Our sister paper, “The Amazon Washington Post,” has reported that our traitorous lump of a president has spun more than 12,000 lies or misleading claims during his time in the Oval Office. But one rare truth from the fetid lips of Donald Trump — as also reported by The Post — is just as troubling:
“President Trump told two senior Russian officials in a 2017 Oval Office meeting that he was unconcerned about Moscow’s interference in the 2016 U.S. presidential election because the United States did the same in other countries.”
While it’s not surprising to see Trump say he’s unconcerned that a traditional enemy of the United States would see it as beneficial to help him win an election, the part that really bothers me is Trump’s reported justification: “because the United States did the same in other countries.”
Of course, it’s true, and I give Trump credit for saying it.
No American, liberal or conservative, is being honest with himself if he thinks such a thing had never occurred. The United States, probably more than any other nation on earth, influences policy in other countries, and often by means a lot more intrusive and deadly than was the salting of a few Russian lies all over your Facebook feed.
What gets me is the holier-than-thou outrage — especially from my fellow liberals — that a foreign adversary would ever do such a thing to the good old U.S. of A.
But don’t worry, I haven’t completely lost my mind by attacking liberals, I still have plenty of venom for conservatives who may accept that interference occurred, but don’t think it’s a problem that the Russians got exactly what they wanted in their boy Trump.
From a foreign policy perspective, perhaps one takeaway from all this should be that the United States, the world’s so-called “preeminent democracy,” should take more of a hands-off approach to how other sovereign countries conduct their business. At the same time, we must take steps to increase safeguards on our own election process.
Of course, that’s too simplistic and will never fly. But it’s something to think about while the impeachment train is rolling, hopefully toward a time when our Long National Nightmare is finally over and we can start to rebuild and learn from our mistakes.
So this morning, when Bonnie went into her barkathon, I knew one more night of no sleep was going to knock me off the ledge into a deep, pit. I would be in a coma from which I’d never wake up. Garry actually got up and went to sleep in the living room and I got to sleep.
I’m really grateful. I also feel guilty, but I don’t feel like I’m falling apart. It’s the first time in weeks I haven’t felt on the edge of collapse. Most of my parts don’t hurt (much) either. Golly whizzaker!
But I also don’t have anything to say. I’m all spoke out. I’ve been chatting it up for weeks and months and years and I don’t seem — at least for now — to have any chat left. I’m sure it will come back, but right now, I’m SO happy to be sitting here, coffee on the left, Garry on the right, dogs soundly asleep on the sofa.
Why can’t they do that in the morning when I’m trying to sleep? Is this one of those Murphy Laws?
Have a great day! I’ll be fully ready to chat tomorrow. Or maybe the next day. Hard to tell.
I lived in New York City for the first 40 years of my life and since then I’ve lived in the woods in a small town in Connecticut. So I have a good perspective on life in the city versus life in the country.
To be honest, there’s very little about city life I miss, except for being able to go to the theater without spending hours sitting in a car, stuck in traffic. However the one major perk of city life that makes me wax nostalgic, is the pleasure of living in an apartment building with doormen. Now, most people would probably not think of doormen as a big selling point for living in New York City. That’s because doormen are the best-kept secret among us long-time New Yorkers.
There’s a special relationship that often develops between friendly residents and chatty doormen. You get to know each other well and become like a family. These men know a lot about your life from the comings and goings in and out of your apartment. And people tend to talk to doormen, almost like they do to hairdressers. Mine knew my kids, my mom and my friends in the building, which created a strangely intimate relationship. They knew when we were doing work in our apartment, like when our upstairs neighbor’s bathroom leaked and our bathroom ceiling fell in. They followed every skirmish in our battle with the insurance companies, which lasted two years.
Photo book of doormen in NYC
Memoir of a doorman
Novel about doorman in NYC
I’ve experienced this relationship as a child, as an adult and as a parent of young children. Each phase is unique and gratifying. As a child, every doorman knew my name and often the names of my friends who visited frequently. I had severe school anxiety so waiting for the school bus in the lobby every morning could have been a tense time for me if I hadn’t had a doorman to distract me and keep me talking. Jimmy was my favorite for many years, a tall thin man with a missing tooth who made me look forward to the morning wait for the bus. If I was running late, he would make the bus wait for me and would call up to our apartment to tell me to hurry up.
