There's a time in each year that we always hold dear,
Good old summer time;
With the birds and the treeses and sweet scented breezes,
Good old summer time,

When your day's work is over then you are in clover, 
and life is one beautiful rhyme,
No trouble annoying, each one is enjoying,
The good old summer time. – Ren Shields (1902)

Hoc delectat, haec sunt proba, haec pulchra, haec honesta, haec in civibus, haec in republica maxime expetenda, cum dignitate otium.

This is what is worthy of approval, noble, honorable, and most to be desired both in citizens and in the state: leisure joined with dignity. – Cicero 56 B.C.

Summer vacation, ahhh. Whether the goofy goof-off respite of America 1902 or the high-minded “dignity with leisure” of Rome in the final fragile years of the Republic, a time to refresh, recharge, reboot (the last of these restorations unknown to earlier epochs). Arguably the most bountiful gift of a stable civilization, made possible by an adequacy of means and orderly, dependable government that permits citizens to ignore their management for a while and replenish their strength and calm.

                  Ahhh.

                  And this summer? We’ve got the means, it seems, the stock market spiking to new highs, but how can we relax, reposit our minds away from the roil of news? If only! But with windows breaking, jackboots tromping and voices railing, who can risk inattention?

                  My mind could use a dose of Shakespeare, grandkids, and pool-splashing – dog-pal Henry recommends it – but oh, what if, what if! We’ve installed a government intent on destroying our government and with it the serenity and freedom that orderly leadership permits. Blink and we’ll be serfs, gaping at triumphal arches and ghoulish cage-fights on the White House lawn. It’s hard to doze feeling f**ked.

                  We grasp at hopeful straws. Record unpopularity of this regime. The courts beginning to interrupt. A sprinkling of politicians screwing up their courage now that they’ve been screwed. A crazy losing war. Inflation. The price at the pump. We the people will not stand for this, we console ourselves.

                   Only our dreams murmur otherwise. The proliferation of depravity precludes a quiet heart. We can hardly recall all the ghastly predations they are so many. And what about all the injustices, corruptions and thefts that have yet come to light? The few termites we see are only the vanguard; armies have yet to be descried.

                   The loss of restorative leisure – the Roman’s “otium” – is hardly in itself cause to moan. Poor folks never enjoy otium, too busy making ends meet. But the evanescence of the conditions that permit otium should spook us all. We live under a government we cannot trust to do right, which, indeed, we’re convinced is bent on our subjugation and privation for their private advantage. America, believe it or not, is a nation under siege and while, yes, there are signs of hope, our rescue is hardly guaranteed. No Shakespeare and pool-splashing this summer, no “birds and the treeses and sweet scented breezes,” no assurance admiring one’s blooming grandkids their tomorrow will be OK.

                   Cancer sufferers often take some time to acknowledge their disease. Even smart folks may insist their diagnosis is mistaken, the evidence notwithstanding.

                  Today, even the most determined deniers are finally awakening to our plight. That it took us so long, that we slept so soundly, astonishes, but no use recriminating when we’re under attack. All eyes must be focused on democracy’s defense.

I compose this grumble in a quaint Canadian B and B, where with delectable grandkids we’d planned a carefree week.

                  Good luck with that.his is the body of the post