The photo (from the Saint Louis Post-Dispatch) looks like part of a marketing campaign for a B-movie comedy. The facial expressions. The sneers. The barefooted-ness. The entitlement. The paranoia. The naked aggression.
But it’s not a comedy. These two were serious. And seriously wrong.
And the Delmar Divide and the 400 years of our original national sin continue to pay unwanted dividends and bring sorrow and tragedy.
These two should go hide in their safe room bunker. The rest of us have plenty of work to do without them.
I enjoyed some coffee time Thursday morning with a friend, on my patio, distant but not masked.
I saw a masked allergist on Monday, and found out that I’m allergic to the same allergens from 30 years ago — mold, the pollen from hickory and ash and elm and maple trees, ragweed, dust mites. Cats. And dogs.
But dog dander is manageable, and my peace of mind is more important. So Nelson stays. In comes the HEPA air filter for the bedroom, though!
Webster is ready to welcome administrators back, and I may need to start going to the office again.
I got to the Missouri Botanical Garden on Saturday for two glorious hours of walking and literally smelling the roses. Photos will roll out over the next five days.
Webster University’s BLACK LIVES MATTER banner was stolen sometime Thursday evening. A posting about this on Facebook led to an outpouring of support, and the usual idiots posting their venom as well. How disheartening, that college-educated alumni of a progressive school, one founded on tenets of social justice and inclusion, are venal and noisy and unrepentant.
Friday was a dark day as Trump and His Toadies finalized a rule rolling back some queer and trans protections established under the Obama Administration. Trump et al. chose to do this on the fourth anniversary of the Pulse nightclub massacre in Orlando. Their evil knows no bounds, and their places in some loveless afterlife are secure.
On the other hand, Trump got a slight slap-down from numerous ex-military leaders, and more than a thousand retired DoJ employees. The Unhinged Man continues his ways, however. Our national election cannot come soon enough.
Unemployment high. Stock market tumbling again. World standing continuing to decline.
My local Episcopal diocese ordained our new bishop on Saturday. Our first immigrant bishop in this diocese. Our first gay bishop in this diocese. And the youngest bishop in the Episcopal Church.
And then there’s Nelson. Wonderful, wacky, weird Nelson. He is more voluble now that he is comfortable. He is clingy and needy. He is clearly a lady’s man. And I adore him.
Nelson left me a little present this week after I was gone too long. He is deliriously happy when I arrive home after being away even for a few minutes. He loves car rides, being outdoors, getting wet in the sprinkler. And this week he went with me to a garage voice lesson out in Ballwin, where he kept the rest of the family entertained whilst I taught.
Nelson does like to sleep with his legs in the air.
Nelson is also a helper in the kitchen, joining me as I made passionfruit curd:
And no matter where I turn, he seems to have his eye on me, or at least on my escape route:
On the flip side, Nelson had a gambol in the gladiolas, to their detriment:
Note to self: Nelson cannot be outdoors when the neighbors are having their HVAC serviced.
I made two batches of pot-stickers this week. And a couple of Dutch babies for breakfast. And a new batch of slow-rise bread is in the works!
I watched on Tuesday a video-recording of his walk across Lafayette Square, and his photo-op at St. John’s Church. And then I watched the White House’ campaign ad of the same thing.
And the anger at this perverse and vile man, and his enablers, and the sycophants who surround him . . . the anger was real.
He is a symbol of horrible depravity, a manifestation of darkness that persists and pervades.
So in my garden, fighting the gnats, these words flew into my journal:
Outrage upon outrage. Lie upon lie.
This detestable vileness in orange.
Tear-gassing the peaceful, pummeling the helpless.
Soul-shriveled, unloved, tortured calamity of a man-child.
Bluster and ego and narcissus.
This monstrous mendacity in orange.
Hate. Greed. Swamp-rat.
Perversion upon perversion. Insult upon insult.
Law and order cartoon.
Rudderless caricature. Loveless, stunted, and pomped.
This oozing pus in orange.
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a bleeding-heart liberal. Who would be quite content to have a centrist government that legislates from consensus. And a national executive who knows how to keep an even keel. And find ways to protect the environment. And engage in sensible defense spending. And nominate centrist, not ideologue, justices to the bench at all levels.
So it’s sort of like my Episcopalian devoutness and inner Buddhist tendencies. Two things live side by side, and I’m find a way to make it work.
While I post an occasional article about the devil in the White House and the Senate that has sold its soul, I don’t often write on this blog of my deep concerns for our national, and international, order.
But here it is:
The only way that something is going to change in this country is if enough normal people start telling their senators to stand up to the insanity. I write Roy Blount (the only one of the two Missouri senators who might actually stop being craven) weekly. Are others??