“Money, it's a gas”

In a time when worthwhile lawmakers ought to bring people together, we find the opposite: lawmakers selling their honor and their reputations to clutch yet more dollars. “Data shows lawmakers secured millions in small-business aid meant for [the US] Paycheck Protection Program.”

[US] Businesses and organizations linked to lawmakers and congressional caucuses received at least US$11 million.
At least nine lawmakers and three congressional caucuses have ties to organizations that took millions of dollars in aid from a small-business loans program that was designed to help companies avert layoffs during the pandemic….
In total, companies linked to lawmakers and congressional caucuses have received at least $11 million in aid from the federal program that Congress created to help small businesses. Overall, 650,000 businesses and nonprofits received assistance under the $670 billion program.

This money-grubbing as “unemployed Americans struggle with losing health care….”  (4:34 mins)

What is it about money that makes people … crazy?
Pink Floyd weighs in

Money, get away
Get a good job with good pay and you're okay
Money, it's a gas
Grab that cash with both hands and make a stash…
Money, get back
I'm all right Jack keep your hands off of my stack
Money, it's a hit
Don't give me that do goody good bullshit

Listen to Pink Floyd, “Money”  (4:36 mins)

Dire Straits offers another view: “Money for Nothing”:
Disclaimer: this music uses terms considered socially objectionable but keep in mind the point of view. These lyrics represent someone who resents earning a living with hard physical labor while someone else makes a lucrative living playing a guitar:

We got to move refrigerators, we got to move color TVs…”
…The little faggot got his own jet airplane,
the little faggot, he’s a millionaire…
I shoulda learned to play the guitar/
I shoulda learn to play them drums…
Get your Money for nothing, get your chicks for free…

Listen: “Money for Nothing”  (8:22 mins)

***

We interrupt this gloom to offer… hope.
An American view: “Yes, America is suffering needlessly. That may save us.”
A South African view: Sixteen weeks of Lockdown, with time on your hands and a ban on alcohol?
Ideas to explore your creativity:
Pineapple beer.
In the seven weeks of lockdown, the demand for pineapple has skyrocketed so much so that it’s made headlines, with prices at a record high.
Boozy apple cider. With a simple recipe, minimal equipment and a surplus of apples you can make a delicious sparkling apple cider that'll be ready to drink in a day or so.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…

Cold nights, cold mornings – and, in between, wonderfully warm, sunny, dry days. Today’s high was 77F/25C. Coming from California with cold, wet winters, KZN winter days are a treat – well, except for the fire hazard potential of tinder-dry vegetation. Mid-winter, and I apply sunscreen when I work in the garden.
Today’s gardening included:

• Chatting to the seedlings in the cold frame as I removed the overnight protective covers and checked their progress. So far, so good.
• Planting the remainder of purple bearded iris tubers harvested from other sections of the garden.
• Sewing seeds – beets, onions, parsley, rocket, zucchini - in the newly constructed garden boxes.
• Adding another batch of “fresh” kitchen waste to the compost pile (link).
• Noticing the large troop of monkeys had returned to the neighborhood after several days’ absence. Increasing monkey hunger drives increasing monkey risk taking. They snack boldly in the bird feeder and pay little attention to barking dogs.

***

Despite someone threatening my life, I (try to) avoid preoccupation with my safety and focus on vigilance coupled with joie de vivre.
While I (try to) gauge day-to-day safety, I also continue to walk around the residential area for exercise.
The newly hired private security company is confident they’ll find my harasser.
I’m skeptical.
As long as his mother remains a domestic worker in this household – and my mother shields her – we’ve little chance of locating him.
So, each night, I check potential hiding places in my living quarters: an unused fireplace, an unused stairwell. I ensure doors and burglar-guards are locked, that my pepper spray canister is near at hand, and that my claw hammer lies on the floor next to my bed. (Yes, I’ve heard that, in an attack, such a weapon is more likely to be used against me than used by me. But, hey, let a woman fantasize.)

Today, as I exited the security gate for my walk, coincidentally, a security patrol vehicle parked on a grass verge across the road.
I approached the driver and his partner, introduced myself, pointed out that I lived here, and thanked them for their protection.
I’m relieved we switched security companies.