We have many paths. Some of our roads look more like paths. We are kind of rural and not overly tidy.
It has been a pretty sad sack of Autumn in Massachusetts. Last week, the leaves finally decided to change. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of our now daily rain. A particularly heavy rain with plenty of wind.
I pondered the situation and realized we were indeed going to get some lovely autumn foliage, but half the trees will be naked by then. Today, finally, it was (mostly) sunny for most of the day. But tomorrow, the rain is back. Wind too. Good thing I took my camera with me. I could tell Garry wished he brought his because he had to borrow mine and take a few shots.
Always have a camera. You just never know!
It was a running around day. We had to catch up on errands. We get money on the first of the month, so we go shopping. By the first, we are out of everything except coffee, half-and-half, and dog food. And of course, treats for the dogs. Can’t run out of treats.
The trees — wherever they still were trees and not naked limbs — were beautiful. Not much red, but deep orange and a glorious golden-yellow. The woods were lit up when the sun hit them.
Garry got the best horse’s tails, but I got Duke’s tail and tongue. He has an amazing tail. Not a half bad tongue either.
I also had some great cow tails too, but my favorite didn’t work in black and white. He was so patchy, black and white, he literally blended with the foliage. You could see his tail, but his entire head got lost in the dappled foliage. So that particular cow didn’t make the cut.
Well said. I’m always happy when someone else says what I’m thinking. I’m too tired to reinvent the wheel this morning.
As Nov. 6, 2018 — voting day — creeps ever closer, a record number of Democratic Party women are on the ballots. Yes there are a lot of Trumplican women, too.
The question is, will the usually absent midterm Democratic Party voters show up? Will more of “them” go to polling places and become the breakers to the touted “Blue Wave?”
My pessimistic side tells me Dems won’t show. May I be proven wrong.
I don’t pick favorite sports teams, they seem to always crush my hopes. Same with political candidates. Prayers don’t work — if they did Donald Trump and his Trumplican Party would no longer exist.
After almost 10 years — from G.W. Bush to Donald Trump — of the most evil, despicable, racist, crooked Republican Congress, ever, the hope for a Blue takeover is high. But, fear is equally high among pessimists.
Of the over 500 women…
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If ever I run short of oddball photos, remind me to visit my car dealer. The guy who owns it is a collector. He collects a lot of stuff for charity, but he also collects things all kind of car-related stuff. He sells almost everything that could be considered an American car, and a few things that aren’t. He has to have the most entertaining interior of any car dealer anywhere.
The last time I was there for any length of time, we were buying a car, so I was a bit distracted, but this time — back in hopes of getting that all-important second key for the car, I was ready to do a little shooting.
To keep kicking the Kavanaugh can down the road is just what President Donald Trump’s emerging November election game plan has in mind.
It is doubtful he had a plan before Kavanaugh was nominated. For the first time in Trump’s administration, he seemed flummoxed when brave women came forward to tell their stories. He actually kept his abrasive mouth shut until Kavanaugh’s appointment was assured. You better believe that somebody told him to chill, he really isn’t that bright.
And that’s why it is best to let the Kavanaugh matter go. The Republicans seem to have a functional plan. They know nothing reinforces defeat like crying over spilled milk, especially when it’s a knee-jerk reaction to never having a chance to win in the first place. Kavanaugh’s appointment does just that.
Trump doesn’t know much, but he knows street fighting and the Democrats don’t. The nomination process was like watching a one-legged Democrat at a Republican-sponsored ass kicking contest. Perhaps the Democratic National Committee will pass out some Knife Fighting For Dummies handbooks in time to parry a few thrusts before Election Day.
The real issue fouling the air isn’t whether Sen. Chuck Grassley and the Republican majority in the Senate Judiciary Committee bent the rules so they could purloin the procedure. That is a given. If the Democrats had been in control it would have gone down the same way except a liberal candidate would have been sitting on the hot seat. It is the essence of phony to pretend otherwise. Infighting is what politics is, and wielding the knife better than your opponent is the goal. Julius Ceaser had a good perspective on the process.
