Amanda Gorman

Oh say can you see our democracy

In our time of confusion

In search of our constitution

Under attack 

Our capital depleted, nearly deleted

 Oh say can you see our democracy

For we seem to have misplaced it

Almost erased it

In days of delusion
In a daze, disillusioned

Oh say can you see our democracy
With amazing grace
You captured the flag
Of an imperfect union divided

Oh say can you see our democracy
We stared at your flame
As you drew our picture
We were drawn to you

Oh say can you see our democracy
With the exuberance of youth
With searing truths
You see to shining sea

Oh say can you see our democracy
As we can see yours
As you can be yours
As we so need yours
As we feed off yours
In deed yours
Indeed yours
In your red, white blue and black yours
On our teeming shores yours

Four score and more yours

Forever more yours

With grateful thanks yours

Today Was A Good Day

 Finally a day of inspiration, not desperation. Of celebration, not  desecration. Of restoration, not decimation.  Of preservation, not detonation. Of dedication, not defamation.

After we wiped off the dirt of Donald Trump's ignominious departure, we gave ourselves to those who were there to remind us that there was a better tomorrow possible. There was a seriousness of purpose that had disappeared in the miasma that hung over this nation during the dystopian era (error). There was the look of pure joy on the face of Kamala Harris, the soaring notes of Lady Gaga that touched the sky and grabbed our hearts. There was the majesty of listening to our young poet laureate whose words were at once profound and prodigious. 

And there was Joe. Telling it to us straight, the truth ringing loud after having disappeared behind a hurricane of lies seemingly forever. And though his thoughts of unity were likely met with derision in many quarters, they were the thoughts we needed if ever we are to continue our experiment in governing. We have so much to tackle. But at least we finally have someone willing to try to meet our problems with a clear mind and a heart that has not been turned to stone.

I am often brought to tears and yesterday they flowed almost from the first moment we viewed the assembled at the very place where a fortnight earlier we had exposed a malevolence we thought impossible. Democracy literally under attack, the attempted cannibalization playing out in front of our horrified and unbelieving gaze.

The chaos now replaced with order, the hatred now replaced with, if not pure love, at least the absence of hate. The long night now over and the dawning of a new day upon us.

Even as we remain sheltered against the ongoing storm, it is safe to dream once more. Even as we have uncertain moments ahead, there is reason to hope. Even as we climb out of a deep hole we can see the shining light, the promise that awaits at journey's end.

Today was a good day. It has been so long since we could say that.

Today was a good day.

Grateful

After spending the last four years in search of an exorcist, this nation now has turned its exhausted being, its bruised soul in the direction of one who fills us not so much with hope as he does a sense of calm. An antidote to the pulsing stomach ache that has seemed perpetually attached to our core.

We have been tethered to the psychiatrist's couch for so long, we have to remember what it felt like before it felt like this.Today we awake with the certain knowledge that come this afternoon all evidence of the stain upon the White House will have been removed, fumigated and disinfected. Tomorrow no longer but an illusion. For tomorrow is today.

I wish Mr. Biden well. I know the task before him is enormously hard as he must simultaneously attempt to heal us physically, emotionally and fiscally. It seems a job required  not of one man but many. The headwinds will be fierce, the path ahead strewn with landmines.The days to come testing the limits of our patience and his resolve. But, if we are lucky, and God knows we are entitled to a little good luck, we will begin ever slowly to regain our equilibrium.

For now, we are just grateful. Grateful that the moving truck has packed up the ego of Mr. Trump and is transporting it to his cave, to a place of perpetual darkness where he can do us less damage. Grateful that Mr. Rogers has moved into our Neighborhood, put on his sweater and his slippers and will soon settle in.

Grateful that the nightmare is over. And that we can finally open our eyes.

The Rear View Mirror

 I have railed. I have ranted. I have marched. I have written. And written. And written. And written.

And in the end, it was not what I did or what I said. Nor anything you did or said. This all came tumbling down because of one man and one man alone.

It was not because he insulted Mexicans. Or banned Muslims. Not because he abandoned the climate treaty. Not because he broke our pact with Iran. Not because he sidled up to Putin or had a love affair with Kim Jong-un. Not because of unwinnable trade wars. Not because he found John McCain lacking or insulted the memory of dead veterans. Not because he didn't want to get his hair wet in the rain or because of a perfect conversation that was anything but. Not because of children locked in cages. Not because of Robert Mueller. Not because of Congressional subpoenas. Not because of Michael Cohen or Stormy Daniels. Not because of his hate affair with Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer, Adam Schiff, or the media. Not because of his opening up pipelines or closing national parks. Not because he didn't give a damn about clean air. Not because he wanted the vote suppressed. Not because he tweeted instead of governed. Not because he listened to the counsel of Fox News. Not because he allowed Rudy Guiliani to run free. Not because he was a pathological liar. Not because he was a narcissist. Not because he demanded fealty to him and not to country. Not because he surrounded himself with those equipped only to destroy rather than protect. Not because he loved to create divisions. Not even because he was impeached. 

