May 4, 2020--Hilary Murray

On a gray day, on a chilly day, on a grumpy day, at the Bristol Diner in Bristol, Maine, Hilary Murray and her husband Paul would arrive pooled in sunlight. 

By her presence, by her very being, she would brighten the room.

Look at her smile and see if you agree.

She died on April 4th. 

Some time it takes the local news a week or two to find its way to New York City, but if you are patient it finally does. Before then, though, if you paid close attention, you would have sensed a disturbance among the planets.

I am sad we weren't there to say goodbye. But I know the next time we are spread out in our booth, even in the rain, especially in the rain, a flicker of Hilary's light will still be with us.

April 22, 2020--Our Friend Ken Longe

We had been having coffee at the diner in Bristol, Maine with Ken Longe for the longest time before he began to show inordinate interest in our fireplace.

"You have a fireplace, don't you?" he said.

The first time he asked we didn't pay much attention. We were still sharing growing-up stories--his in Andover, Massachusetts ours in Brooklyn. Though we had been renting a place for the season in Pemaquid and had known Ken for three or four months and a friendship was emerging, there was a lot remaining to share.

"Is it a big one?" He spread his arms to indicate the fireplace's possible width. 

"That's about right," Rona said.

"And does it draw good?" Ken asked.

"Yes," I said, "We can make quite a fire."

We moved on to other subjects. Labor Day was approaching. 

"We're starting to get ready to leave," Rona said. "You know how much there is to do. Though we're just renters and since we've been here three or four months we really got settled in and now have to restore the house to the way we found it."

"It's been cold," Ken said. "Have you been comfortable?

"We have a couple of electric heaters and as I mentioned we get pretty good heat from the fireplace. It warms most of the living room. So we're OK."

"Why then don't you stay a little longer? Though you might not be able to make it all the way to Thanksgiving, it would get to be pretty cold, that would be nice. You could do fine the month of September and even October. It's my favorite time of year. The leaf-peppers show up but otherwise its real quiet. And it's interesting to watch the seasons change."

"Maybe if we come back next year," Rona said. "I wouldn't mind being here to observe that." The house was for sale and we were thinking seriously about trying to buy it.

We drifted on to other subjects. That morning might have been the one when we had our first tentative discussion about political things. It was well before there was Trump to talk about. It was more than ten years ago and Obama was president. From some earlier tentative probings we all knew we weren't on the same page about him and politics more generally. Without discussing it we knew to stay off the subject. At least for a time.

A few mornings later, at about 5:30, with the sun in pastels rising over Johns Bay, with Rona still sleeping and me reading about Abraham Lincoln and the history of slavery in the  U.S., I was startled to hear what sounded like serious thumping on the roadside porch. I thought it must be some large animal. We had seen deer on the water side of the cottage. Could it be that one was wandering around probing to see if there was anything in the vicinity good to eat. 

Or, was it an intruder? We rarely locked any of our doors even when sleeping and so the big-city boy in me tensely began to make plans to scare away or perhaps confront whoever or whatever it was. 

I debated if I should wake Rona and get her to a secure place before dealing with what was going on out there. I made enough noise putting on my pants and shoes to wake her. In an instant she too was alert and on guard. This was not what we wanted to be happening a few days before leaving and while simultaneously negotiating a potential sale price with the owner. 

If we were in some sort of danger there is no way we would be comfortable being in the house, even with the doors locked. We had enough anxiety living in New York's City. We were thinking about the possibility that Maine could be an alternative to that. With someone perhaps about to break into what would be our hideaway house, that sense of refuge was evaporating.

Rona whispered that I should back off and let the situation resolve itself. But recklessly oblivious to the danger, I ignored her, thinking I could scare away the deer or whatever by just making enough noise from inside the house.

So I stomped down the hall to where a window looks out over the front porch. Perhaps I could catch a glimpse of what was going on and raise a protective clamor. 

In the car park area there was an unfamiliar pickup truck. At least it wasn't a bear, I thought, and continued to made enough of a ruckus to be heard outside. I thought, hopefully, that would scare away the intruder. 

Rona in the meantime was moving to dial 911.

With that I saw someone, a tall, slender man in a blue windbreaker, trudging up the front steps. It was still half light and I couldn't make out who it was or what he was carrying. Though it was clearly something quite large.

It was Ken I then realized with a bundle of firewood cradled in his arms.

Relieved, I raced to the front door.