What is different about this particular Supreme Court nominee and the nomination process that gave him life is timing. There are 26 days left until the midterm elections as of this writing. The Republicans smacked the Democrats so hard in the face with a poopie pie that their grandbabies will probably be born bruised.
It is time to put a cold steak on the swelling and drive on. Otherwise, everything Kavanaugh does until Election Day will stay in front of the voters. It is a brilliant, insidious Red State plan that already appears to be working. Whining about the Republican victory can and probably will slow down the Blue Wave. For that reason alone, the Kavanaugh debacle needs to be minimized, not maximized. Forgotten would be even better.
The Senate debacle brings to mind Jerry Springer’s Columbus Day tribute to a pathetic loser who lost his love and his pride on national TV. It was a poignant, afternoon television mock fest of what happens when intellect collides with passion during public discourse about family values. Change the players and it could have been a satirical look at Kavanaugh’s Senate Judiciary Committee hearing. It’s hard to believe it has already been a week since the same thing happened in Congress.
In that show, Grassley played the king of scream-time TV himself, demeaning the vulnerable and impugning the innocent with the kind of hard-nosed obstinacy Iowa farmers are famous for. When Grassley isn’t with the rest of the Republican boys humping the American people for the last of their loose change, he spends a lot of time on his 750-acre farm watching his cows do the same thing.
Grassley, 85, is the senior United States senator from Iowa, a seat he was elected to in 1980. American farmers like him. Judge Brett Kavanaugh adores him. Trump is probably in awe of him. Democrats, women, liberals, independents, libertarians, and people who just don’t like arbitrary people don’t care for him at all.
Grassley did a fine job emulating the famous Springer style during the nominating process, playing the face of harsh Republican reason. His main job — other than refusing every Democratic demand for fairness — was egging on his colleagues so the biased crowd would moan and hiss appropriately. He played them like a banjo. Last Tuesday’s hearing was so special. It sounded like a max volume orgy compilation on Pornhub, and Grassley deserves at least an enema as best supporting actor.
The Democrats, unfortunately, acted more like William, the witless moron who starred on Monday’s episode of Jerry Springer. He was dull as a newt, inarticulate, and lost, the way the Democrats appeared during the hearing.
Kavanaugh showed up smarter, more verbose, better educated, and better prepared than the collection of Democratic carnival barkers who seemed better prepared for promoting the Yak Woman at a VFW carnival. Democrats need to take a lesson in dirty fighting.
On Springer, William was duped by his paramour because he is a moron. In Washington, the country was duped by Kavanaugh because he is a brilliant lawyer who came into the arena ready for a war.
Instead of fighting the good fight, the Democrats sat transfixed into impotence. Nothing they did should be glorified. The Democrats could never have won, but they didn’t have to lose so badly.
The bottom line is that Republicans won and Democrats lost. It serves nothing to allow Brett Kavanaugh to be the poster boy for ignominious defeat. The why is for the historians to study after the final battle. Now is time to build enough Democratic momentum to ensure the Blue Wave rolls over the country on Election Day.
Since November 2016, I’ve developed something of a routine. I open my email and usually spot about 150 new ones added to the older ones I’m planning to get to any day now (right, sure). Mixed in with the advertisements for things I might sometimes actually buy, are dozens of “news flashes” along with politicians begging for money.
First, I delete all the advertisements unless one of them has something I need. Then, I delete all the advertisements for companies I’ve never heard of, unsubscribing and “spamming” them as I go. Sometimes, I stop and actually read an article. Today I read one about the final days (we assume they are final or nearly final because he is 95) of Stan Lee and what a mess his life became in recent years.
This proved to me that no amount of money and fame can perfect your time on earth. It’s his money and fame that’s causing most of the problems — the issues of the will and who took what and when. It was a long interview which would have been easier, but Stan Lee is deaf and won’t wear hearing aids. I can really relate to that.
He’s obviously just a wee bit lost from reality, but I suspect that’s the way he wants it. He does not want to reconnect. There’s nothing for him anymore. When his wife of 70-years passed, that was the end for Stan, if not physically, then psychically.
