I went outside this morning, and my favorite tree – the old apple tree by the pasture – had just burst into blossom; it was a beautiful thing to see. I had to take a picture of it.

I decided that today, I would devote myself to beautiful things. Two weeks ago, I decided to write some about the political turmoil tearing apart the country in the wake of the Pandemic trauma.

The President has proven himself to be without honor, decency, or empathy, and that has made everything so much harder for Maria and me and everyone that I know. Andrew Cuomo has extended his streak as the President’s doppelganger, teasing us with his demonstration of what a leader can do.

I started writing about politics and was astonished by the reaction.

My posts, long, windy, and full of my now-famous typos, have drawn more than 300,000 shares and appeared all over the world.

I’ve had hundreds of comments on my blog and Facebook pages and in my inbox.

This change in my long-standing avoidance of politics on the blog has traumatized some people, enraged others, drawn new readers, and pleased some people who seek some fresh way to understand what is happening.

My mentors always told me a good writer is always pissing off somebody, I am due for a Nobel Prize maybe.

My purpose is not to jump into the scrum but to explain it. I am, of course, now drawing the nasties I have mostly avoided in the 13 years I’ve been publishing this blog.

From the beginning, I’ve encouraged and fought for civil discourse on my digital pages. Except for me at times, I got my wish. Our level of respectful and intelligent engagement is very high. The haters need other haters to survive, like ticks, they find blood or die.

Some of the hardiest and the most patient of you may recall that I promised at the outset to be authentic, publish daily except for vacations, and to spend my time writing, not shivering in fear of a misspelled word or typo.

I am a writer, not an English teacher, and my work is to write.

I do have a sophisticated software proof-reading system now, it has saved me from many mistakes, but not all. But as a proud Dyslexic, I made an excellent choice to be productive rather than grammatically pure.

It works for me, and for most of the hundreds of thousands of people who visit the blog each year – four million visits in all.

Every few days, I get a snarky message from someone complaining about a typo they found or suggesting I get an editor, and I have discovered a foolproof way to get rid of them.

I simply say I’d be happy to hire an editor if they would like to pay for it, and I offer my e-mail. It’s like magic; they vanish as if they’d been fired out of a cannon and are never heard from again. But they never stop coming either.

I will be honest.

It is not easy for me to be doing this political writing that I happily left behind. I left it behind for good reasons,  most having to do with my personal life.  It evokes a period full of bad memories and some of the worst parts of my life.

But politics in America right now is a Pandemic all of its own, a spawning ground for broken people full of grievance and suspicion. I can either try to do good or hide and quiver. I’m not into hiding or quivering.

It was starting to get mean a decade ago. It is much meaner now.

There are good people in politics and good journalists in search of the truth.

Still, they are all nearly overwhelmed by the hostility, corporate greed, and suspicion that has infected our civic life Politics is one of the cruelest blood sports in the country right now, and I feel that every time I write about it.

I don’t really like it getting so close to me and the wonderful life I have.

My blog readers know me, and while many of them often disagree with me and say so, they are rarely hostile or cruel. Social media nastiness seems shocking here.

By writing about politics, I draw those creepy people to me,  they are ever hungry for grievance. The peace and vibrance and dialogue I so enjoy and worked so hard to find is disrupted, sometimes even poisoned.

In just one afternoon, I was called a racist and a “leftist” for daring to write about rural poverty and suffering.

I have also received more praise than I have ever received in my work life.

I am the child of refugees, and I love my country. It seemed cowardly to me to sit up on my farm with my wonderful wife and animals and pretend the country wasn’t being torn apart.

So I decided to contribute what I could for as long as I could.

We forget how to talk to each other in America. And the media is now mostly a part of the problem, not the solution.  That is sad for me.

We present politics like a football game or a WWF Wrestling match, and we tag one another with labels so we can hate them easily and dismiss what they say.

Still, I have to admit that a part of me likes writing about politics again. I was good at it – I loved it – and feel I have something to offer. I’ve come to see the angry and broken people as flies buzzing around me, I just have to swat them away, maybe get one of those disinfectant foggers to work online.

I like using what I learned and saw once more. I love it when people tell me I am getting them to think about things, that is music to my years.

And I like it when lots of people message me to thank me for helping them understand what is happening around us.

We all have to figure out how to be helpful. I can help the refugees. I can help the Mansion residents; I can help some people navigate the barrage of arguments and media hysteria that is so upsetting to many.

I can do good every day with the Army Of Good. I never want politics to be the meat of this blog, and I will not let that happen.

I like writing about politics in this circumscribed way – I write when I see something I think I can help explain something to which I can add some understanding.

I covered politics and also worked in the media.

Excellent credentials for now. This has made me feel useful and given meaning to my life in Pandemic time.

Still, I feel it pollutes my soul; I sometimes feel dirty and drained. I need to work to keep my anger in check. And I don’t like being angry; it is not good for me.

So I’m devoting today and some of tomorrow to looking for beautiful images on beautiful days. I call it soul cleaning. We hire someone to help clean our house once a week. Why can’t I cleanse my soul once a week?

It’s my way of giving rebirth to the better parts of me, and of girding myself to deal with the rage and fear out there.

Sometimes the anger and hatred just comes right through the ether and into my blood. I cleanse it by appreciating my life and looking for some images of beauty for me, and you.

I hope that helps other people too. I’ve got some beautiful things lined up for tonight and tomorrow. I hope they bring some peace and comfort.

Until the next bomb comes through the wires and lands in our heads.