by admin | January 23, 2025 7:43 am
It would be so nice if something made sense for a change.
– Alice in Wonderland
I spent Inauguration Day assiduously avoiding the news. It was a holiday for Martin Luther King, Jr.’s birthday, but I am off work on Monday anyway. Save for one errand in town to have a windshield replaced that had cracked for no discernible reason, I spent that chilly winter day hunkered down in front of the iMac, getting back to work on a book project too-long delayed.
About that windshield: There was no rock chip evident, just a long snaking crack starting where the sticker is at the lower left and working its way up. I cannot abide a cracked windshield on a vehicle for which I[1] paid far more than my first home. That luxury (for us) Toyota 4-Runner spends most of its time in the garage, only taken out for road trips or date nights. My Beautiful Mystery Companion and I are funny that way, preserving our fancy vehicle like a grandma leaving the plastic on a newly bought sofa. Most days, I drive a 2001 Tundra with a faded paint job and stuffing coming out of the upholstery. No matter. The heater works great. I likely wouldn’t pay to fix the Tundra’s windshield, but naturally it was the glass on the fancy ride that cracked.
The cost was $571 total. The locally owned business I patronize does excellent, efficient work. With a $500 deductible, my insurance agent advised against filing a claim, to prevent our premium from going up. That makes sense since insurance was only going to cover $71. Still, it does bring to question the entire point of having insurance one cannot afford to actually use. I have a spate of questions in that vein, few answers.
All the way to town, about a 20-minute drive, I listened to Spotify and Watchhouse, one of my new favorite Americana bands. Normally, I would have it tuned to Red River Radio to listen to NPR’s Morning Edition. Not on inauguration morning. Like my BMC and many of my like-minded friends, I was not participating in this inauguration – no way, no how. The irony that the swearing-in was held in the Capitol Rotunda, where the incoming president fomented an attempted insurrection four years ago that is now being absurdly passed off as a “day of love,” should not be lost on anyone who watched the videos of that horrible day. The most complete, objective video account can be found here[2]. I defy any rational human being to watch this and conclude Jan. 6, 2021, was a “day of love.”
It sometimes feels like we are inside a malicious version of Alice in Wonderland.
I am still working out in my head how to survive the next four years, which are likely to be filled with chaos, cruelty and the type of macho posturing I had vainly hoped was in our past after the present occupant’s first term. One major change on my part: No more doomscrolling, reading every story, cataloging every lie told. I will make better use of my time, diving into 19th-century newspapers, where editors often told whoppers that rival anything we hear these days, in order to finish writing this book hanging over my head. Or putting the finishing touches on a chicken coop we just had built, and learning how to raise laying hens. Taking a walk with My Beautiful Mystery Companion and our pups. Or reading a novel set in another time. Simple pleasures will suffice. At least that is the plan.
It is hard to escape the feeling that folks who think like we do, who care about truth, justice, mercy, and empathy, the actual teachings of Jesus, don’t really belong in this country anymore. Leaving is tempting but impractical – financially, and logistically. My intent is to largely withdraw and leave the good fight to those younger and more energetic, to hide in my metaphoric tower – to borrow a notion that a writer friend recently posited.
And to laugh when possible, at the absurdity of it all. One of my bright spots daily is reading the matchless parody of Andy Borowitz, whose profane and hilarious postings I devour and pass on to my BMC so she can chuckle as well. Here are a few of Andy’s latest parodic headlines:
It has been said that laughter is the best remedy. Sometimes, it is the only remedy.
In times past, when someone was elected president who I had opposed, I took the “patriotic American” approach: Sure, I didn’t vote for him (it’s always a man who wins) but I wish him the best as president. I cannot say that about the present occupant. I do not wish him success, since nearly everything he hopes to accomplish runs counter to the principles I hold. Our best, greatest hope is that he proves to be as incompetent this go-round as he was the last. I like our chances, fortunately.
To that point, one of the first things I did after the election was to slap an “Elect a Clown. Expect a Circus” sticker on my truck.
The circus indeed has arrived. I plan to stay out of the Big Top until it leaves town.
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