Another One Bites the Dust

Record-high temperatures in Arizona, combined with a lack of seasonal monsoons, have caused saguaro cactuses at the Desert Botanical Garden to become “highly stressed,” according to Chief Science Officer Kimberlie McCue. (Jul 27, 2023)

It's happening all over town.  A big saguaro fell over last weekend on the property across the street.  I saw it every time I drove away.  I miss it.

Our yard boasted a big saguaro, too.  It flourished under the palo verde, which, acting as its nurse tree, shaded it from the harsh sun

 until it outgrew the coverage and poked its head right out of the top of the tree. It survived summers

and winters

and vibrant springs,

hosting birds nests on its branches and hollows in its trunk.  There was a bee hive for a while, and some wasps made it part of their living situation until I banished them. It lived through torrential rains and whirling winds that toppled less sturdy flora.

This morning brought a different scene.  I backed out of the garage, put the UV into Drive, and screeched to a halt (okay, screeched is overkill.... I was going about 2 mph).

This was lying in my way.

I looked up, and was even more appalled.  I didn't notice the green branches on the ground until I looked up and saw there they came from.

Right up there at the top of the photo you can see the two raw edges of the branches which are now drooping sadly onto the front yard.  The new top of the saguaro doesn't look any happier.

All of this

used to be a nice mixed use unit.  Now it's trash.

I'll save the fallen pieces and watch them dessicate, leaving only the ribs behind.  I'll keep you posted with photos.  Right now, though, I have to meet The HandyMan who will help  me cope with the damage.

The desert is a tough place tolive.

Getting Our Money's Worth

AppleTV+ is an app I can access on my Smart TV.  

I know how to access the APPS icon.  After that, finding what I want is pretty simple point and click, although my choices could be a bit more visually impressive.  Am I where I want to be? is heard, not infrequently, by each of us.

But I digress.  My failure to intuit the many options for watching what is offered on so very many platforms is neither interesting nor curable.  TBG is still recovering from losing his ancient cable box and all its treasures.  It would be cruel to inject another change so quickly. 

I came to understand (I don't remember how) that AppleTV+ was offering a 7 day free trial, after which I'd be charged $6.99 each month.  I could cancel by clicking here.  Since we still had a Season and a half of For All Mankind to watch, free access was a no-brainer.

We binged three or four episodes at a time over a day or so.  We still had so many free days left; the notion made me smile and smiling made me think of Ted Lasso and watching with Little Cuter and SIR and Thomas the Wonder Dog, and with Queen T and Big Cuter and Honey Bunny just flesh and bones and safe and secure surrounded by people who loved her and a television program that left them with full hearts, too.

We are almost through Season 2, with Season 3 lying in wait.  Yes, lying in wait like a lioness stalking her prey.  I am easy pickings.  I'll go willingly.  

And it's free.

My Two

Scarlett got really sick really fast.  It took her a long time to die.  We texted every morning and I visited when she wanted me.  When she was too ill for company, I left gifts on her front porch.  And then she was gone. 

The hole in my heart still aches.  My days are emptier without her around; mahjong in her living room consumed two or three afternoons each week.

A few weeks after she finally left this earth, the mail carrier brought me a box from her sister.  Inside were two pretty little packages and a note.  TBG wondered if I wanted to open it right away, or did I want to wait until morning.  It's easier to reopen a wound when the sun is shining, he reasoned, and I agreed.... for a while.

I couldn't resist reading her note, and I was so glad that I did.  She wrote a sweet piece about my friendship with Scarlet, and she hoped I would enjoy both the little something Scarlet wanted me to have but was too tired to write about it herself and that I would find a body of water to scatter her ashes.

That's what (who?) was in the second pretty package.  Scarlet.

It was startling, to say the least.  I put both unopened packages back in the USPS box and put the whole thing on the kitchen table.  I left them there until the morning.

They weren't marked.  I opened one.  It was Scarlet's urn.  Feeling decidedly strange, i slid it to the corner of the counter, underneath the phone's shelf.  I wasn't ready to deal with her yet.

I took the wrapping off the second pretty package and I started to laugh.

Years ago, playing with my set, we lost the 2 Dot tile somewhere in her living room.  We moved everything we could and looked under everything else, but we never found it.  She did have another one, though - a tiny ceramic box in the shape of my missing tile, sitting on the shelf with the other tiny trinkets she collected - and that was what she wanted me to have as a remembrance.

