This is the first 50f morning for me this year that sustained long enough for me to be awake, not have immediate intervening responsibilities, such that I can meet it on the stoop with coffee in hand. If I controlled the global thermostat every morning should be 50f, but… never mind seasons—2 decades of notable climate shifts means there will be many fewer of these in my life at this latitude than I’d have assumed.
The Heritage Foundation’s Kevin Roberts can suck it. The vertical playground at Swampoodle is one of The Childe’s favorite places to play.
It is near several places we make regular errand runs to and, in addition to climbing fun, it provides him a vantage point to observe the train traffic coming in and out of Union Station (The Childe is a trainspotter, although he does not yet know this term).
Like many park areas with something interesting for different groups, it is a small oasis in the city. We need more such things for all of us. (We also need the city to keep the drinking fountains in clean, working order in all the parks. I did just put in a 3-1-1 request with regards to Swampoodle’s drinking fountain.)
This says nothing about me (except to significantly explain my stint of SAHD duty in the latter case), but I am proud to know people directly involved in each of these efforts:
I don’t have to let go of my broader and deeper political critiques to appreciate some of this progress.
A lot of security in my neighborhood (or the adjacent one, anyway), including out of town police known for instigating violence with demonstrators, to protect a war criminal running out on a international warrant for his arrest.
I still cannot claim genuine and deep sports-ball fandom, but today was a day where I was glad to have a couple of sports to distract me for most of the day. On very light reflection, I see the age-old (can it even be) irony in that I traded hating the decisions of couple of egocentric competitive madmen on the national and world stage for getting entertainment out of a particular one in a fast car and another couple-three that were on bikes.
Here we go… hold on tight!
We (the United States) have a war culture. We’ve been at war, one way or another, at substantial expense, my entire life, and longer, and most of the time, really. That, and my being politically aware and anti-war on most fronts (with a couple of exceptions that have their own equivocation) for 25 years (ugh), means this resonates with me: “War Culture Hates the Ethical Passion of the Young." Also, I used to work for IPA.
I’ve been knocked on my ass a bit this week, and it’d probably be better for my mental and physical health to not consume SOTU coverage, but, bless the anti-genocide demonstrators who seemed to force a motorcade detour on the way to the Capitol tonight. It barely counts as close, but this is the closest I’ve seen since demonstrators disrupted George W. Bush’s inaugural motorcade … a quarter century ago?
I was short with my father on the phone today. I couldn’t take his fatalist “it will get worse,” (and he’s a Trump voter) point of view. It may seem ironic to some who know me, because I also can say “It will get worse” — before it gets better. I think I am still not fatalistic, but my hoarder, prepper, some-kind-of-Republican father, who doesn’t even think Trump will fix things, is.
A sigh of relief. I think I have a backlog of something on the order of 15,000 suspended sighs of relief—that is, breaths held—but I let that one rip. And gulped in a new one for the Supreme Court appeal to come.