Now we are on the second leg of the Thanksgiving travel. First    

came the walking. Now the subwaying and next the driving. All just part      

of the ritual. It might seem late writing the holiday bulletin on    

the holiday or posting it on black Friday or black Sunday (crossing the      

river now on the train to Brooklyn) marching into the gaping maw of      

the holidays. I feel it right for such a bulletin.              

        Francisco Goya(1746–1828), was, is and ever will be one of the great      

painters and great visual artists. The man had range.              

        Funny thing about Goya; when getting on in years and not enjoying        

less than than robust health, in near solitude Goya took to painting      

directly on to the walls inside his home. Can you think of someone else      

who does just that? Those 14 works referred to as the “Black Paintings”      

are a few clicks past grim, you betcha. After his death, well after his death,      

the walls were removed to a museum where they now reside though badly       impacted by the relocation.              

          Notable in this set is “Kronos Devouring His Children”. I think this      

as horrific an image as a human mind might conjure. Goya witnessed agreat        

deal of barbarity in his lifetime. An image such as this might have been quite        

near the front of his brain.              

       Might one benefit to close the door of a room where nightmares reside      

 painted and indelible. That would be a fine thing, I think.              

      Cronus or, Saturn, late of Greek mythology, was not, in Goya's mind        

a happy camper. Nor did he play well with others. Terrified his children      

would overthrow him  - as his father was overthrown by his children -        

Kronus ate his children, as depicted. Was this maybe, the first        

Thanksgiving? Zeus (the overthrower) was spared his father's wrath having        

been hidden away by his mother, Gaia. Fooled by his wife, Cronos ate        

a stone in swaddling.              

                 My Thanksgiving has not gone well and the day is not over.        

The driving leg was as far as it got. Now the sun is setting and        

 un-festive solitude is my own. Others are alone on Thanksgiving.        

I can't now remember what the point of this bulletin was to be, hmmm....            

     -We mustn't eat our children, no matter the holiday or motivation.            

     -Three years ago, this holiday was near to a wake for the trauma of then          

recent events. How I longed to toast, today, the imminent though
                gradual emergence from under that wet blanket. Didn't happen.            

        Then, the nation lost its mind. Today, I lost mine. Both entities driven(?)      

to self destructive madness by the insidious spell of the blue glow that tells      

us to steer our ships to the rocks. Tells us to ignore our senses. Tells us it's      

best to listen to what we want to hear.          

        If your Father in error, demure. If sound, listen. If he tries to eat you,      

well that is a problem now.            

       We have fresh website stuff coming. We're fighting uphill and into the      

sun but there's no quit in us. Please forgive our delay. We try to be better.                                                                                         Peace in the Valley                                                                                        Folksizhome                 

                                                                                                              11/29/2019