At what point do all of the awful misjudgments, illegalities, consorting with enemies, abandonment of principles, and corruption begin to add up to what constitutes high crimes and misdemeanors?
How much damage does Cluck have to do to our country before he is thrown unceremoniously out of the office, and all of the locks changed on the doors behind him?
How bad do things have to get before Democrats are willing to do more than puff and splutter? These fractious times call more for our elected representatives to stand up like this heroic man in Tiananmen Square did.
Members of Congress need to begin acting more like Winston Churchill and less like Neville Chamberlain. To see clearly what is happening. To take their oaths to the Constitution as the deadly serious promise that they made.
“I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter. So help me God.”
If Cluck and his minions are not enemies of our Constitution I confess I don’t know what would be. In only three months they have done more damage to our government, to our reputation among the countries of the world, and to our national economy than I would have believed possible in so short a time.
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Sunday was like the unofficial first day of spring here in Paradise. The municipal golf course near our home was jammed, and so many motorized carts were in use that I actually saw someone pulling their clubs along in the ancient way, in a two-wheeled cart. Knowing the aversion to physical exertion that is the hallmark of the typical golfer, I wonder that the industry hasn’t gone the full mile and attached some sort of arm to the electric cart that will swat the ball for you into a perfect AI-guided arc. That way one would never have to leave the conveyance.
We dropped down to Riverside Park and found hundreds of people enjoying the day wandering on the paths or playing with their children on safely rounded-off equipment. Walking on the main path was like being in the middle of the Westminster Dog Show, with scores of canines being led around by harassed-looking owners. One particular woman seemed at the mercy of the Siberian Husky she had on leash and which was leading her wherever it wanted to go.
One young man was attempting to lead three strong animals. Watching this foursome reminded me of those gruesome scenes in old movies where a captive is dispatched by tying arms and legs to four horses … .
One grove of trees along the river was the place of origin of a chorus of red-winged blackbird calls and chatterings, the first such avian music this year. Lovely to hear.
It was a warm enough day that the aroma of last year’s dry leaves was everywhere in the park. Water levels in the Uncompahgre River were at the lowest we’ve seen them in a long time. Still pretty but not enough to float a raft or kayak.
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From The New Yorker
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The idea of self-denial during Lent seems to be fading in the general population, although I have no data to support my conclusion. It used to be that in almost any conversation during this part of the church year the phrase “What are you giving up for Lent?” came up. Haven’t heard it in years.
Personally, when I gave up alcohol almost twenty years ago I figured that this punched my Lenten card for the rest of my life. I had already stopped smoking a pipe, which had been a serious blow to my mental health (although my cough went away).
Enough was enough, said I. If I’m going to be sober and smoke-free, giving up one more thing for Lent would only turn me into a bitter man and an unfit person to be with.
As long as you brought up pipe-smoking … you didn’t … well, anyway, as long as we’re on the subject, that is one bad habit that I think back on fondly. I loved the rituals, rounding up the tools and equipment, ordering exotic tobaccos from British and Dutch companies, making my own blends … there I go, drooling on the keyboard. Buying a new pipe had taken on an almost religious significance. The patterns in the briar, the shape and size of the bowl, the materials used in the stem … ahhhh … those were the days.
The fact that I was basically a noxious cloud of secondary smoke on two feet never entered my mind. I smoked in automobiles, in restaurants, on airplanes, while making rounds in hospital. Really unbelievable, nest-ce pas? Now that I am so much closer to perfection as a human being I can look back on those days and say Tsk, tsk, what a bonehead!
(BTW, on the subject of smoking on commercial aircraft, it was only last October that the FAA did away with a rule that required an off-switch on the No Smoking sign on planes.)
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From The New Yorker
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I’ve learned something new this year, and it’s only March. If a group invites a politician to a “town hall,” and the invitee senses an uncomfortable evening and tells them to go ______ themselves, the group then sometimes holds the meeting without them and calls it an empty chair town hall.
Sweet.
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Here’s what it looked like when we attended such a town hall Monday evening via computer. The program originated in Colorado Springs.
You can see the cardboard man in front of the room. He represented Jeff Crank, the absent invitee. There were 250 people in the room and another 650 online. Good turnout on just a week’s notice.
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Little Home In The Valley 