"Ken," I half-shouted, all excited and breathing again, "What are you doing? Let me help you." I saw firewood in the bed of his truck.

He waved me off. "I'm almost done," he said.

"Done with what?" I said.

He had already stacked what looked like half  a cord on the deck and neatly added those he was carrying to the pile.

"The other morning at the diner," he said, "I was asking you about why you were going back to New York so soon."

"I remember that," I said.

"Well you told me you had a big fireplace and I thought if you had enough firewood to keep things cozy you might stay longer." He said this, avoiding eye contact.

"That is incredibly generous," I finally said, "You've been so--" I didn't finish the thought.

"You can help me with the rest of the load," he said. With the two us working side-by-side we were done in five minutes.

"Can I at least get you a you cup of coffee?" I said.

By then Rona had joined us and she gestured toward the house. "I'll have some brewed in a moment."

"Better yet," he said, "Meet me later at the diner and buy me a cup," he winked, "I want to talk about that Obama fellow." 

Some months later, after completing the purchase of the house, when a few of our New York friends asked what motivated us to do so I told them this story. 

Some got it. Others, didn't. It nonetheless is the truth.

Ken Longe

September 26, 2019: Colonoscopies

Someone asked me to repost this. It's from June 2017--

It used to take at least a half hour before any of us would mention colonoscopes. Now we get to it right away. Even before we are served our first cup of coffee.

Just yesterday we not only talked about them but also bladder infections, melanoma, detached retinas, atrial fibrillation, shingles, abscessed molars, Hashimoto's Disease, and kidney stones.

And of course we share health insurance, doctor, and hospital stories. Few of them good.

My colonoscopy story was about my recent visit to a new internist. After taking my medical history and giving me a thorough examination, including a cardiogram, when he was done, he told me things look pretty good except for a heart murmur and my right hand tremors.

Ignoring that for a moment, I asked him about a colonoscopy. "I haven't had one in a few years," I said, "So maybe it's time . . ."

Before I could complete my thought, he said, "At your age we no longer recommend colonoscopies (he's a gastroenterologist no less) because no matter what we might find, at your age, you'll die of something else."

In a way that sounded good, but in truth, on reflection, not really.

I said, "I guess that gives me something to look forward to. Dying soon."

He doesn't have much of a sense of humor, or maybe his waiting room was full of patients and he didn't have time to schmooze, and so he barely smiled.

The cardiologist and neurologist he referred me too said pretty much the same thing--about the murmur, something else will get me before it becomes a problem; and the same for the tremor--"I'll write you a prescription for L-Dopa," he said, "And we'll hope for the best." He hardly needed to add, "that you'll die before . . ."

I stopped listening.

When I told the story to friends at the diner yesterday, one said, "This reminds me of a joke." We all groaned. Lou is not known to be a good joke teller. Undeterred though, he began, "Morty goes to his doctor who gives him his annual physical. When he's done, Morty asks, 'So how did I do?'

"The doctor says, 'Ten.'

 Confused, Morty asks, "'Ten what?' Years? Months? Days?'

"The doctor says, 'Ten, nine, eight, seven, six . . .'"

Not that bad a joke from Lou.

And of course everyone either has a new set of hearing aids or is about to get them. And so there's a lot of breakfast talk about that.

"Why do we always seem to be talking about medical issues?" Rona wondered. We were driving to the pharmacy to get my L-Dopa prescription refilled.

"Isn't it obvious?" I said. "We're all getting on in years and stuff happens."

"Wouldn't you think . . ." she began.

"And don't forget that Maine has the oldest population of all the 50 states. And our county, Lincoln, demographically, has the nation's oldest residents."

The next time we were at Deb's Bristol Diner, when even before the waitress arrived to take our order, Jim began to talk about his diabetes numbers, I said, "Not to sound unsympathetic, but maybe we should try to talk about something not medical."

Jim who is not the sensitive type, without attitude, said, "What would you recommend?"

"A book, gardening, or maybe Donald Trump."

He said, "I rather have a colonoscopy."

September 23, 2019--Jack's Coffee On Rona

"I got to admit I never read the Constitution cover to cover."

"Well, you should," I said to Jack. "If you want to pretend to be a true conservative you should have it memorized. Conservatives are always boasting how they follow it religiously and wave it around like it was Mao's Red Book, but of course ignore it when it's convenient for them to do so. Like how now they  are ignoring the Congress's Constitutional power to provide oversight of the president and his administration. To hold him and them accountable for their actions."