All of these matters were of Donald Trump's own doing. These were not unprovoked enemy attacks. He picked his fights. He chose his enemies. Those he knew he could challenge without serious repercussion. He decided his friends. Those who welcomed a democracy that did not challenge their methods. He did not have to govern his way out of crisis. Rather he merely had to create issues, amplify them and then move on. Protected by a party that could not afford to abandon him. Or adversaries too weak to wound him. Or old enemies more than willing to play pretend friends.

But that all changed when the first and only true crisis, not of his own creation, emerged. Coronavirus was not a foe that Donald Trump went looking for. It was not selected by him.. It did not have an agenda. It did not have to be careful how it approached the President. It did not have to hide its hatred, its weapon of mass destruction. Donald Trump did not manufacture this problem. Rather, Covid 19 landed in his lap.

This time, it would take actual leadership. It would not respond to threats of annihilation. It could not be dissuaded by tweets. It was not looking to compromise. It was not coming at us, at Donald Trump from a point of weakness.

And Mr. Trump had no answers. He was not prepared for actual battle. He spent the first three years of his presidency playing at the role. Now, faced with the reality of his office, he flailed.

He sent all the wrong messages. He took all the wrong steps. When he actually needed the experts to guide his hand, he bit their's instead. When the situation called for calm, for a clear head, Donald Trump instead relied upon the only voice he could call forth; shrill, grating and wholly unresponsive to the dictates of the moment.

If only Donald Trump had met the Coronavirus with even a hint of competency, he would not be trying to put together a foursome for a tee time in Florida later this week. If he did not allow this disease the space it needed to spread out, but had attempted, no matter how successfully, to limit its growth, he would be contemplating Ivanka's candidacy in 2024.

Donald Trump's Achilles heel was not his ego, his laziness, his thousand errors upon a thousand errors. It was the great misfortune in actually being called upon to govern. A task for which he has no weapons in his arsenal.

But for Covid 19, all else would have been forgiven. But for the terrible, terrible tragedy of this disease, tomorrow would have been the beginning of the second term. And maybe the beginning of the end of our democracy.

The Secret Handshake

 I am driving my wife and son a little nuts. Maybe more than a little. Ok, so that is not anything new.  A dog bites man story. But this time is worse.

I am chasing after the secret handshake. You know, the one that lets me in that door. The one I can't figure out.

I try not to be frantic, to accept reality and soldier on. But it is difficult. A rumor here. An email there. I see it happening an inch out of my reach. What am I missing?

My son is an absolute genius at chasing down leads. At finding the answers that elude others. For years I have marvelled at his capabilities. I just get out of the way and await his direction. 

But there are limits, even for him.

A nation lines up for its shot at freedom. Release from the shackles that have kept us encumbered. One small step through that door. One large step back into life.

There has been a mental and physical pandemonium these past weeks as we line up for the promise of tomorrow. In folding chairs we await salvation. With fingers doing an endless dance, searching, searching, always searching for the secret handshake. At three in the morning. When no one else is looking. Where no one else is looking.

We have spent the better part of a year being patient, being scared, being always ready to retrieve the existence we left behind. And then came the rollout. 

It has been the poster child of what the last four years have entailed. Haphazard. The only rule seeming to be there are no rules. It has been, in some ways, harder to accept than the disease itself.

Thinking the stone you left unturned was the one where the secret code was hidden.

Those meaning well only amplifying the angst. Leading me on paths ending always at a brick wall.

I have to be zen about this. There is no point in making myself, in making those I love, upset with the reality of the moment. As our soon to be golfing President so famously and so wisely instructed us in the midst of the explosion he vastly amplified with his incompetence and gross distortions, "it is what it is."

And so it is.

But you will have to excuse me now. I have to take leave of you as I haven't checked that site that someone said someone else said holds the key to the kingdom.

The secret handshake.