I kept on laughing, thinking about how much that 2 Dot revealed about our friendship, and how she was finally returning my lost piece .

Finally broke me and I cried. Then I took her off the counter and found a lovely spot in my closet for her to rest while I figure out where to spread her.  The whole urn thing is a lot less creepy now.  It just makes me smile.

Out My Window

The flora is in desperate need of a sustained rainfall, a monsoon storm raging all night long, with actual liquid water accompanying the light show and the noise.  The branches are drooping to the ground.  The leaves are as tight as they can be, offering the smallest surface to the elements.  

There's a lizard watching from the path in the courtyard.  He's trying to blend in so that the birds flitting from tree to tree don't notice him.  He took a dash to the stony ground cover during an intermission in their air show, hung out for a minute or two, then dashed back across the path and under the rosemary hedge.  

The ground squirrels are scurrying and here come the birds again.  .......  And there I fell down a rabbit hole trying to figure out what kind of birds they might be. The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds Western Addition was there on the shelf behind me, and now, several delightful minutes later I still don't know what they are.

I have also developed an aversion to close up pictures of the faces of birds. 

I planned to write about the Republican debate, but I find that I can't go there.  I have notes and an outline of what I could say but each time I approach it my fingers rebel.  I should have taken it as a sign when the first title I came up with was Feel Free To Skip This.

Instead,  I'll leave ;you with Judge Luttig's obituary for the Republican Party and this photo of our sunset.

A much wiser decision, don't you agree?

OJ's Bronco

I felt no urge to watch helicopter footage of  OJ's Bronco and I have no great urge to watch the drone version of it playing on MSNBC right now.  Nicolle Wallace scolded her producer when the split screen showed Trump's motorcade on the way from Bedminster to the airport.... another reason I like her.  

A couple of hours later, rather than gawking, watching the lying liar emerge from his eponymous airplane feels like witnessing history.  I muted the talking heads, watching his motorcade take the exit to the Fulton County Jail.  

It's a short trip, and I'm hooked on the visuals.  

The route takes him through a residential neighborhood.  The cross streets are blocked by official vehicles. There's not an American flag nor a MAGA sign on any of the front lawns to cheer him up.   

What there is, at the very end, is pretty grim.  The low buildings on the left are for processing.  The tall towers, whose windows look out only to other windows, are the jail.  

Do you suppose he's even a little bit scared?

Trump now inside Fulton County Jail the chyron tells me.  

Trump released after being booked at Fulton County Jail.  

Blocked from view by the Sheriff's buses, the defendant walked under that portico for his mug shot.

There's something terribly sad about the whole thing.  

48 Years Ago

Flying Home

Tiny seats. 

Half empty plane. 

Delightful flight attendants. 

Easy in and out. 

Still,  I'm exhausted. 

I'm not watching the Republicans tonight,  though I might follow the Crooked Media chat-along for some snark. 

Instead,  TBG and I will continue watching Apple TV's For All Mankind. We started out watching with the Cali Kids. We'll finish it alone.... and try not to miss them too much. 

It's good to be home. 

So Much. So Little.

There isn't a moment of downtime.  I'd forgotten the all consuming nature of infant care. 

So,  it seems,  have our policy makers. 

Big Cuter waxed eloquent on the subject last night at the dinner table.   As he laid it out,  for a short period of time,  the financial crunch of acceptable child care puts an extra burden on all ready overwhelmed new parents. 

You can't take the baby to work.  You can't leave the baby alone.  At the most critical,  stressful,  hormonal time in a young family's life,  a crushing financial burden is added.  

"I don't know how single parents do it."

I do know that there's a reason you don't become a parent in your 70's.  It's exhausting.  

As the parent of an infant you need the ability to stay awake and be reasonably functional at odd hours.  Sleep is a fond memory. Your back reminds you that sitting on the floor while amusing an adorable blob of protoplasm for 20 or 30 or 40 minutes has ongoing consequences. 

But the absence of reliable,  available,  affordable child care is a problem that could be resolved by a national effort,  resolved just like building roads and monitoring air traffic and providing financial assistance to the elderly.... who were once infants themselves.

If only our policies weren't written by mostly white,  mostly rich,  mostly married with stay at home moms,  men.  

Do you think Mitch McConnell ever changed a diaper?