"You're reading my mind," Jack said, sounding sober, "It's the so-called oversight function I want to talk about."

"This I have to hear," Rona muttered. We were at the Bristol Diner again having breakfast when Jack showed up. 

"The Constitution may call for this, but the way I look at things your people, though they are squealing like stuck pigs claiming Trump is not cooperating, actually prefer it this way so they can score some cheap political points by beating up on him for not going along with their call for copies of memos and emails and telephone records and the testimony of witnesses like former White House counsel, whatever his name is."

"McGahn."

"That's him."

"And your point other than to criticize the Democrats in the House who want to provide that legitimate oversight is . . .?"

"That they are coming off looking like wimps and crybabies."

"So, what would you have them do after admitting you haven't read the Constitution and don't know why our Founders built Congressional oversight and checks and balances into our system?"

"To make sure our presidents don't become tyrants."

"Very good, Jack," I said, "I'm impressed. That's basically right. We had just fought a war of independence against England which was ruled by what our colonial leaders saw to be a corrupt monarch. George III. They didn't want to see the United States go down a similar path. It was more complicated than that but you got the essence of it. So what's your problem?"

"It's really your problem. I'm trying to help you guys out."

"That'll be the day," Rona said, not looking up.

Without missing a beat, Jack said, "No really. Though we disagree about pretty much everything, I enjoy arguing back and forth with both of you guys. It keeps me sharp."

"That should only be," Rona said.

"If you want to have a useful conversation about this," I said, "you need to get your facts right. Then we can exchange views. But without agreeing about some facts we can't do that."

"Let's try that," Jack said, "I'm in that kind of mood this morning. Not for us to rag on each other but to see if we can find some common ground. Because to tell you the truth I don't like what Trump seems to have done with the president of the Ukraine. To blackmail him to get dirt on Biden and his son. Look, I want to see Biden lose but not by having foreign governments involved in our elections. That's my view and should be for all conservatives who believe in democracy."

"I can't believe my ears," Rona said, looking up.

"So," Jack said to the two of us, "I know why you're upset about the Ukraine, but isn't the oversight business among Democrats in the House mainly political posturing?"

"I'm glad we can at least agree about Ukraine," I said, "The oversight function, as I said, is more complicated but at least equally outrageous and dangerous."

"Why dangerous?"

"Because Trump by refusing to cooperate with Congress when they try to apply checks and balances is in fact attacking the Constitution itself. Our government itself. If you look at the actual Constitution, Congress, really the House of Representatives, is given the preeminent role in our three-part governmental system, which as you know, in addition to Congress, is the executive branch (the president and his administration) and the federal courts. But by refusing to cooperate with Congress's legitimate oversight function Trump is wanting to make the executive branch preeminent. To in effect do away with Congress to gather more power to himself. To be fair, and I know I'm rattling on, previous presidents have done various things to weaken the hands of Congress and even the courts. Roosevelt, for example, wanted to pack the Supreme Court to get it to rule in favor of his New Deal programs. Happily for the sake of checks and balances, that didn't work out. Quite a few Democrats, members of his own party, opposed Roosevelt. Which should be a lesson for today's Republicans as Trump's threat to our system is so total and serious."

"I need to think about this," Jack said. "I must admit that some of what you're saying rings true and is disturbing. But don't get your hopes up," he added quickly, "I'm still a Trumpian, but I need to think about this because I don't want to see our democracy undermined. I have to admit that there are signs that this is happening. I don't want us to get involved in another civil war. That we don't need.

Rona said, "I may be hallucinating but I'm paying for your coffee this morning."

September 10, 2019--Jack: Elizabeth Warren

A quivering Jack slid into the banquette next to me.

"You seem all excited this morning."

"Why shouldn't I be," he said to me. Rona had her head buried in the Times.

"Because the hurricane didn't strike Alabama?"

"I can't believe people are still talking about that," Jack said, "What's the big deal?"

"It shows Trump as either geographically challenged or unhinged."

"Could be both," I added with a snicker.

"Or maybe as you wrote," he turned to face me squarely, "That he's trying to nudge Alabamans to replace their Democratic senator with a Republican."

"A sexual predator no less."

Ignoring that, he said, "Look, I only have a minute. Let me get to what I want to talk with you about."

"What's got you all excited?"

"The latest CBS poll. I read about it this morning and raced right over to see you."

