I'm glad I'm not a politician in today's political minefield. Imagine trying to thread the needles that seem to keep popping up out of the haystack of complaints, hacks, innuendos, and lies. I'm glad I'm not a politician, but in a weird way, I confess I'm glad I lived to see this circus, just to say I did. Kind of like experiencing other 100-year events like the Columbus Day storm and the Northridge earthquake. I can say with some awe, I was there.
I voted, just so you know. I always vote. It's so easy to vote by mail in Oregon, there's really no excuse for not voting. The voter's guide appears in my mailbox, and a few days, my ballot follows. I fill it out enthusiastically with a bold black ballpoint pen, because there are no wrong answers on this test, there are just my answers. I love vote-by-mail, but even if I had to stand in line at a polling place and wait my turn to punch dinky holes in a piece of paper with a stylus, I would still do it. It's all part of my American experience.
Now I'm listening to old Bowie songs from Heathen (2002). Funny, I'm starting to feel more grown-up and sophisticated. Hmmm.
I don't discuss politics with many people. I carefully tiptoe around the topic until I'm pretty sure we are on the same page. I don't want to make anyone feel bad. But if I'm feeling particularly frisky, I might say something like, yeah, I can't wait until we have truly open borders, one global nation! Come on down, all you tired and poor! and then cackle as my lunch partner's eyes bug out of her head. I don't get invited out much.
I don't understand why people dislike Secretary Clinton. Maybe they really like her but are too shy to admit it. Maybe they just say they dislike her because that seems to be the popular position, the way a horde of third-graders coalesce in a mob to bully the hapless nerd of the day. I don't care what they say, I like HRC. All that lack of transparency, all that sneakiness, in a man would be considered an asset. Am I right? If she were a man, they would call it strategic thinking. Talk about threading an impossible needle. Well, I am pretty sure that Mrs. Clinton will put her strategic skills to good use on behalf of the nation. She may not always explain what she's doing, but that's okay with me ... sort of like when my mother didn't always explain to us kids why she was so pissed off all the time, but I had no doubt that behind the scenes, some serious stuff was going on that the grownups were handling. Go back to bed, scram!
Speaking of my mother, she's still slowly circling the drain in la la land, muddling through from day to day, propped up by cigarettes, TV dinners, and frozen cherry pie. I know this because I'm the one who fetches and carries. Every few days, I buy an odd assortment of groceries. One banana, a round of red jello, two cartons of vanilla flavored rice milk, a bagful of generic cheerios, two mushrooms, four chocolate muffins, and a carton of the cheapest cigarettes on the market. I am looking forward to the day I turn 85; mark my words, on that day, I'm throwing out the food plan. I don't care if it cuts five years off my life span, I don't care if I get fat as a brick house. I'm going to plunge my face into a gallon of ice cream and slurp until I put myself into a coma.
Meanwhile, to all twelve of you die-hard fans, thanks for sticking by me, even though I hardly blog anymore. I'm hanging on by a thin thread (but aren't we all, really). The good news (I hope it's good news): I finally finished my first book. Next week I'll be entering the brave new world of print-on-demand (can we say vanity press?). I won't disclose the particulars because you probably aren't in my target market, but I hope you'll cross your fingers once or twice on my behalf. Maybe that ship that has been hanging offshore for 60 years will finally mosey up to the dock.