It got me to thinking about age. Stan Lee is 19 years older than Garry and 24 years older than me. He has it all or at least everything that “the world” can give you — and maybe it made him happy. Before. Now though, it’s just a reason for everyone to fight with everyone else. When large amounts of money are involved, it can get ugly.
When we go, the only things that will be left are paintings, pottery, antique dolls and a ton of clothing that for all I know will have come back into style. And of course, books, DVDs and CDs. There won’t be a dime left for anyone to fight over. The house is more likely to be a burden than a boon, but who knows? The world keeps changing. Maybe 2-1/2 acres in Uxbridge will be worth something by then. You could certainly put a fair number of condos on the property and there’s a lot of water down there for wells.
I realized I really only have one important job left in this world which is making our lives — Garry’s and mine — as good as possible. It isn’t to repair a badly broken world or shine the light of reason on a society gone mad.
Between one thing and another, I’ve had an incredibly hard-luck run of health issues. I’m not going to bother to list them, but it’s remarkable I’m alive … and even more remarkable that, to the best of my knowledge, nothing is trying to kill me at the moment.
This past couple of years, except for pain and discomfort which sort of comes as part of other issues, I’ve managed to not have to be in the hospital. I haven’t had a near-death experience, gotten pneumonia or any other contagious infection. For me, this is nothing short of remarkable.
Instead, I got trumped. We all got trumped and amazingly, some people seem to think that’s a good thing. Those people make me wonder if we are all living on the same planet. Maybe we aren’t. Have we considered the possibility that there is more than one reality and we live in one and they live in the other?
Maybe where they live, gravity pulls things up and death and destruction is what we are striving for.
All of this has given me a migraine I can’t get rid of — and the distinct feeling that I should DO something about it. Somehow, crotchety old me has got to fix things. Not alone. I don’t think I’m a force a nature to redress the balance of the world but surely, along with a group of intelligent, right-minded people, we can make things better?
That’s not what’s happening, though. After this past week of watching America puke all over herself, I’ve begun to seriously consider the possibility I’ve got this situation entirely wrong.
I’m turning 72 this year and while I realize as ages go, this is not as old as people get, it’s nothing short of amazing for me. The nightmare of politics is ruining my world. Instead of enjoying being retired, I have nightmares about Republicans. Honest-to-God nightmares populated by people wearing MAGA hats.
Why? Am I so attached to “the American ideal” — which has always been far from ideal — that I have to battle my way into my coffin? Is all this so that my son and granddaughter, who don’t seem to care all that much about the stuff going on merely shrug and accept what is — while I can’t? If the next generation or two isn’t the issue, what is the issue?
Why aren’t they in an uproar, screaming for a better America, a rational world? Is it possible that this is more important to me than to those who will live long past me? And they are not nearly as troubled by what they see as I am? Mind you I’m not trashing the whole generation. Some people are deeply troubled and trying to do something and I applaud them … but too many people don’t seem to care.
I decided I need to stop my routine and get into a different groove. I’m not giving up watching the news or caring about what happens. I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s everywhere. Yet I did realize in another 20 years, I’ll be gone — or close enough. This isn’t my battle anymore. I feel like everything I believed my generation got right is being trashed.
And I can’t fix it. If the people who are going to be around in 20 or 30 years aren’t willing to put up a fight, then what’s the point? If they think this is okay, maybe it is. For them. Maybe the world I thought we needed isn’t what they care about. Maybe it’s just what I care about.
So I will not be frothing anymore. I’m sure I’ll occasionally work up a good rant when something particularly toxic is going on, but otherwise? I’ll vote like I’ve always voted: Democrat and Liberal. I will donate tiny bits of what we humorously call money to a cause, but mostly, I’m going to try really hard to take care of me and mine. I’m going to do my best to make Garry happy, to make me happy, to love my dogs and care for my home and remember to clip back the roses every spring.
The flowers in the garden bring me joy. Reading a good book makes me happy. Writing something good gives me satisfaction. Garry’s hearing progress is making me feel better about his life as well as mine. So instead of trying to fix the world, I think I’m going to try to enjoy it.