"I didn't see it yet," I said, "Enlighten me."

"It has Poca . . . I mean Elizabeth Warren in the lead. About one point ahead of Biden. But still in the lead."

"I thought you were ignoring polls," from behind the paper, Rona said, "It's too early blah, blah, blah. The polls don't capture Trump's people accurately, blah, blah, blah."

"This one's a little different," Jack said, "It tallies . . ."

"To save you time, let's agree that you're now interested in polls because they contain news you like."

"I'll acknowledge that," he said, smiling, "But let me tell you what this one shows."

"Go on," Rona sounded weary.

"It projects the delegate count. How delegates to the Democratic convention will vote for the various candidates. It shows Warren with slight leads over Biden and Bernie. What's interesting is that Biden's and Sanders's numbers are holding steady while Warren is picking up delegates from other candidates' supporters. Candidates like Kamala Harris and Beto O'Rourke who are slipping further and further behind."

"This whole thing feels bogus to me," I said, "As far as I know no one yet knows who the delegates are going to be. So how can they be polled?"

Jack didn't respond, so I asked, "What else do you have on your mind? There must be more than this flimsy material."

"I'll admit this polling business is a little technical for me, but you have to agree that Warren is doing better and better."

"It does look like that. But why this sudden interest in Warren? I assume she's not one of your favorites."

"It means if she somehow holds on and wins the nomination get ready for four more years of The Donald."

"My recurrent nightmare," Rona said, still using the paper as a scrim.

"Don't be so gleeful," I said, "Polls still show Biden with pretty good leads. Of likely voters not fictitious delegates. In fact, in the early primary states--Iowa and South Carolina among others--Biden appears to be increasing his lead. And they show him trouncing Trump."

Jack said, "But if Warren wins the nomination Trump gets reelected. After Hillary do you think this country's ready for a woman?"

"I do," I said, "And polls, again polls, show that."

"But this woman? Warren wants Medicare for all, the end of private health insurance, student loan forgiveness--a trillion dollar item--free college--another trillion--open borders, including free food stamps and health insurance for even illegal immigrants. And more trillions, I think it adds up to three trillion, for climate change. I could go on. If she wins the nomination I can hear Trump saying, 'Thank you, thank you. There is a God,'"

"Be careful what you wish for," Rona had folded and put down the paper. "She was supposed to get killed when she first ran for the Senate in Massachusetts but won overwhelmingly. And now we're seeing her rising in the polls and doing very well when it comes to raising money for her campaign."

"Speaking of that," Jack said with a toothy grin, "Also in that paper of yours, on the front page," he tapped it where it lay on the table, "there's a story about how though she says she rejects the practice of going after wealthy donors she has been doing that for years and as a result has tens of million stashed away in her campaign war chest. What a hypocrite. I can't wait until the Republicans and the media get their hands on that."

"Funny, about that," I said, "I come to a totally different conclusion."

"I'm all ears."

"It shows me she's pragmatic. Not just an ideological policy wonk. She's in it to win it. That she's willingly to do what she has to do to gather the resources she needs to prevail. Even if it makes her vulnerable to the charge that she's 'just another politician.'"

"Like you're socialist friends you live in dreamland. I live in the real world where things are not so clear."

"And I live in a world," I said, "where Trump's approval ratings are slipping below 40 percent."

Jack had slid out of the booth and, without a goodbye, headed for the door.

September 4, 2019--You're In the Army Now

With John Allan we were having breakfast at the Bristol Diner and as so often happens a thought out of seemingly nowhere came up and off we went in a gyrating free association.

"How does one get admitted to West Point," I wondered.

"You can look it up later," John said. We had been talking about Ernest Hemingway and his alter ego Nick Adams. I have been on a tear recently, gobbling down as much Hemingway as possible. I hadn't read anything of his for at least 30 years and was enjoying the reconnection. I felt his best work was holding up better than I thought it might. His minimalist style still felt fresh and exciting.

And John had been reading John Updike's Beck books, Beck also is an alter ego and John and I had been comparing Updike's to Philip Roth's novels where there are also numerous alter egos. Especially the recurrent, ever agitating Nathan Zuckerman. 

Rona was reading Edward Hoagland, at John's recommendation, and though there are no alter egos apparent in his wonderful work, she was quite interested in the alter ego conversation. "Not many women alter egos that I can point to," she said, "It feels like a bit of a man's thing."

