Is there really ---i mean, really---actually---in real life---anything more necessary before we---

GAWD DAMMIT!--- INSIST that Trump and Meadows and Perry and over a hundred other traitorous sonsabitches be BARRED from ever again holding ANY public office? Is that not what any sensible application of the 14th Amendment requires?

I leave aside for the moment whether or not----!!!!!----- they should be indicted, prosecuted and eating off trays for many years as punishment for their crimes against America. I ask only the very simple question: "Should these thugs ever be permitted to occupy any governmental office from dog catcher to POTUS?"

I say "Hell No!"

Can i get an "AMEN"?

I am doing my darnedest not to become a "get off my lawn" sort of seasoned citizen, but I do

sometimes feel like a fossil when trying to communicate with today's "up-and-comers".

It is mostly my fault. I start with a multitude of unjustified assumptions about them. If I just stop and think about it---which I seldom do--- there is no reason for them to understand what "dialing" a phone means. Or, for that matter, what in the world a "phone booth" is or what "long distance charges" might be.

The same thing goes for "broken record", "LP" and "stacks of wax".

And if you really want go see them glance at each other and roll their eyes, mention a song titled "Pigeon-Toed Orange Peel", a band named "Strawberry Alarm Clock" or movies titled "A Clockwork Orange" or "I Am Curious, Yellow".

To be fair, I am sure I wore the same expression when I was asked if I knew how to "air drop" a song from one phone to another.

Sigh-------I AM a fossil.

Unlike some more well-known folks, I do not claim to be "clairvoyant". This is just a wild guess:

if mendacious Republican mendicant George Santos takes his oath of office with a hand on the Bible, the "Good Book" will burst into flames.

Actually, a bolt of lightning isn't out of the question, I guess, so Democrats should give his ceremony a wide berth.

Words I hope my grandkids never hear: "Grandma/Grandpa, what were trees like?" nt

Those who died because of Trump are like the stars in the sky:

they can't be counted.

One has to wonder: will the next CPAC conference be

"clown nose optional?"

Trump and DeSantis are no longer the "poster boys" of the Republican Party.

Those spots now belong to Herschel Walker and George Santos.

"Please proceed!"

Back when we were beautiful and strong and filled with pride

And thought we'd surely be the ones to finally turn the tide
Of hate and greed in a world we saw as rotten to its core
We'd do things so much better than the ones who'd gone before.

Then death took some of our best and apathy took a few
And dreams seemed less important---there was just so much to do
For we had "obligations"---rent to pay and mouths to feed
And we found our lives quite different than the lives we'd prophesied

Despite our good intentions and despite the purest hearts
As the bard said, we're but players and most have minor parts
Though we may have made things better yet now wish we'd done more
We've now become, to our children, "the ones who've gone before".

This week between Christmas and the New Year has often seemed a final period of

repose before we plunge once again into a world too seldom concerned with "quaint" notions of "peace on earth, good will to men". Couple that with the fact that I will turn 74 in '23 and it is not surprising that I am spending some time considering not just specific memories, but the "why" of memories in general: Why do we totally forget some experiences or happenings while the granular details of others can be summoned forth with ease?

In my case, vivid memories can be easily divided into two categories. The first could be labelled "terrible" or even "horrific" the second "wonderful" or "awesome".

In my first category lie several memories that bring a lump to my throat and a knot in my stomach. I am sure some have more numerous and more horrific images in that section of their mind, but at the front of that line for me is opening our door to a uniformed trooper at 5:34 a.m. who had the duty to inform us that our child had been in a "very serious" traffic accident, had "very serious head and neck injuries" and "may not live". That child did live and recovered fully, but that early morning doorway notification is branded onto my soul. I think we involuntarily store such memories and their occasional recall is an intrusion; a wound reopened.

My personal second category is crowded with moments that literally make my heart swell with joy that sometimes causes my eyes to overflow. Above all else on the his list is a sunny day over half a century ago when Mrs A and I were not yet married. We had not seen each other for a few months and as I got out of my old car in her parents' drive, SHE ran to me and tearfully embraced me in a "bear hug" and kissed me in a way that took my breath away. We were so much in love!

That memory still takes my breath away and fills my eyes.

Our wonderful memories are, in my view, those that we intentionally pressed between the pages of our mind 's diary so that, like long-ago blossoms,their beauty can still make us smile and hope we will see more.

I remember snow. I was three.

We still lived in the three tiny rooms above my "Nanny's" clapboard house. The sidewalk from her back porch led to the laundry shed out by the alley and the outdoor "privy" was on the far side of it. That sidewalk, therefore, was always the first Dad shoveled clear whenever it snowed.

That Christmas I had received a heavy wool "snow suit" consisting of brown plaid trousers, coat and matching cap with ear flaps. Mom stuffed me into that suit after first dressing me in corduroy pants, a flannel shirt and a sweater. After putting two pairs of socks on them, my feet went into oversized gum boots and everything was topped off with cotton jersey gloves inside mittens.

In this outfit, she let me go out where Dad had almost cleared 6 or 8 inches of fluffy snow off the walk to the shed and "play in the snow".

I had only managed to waddle about halfway to Dad when I lost my balance and tipped over sideways off the walk. Fortunately, I landed on my back, but soon realized there was no way I could get up----i was so well-bundled that I could not bend either my arms or legs! And so, I layed there watching the wonderful white flakes filter through the leafless elms in Nanny's back yard.

I wasn't cold---how could I be? Eventually, Dad found me and stood me back up. I waddled back inside behind him grinning ear to ear and eager to tell Mom how wonderful is snow.