Heaven

While I have been distracted with weddings, family and friends, I’ve noticed that the world has continued on its merry way, enjoying its window seat on the Straight To Hell express train. Trump is still Trump, determined to make tariffs great again, elevating lying to dizzying new heights of acceptability, and still Tweeting like a middle schooler. Meanwhile, the face of the Democratic Party has become an increasingly deranged Maxine Waters. But Maxine’s days could be numbered since the arrival on the scene of a beautiful Marxist barmaid from the Bronx who, on the power of 16,000 votes has become the latest heart throb of practically every journalist in America. If I didn’t know better I would suspect that the Democratic Party was on a mission to insure Trump’s second term...but what do I know?

Meanwhile, in other world news...the World Cup plods on. The best soccer players in the universe continue to throw themselves violently to the ground at the slightest suggestion of physical contact with another player in spasms of what appears to be excruciating pain in hopes of securing a free penalty kick...or something. Once secured, the seemingly mortally wounded player bounces up fresh as a daisy, penalty kicks apparently possessing miracle curative powers. These past couple of sentences contain the sum total of what I know about soccer, so maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe when another player comes within two inches of colliding with another player it really does cause excruciating pain because of some sort of soccer force field or something. As far as the actual games go, I’m told that there have been a bunch of upsets, teams that don’t normally advance this far have surprised everyone, chief amount them...the team from the host country...Russia. This isn’t suspicious...at all.

Two weeks from today, Pam and I will set out for the 13 hour drive to our happy place. This time it will be at a place called, I’m not even kidding,...The Chill House, on Pemaquid Lake near Damariscotta, Maine.

Kaitlin and Jon will spend two weeks with us, and Patrick and Sarah will spend the second week of their honeymoon here. Once they are gone, Pam and I will have one week to ourselves. Trump isn’t invited. Neither is Maxine Waters. None of us will be throwing ourselves onto the ground feigning injury...unless it’s possible to suddenly become violently ill from too many fluffernutters or too much lobster or ice cream, or too much time spent on floats out on the lake. The rest of you will have to contend with the madness of 2018. We’ll be in heaven.