"Why is that?" John mused.

"Maybe you guys are not comfortable talking directly about your feelings and inner lives and so turn to alter egos to do so for you."

"What does this have to do with getting into West Point?" I said, tugging on us to turn to that.

"Maybe," Rona said, winking at John, "because it's boring compared to the book talk."

"Let him be," John came to my defense. "We'll get back to books."

"Back in your day," Rona said, "centuries ago--as a Jew growing up in Brooklyn, you were thinking Brooklyn College and dental school. Not West Point."

"True, not West Point but I was thinking Columbia and med school. Though I wound up as a Lit major. Go figure."

"I was just teasing you," Rona said. I knew I was sounding defensive.

"So how does a WASP from Texas get admitted to West Point?" John asked. "I too never thought about this. And I was a WASP from New Jersey but thought of myself as too intellectual to give any thought to going to college to learn how to operate a tank."

"But if either of us thought about trying to get into West Point," I asked, "how would that work? Actually, how does it work now? All the service academies are diverse these days. There are plenty of minorities and even women."

"Even women?" I knew that would not get by Rona.

"Actually, I think it's great that there is all that diversity."

"I do too," John and I said simultaneously.

"Look it up when you get home," John said, "Between us we probably know almost nothing about how the admission process works."

"One thing I think I remember is that you have to be recommended by a member of Congress."

John and Rona nodded and with that we turned back to book chat. This time to talk about Jean Shephard's In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash. Rona knew very little about Shephard and John, who was and is a fan, has been telling her about him and last week passed along his battered copy of the book for her to read.

"I also remember Mr. Inside and Mr. Outside!" I was all excited. 

"Huh?" Rona said.

"'Doc' Blanchard and Glen Davis. All American football players on the Army team. West Point. One ran through the line--Mr. Inside--and the other around the ends--Mr. Outside. The 1940s. I was a kid."

I was feeling very good about myself. John and Rona took to ignoring me and went back to talking about Jean Shepherd and storytelling.

Back at the house I did some googling.

Yes, one does need a nomination by a member of Congress or the Secretary of Defense, Vice President, or President. And one needs to take the SATs and do very well on the and in high school. Also, one has to submit a written application much the same as applicants do to any selective institution. And service academies such as the Naval Academy (and all operate the same way) require candidates to be interviewed. Also, athletics counts. It doesn't hurt to be a talented running back.

It is a very competitive process and is attractive to many because graduates earn bachelor of science degrees and there are no fees or tuition. Cadets in effect get a free ride but must agree to serve in the military for at least three years after graduating.

When I reported what I learned to Rona she said, "This sounds terrible."

"Really?"

"Do you think this is the best way for West Point and the others to select our further military leaders?"

"Sounds pretty rigorous to me."

"You trust members of Congress to make these decisions? To pay off local supporters by nominating their kids for West Point or the Air Force Academy? I think it a recipe for all sorts of corruption and malfeasance."

"You're probably right. I never thought about it this way. Sounds a little scary."

"Maybe this helps explain why we've been making such a mess around the world. We're not recruiting the best people for these essential roles."

Sorry I brought the whole thing up, I said, "So next time let's talk about Hemingway and Jean Shephard."

"Works for me," Rona said.

August 12, 2019--Jack: Women

Jack was waiting for us at the Bristol Diner. It was not as if we had an appointment to meet. In fact, I had been avoiding his texts and phone messages. I was trying to spend less time and energy thinking about, talking about Trump. There would be plenty of time for that, I thought, after Labor Day. It would still be more than a year until the election. Plenty of time for political talk. Yes, I had relapsed into Trump Fatigue. 

We were tempted to ignore Jack's patting on the banquette, signally he was holding two places for us. I whispered to Rona, "Maybe let's go to Crissy's. I'm not in the mood for Jack."

"I know what you're thinking," he said with a smile, "I promise not to keep you more than half an hour. Come, sit with me for a while."

And so reluctantly we shuffled over to him and slid into the booth.

"I'll just have coffee," I said to Sarah, "We can't stay very long today." Rona said the same.

Without so much as a hello Jack launched into his latest rant.

"I know you and your people care only about who can beat Trump. You're putting aside your concerns about where candidates stand on health care or immigration. You're whole focus is denying him a second term."