Modern Parenting

The parents were driving another house guest to the airport.  The grandparents were staying home to watch the baby as she slept.

We wondered how,  without a visual baby monitor,  we'd know when to tend to her if she got fussy. 

"Don't worry about it.  We'll watch her on the app on our phone and call you if she needs you. "

How very 21st century. 

A Vacation Day

Queen T and I shopped for 4 hours yesterday. She now has bedding for 6, to accommodate the guests coming tomorrow.  She now has flowers and new pots for transplanting old plants. There is new art for the walls. And we both have fancy new water bottles, 

just because. 

The car was full.  So were our hearts. 

Now we have to unwrap and plant and put away.  Shopping was more fun. 

Travel Daze

I have to agree with my aging body - early morning flights may be less expensive but the toll they take may not be worth the savings. 

We flew a tiny United airplane from Tucson to San Francisco that left Arizona at 6:45am. Being squished and tired while digesting an all too sweet glazed donut did not make for a pleasant morning.  The fact that my air vent could not be turned off nor aimed away from my face meant that napping was impossible - my hair kept blowing onto my eyelids. 

We walked forever from our gate to Big Cuter's car, trying to shake off the cramps and claustrophobia.  Smelling the California air and seeing our boy helped a lot. 

Driving through the city,  which hasn't changed very much since we left in 2006, was a trip down memory lane.  The traffic sucks.  The free concerts in Stern Grove are stellar (Patty Smith, Lyle Lovett, Buddy Guy).  The fog blocked our view of the ocean,  but Alcatraz was shining in the middle of the bay. 

Getting to their new home in Marin took us past most of our old haunts. Trips to Toys R Us, car dealerships, and restaurants kept me occupied until we pulled into the driveway.

Then there was HoneyBunny and Queen T and an afternoon at the Civic Center pond with LiLou and sandwiches - four hours of gentle breezes, sandwiches under the trees, strangers exclaiming over our porcine companion,  and the baby taking it all in.  

She's intense.  She's focused.  She's happy.  She's ours. 

Really, Congressman Ciscomani?

I sent a personal, heartfelt, request that my elected Representative actually represent our District and vote my way on whatever gun safety bill was inching its way through the House last month.  I used the generic form on his website, stated my position with vehemence and personal detail, and checked the box requesting a response.  

Let's go over it together, shall we?  My ravings are, appropriately, italicized and in red.

August 15, 2023 Dear Ms. H: If you're going to be persnickety and know to use : for a business letter, then you also should know that grammar purists will insist that, since its inception, there hasn't been a . after Ms. Thank you for contacting my office, it is an honor to represent you in Congress. You need a ; not a , here. I am grateful you took the time to share your message expressing your concern over gun violence. Safety, not violence, Congressman.  It's a different mindset, seeing responsibility and common sense versus demonizing the other and stoking fears.  It is important to hear directly from you in order to effectively represent Arizona’s 6th Congressional District.     I agree with you that this is a pressing issue and one that is personal to our community.  I'm intrigued by the last clause.  Some one or some algorithm must have picked up that phrase, because it sounds like me.  It also sounds like all the other Tucson survivors I know.  Perhaps enough of us have written him enough times that he's had to plug it into the template.  What template, you ask?  Read on or start again, replacing every bold phrase with your hot button issue.   I want to assure you that I will be paying attention to the discussion and potential legislative solutions for gun violence. As our community’s elected Representative, I will carefully consider any legislation that comes before the full body of the U.S. House of Representatives.   I appreciate your bringing this important matter to my attention, and I will be sure to keep your concerns in mind as I review any legislation related to addressing gun violence in the future. I am grateful that constituents like you continue to contact me and help me stay informed on the issues most important to our community.   Thank you again for taking the time to reach out. Please stay in touch as we continue to move our district and nation forward. You can reach my office at 520-881-3588, 202-225-2542, or my website at Ciscomani.house.gov, where you can also subscribe to my free newsletter.      Sincerely,

I'm not looking for a detailed response, considering each and every nuance.  I wrote about a current event. I asked for a specific answer to a specific question.  Instead, my tax dollars were spent producing and sending me drivel.

Can you tell I'm having a good time with this?  Why not? 

