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Look. I really am not a big booster of Trump, nor did I ever have very high expectations for the Republican Party. I voted against Hillary, and she didn’t win. In that, my expectations were abundantly met.
And I don’t give a rip about the ‘Freedom Caucus’. I knew that the Congressional Republicans couldn’t govern to begin with. They proved that during the Obama era. So, I am not surprised at the failure of the Republicans to do anything at all about ObamaCare, much less repeal it OR replace it. Quite frankly, the less that the Federal government does for us, the better off we are anyway. Democrat or Republican.
I am not anti-government. I simply feel that the wonderful presents that government bestows on its subjects should come from the State they reside in. I hate seeing the Feds in education, healthcare, welfare, retirement, birth-control, police, or disaster relief. If the liddle pipple neeeeed that much security, the should get it from their local government. That way, if the State gets too greedy, I can flee to a State more of my liking.
The Freedom Coalition is not going to get what they want. There aren’t enough of them. They are merely a minor if but vocal faction in the party today. Yeah, the Republicans need them. And yeah, they need the old guard too, if they wish to retain any relevancy in politics at all. But what we have today for a GOP is a gaggle of power sluts who don’t understand power nor its use. Endearing, in a bumbling yokel sort of way, but not the substance of political reality.
So they killed a bad bill. Big hairy deal. There will not be another day. The real power brokers in the Senate have already said so. The House just sang its swan song, and now needs to go back to sleep and dream of glory days that will never happen. If you do see a bill come out of the House now, you can bet your sweet arse that it will die in the Senate. Dead.
So here we are. A lot of chiefs in Congress, but the only Indian is a self-described one. Getting Gorsuch nominated may well be the only bright spot in the 114th Congress. Unless Ginsburg takes the long nap, that is. Then maybe there will be two shining stars on their epitah. I would love to see the Democrats go apoplectic if that happened, and they had already forced the Senate into the nuclear option. (Reid option for those who get squeamish with term nuclear)
So here I am, and there you are. Most of you will disagree. I care, of course. Here is a caring face for you.
Sunday is my day to fix the meals, and I had nothing in mind for the evening when mealtime rolled around. Taco Bell is my go-to emergency meal, so slipping on a pair of dusty crocs and loading up my keys and wallet, off I drove into town for ersatz Mexican take-out.
My hearing is getting much worse now, and I do not even try to understand anyone under 30 anymore. So when I pulled up to the order kiosk, I carefully annunciated my rehearsed choices.
Kiosk: Wemon o ako ell. M itak yer der?
Me: I would like two beef chalupas, and two five-layer burritos.
Kiosk: Tu ef hupus n tu ivlar uritos. Wu u ike ot aus we at?
Me: Yes, the mild sauce please.
Kiosk: Tu ef hupus n tu ivlar uritos n ild sau. Nay ting els?
Me: No that is all, thank you.
Kiosk: A be nine twin ive et tu seco wheno. ‘Lees pu fowerd.
I am starting to work up a mild crank at this point and pull forward to the second window. The cutest young Asian girl is at the widow. Flawless skin, bright eyes filled with excitement at the universe that is opening up for her. Her perfect white teeth gleam from a smile that banishes the gloom that surrounds me.
She leans out and asks: Tu ef hupus n tu ivlar uritos n ild sau. Sat ur order?
*sigh!* The cranky feeling evaporates as I hand her my credit card.
Me: You will have to speak slower. I am hard of hearing.
Cute Asian girl: Tu ef hupus n tu ivlar uritos n ild sau. Sat ur order?
Cute Asian girl: Wu u ike ot aus we at?
Me: The mild, thank you.
She hands me back my card and the sack of ersatz Mexican, and gives me another absolutely stunning smile
Cute Asian girl: Ank oo fer oping ako ell.
Me: Thank you!
And I drive off feeling old. Very, very old …
The days flit by like slides in a projector, changing from slide to slide before I have had time to absorb the vision. Shabbat leads to Shabbat, and the coils of time have become a winding blur as I spiral down the corridor of the helix.
Praise music from some unknown Israeli group swells and ebbs from the PC. The mornings news feeds fail to interest me, and I stare idly out the window into the sweet potato vines that hide my front door from view.
I have piled up scripture in undigested heaps in my head. I am weary of words, and suspicious of dreams. The world goes on without me. I am a spent coal, a fragile glowing ash that will scatter into a million bits at the merest breath of adversity.
Truth beckons to me from across a wide and lonely gulf.
I have become an unenthusiastic spectator in my own play, the lines go over my head, and the dialogue waits not for the applause. I am consoled, but not alone.
An ancient prophecy comes to mind. “He who slays with the sword is slain by the sword. He who is destined for captivity, into captivity he goes.”
I mutely await my fate.
It has been a difficult morning for me on the social sites, and I have had to restrain my hand several times from correcting careless comments. We may no longer call evil out. We may no longer counter frothy platitudes with facts and logic. The door has shut behind us, and a voice resolutely says, “You shall not pass this way again.”
The tares have been covertly sown and watered. Hiding in plain sight, they quickly ripen, yet no one notices.
The recent massacre is but a minor portent of a far deeper malevolence that is soon to arrive.
Dark days are ahead of us, my friends.
There is a sun in Texas, and it finally came out to dry things off. It was a great morning out on the porch, with the mourning doves and their plaintive cooing, warning of the heat to follow.
But we are ready for a little summer now. The land never fails to impress me with its resilience between drought and floods. Puny man frets and fights against it, but the land feral quickly reclaims his efforts when he ceases the struggle against it.
I just took this poll from sidewith.com and came up with Donald Trump. The problem with these polls is that they only reflect what the candidates say, not what they actually believe. Quite frankly, I do not trust the man, and put him somewhere below Gary Johnson and Bernie Sanders, in that order.
But it was entertaining. YMMV
Fort Logan National Cemetery, Denver, Colorado. My mother and fathers remains are here, two out of 122,000 grave sites. One stone here has my father’s name on the front side, and my mother’s name on the reverse.
My last visit there was in 2005. I doubt that I will make the trip visit it again. I am finally at peace with their passing. There is no going home again for me in this lifetime.
But during my last visit, I watched as four aging Viet Nam veterans visited the graves of their comrades. Their faces were grim as they unerringly made their way from one comrades stone to another in that vast sea of white marble. I choked back the tears as a sense of futility overcame me. Few indeed will escape the icy clutches of the reaping angel, and we can only hope that it wasn’t in vain that they served.
Our hope is in a hereafter, not in our past.