Hope Springs Eternal Isn’t a Lock (but burn that MAGA hat anyway)

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We can’t be 100% sure what the Prez is up to, but these hot dogs will definitely taste better than those MAGA hats I smell burning.

Given the unreal twist of a week D.Trump had with the Democrats, there seems a tremendous analogy about Hope available, because it’s something said to spring eternal in the human breast. Let’s use sending a note to a Woman on line whose pictures and profile *totally* float your boat– the exact physical dimensions and attributes, sense of lifestyle, Attitude, and ability to articulate how she desires someone like YOU in her life– and getting a favorable response about a date. That’s outrageous and joyful, much better than finding $5 in the jeans you just took out of the dryer.

Having knocked (or cursed) all things Trump for eight months—justifiably, from all that I and the majority, screw those damned Russian ‘bots, have seen– about things people have been shocked-disgusted-afraid of, could anyone have seen the wonderful pivot that top Democrats Schumer and Pelosi had front row seats to the other day? An evening that came with Chinese dinner and chocolate pie, and featured positive discussion about DACA Dreamers and the possibility of that brutally expensive wall becoming a non-factor in our lives?

What could possibly come next? The Prez stopping the Dakota pipeline, “because it really won’t create that many jobs, and it’s a bad idea to put something like that over our biggest aquifer,” or saying “Just kidding” and returning to become a force in the Paris Accords? Wearing a tie that doesn’t hang 8” below his belt? Hearing that he watches the Rachel Maddow Show?

Really, which scenario would you have bet the grocery money on being touched by?

After feeling like civilization was hanging by a thread for so long, it seems *impossible* not to feel a sense of elation about the latter events arriving on a silver platter, with Mitch and Paul not even in the room to spoil the evening with their shrieks of betrayal. While Ms. Huckabee might walk the whooole thing back in another day or two as another misunderstanding– or that the ecstasy ends with an effed up tweet that causes a whacky North Korean dictator to push the proverbial button– I’d bet millions are willing to forgive her “more reaching across the aisle in last week than Obama in eight years” hyperbole, because Hope does spring eternal.

With the stench of a million burned MAGA hats in the air, it’s worth taking a deep breath and considering what might be the greatest turnaround since, well, the Patriots coming back from 28-3 down in the Super Bowl.

Things with an All That Woman can turn south on any number of factors. If she’s as rich and dynamic as the character (Marlena the Magnificent) in my book, concerns about bank account digits or the attentions of a supremely studly and equally thoughtful and articulate guy could wreck a dream. I’m just sayin’, Rachel on ‘Suits’ show is all about Mike, but in real life she’s dating England’s Prince Harry, and regular guys don’t win many of those situations. Having lived in a constant state of undies-in-a-twist with Trump, do this weeks gratifying changes mean everyone was wrong about the artless negativity of his dealings so far? Does he get off ‘good meds’ next, or just blow a nation’s surprise/delight on a fistful of ugly tweets and a definitive leak about Russians?

My reality– because awareness should be followed by action—would be doing all things possible regarding Ms. Right, even if its probably going to be a couple weeks before seeing her face to face. I waited this long, I can stand that. On the political side, there’s a whole country that’s wondering, after the longest eight months they could have imagined enduring, if they can/should consider trusting a person they never considered dancing with or saying a good word about.

The best part is, if I impress the lady sufficiently *and* D.T. continues to stiff Mitch and those who now want him impeached (whoa! there, Anne Coulter) more than you could have imagined two weeks ago, Hope won’t just be springing, it’ll be a factor that could launch a life of bliss I’ve envisioned as a Writer. I believe its legit to raise a glass of wine to both possibilities.

 

 

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A Different Kind of Time Has Started Ticking for Me

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The chimes of my cell phone started at 6:05, and I dutifully turned on the bedside lamp so I wouldn’t/couldn’t ignore the fact of needing to get up. Coming back from putting on the coffee, reading a few pages from an inspirational book, there was a small acknowledgment it was already 6:25.

That today is 9/11, a date causing many in this nation to recall a significant, almost surreal event– those terrorist attacks with airplanes full of people that took down the Twin Towers in NYC sixteen years ago– is obviously legitimate. More personal, less definitive, and somehow scarier, was a conversation with Mom yesterday on the drive back from church, when she got a little upset about ‘not being there’ to help Dad at the time of his death from congestive heart failure. Even after explaining the circumstances– a good, graceful exit after only two days in the hospital– her not remembering where he was buried (next to her folks), or that she’s lived in Charlotte for over two years after staying two-plus years alone in Tampa, wasn’t easy to listen to.

For all the times she’s commented about “it’s another glorious day in Charlotte,” it was overcast and sweater-worthy instead of sunny and 80s yesterday, and somehow a different kind of Time began ticking with her admission that, “I just can’t seem to remember any of that.”

She called brother Mike several times Saturday, ‘worried about the house in Tampa’, because you can’t ignore the fact– a major part of every newscast– that the biggest, baddest hurricane in 100 years is going to pound the city where she grew up, and retired with Dad to for 25 years. It’s easy to see how TV watching got her thinking about her good neighbors, how much the guy next door had loved being around my Dad, and then drawing a blank about what came after that upsetting her. Easy to see, somewhat harder to deal with for both of us.

As Director of my church groups (32nd annual) Christmas Tree sale, I have to send the order quantities today for the various sizes to my top assistant to pass on to the supplier. I have a confirmed 10:00 meeting with a veterans organization that I expect to work on a housing proposal with, and I just got a text from my Italian lady about moving our 2:30 public speaking session to Wednesday. Time is a fact of life we tend to build around daily, whether that’s waking up, picking my brother up at work, or knowing at some point I’ll need to drop by Mom’s place at Carmel Hills and find the box of Excedrin PM I know we bought and gave her yesterday.

Today, most of America will be thinking about a long, ugly struggle that blew up into an unmistakably dramatic point 16 years ago in NYC. Many of us are still be thinking about a flooded-out part of Texas with billions of dollars of destruction from one hurricane, while millions wonder how long the specter of Irma, still plodding up the west coast of Florida– with two more major storms still brewing in the Atlantic—will rule their lives.

Mom-wise, a little different kind of time seems to have started ticking for me.