"That pretty much sums it up," I said, "Almost everyone I know is thinking about the election that way. There will be time for debates about policy after a Democrat is elected. I agree with Tom Friedman about that. He warns, if we want a revolution and Trump wins we will have a revolution not of our liking when, for example, he gets to appoint two more Supreme Court justices like Kavanaugh and Gorsuch."

"Though one thing," Jack said, "does show up on the screen with a lot of you guys."

"This I'm interested in hearing,"I said.

"With six women seeking the nomination, many of you this time around not only want to nominate a woman, but unlike with Hillary who turned out to be a terrible candidate, you want to elect one. Most realistic, considering the poll numbers, only two have a real chance of being nominated, with winning another story. Forget Gillibrand and Klobuchar. The only two who have a chance are Warren and Kamala Harris. At the moment they're the only ones close to Biden in the polls."

"That could be true," Rona said, "But I continue to wonder if America is open to having a woman as president. They tell pollsters that they are but I'm skeptical. Among other things by what he says and how he behaves Trump sanctions not only racism and white supremacy but also sexism. And in so doing exposes how extensive it still is."

Rona continued, "Even Trump's female supporters--and there are more of them than any liberal would like to acknowledge--can in their own way be quite sexist. Why else did so many of them vote for him rather than for the first woman to be the nominee of a major party? And don't tell me it was because Hillary was such an ineffective candidate or won the popular vote. The country's just not ready for a female president. Though with Biden unravelling because of gaffs, there could be a woman next in line."

I was surprised that both Rona and I were so easily drawn into political talk. Our fatigue was clearly not that deep seated.

"Let me give you an example," Jack said, "of why I too don't think you can elect a woman.

"I'm listening."

"So there was this terrible shooting in El Paso. And what happened? Joe Biden, Cory Booker, and that mayor from South Bend whose name I can never remember all gave major speeches about it. Booker even gave his from the pulpit of the church in South Carolina where there had been another massacre four years ago. Where a white guy targeted black people and where Obama spoke and sang 'Amazing Grace.'"

Jack paused and peered at us. "I see you're not getting it."

"Getting what?" I asked.

"What's missing from this picture?"

"Enlighten me."

"Women."

"Women?"

"Yes, Democrat women candidates."

"They spoke out," Rona said, "Among other things they accused Trump of being a racist and, even more seriously, a white supremacist. Which he is. I think you're splitting hairs. I felt they were very forceful. Very effective."

"But none of the women gave a speech. A big picture, presidential-style speech, one in which they put all the pieces together. About the history of racism in this country, about how various ethnic groups have been treated. They missed the opportunity that most of the leading male candidates--Sanders excepted--seized. To show how they would act if president and incidents of this kind occurred. As they surely will. These men not only made speeches of this kind but they also showed how they would behave as mourner-in-chief."

"I hate to agree with you," Rona said, "But, thinking about it now, I must admit the women may have missed an opportunity. My guess is that they didn't want to be stereotyped as emotional women by making a speech of this kind. That they didn't want to be perceived as being soft in a situation that calls for toughness."

"It calls for both," Jack said. "For sure it's a tricky line to straddle when a woman wants to show she can be both compassionate and tough-minded. Look at how Hillary got all tangled up in whether or not to vote for the war with Iraq. She eventually voted for it in large part to show she had cajones."

"Along with most other Democratic senators," I said, "Half of whom were thinking about running for president, she botched this and paid the price."

"So this wasn't so bad after all," Jack said.

"What wasn't?" I asked.

"Spending a little quality time with me." He laughed. "When was the last time we agreed about anything?"

Rona said, "I'm not sure we're agreeing now."

"Let's order some food," I said. "Sarah."

June 24, 2109--Jack: "Disproportunate"

Jack said, "How are you liking your president these days?" Without waiting for something snarky in return he added, "To me he's looking very presidential."

I hadn't seen Jack in a couple of weeks and with so much going on wasn't surprised he showed up at the diner where I was nursing a cup of coffee.

"As Trump put it, he's 'cocked and loaded.'"

"If he knew anything about guns he'd realize it's locked and loaded. Not cocked. But what does he know about guns? Or for that matter very much anything else?"


"I didn't know you were such a gun nut."

"I'm not and neither is he. He grew up in Queens New York for God sakes. The only people there with guns packed Saturday Night Specials."

"You're changing the subject because you don't want to acknowledge him as being presidential."

"This I have to hear."

"It's how he's finessing the Iran situation."

