Olio

What an interesting political season we are suddenly entering. Harris and Walz make a good match, IMHO. It also happens that I know someone who knows someone who knows Walz well. Here’s part of a message that I received from daughter Sarah:

“Hey fellow Dems, our next VP Tim Walz is an amazing man and we know this because he was a history teacher at my kids’ school Mankato West while they were there and he coached the football team to a state championship. Minnesota is pretty thrilled about the guy getting nominated. He also was the faculty advisor to the gay student organization that Cheyenne and friends got started. “

So right now the positive energy is on the Blue Team’s side while the Red Team slinks along spinning its nightmare web of fabrications. Their side of the fence is a lot like a cattle feedlot after a heavy rain. Looks bad, smells awful, and no sensible person would want to walk in it.

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From The New Yorker

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I do pay attention to symbols as I watch the flag-festooned pickup trucks that make every day a misanthropic parade as they trot their banners and slogans up and down the main drag. Refusing to give them ownership of the American flag, I fly one daily in front of our home. Christian Nationalists? … my backyard Buddhist prayer flags flutter in the slightest breeze.

I am outnumbered, of course, but that makes it even more fun, because I fancy that it is irritating to the people I want to irritate most. A few months ago a middle-aged couple was walking by the house and they thanked me for putting up a banner. “Up on our end of the street … well … we don’t feel comfortable doing it.”

I smiled and let them pass unmolested.

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I was only a small child during World War II, having been first placed upon this earth in late 1939, but there is a mental state that I can’t quite understand. I have a fondness for the music of that time, each tune edged with a feeling of nostalgia. A pre-schooler nostalgic for Glenn Miller and Vera Lynn eighty years later … how did that happen?

But this morning here I am, playing songs I couldn’t possibly have cared about but do.

And old English movies with the RAF going out time after time to try to do the impossible … and getting it done. Or the courage of the British citizenry in dealing with the blitz and the rationing and the uncertainty of whether all of this would ultimately do any good. Or the millions of goodbyes all over the world as soldiers, sailors, airmen leave behind all that they know and love for the horror that is war.

I learned about courage from those movies, and even at this long distance now from that period of history, it is still my idea of what that word means.

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I arose this morning with a quest in mind – let me find the most ironic thing I can before breakfast. Almost immediately the universe provided J.D. Vance and his attacks on the 24 year Army service record of Tim Walz. Former Minnesota governor Jesse Ventura put it into perspective in this interview. I especially liked the part about Vance’s running mate, ex-President Bonespurs.

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From The New Yorker

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But enough of this meandering. It is Sunday morning and it may be that the convection oven that has been this summer is finally dialing back on its heat. Robin and I could actually go outdoors yesterday afternoon without wilting, stroking out, or having to scuttle desperately from one air-conditioned space to another.

Tomorrow we will have the pleasure of riding with grandson Aiden on the 1882 steam-powered train that runs from Durango to Silverton. He happened to mention one day that he would like to do this trip with us and that was all it took to get it on the schedule. We’re looking forward to it. Someone said a while back that Colorado was geologically blessed, and everything we know about this train ride suggests that we will get an eyeful.

It takes all day to do the round trip, three hours up and three back with a nearly three-hour layover in Silverton. We’ll see. If there is anything worth looking at I may bring back a photo or two to share.

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