The doormen also helped the kids in the co-op bend the rules so we could play in the street. They let us skate and ride bikes in front of the building, which was strictly forbidden. They were our lookouts, warning us to stop if someone on the co-op board was entering or leaving the building and might ‘report’ us.
When my kids were young, we lived in a different building, all of two blocks away from the one I grew up in. But the next generation of doormen, they were as wonderful to my kids as mine had been to me, and they too developed a strong bond.
Their doormen let them skate, skateboard and practice gymnastics down the long, narrow hallway leading from our elevator to the lobby. I could send the kids downstairs to play on their own and know they were safe and supervised. I had built-in babysitters.
They often let my kids spy on people in the elevators on the security cameras they kept behind the lobby desk. For some reason, that was a huge treat!
Once our doormen went above and beyond for my ten-year-old son, David. David had a pet python and there was a large ficus tree in the lobby. David thought the snake would have fun climbing around in the tree so the doormen let David sneak the snake into the lobby and, when no one was looking, put it in the tree. David and the snake nonchalantly hung out in the lobby for several hours, with people coming and going, until someone finally noticed something moving in the tree. That ended the tree climbing experiment.
As an adult, there are a myriad of other reasons for enjoying the luxury of having a doorman. They accept deliveries for you when you aren’t home and help you with your bags.
Another convenience, beyond mere safety, is they let workmen into your apartment when you aren’t home so you don’t have to wait for them to show up or give them your keys.
\You also feel safe knowing the doormen monitors everyone who comes into the building. They won’t let anyone up to your apartment without your approval. They are your first line of defense against predators and nuisances.
In the country, I’m friendly with the local post office workers, farmer’s market cashiers and with the people at the nearby coffee shop and market. It’s not the same thing. It’s not as personal. These people may like you, but they don’t know your life or have your back like doormen did.
Doormen are a special breed of extended family that I treasured as a New Yorker and I miss as a country dweller.
Bonnie barked all morning and I fell back into total exhaustion fast. I got up, poured coffee, and promptly fell asleep with the computer in my lap. I woke up eventually believing the patriots were winning their game 287 to 3 (it was just 13 to nothing).
Garry brought me a coke and went off to shower.
I said the only way you’d get me to shower was to drag me down the hall into the shower and hose me down with the hand shower.
So much for losing a single night of sleep. The sleeping wave is back.
Sorry folks. I don’t think this is going to be a lively Sunday! Now that I’m technically awake, don’t think it’ll last long. I feel the soft hands of Morpheus tugging at me, gently luring me into the soft fold of coma.
If you’re reading this today, it’s the 29th of September. It’s the end of the regular major league baseball season. Two-thirds of the 30 big-league teams, who had April dreams of grandeur, head home to ponder what went wrong.
It’s “Wait Till Next Year” for the dispirited fans of the disappointed teams. “Wait Till Next Year” was also the fabled slogan of the old Brooklyn Dodgers who, until 1955, never won a World Championship, usually losing to the damn New York Yankees.
“Wait Till Next Year” also was blues anthem for the Boston Red Sox who went without a world championship from 1918 until 2004 — almost 9 decades — usually losing to those same damn Yankees.
This year, the World Champion Red Sox are again wailing the blues, unable to repeat last year’s phenomenal success, their season for the ages.
The suits for the 20 teams who failed to make it to the postseason, will soon be in “spin mode.” We’ll all hear about how great things will happen next year. You can believe the jibber jabber of their hot stove league rhetoric. How they’ve solved all their team’s problems. You can believe it as you’re shelling out big money for season tickets to see your team reach the promised land. (“See the rabbits, Lenny?”)
Wait until next year is also the slogan for the myriad Democratic presidential wannabees trying to unseat the current squatter in the Oval Office. We’ll have a better sense by this time next year who’s the top gun meeting the incumbent in the ultimate political showdown.
It’s hard to handicap who’s the best political gunslinger right now for the Democrats.
We certainly have plenty of diversity from which to choose, but there’s no one with the certainty of Paladin’s “Have Gun-Will Travel” assurance to clean up Dodge which is slowly sinking into a swamp bigger than any seen since the Earps cleaned up Tombstone.
The boss of the White House gang is shiftier than Liberty Valance. No one seems to be able to get an upper hand. It would seem appropriate for the political farmers and cattlemen to put differences aside and band together to deal with Donzo and his Desperados.
