Swimming in a sea of misinformation. I had to go for a walk to clear my head. I'll stay up for a while tonight, but I won't know results until tomorrow. Election sounds, don't me started. A second cup of coffee and some quiet, it starts to rain, and after a hour, I finally have my breathing and heart rates down. The library called, with another book, and I need to get to town, I have to back up the drinking water and other liquids, and back up the smoked jowl. Samara called, to make sure I'd voted, we talked about sweet potatoes, a subject dear to my heart. In Mississippi we always raised a quarter of an acre of them, not just for the potatoes, but for the dried plants, which were excellent fodder. One shocking thing about moving to Colorado was that hay (alfalfa) could be so high in protein, while the crap we'd been feeding (Timothy) was so low. In Colorado we bought very little high-protein grain dairy feed, just enough to keep their heads down when milking (because they liked the sugar) and it made them easy to handle. One of my greatest memories of this time, the girls would exhaust their energy, racing about a pasture, and they'd go to rest on a goat's belly, and the goat would be just chewing its cud. If you've never done this, you can't imagine how completely satisfying it is to lay down in a green field, with your head on a warm goat's belly. I love the local election results. Most of the people have three names and I find that offensive. Two names is one too many. One suit of clothes, one pair of holey socks, but most of these elections are decided by a few hundred votes, 738 to 559. I knew before I went to sleep, curled up on the sofa, that Trump was going to win. I couldn't believe it, but I knew it was true. When I got up and turned on the radio I heard how bad the loss had been, both houses of congress, the presidency, and certainly that means the supreme court. Thank god, I think, that I'm old, that I've become a recluse, and only go to town once a week, otherwise this would bother me more.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
Glad I'm an old fart...if I was thirty or forty years younger I would be in the street in front of a Trump monstrosity venting my frustration...our last chance is that enough electors will vote their conscience and change the outcome...ha, ha, ha!
Post a Comment