I'm feeling G'ma saying that, as memory puts us back to her 1960's kitchen table, me with a red pen and she doubled over with laughter as I eviscerate the latest letter from their Congressman, Norman Lent.  Mr. Lent didn't have much of a personality, but I wasn't editing for style. Spelling (did no one check it before they ran it through the mimeograph?) and punctuation and split infinitives and tense misconstructions were rampant and don't even get me started on his issues with the subjunctive.

It's one of my favorite memories, and it just came to me after I took my 21st century red pen to my 21st century letter from my Congressman.  

I'm going to write again.  

Indictment Watch

There were 10 of them.  The prosecutors asked for 10 and not one of those asks was rejected. 

Of course, none of the commentators can agree on what an indictment might be.  When the first indictment out of the Grand Jury was made available to the talking heads, no one was sure that the other 9 indictments were at all related to the attempts to steal the election: They might be just regular cases the Grand Jury normally sees.

*****

Because Georgia law requires an extraordinary amount of transparency, the world could watch the County Clerk, in all her orange splendor and surrounded by guards, walk a stack of papers down the hall and through the door into the courtroom where she presented them to Judge McBurney. 

We saw him look them over.  We saw the Clerk assure him that they had been and would still remain in her custody, and then the camera followed her back down the hall, through a closed door, and that was that.

It took less than tem minutes.

*****

The only people who were not wondering what was coming were the members of Fani Willis's team.  My guess is after the champagne, they took a moment. 

It's hard to separate the satisfaction of a job well done with the solemnity of the occasion. 

*****

I'm having a hard time not jumping for joy. Trump's plan to overthrow our democracy is laid out so plainly.  

Influencing Witnesses.  False Statements and Writings.  Forgeries.  Donald Trump is charged with conspiracy to do all that and more.  

That's not something to celebrate.

On the other hand, the system seems to be holding, and that does make me happy.  

*****

I know.  I know.  Innocent until proven guilty.

But a RICO case in Georgia only requires that the DA prove two of the charges.  

I heard the Brad Raffensperger phone call.  I saw the fake elector paperwork.  

That's two.  

*****

He's Off

We caravanned up to Tempe on Friday, Amster and I in my UV followed by Messers 20 and 18 in the youngest one's vehicle, a third hand Infiniti that has carted both his mother and brother around town.  We were taking our baby to college.

Amster asked me to drive so that she could cry.  I was flattered to be included but she scoffed, reminding me that we were all in this raising the kids thing together.  She's created a family of neighbors and friends to replace the fractured one created when Husband #1 was banished from the scene.  Her boys have a collection of men of all ages, talents, abilities, and strengths on whom they can rely.  There are moms all over town who will feed them without question, just as their kids know that Amster's kitchen (and extra bedroom) are always available.

But I'm the only faux grandma in the bunch and I relish the title.  I put it to good use on Friday.

The line of students waiting to register at his apartment complex was easy to find; parking was another story entirely.  I secured a place in line.  Amster parked the UV in an open lot around the corner.  She and Mr. 20 sat in air-conditioned comfort while Mr. 18 and I waited in line.

Little Cuter was right when she told her high school counselor that the advantage of attending a big school is that yes, there are lines, and you meet people in lines.  

We were in a sea of gorgeous, blonde, long legged, pony tailed young women, wearing brightly colored, very short, skin tight clothing.  Mr. 18 had a very big smile on his face, then looked at me, somewhat abashed.  I reassured him that while I could not understand how they were comfortable in those get-ups, I totally understood them.  I told him this:

I had a one piece, sleeveless, blue cotton romper with what pretended to be shorts at the bottom.  I wore it to pick TBG up at LaGuardia one summer afternoon.  As G'ma kissed me goodbye (and made sure I had food and drink in case I got lost or the world ended) she left me with two thoughts.  You look gorgeous.  Don't bend over.

While waiting for the first step in the process, we struck up a conversation with the people in front of us, another freshman, an exchange student from Austria, chaperoned by family friends.  While the other woman and I were on our phones, communicating with those who needed tending, the kids were getting along famously.  

She loved how friendly Americans are; in Austria, everyone would be standing, silently, facing ahead.  She didn't know her roommates, though she knew more about hers than Mr. 18 did about his.  They went on like that, reminding me of myself 50+ years ago, and of the people I met on my very first day.  

I was lost in reminiscence until I heard her ask  How old are you? and his honest reply, 18. The air went out of their balloon as she replied to his and you? with 22.  They continued chatting as the line moved on, but there would be no chance for romance.