My Way

 And now the end is near 

As I sit among the ruins

And so I contemplate 

A winning loss not of my doin'

For when they added up

They counted wrong of that I'm certain

But now its come to this, the final curtain

Regrets, no none for me, 

Regrets are just for losers

Oh maybe I have one 

Michael Pence the goddamn Hoosier

For he with just one word

Could have saved my big assed bacon

He said he did love me but he was fakin'

They said I said some words

And that I caused an insurrection

But I just said the truth

That I had won the damn election

And so some raised a fuss

But it was not at my direction 

So no don't dare blame me for their

defection

And soon I'll pack it up

Well I'll leave that chore to others

I'll leave with my head high

I served you well, like you're my brothers

And if I cheated some

That's just too bad so stop you're crying

For I just tell the truth and I'm not lying

I loved my time up here

Up on the stage without a wire 

But now they say I lost

And now it's just a funeral pyre

And I will say goodbye

And head down that lonesome highway

But just remember this I did it my way

So just remember this I did it my way

The Learning Curve

 Over the past two years and four months (my current age) I first learned how to sit up, then to crawl, to stand, to walk and now to run, hop and jump. I initially mastered how to drink out of a bottle, then to hold the bottle myself and now to drink from a cup. I listened to stories being read to me, then I started looking at the books, now I can recite nearly all the words to some of these tales. I know my letters and colors. I can count to very big numbers. I sing songs. I dance. I can dress myself. I have a sense of humor. I try my best to always be polite. I have made a lot of friends. I am potty trained.

Two years and four months ago I could do nothing. I knew nothing. See how far I have come.

Mr. Trump, what have you learned over that time?

Some people were never intended for higher office.

What If There Had Been No Attack On The Capitol?

 In a different universe, one in which Donald Trump made the exact same exhortations to those assembled before him, where his communications in the days before last Wednesday had been as lethal as they indeed were, but the crowd had not stormed the Capitol, had not caused such destruction and mayhem but had instead merely screamed and chanted, waved their confederate flags, wore their repulsive shirts and showed their colors of hate, then his demands of insurrection would have gone wholly unpunished and largely unnoted.

And that is how the end of his reign would have sounded. Once more taken seriously by us but not literally. Or literally but not seriously.

We have spent four years as bystanders to the destruction of democracy. Inch by inch, step by step, brick by brick, our house was being torn down. Sedition not an act of spontaneous combustion but one that unfolded in agonizingly slow motion. This but the culmination of all that preceded.

A crime four years in the making. In front of our eyes.

It should never have come to the events of a week ago. Never. And it would never have come to where we are in the early morning hours of January 13, 2021, calling in urgent voice for his immediate removal from our lives, had the ending at the Capitol been written by a mob that had not breached the inner sanctum, had not damaged the very heart of our  being. 

What is now transpiring  in the Halls of Congress is not, is not, predicated on the actions of Donald Trump but rather on the reactions of those who burst the dam.

But for... How could that possibly be the correct answer to the question posed?

Mr. Trump's Very Bad Week

 ("Patriot's Belichick Declines Honor From Trump" "Trump Golf Club Loses 2022 P.G.A. Championship")

It has indeed been a very bad week for Donald Trump. First the PGA. And now Bill Belichick.

Nancy Pelosi and her crew can go to Hell. The media is worthless. Pence, Congress, even the entire Republican party, not worth a lick. But rejection by the PGA and an NFL legend. Now that hurts.

As the world burned, our President worked on his short game. Truly, Mr. Trump's connection to golf, to sports, is far more tethered than that to the American people, to leading our nation.

I would venture a guess that during 2020, Mr. Trump spent more hours worried about the condition of his courses than he did concerned as to the course of our condition.

Donald Trump was a wannabe NFL owner, never quite joining the club despite his effort through Herschel Walker and the USFL. And the 2022 PGA Championship was to be the first time a Trump layout hosted a Grand Slam event.

Donald Trump craves the spotlight, the biggest stages, the loudest crowds. It is the very air he breathes. And being turned away by Mr. Belichick, arguably the best coach in the game, as well as by the Tour, was, I know you may find this hard to fathom, possibly the low point in the last year for der Fuhrer.

For when Mr. Trump takes his hair and his derriere out of the White House in a bit more than a week, his list of playmates will have dwindled. And there is nothing worse for Donald Trump than having to play alone.

The Battle Grim for the Republic

 Mine eyes have seen the story of the coming of the horde

They have spat upon our nation as they've broken down our doors

In disbelief and horror we have watched our truths ignored

Oh can we be restored

Glory, glory lies in ruin

There's no glory in what you're doin'

You and all your misconstruin'

Our truths lay at death's door

And in your eyes there's burning nothing but a hatred great

And on the streets you foment as you try to change our fate

But know that God's not looking for you at the pearly gate

His grace does not await

You have struck a fearsome blow to democracy its true

You have trampled on our colors, the red, the white and blue

You have wounded with your wrath as you had pledged to do

But yours was a failed coup

For glory will not fall to ruin

Glory will rise despite your doin'

And you have failed at misconstruin'

For we will rise once more

Glory, glory hallelujah!

Glory, glory hallelujah!.

Glory, glory hallelujah!.

For we will rise once more