming back to that useful insight of my daughter's, that "Bush" in a sense has become my muse. No, I do realize that I'm pretty much talking to myself. I'm writing, which is not much more nor less than my way of talking to myself. I'm satisfying my writing jones, that weird little addiction that requires some daily satisfaction, and seems to have found an outlet for it in this wonderful new medium--which allows me to actually publish what I say, and hopefully engage a few interested readers, who find some kind of pleasure in the texture of the words I weave. For Duncan Phillips and his likes, the jones was about acquiring art. He was one of those who couldn't live without it and I, for one, am happy to benefit from his addiction. Maybe, with luck, there's a few people out there who will benefit from mine. I don't know if this makes sense to you, but it does to me.
Good for my friend, then, for challenging me to think a little more about what it is I'm doing here. I feel just a little clearer about it all this morning, though--happily--still not blessed with any certainty. Once I get to be sure about myself and what I say, I might was well trash my keyboard. It's all about the adventure. As another friend put it to me long ago: "How do I know what I think 'till I see what I say?" So, as the Hokey-Pokey puts it, that's what it's all about.
Thanks, Bush, for being a good Muse.