Today is Wednesday, the once inevitable and now most regrettable “morning after” found a stillness here at Marklewood. The pusses, Jon, and I were almost spent from watching election returns. Sadly, as Ms McGovern would agree, there is no pill to cure the ailment at this late hour.
So, upon waking, I stumbled downstairs, fetched a root beer, and checked far-too-neglected emails. At least I’ve learned one thing from over four decades of result-viewing with excitement, anticipation, and hope. There is never devastation in the situation. Time may not wait but change certainly will. My partisan world will not crumble. I will neither cower nor swoon.
I shall optimistically look ahead to 2016 and its different list of fools and their agendas.
Of course, for the next few days, it will nonetheless seem as though I’m listening to “Nixon in China” while munching on capers and trying to find both my phone and cable remote. The pusses need food and I, my coffee’s half ‘n half. To complete the scenario, let’s assume that my WiFy is down.
Fortunately, the month will unfold rapidly and with invigorated purpose. Thanksgiving is a few heartbeats away. And we so need a plump and well-stuffed turkey this year.
(For the record and perhaps CD, I packed away the originally recording of that 1987 Adams & Goodman opera with any nostalgia recollections of the anti-Christ.)