It felt like a NYTimes Metropolitan Diary snippet.  I paused to take it in.  

Looking around, I was astonished to see actual face to face conversations. The only people who were on their phones were actually using them as phones, giving directions, updating progress, sharing necessary information.  No one was scrolling.  Everyone was engaged in what was happening right in front of them.  No one was immortalizing the moment in pictures; there were no selfies.  

And I realized that there, in the sun, in the heat, in the slowly moving line, I was surrounded by people who were truly present in the moment.  As we moved from station to station, the pattern didn't change.  

I have given up worrying about the next generation.  I spent Friday surrounded by young people who were focused on the task at hand, who were willing to help one another, who waited patiently without complaint (or scrolling) as life went on, not around them, but with them.

I'm so glad she asked me to go with her.

 

Back in the Garden, Again

There was a lot of planting going on in Grandma's Garden this week.  I brought some of the dried out yucca stalks and coneflowers (Echinacea) - two plants that, with very little effort, deliver very satisfying seeds.

We took our time, following the life cycle from the soft petals to the dry petals to the dried pods which fell open along their seams and revealed neatly stacked seeds beneath a webbing that reminded us of an orange.  

There were enough of them to be distributed freely, from the new ones

to the old hands.

I've decided to take a free form approach to the raised beds. The scholars like to dig and plant. I am going to encourage it. 

But these two wanted more information. How deep should we plant them? Rather than look up the answer on my phone, I suggested an experiment. Two planters, one filled to the top with soil and the seeds sprinkled lightly with soil, the other's seeds planted in a row deep beneath the soil.

The garden scientists will keep them evenly watered (at least that's the plan) and we'll all be watching.  It's a new year in the garden, with many new opportunities to explore.  I can hardly wait.

The Fine Print

Do you read the fine print?  Do you read any of the boilerplate print?  It should come as no surprise that I do.

I can feel TBG and Daddooooo leaning over my shoulder whenever I'm presented with a document to sign.  I have no inclination to turn directly to the signature lines.  I read.  I make sure I know what I am signing.  It drives some salespeople to distraction.  I always apologize for being so diligent, but I never stop reading.

I haven't bought anything requiring fine print in a very long time.  Instead, I have been reading the words at the bottom of television commercials.  Not just the Do not attempt this at home caveats.  I'm talking about the paragraphs below the MSRP numbers flashing below that shiny new sporty thing they think I want to have.  

I read the words that tell me that the pictures I'm seeing are available on European models only.  I discover that the actual price of that very tempting car is $15,000 over the base price once you include all the extras that attracted me in the first place.  

I read that the offer I'll be given when I call may not be the same offer that I'm seeing on the screen.  I notice that the 30 day cancellation policy starts from the date the order is placed, not the date the item is received.  

I laugh when they warn me to be a careful driver after their professional driver on a closed course splashes through deep water.  I giggle when they know someone like me is reading and they make little jokes.

And sometimes I am stumped.  Yesterday, I saw a woman dumping fake money into another woman's laundry basket.  I have no idea what they were selling.  I was busy reading the tiny print at the bottom which said Actual impressions of paid individuals.

Um, actors?  

Is this woman holding the basket giving a false impression?  A fake impression?  

Are they reassuring me that I'm not watching an AI impression?

Did I think that these women would be filmed doing something this ridiculous and not ask to be paid?

I just don't know.

Reflections on a Late Afternoon, Outside

It's been more than 50 days since the high temperature was less than 100 degrees. It's been at least that long since I or anyone I know has spent any time outside once the sun has created the horizon. 

It's Tucson.  We have lots of sun and lots of horizon.  We are used to an outdoor lifestyle.  Everyone is just a little edgy.

This afternoon's brilliant sky above our house belied the dark clouds coming from the south.  

It was 95 degrees at four in the afternoon. The breeze was bringing me some of that lovely cloud moisture. I took my new secaturs and went outside. 

It's amazing what a little pruning can do.  Everything looks happier and healthier with just a little tlc. I do,  too. It's nice to be able to breathe some fresh air without frying. 

But then the thunder came. I must have missed the lightning, but the heavenly rumbles reminded me that standing alone outside while the clouds argued with one another was possibly a dangerous course to pursue. 

