I've reread those last couple posts about my reaction to the election and I don't get what was so hard to understand. I went to bed that night in the dumps because I felt that we were going to lose the election, moped around the next morning with CNN in the background of my activities, and then they said that Wisconsin had turned blue. My my, what was with that? And then I saw that the red was like the proverbial tip of the iceberg and underneath that there were all those mail in votes that where overwhelmingly blue and as the blue spread across the map my spirits soared.
But wait, what happened to the big blue wave? It was not that big at all. Reading those pre election polls I had cradled the hope that the American people, the vast mass of that flag waving sea, had seen the light, seen through the torrent of lies and bad behavior, and now were ready to march with Sleepy Joe into the brave new world. But it was hardly so, our margins were so slim along the reclaimed blue wall, that they could have easily gone the other way. And worse, we hadn't taken the senate.
So I was in a bit of a funk Wednesday afternoon through Thursday when I realized that even though the margin was slim we had defeated Trump. And even if the odds were daunting we had a chance of taking the senate. All in all it could have gone so much worse. My mood brightened through that day and Friday and the early morning of Saturday. By then I figured it was in the bag, and paid hardly an ear to CNN relating the story a handful of votes at a time.
There was another load of votes coming in from Pennsylvania and maybe that would be a big story, but they had been saying that all day, and then the screen went black for a second and then there was that huge BREAKING NEWS screen with music to match, and then Wolff was calling it for Biden.
No big deal, I had been expecting this all along, but hearing it was like a great weight leaving my shoulders. No more Trump, no more of that whiny sneering voice, no more Bill Barr, Stephen Miller, Rudy "The Gnome" Guliani and that whole shitwagon of thugs and thieves and swaggering low lives. Oh my God.
It was a beautiful day, the middle of an extraordinary sweep of Indian Summer and my door was wide open to gentle breeze and now the cars were honking. I walked down to the Jewel and it was all smiling faces. The honking increased, a happily jeering crowd appeared across the river from Trump Tower. It went on deep into the night.
I know there was probably nothing like that going on in the bustling streets of Cheboygan let alone on that lonely road leading out to the swamp, but I am not gloating, I am just sharing my uncontrollable joy, And now I am done. There are many hard roads ahead, but like a guy who has had a boil lanced I am much calmer and I hope that in future conversations of a political bent I will not be going at with the white hot fury that disturbed even me.
And I didn't think that poetry was hard to understand at all, All Gerard Manly Hopkins was saying was that no matter how dark the night the sun will rise in the morning. He credits the Holy Ghost for this, which is where we part, but otherwise I think the meaning is clear.
That truth and beauty thing, well that could mean anything and I take issue with the idea that truth and beauty are just two sides of a coin, I think they are almost opposites, but we can take that up at another time.
What I am wondering is what kind of solo game is Dangerou Dan playing? I can only think of solitaire and how would money be involved with that?
Well another fine morning is beckoning,