Wait until next year is also the unofficial slogan here at the Kachingerosa. Next year, Marilyn and I will celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary. I hope it’s a memorable shindig. In 1990, the handicappers weren’t sure the newlyweds had the stamina, trust or fortitude to go the distance. We looked good but the external youth would undergo changes over the next 3 decades.
External and internal.
Our furry children think the world of us. They’ll vouch for our love and steady hands doling out the treats. I’m not sure what Las Vegas is saying about us. All I can say is we’ve got a good track record, pretty good breeding, and we’ve overcome more than enough adversity.
So place your bets, go with your guts, put a little money on us – and “Wait Till Next Year”! And hold your breath because these are battles we need to win.
When you think of all the things you want to be when you grow up, “old” probably is not on the list. You may think about being a doctor or nurse. You may consider lawyer or politician. Fireman or police officer may be on your list. In fact, in your elementary school days you may have changed your mind many times. It is OK to dream about the future and fantasize about what you should do some day.
If superhero is on your list, you may have to give that one up rather quickly, unless you are Robert Downey, Jr. He is still playing Iron Man past the ripe old age of 50. I guess that is a commentary on keeping yourself in good shape. Of course, he is just play acting, like we do as kids, and he certainly has a stunt double. Your own life does not come with a stunt double, sorry.
If we give it any thought at all while we are young, of course we want to live a long life. Therefore, we do want to get old. If accident or disease does not rob us of life too soon, then we will indeed get old. It is all the things that go with it that I am not too pleased about.
I did notice the changes in my grandparents as they got older. I am certain that I threaded needles for both my grandmothers at some point in time. I knew they could not see as well as when they were younger, but I never thought about that being me some day. Yes, I can still thread a needle, but I probably have to hold it at just the right distance in order to do so. In fact, I really need trifocals, but I have settled for two pair of bifocals instead. The bottom part is the same on each, but one pair is strictly for the computer. The top part of the glasses are set to optimize the view from where the monitor should be, a little more than arm’s distance away.
This is not fooling anyone, of course, not even myself. People can see I switch glasses in order to see. I should have gotten the same style glasses so it would be less obvious. When I am on Skype, and can see myself back on the screen, I really do not like the look but I am stuck with them for a while. At least glasses have gotten better and these are not as thick or heavy as ones I wore years ago.
As my grandfather got older, I noticed he sometimes used a cane to help him get up, or walk around. When he was in his 80’s, he never left the house without the cane. He just might have too much trouble walking while he was away. Sometimes when I walk past a window or mirror, I think for just a moment the reflection I see is my father or grandfather. My stepmother once said that I should take it as a complement that people see me as my father, since he was so handsome, but I began to think they saw me as they saw him later in life. That is, old.
When you see pictures of me, you generally will not see the cane. I set it down for the shot. Years ago my doctor sent me to a sports medicine guy for a foot problem of still undetermined origin. Maybe I was playing sports in the park long after a time when I should have moved on. Maybe I suffered some trauma that came back to get me. Maybe it was related to some disease I contracted. In any case, I had it operated on, which did not help. Years later I had another operation. That did not help either. I had many procedures in between. Was it just an issue of getting older? We will never know for sure.
I have heard it said that the aches and pains we feel as we get older are not a natural part of life and we should not just accept them. Perhaps some accept them when they could feel better, but I have never accepted them. I have spent a good deal of time getting to know my doctor and all that goes on in his business. Yes, I might as well interview him a little, he interviews me a lot. Together we have looked for solutions to my various problems.
The Gabapentin for the foot nerve pain does not seem to eliminate the problem, even if it lessens it. The Lidocaine patch may numb the pain, but I cut the patch down because a completely numb foot is not a good thing for walking and creates a dull pain, which actually is not much better than a sharp pain.
My doctor does not like my diet or my cholesterol. He seems to cast a skeptical eye at my insistence that I watch the cholesterol rating on the food I buy. That does not include restaurant food, however. Or what John cooks for dinner. Statins did not work. They created muscle and joint pain I could not stand. The non-statin anti-cholesterol pills are not as effective, but hold less side effects, apparently. Other problems and medications have come and gone. Parts wear out, you know.
Recently a high school class mate of mine wrote to say he had finally gotten in to a senior center he had applied for a while ago. He had a variety of health issues in recent years and needed to get into such a community. I wrote back that I could not imagine that any of us would be talking Senior Center, because it seemed like just a few years ago we were in high school together.
With any luck at all, old age will catch you some day. You will probably feel it coming.
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