"You mean how he can't make up his mind what to do? Finessing is the last way I'd describe him. One minute he's drawing red lines in the sand and launching missiles, the next he's saying the Iranians shooting down one of our drones doesn't deserve a military response. After how he excoriated Obama for backing away from a red line of his own after the Syrians used chemical weapons on their own people while he blithely does the same thing is sheer hypocrisy. Not that I'm in favor of going to war with Iran over this. We haven't had much luck with war in the Middle East. Even candidate Trump realized that. It was the one few thing about which he was right."

Jack sighed, "You are so closed minded. Trump for you can never do anything right. But anyway, let me try to enlighten you."

Not in the mood but unable to restrain myself, in a weary voice I said, "Start by telling me how his most influential advisors come from Fox News. How Tucker Carlson is advising him not to get involved militarily. That if he does he'll lose the election next year. And Sean Hannity is putting pressure on him to launch strikes otherwise he'll look weak and lose his reelection bid. Trump actually listens to these people?"

"And who is keeping his own counsel? Trump asks their views and then follows his instincts and makes decisions. You call that irresponsible I call it presidential. And don't forget many previous presidents had their favorite reporters and columnists. I looked that up yesterday. Kennedy had Ben Bradley and also leaked information to the Time's Arthur Krock, who was on his father Joe Kennedy's payroll. And there are others. Many others. Like James Reston and the Alsop brothers. All presidential whisperers. So don't try to hang this one exclusively on Trump."

I said, "This is still no way to make foreign policy. Especially when it comes to matters of war and peace. I don't think any of the journalists you cite--and I give you credit for digging that out--advised presidents one way or the other when it came to launching military strikes. They dealt mainly in the political realm. Offering political advice and clearing the way for their presidents. It was straight use-use. Not that Carlson and Hannity are above that. Using Trump to build ratings."

"With this," Jack said, "Trump is having it two ways. On the one hand he threatens to attack Iran and this makes him seem tough."

"With emphasis on the 'seem.'"

"And then he shows moderation," Jack said, "saying he pulled back the attack when he was told 150 Iranians would be killed. He didn't want that blood on his hands. He wanted to appear to be compassionate."

I said, "He tweeted that he didn't want to do anything 'disproportionate.' Shooting down an unarmed drone doesn't cause any deaths."

"What's your problem with that? I thought you'd like your president not to be casual about a loss of life."

"I'm very OK with that. Using force only as a last resort. But this didn't qualify. My problem is his not having a clear, coherent plan so that both our allies and opponents would know what to expect. That, as in this case, we won't inadvertently stumble into a real war."

"Again," Jack said, "I think this is exactly what Trump is doing."

"That's not how I see it. In fact, I'm suspicious of the whole thing. A tipoff for me is his use of the word 'disproportionate.'"

"You have a problem with that? I thought you would see it to be a good thing. Evidence that Trump has a better temperament than he is given credit for."

"A couple of things. First, it appears he endorsed a cyber attack on the Iranians. Not bloody but still an act of war. And then again there's his use of the word 'disproportionate.' Do you really think that's in his vocabulary? Does it sound like the Donald Trump we know?"

"Picky, picky. What will you guys come up with next."

"It reveals to me," I said, "that what we are witnessing is pure fabrication conjured up in his favorite place--the White House basement Situation Room. TV producer that he is he's creating a screenplay. He's spinning out one that's more reality TV than reality. And as in all thrillers this one too has a scene where everyone in danger at the last minute gets pulled back from the brink by a super hero. None other than Donald Trump."

"Again," Jack said, "I don't see why this is making you so crazy. To me it shows him acting responsibly."


"It shows him playing with, not dealing seriously with his awesome commander-in-chief responsibilities."

"I give up," Jack said fully exasperated.

"Good," I said, "Now I can concentrate on my coffee and try to get Trump out of my head."

February 18, 2019--Seething Sort of Muted Rage

A great friend, Jill Davenport, sent the following note late last week. 

She attached a posting from the Daily Kos blog which, as you can see, brought her to a calmer place when thinking about the state of our politics and nation.

It did the same for me and I thought it might do so for you. So here it is--

Morning, Steven . . . 

This piece from Kos made me think about you and Rona and your Bristol Diner breakfasts.  I sincerely hope that this is not a piece of fiction designed to give some respite to those of us who are weary from the constant whiplash of hope risen and hope dashed.  And it gives something of a pass to the MAGA-hats who were duped and who now seem redeemable.  No passes given out for the vultures sitting in Congress, though, nor to those who profit from the sweat of others.   

