Green and Beer It

In commemoration of St. Patrick's Day, Joe Biden lost a battle of wits today with a potted plant that he believed to be a leprechaun. A visibly agitated Biden resisted efforts to drag him from his chair, claiming that he'd get a pot of gold if he won the staring contest that had already been going for 45 minutes. 

Eventually, alleged Dr. Jill Biden convinced her husband that he'd already won the gold and he could see it just by rolling up his pantlegs and stroking his leg hair in the sun. Delighted, the president wished everyone a Happy St. Swithin's Day and Merry Hava Nagila, then hurried away while chasing a picture of a bowl of ice cream that Kamala Harris was dangling from a fishing pole.

FROM THE VAULT

Tour de Farce

Mainstream media and Democrats in Washington are losing their minds owing to Fox News's Tucker Carlson, who is sharing the previously restricted videos of what really happened in our nation's capitol on January 6. 

Carlson's critics point out that he's deceptively showing deceptive video clips that attempt to deceive viewers by deceptively having nothing in common with the totally accurate (albeit completely unsubstantiated) accusations of the Left and the "January Sixth Committee" which found that violent anarchists burned the capitol to the ground, Washington's streets ran red with blood, and Donald Trump stood in the center of the carnage firing a machine gun into the air while shouting, "My holocaust is the best holocaust ever! Has there ever been a holocaust as big as mine? I don't think so! And this is a very, very beautiful one!"

Meanwhile, that lying bastard Tucker Carlson is releasing video like this...

This is a frame grab showing the infamous Q-anon Shaman being escorted into the heart of the capitol building assisted by the police. In this picture, there are 10 officers with weapons, and one guy with an American flag, a buffalo hat, and chafed nipples from his suspenders.

Adam Schiff, Chuck Schumer, and every talking head on the Left has told us that the moment shown above was literally "worse than 9/11," "worse than Pearl Harbor," and brought our Democracy to the brink of collapse. Not to mention getting buffalo fur on the nice rugs.

The recently exposed videos also show the so-called Shaman telling other protesters to remain peaceful and just go home as well as offering up a prayer of thanks on behalf of the officers who safely guided him to the capitol floor.

For this, he is now serving four years in prison following his conviction for violating the little-known statute that forbids "shenanigans and malarkey in a goofy costume." 

Just like the kids above who trusted the crossing guard, he trusted the police who invited him ever deeper into the building. In much the same way that too many Americans still trust the politicians who want you to believe what they say instead of what you can finally see.

Slowly But Unsurely

In the movie "The Jerk," Steve Martin's character Navin Johnson begins a new life by standing in front of the family shack and holding his thumb out for a ride. Hours later, standing in the dark, he's in the same place when a truck finally stops for him.

"How far are you going?!" he eagerly asks.
"To the end of the fence," the tobacco-chewing local says.
"OKAY!" says Navin as he loads in his luggage, travels 10 feet to the end of the fence, gets out, thanks the bemused driver, and raises his thumb once more.

I'm sharing this because I feel like I'm having a Navin Johnson moment. Sunday marks the first anniversary of Kathy's death and, when it comes to making progress on my "grief journey," I've gotten no farther than the end of the fence.

Not for lack of trying. My not-busy-enough life these days includes a variety of self-help tools and activities. All of which have some value, but most of which lack the social interaction that I suspect would offer the most healing. In other words, countering death with more life.

Despite my puckish sense of humor and my rakish good looks (Santa Claus looks rakish, right?) I simply don't have a big community of friends to spend time with. I'm trying to find activities that will change that, but I'm an old introvert and deathly shy. I recently got a one-year membership to the local Seniors Center and I'm sure it's a fine place, but looking at their activity calendar I found potential adventures like "bingo day" and "scrabble day", and I'd like to be doing something a bit more vital than that. Although if liquor can be smuggled in there's at least a potential for some fun.

Some folks have said, "you're a writer and you're funny - why not write a book on grief?" And the answer is pretty much the same as why I'm not writing books on losing weight, making an Internet fortune, or picking up women: because I suck at all of those things.

About the closest thing to wisdom I'd have to offer again references a joke. A blond goes to the doctor and says that she's in terrible pain. He asks "what hurts," and she winces in pain as she touches her ankle, her hip, her chin, her knee, and her elbow. "Ah," says the doctor, "you have a broken finger."

To me, grief is that broken finger. It's just one thing, but it seems to make everything hurt. And just as the blond should try using her other hand for a while, so too is it important for me to interact with the world by exploring it with something other than my grief. But it's hard and is a slow skill to learn.

What has helped me is my ongoing connection to Kathy. I keep her picture next to my computer and throughout the day I'll look to her and get a quick pick-me-up hit of love and understanding. A tangible feeling that although we're not together in the same way as before, we're still together. I can't explain it but I'm grateful for it.

Daughter J and I have no specific plans to commemorate this anniversary, though it's possible we'll do some much-needed housecleaning and maybe plant some flowers. Those are things that Kathy would not only approve of, but she would point out "well, you didn't have to wait until now!"

And on that day, I'll also make a toast to all of you (using the "good stuff"), who have done so much to sustain me throughout this first year. Your friendship, honesty, patience, and support mean more to me than you can know.

At least we were flashy dressers