But I couldn't stay inside.  I just couldn't.  So, I poured prosecco and sat under the portico,  watching.  

I didn't try to photograph the lightning.  I tried to be present in the moment. It was a very nice moment,  with lots going on. 

There were miles long streaks of white - pulsating, horizontal, vertical, turning the semi- gloom bright. 

It was easy to see why the ancients saw the gods fighting. 

The last sunflower of the season and I

enjoyed the show.  The rain we got wouldn't fill a soup spoon. 

But they tried, those clouds.  Sturm und drang. Much ado about nothing.  All hat and no cattle. 

I give them an A for effort and an A+ for dramatic appeal.

It was a lovely afternoon topped off with this,

looking out my front door. 

A Short Rant

How is it possible for someone to believe that a person who is under indictment up and down the East coast should be the President of these United States?

I get the cognitive dissonance argument. 

But 7 indictments? 

I just don't get it.

The Lincoln Lawyer

It starts with a series of books written by Michael Connelly.  The series winds in and out of a dozen or so characters' lives, over 30 some books.  One of the major plot lines involves Mickey Haller, a hot shot LA lawyer who's the son of a hot shot lawyer.  He does a lot of his work in a Lincoln Continental, hence the show's title.

That's where the books and the Netflix series part ways.  I don't remember the plot of Matthew McConaughey's Lincoln Lawyer, but I recall it as more of a plot with a gimmick (the car) than a faithful representation of one of my favorite characters from one of my favorite authors.

But TBG and I are in sports deprivation mode, now that even the Tour de France and the women's soccer (which I never got to write about) are over.  There is nothing worth watching on the networks, and there's only so much MSNBC blather I can handle.  I took the lists of What to Watch This Summer I've been collecting and we dove in.

It's kept us intrigued for days. Two seasons, ten episodes each, each episode 50 minutes of pretty (bordering on excellent) cinematography and editing, in a naturally bi-cultural setting. Manuel Garcia-Rulfo is a Mexican actor who slips between Spanish and English, followed by the rest of the cast, who are a delightful blend of funky and colorful individuals with enough baggage to support ten or eleven series themselves.

The first season was better than the second season, but the second season had some fabulous clothes and sly touches that kept us coming back for more.  In a summer where it's too hot to do anything but watch and read inside, a binge worthy tv recommendation seemed like a generous offering this morning.

It's not Shakespeare.  Some of the legal maneuverings seem to come from the minds of the lying liar's lawyers rather than anything that would really happen in a courtroom.  But there are no commercials, the supporting cast - especially the women - is outstanding, and really, what else are we going to do?

When they started using the sketch from the courtroom artist to analyze Jack Smith's intent,  I had to flee the scene.  I'm losing my mind over the free air time the Republican frontrunner is getting.... once again.... while I rail against the moon.... because they obviously have not learned a thing since the last time.

(Look at me using they... and assuming you knew who I meant.... quite Trumpian, no?)

Anyway.

I get that it's important.  But hours of his motorcade(s) and his fancy plane sitting on the tarmac; then turning.... slowly; then flying off into the clouds, left me both nauseated and impressed.  I was sharing space with my sweetie, who readily admits his obsession with the whole thing.  I did crossword puzzles, worked on getting from Amazing to Genius status in Spelling Bee, as he followed, watched, and cogitated.

I don't need to make a tv star (once again) of a person who has been indicted for trying to steal my vote.  Rusty Bowers stood between the Republicans running the show and my ability to have my vote counted.  I'm taking this quite personally.

TBG needs the visual to help him focus.  I have you.  So, I'm going to rant.

Rusty Bowers reminds us that most people have more than one side.  It never crossed my mind to praise him.  Now he's my hero.  Read on.

*****

People are surprised by the lead defense attorney's obsession with Freedom of Speech.  Why?  

It's a simple concept.  It feels basic to America.  It's an extension of the whole cancel culture kerfuffle.  He's a square jawed, dark haired, nice looking, white guy who looks right into the interviewer's eyes, with a small smile on his fairly vapid face.  

He speaks in clear sentences.  He's not confusing anybody.  He gives you something to say if it comes up in conversation.  And it makes sense; it sounds the weaponization of government bell; he must think it's true and he's in charge of the defense. He'd be putting out their best argument, right?

