Of course I can join you in spending a couple of tears for scared or dead civilians in Western Ukraine.

It’s just that I have to wonder, why we’re doing it now, when no tears were ever spent for Ukrainians in the east. Or for the Yemenis. Or the Syrians. Much less the Palestinians, or for that matter the residents of Flint, MI. Each one of them victimized by the aggressions of much larger powers, often including (with money, weapons, and at least tacit support) the US. (h/t to Durden.)

I won’t bother you with the history you already know, in Korea, in Vietnam, in Iraq, or in any of the giant fistfuls of places less infamous. I won’t repeat the tale of Patrice Lumumba.

A few months back our media handlers directed us to weep for Afghanis, with the implication that decades spent alongside trillions of dollars in nominally trying to make their lives better was just not enough.

So we wept on cue and then forgot about it. Next news cycle please.

***

Lord how I struggle to care less about any of it and return my attention to the clear air of the Palouse as a symbol, to the Rim as healing ideal.

It’s still not warm but the sun is on the road back to ascendancy. I went out and checked the tarp wrapped over the still-boxed rooftop tent, and proved to myself that no snowmelt had gotten beneath, because the worst enemy of an RTT is mold.

Praise His solar name, and self-pats on the back for me, for being wise in the tiny ways even if I’m still a glassy lotus-eating fool in the big ones.