Sorry to press this upon you.  It’s an easy read and well-written despite the author’s insistence that he can’t write "too good."  He writes good.  The piece has put me into a calmer place where I can look upon the impending "National Emergency” as a “go ahead and do it” proposition.  Any touchstone for hope will work for me--

--We the 99% got money issues to worry about.

So yeah I’m not usually a dairist here, and my writing skills leave something to be desired. I’m analog and not very digital and fat fingers can produce interesting grammatical errors that leave the more gifted wincing, not to mention spelling. My mind out races my fingers frequently and I rarely think to edit.  Consider this your warning about wondering narrative ahead. It’s tax time, and Trump time, and valentines night out for a lot of people isn’t happening this year. Trigger warning: I am going to give you some actual conversation as verbatim as I can.

Some might find this offensive.

So I have finally gotten all the snow cleared from where I didn’t want it, cleared a space for the danger doofus doggo to do her business without freezing tender areas and was very hungry and did not want to cook and wanted biscuits and gravy with two over-easy on top. So off to the local greasy spoon I went. The place was packed with guys like me 40+ white working class/farmers, hey it’s rural Wisconsin, and they were all bitching about one thing. Taxes. 

It wasn’t the quietly disgruntled sort of mildly irritated bitching. It was a seething sort of muted rage that comes from people who are seriously pissed and are looking for someone to blame kind of bitching.

Then ol’ Chuck Grassley appears on the TV pontificating about taxes. Ho Boy. Spark meet gasoline. Even the owner and waitresses lost their shit. I think “Bald faced fucking liar” was the mildest term I heard used and that was a waitress.

Could be wrong though. It was loud. 

Everyone and I do mean every single person in that establishment started comparing just what they had to cough up in taxes or just how small their return was going to be if they got one compared to last years. People were going to be short 5k minimum on their refunds. Others were in the hole to the IRS up to 12k. Vacations were being canceled. Repairs and purchases are being postponed. Vehicles are not going to be purchased. 

Then the farmers started bitching about who they were going to sell soybeans to. What should they plant? Corn? Soybeans? It’s time to order seed you know. How can I make a profit if I can’t sell what I grow? Is this China shit going to be sorted out soon? Who gives a fuck about a border wall I need fucking laborers. Does that fat orange bastard really know what the fuck he’s doing? 50% of these people voted for Trump. Now granted there were some MAGA hat wearing folks in there and a couple spouted off about staying the course and talking points. My did that go over well. Not.

Long story short they eventually brought up her e-mails. Whoopsie. An older farmer who could probably buy the place stood up and said his piece.

“You voted for Republicans in 2016 because you were angry about a black man being president for eight years and there was no damned way you were going to have a woman, let alone that woman be president. You got what you wanted. It wasn’t just that shitbag Trump. It was Republicans in the House of Representatives and Republicans in the Senate that drafted these tax laws you’re all cryin’ about. You’re stupid. You never learned nothing. You don’t look at history.

Republicans ALWAYS do what really rich people tell’em to. It ain’t about fags, blacks, Jesus, God, her emails, abortions, guns, or any of that other shit they holler about. Religious freedom don’t need no special laws it’s right there in that Constitution they keep spittin’ on. It’s about the money. It’s about how they can take your money and give it to people who flat don’t fucking need it. All of you need to grow up and take responsibility for your damned government. 2018 was a damned fine year. Democrats in charge of Congress again.”

Then Mr. MAGA Major bigmouth just had to say it, “What about that Pelosi bitch and all them (n----r) women in congress? They’re going to wreck it!”

Farmer: “Son you’d best be grateful that Pelosi bitch is a mean ol’ bitch and those women are serious about government. They’re the ones going to save your stupid ass from yourself. How you going to cover that tax bill you owe Bill? You need a loan? Maybe next year this time we’ll have us a real honest set of tax laws. Then again maybe you like paying this much in taxes every year? No? Thought not.”

Exit the farmer. A badass first class taking no shit from anyone farmer. 

It got real quiet for about 30 seconds as the man paid his tab and left. Then a new kind of hum started building in the place. the kind that made me grin and made the MAGA boys nervous. And to think what that farmer would have said about Mueller? Now there, yes there is something I’d like to have a sit down and listen to. Maybe I can have that after I go see him about what he’ll be asking for half a beef.

Jill too writes good.