When he's confronted with the fact that the indictment reassures us that DJT has the same right to lie about the election as the next guy,

The Defendant had a right, like every American, to speak publicly about the election and even to claim, falsely ..... that he had won. 

he just repeats his spiel.  He refuses to engage anyone who asserts that's not what's going on here.  

Once again, the DJT plays to the lowest common denominator, assumes the worst about his audience, gives them no credit at all.  He assumes they will buy whatever he's selling.  But I continue to have faith.  

Why?  

Rusty Bowers was a Trump acolyte until he was asked to commit a crime, asked by the President of the United States to contravene the Constitution.  This man shouts at the top of his lungs that which pains me to hear but when pushed he refused to be shoved.

I think the MAGA people are underestimating their audience.  If I can find a kind word for Rusty Bowers there must be room in their brains and their hearts to read 45 double spaced pages and see if maybe, just maybe, there might be something there.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, it reads like a real life thriller.  The legalese is just an outline of what follows.

The Defendant’s conspiracy to impair, obstruct, and defeat the federal government function through dishonesty, fraud, and deceit .....

is expanded upon in the next paragraphs.  Everything but the prepositions is explained.  

Conspiracy. Impair. Obstruct. Defeat.  Dishonesty. Fraud. Deceit. 

Those words should not be associated with anyone anywhere near the Presidency.  And yet, most people who identify as Republican want to reelect the dishonest fraud who practiced deceit upon the United States of America -  after he took an oath to preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States.

And I don't want to hear about Hunter Biden's struggles with addiction unless you want to hear about Ivanka's Chinese licenses and Jared's Saudi money funnel.  None of it is relevant to what's going on center stage right now.  

Finally, this is the United States Department of Justice, not Joe Biden, bringing this action after a Grand Jury found sufficient evidence to bind the defendant over for trial.

Unlike his predecessor, the current inhabitant of the Oval Office understands boundaries. The former guy doesn't need any help getting himself into trouble.

I feel much better now.  Thanks for listening.  

A Break From The News

Are you are tired of the people you listen to preaching to the choir?  

I offer a brief respite.

Once again, Vera, my Albertson's connection, filled the back of my car with goodies.   

Three carts full, to be precise.  

For three hours, I drove the UV up one street and down another, touching all 15 elementary and middle schools in our district, leaving boxes and boxes of sweet treats in my wake.

I call it BACK TO SCHOOL LOVE FEaST.

I get to spread kindness and a little CTG love. 

I get smiles and thank you's.

It's my favorite day of the school year.

Brought to Justice

You don't get indicted for lying.

You get indicted for conspiring to deny Americans their right to vote, to have those votes count, and for those votes to be counted.  

Just like the Mar-a-Lago document, the indictment reads like a legal thriller.  MSNBC suggested assigning it to your book club.  TBG and I are reading the pdf I printed out together.  There is a lot of headshaking on our couch as we turn the pages.  

It's damning.  It's terrifying.  It's absolutely inconceivable to me how anyone could think this man is qualified, capable, or deserving of serving as President of the United States, yet the news this morning was how close the 2024 race will be.

We shall see.  

It is not an "UnAmerican attack" as the lying liar claims.  It's democracy.  It's the justice system at work.

And try as he might, the lying liar does not seem capable of destroying it.

Gotta Get Somebody Indicted

The political scene is lunacy right now.  Most of the population disagrees with most of what the Supreme Court and the Republican Party is trying to do, yet they keep doing it.  There have been so many censures and impeachments and obscenities that I've given up trying to keep track.  

The Democrats have watched and waited and counted on me to be outraged, without making a big push to urge me on.  They haven't learned any lessons from MAGAworld - emotional appeals work.  The reproductive rights fight tapped into that in a big way without any prompting.  

But polls don't show much distance between the lying liar and President Biden, and Joe's not getting any younger (his biggest flaw in the polls).  I'm counting on the Active Shooter Drill generation's votes to push gun safety legislation and legislators all on their own, perhaps pulling their families along with them.  

But moving indolent voters toward the decisions I want them to make is more difficult.  Rep. Thomas Massie, (R-Ky) had one suggestion:

I’ve said we gotta figure out, we got to find some judge in Florida that’ll indict DeSantis quick, to close this indictment gap.

He claimed to be joking, but followed up with this: 

It’s a truism that anytime someone is being persecuted, their camp rallies to their defense.

Did I mention that the current political scene is lunacy right now?