April First Memo
WINTER,LIKE TRUMP, LINGERS TOO LONG
YOU’D THINK THAT as a dog who’s part husky/ Labrador, I wouldn’t be complaining about our alarmingly delayed spring on this Easter/April Fools’ Day. I’m a winter sort of pooch, who thrives in the snow and is fine with temperatures in the cool-to-wicked-cold end of the spectrum.
But I’m not oblivious to how the other 99 percent feels, who long for the end of winter, the return of warmth, the greening of America. Take Cat, for example. He sleeps through spring, just as he does winter, summer and fall. But, he’d rather loll away his life on a sunny back deck.
And there’s the symbolism of Easter and Passover as celebrations of hope, renewal, optimism, rescue and the cosmic promise that the cycle of life tells us that things get better.
But, you ask, what does spring – or our seriously delayed spring – have to do with a blog about Donald Trump?
Simple answer: When will our winter of Donald Trump finally end?
We keep expecting, as we have from the beginning of his presidency, that Trump, like winter, will leave on time and that the United States will recover, and resume it’s slow, imperfect march to a more perfect union. And when better for this to have happened than when March has been replaced by April?
But I’m not oblivious to how the other 99 percent feels, who long for the end of winter, the return of warmth, the greening of America. Take Cat, for example. He sleeps through spring, just as he does winter, summer and fall. But, he’d rather loll away his life on a sunny back deck.
And there’s the symbolism of Easter and Passover as celebrations of hope, renewal, optimism, rescue and the cosmic promise that the cycle of life tells us that things get better.
But, you ask, what does spring – or our seriously delayed spring – have to do with a blog about Donald Trump?
Simple answer: When will our winter of Donald Trump finally end?
We keep expecting, as we have from the beginning of his presidency, that Trump, like winter, will leave on time and that the United States will recover, and resume it’s slow, imperfect march to a more perfect union. And when better for this to have happened than when March has been replaced by April?
BUT TRUMP, like winter, seems perversely stalled, reversing even time itself. Nothing – scandal, bad policy, shameful behavior and hypocrisy – seems to touch this guy. April Fools’ on us.
And today’s Easter started glumly in Newport, the sun a reluctant player, the wind arctic, the skies wan, as the Grouchy One and I took a quick tour.
Ordinarily the streets and byways would be packed with church-goers and tourists on any Sunday that has even a hint of spring.
But the tourist wharfs and streets were almost empty. Tables and chairs stood vacant at restaurants with outdoor dining. A couple on a park bench huddled in winter jackets. Even a manikin displaying a “Newport” emblazoned jersey outside a clothing store looked miserable, headless, with the jersey’s sleeves flapping in the sharp wind.
And today’s Easter started glumly in Newport, the sun a reluctant player, the wind arctic, the skies wan, as the Grouchy One and I took a quick tour.
Ordinarily the streets and byways would be packed with church-goers and tourists on any Sunday that has even a hint of spring.
But the tourist wharfs and streets were almost empty. Tables and chairs stood vacant at restaurants with outdoor dining. A couple on a park bench huddled in winter jackets. Even a manikin displaying a “Newport” emblazoned jersey outside a clothing store looked miserable, headless, with the jersey’s sleeves flapping in the sharp wind.
STILL, EVERYWHERE we went, you could tell people wanted it to be spring. People coming out of one church carried cut flowers and potted plants. A little girl posed hurriedly in her Easter dress atop a large rock while parents took her picture.
When we got to First Beach, a mother and her kid had spread out a plastic sheet on the sand, the kid digging furiously with a shovel set, the mom reclined on the sheet. Of course, they were dressed each in winter parkas, hoods pulled tight against their faces. But if it wasn’t summer at the beach yet, they were determined to summon its arrival.
To this dog’s Trump-obsessed brain, all of this translates into a positive sign.
No, Trump isn’t gone yet.
But people are looking forward to the time – and it’s inevitable as are the changes of seasons – when he and his hard, cruel presidency are but an uncomfortable fading memory.
Better times – the preferred three of the four seasons – are inevitably on their way.
When we got to First Beach, a mother and her kid had spread out a plastic sheet on the sand, the kid digging furiously with a shovel set, the mom reclined on the sheet. Of course, they were dressed each in winter parkas, hoods pulled tight against their faces. But if it wasn’t summer at the beach yet, they were determined to summon its arrival.
To this dog’s Trump-obsessed brain, all of this translates into a positive sign.
No, Trump isn’t gone yet.
But people are looking forward to the time – and it’s inevitable as are the changes of seasons – when he and his hard, cruel presidency are but an uncomfortable fading memory.
Better times – the preferred three of the four seasons – are inevitably on their way.
RSS Feed