The Gift of Saturday

By all accounts, today should be gorgeous out, sunny and pleasant with a high temperature of 76. While that is a little hot for late October, I will fight the urge to slink into the fetal position and wet my pants worrying about global warming. Instead, I have a full day planned. My sainted wife will be in Williamsburg with her Mom and sisters shopping and lunching most of the day, leaving me alone with Lucy and a to-do list of my own making. It's going to be great!

First, I will spend two or three hours in the yard getting up leaves, cutting grass, removing a week's worth of Lucy's bowel movements, etc. Then I'll rustle up some lunch. Odds are high that the leftover container of creamy Cajun sausage pasta will do the job quite nicely. At some point after lunch, this girl...

will require an extended session of frisbee catching and retrieval. Afterwards, she and I will both settle in for a brief afternoon nap. Upon completion of this siesta, I will clean the bathrooms and vacuum the house, and maybe throw in a little dusting for good measure. Then maybe a late afternoon perambulation with Miss Lucy while we await Pam's return. We will both hope that she will be pleased with our efforts.

At no point in this day will the television be tuned onto a news channel. It will be on college football most of the day as background and then, baseball tonight. This Saturday is simply too nice, too full of potential to be mucking around in the sewer of politics. I'll just have to leave Trump and Clinton to themselves for the day. Same goes for tomorrow, the Lord's day. Come Monday morning, they will still be with us. I'll check back in then.

You should do the same.

The Sleeze Wars

As the 2016 campaign winds down, each day has featured a new Wikileaks revelation. Our media cover these revelations with great hesitation, practically gagging themselves on the questions, always asked to some campaign spokesman. . . never Hillary herself, thusly:

Media Hack: So, in this latest email, some might conclude that Mrs. Clinton might have been involved in what might be described by some of her critics as illegal activity. Do you agree?

Campaign Hack: I refuse to dignify that question with an answer since these emails were clearly leaked by the Russians in an appalling attempt to influence our election.

Media Hack: I totally agree and thank you for your forthright response. But, setting aside for a moment the origin of this leak, what about the actual content of these emails? Are they, in fact, real, and if so, what about the fact that Mrs. Clinton seems to have been involved in collusion with the DNC to subvert the Sanders campaign?

Campaign Hack: But...it was the Russians!

Media Hack: Excellent point.

On the other end of the media spectrum, the INFOWARS nuts report each word of these emails as proof that Hillary is the Anti-Christ:

Headline: New email provides iron clad proof that Killery has actual remains of aborted babies delivered to her dinner table every Wednesday night. Pictures to follow!!

There are 12 days remaining in our national race to the bottom. That's 12 more document dumps, 12 more opportunities left for character assassination. Although, in fairness, one has to have actual character before it can be assassinated, and between these two, there isn't much left. But, it will be fast and furious over the next few days. Wikileaks will reveal even more skulduggery. Clinton's team no doubt has a couple more bimbo-bombshells in the pipeline.

It's gonna be great!!

Sigh. . .

Pick Your Poison

When I was in elementary school, I used to sit in the back of Mrs. Winston's class and stare at the big clock on the wall behind her desk. It never seemed to move. It was as if it would get stuck in place whenever I looked at it, only moving when I got distracted with something or someone else. That's exactly how I feel about this election. Will it ever end? So, I write blogs about something else, anything else, to make the time go by faster. But, the more I think about it I realize what a ridiculous strategy this is. My Dad used to warn me not to "wish your life away." He was right. Why am I in such a ball-crushing hurry for this thing to be over with? Whatever happens, I'm going to be bitterly disappointed and most likely fall into despair at the prospect of four more years with a dope in the White House. So, why hurry things along? I need to savor each moment we have left where a relatively decent person is in the Oval Office. How's that for a commentary on our politics in 2016. . . I just paid Barack Obama a compliment. What's this world coming to?

So at this hour, depending on which echo chamber you live in, either Hillary Clinton is about to win a historic landslide victory in the electoral college and even the popular vote and wipe out down ticket Republicans as well, possibly winning back the House and Senate. . . Or, Donald Trump is on the verge of sending a shock wave through the political establishment by being swept into office by a wave of pissed off citizens, many of them first time voters, and an even greater number of them who have been lying to pollsters for months. As Michael Moore has said, it will be the biggest f##k you to the establishment in American political history. If this were to happen, it would also plunge a dagger into the heart of what is left of the American media. Hillary was clearly "their" candidate, and many voters will take great pleasure in sticking it to the Anderson Cooper's and Andrea Mitchell's of the world.

Either way, I'm screwed. I've about decided to go full Don Quixote and pull the lever for Evan McMullin, since my earlier semi-endorsement of Gary Johnson blew up in my face. "Who did you vote for Pop?"...."Never mind, kid. Want some ice cream?" If Hillary Clinton wins, my heart will be broken by the fact that someone so completely corrupt will have had her filthy, money-grubbing,  duplicitous life rewarded and validated by becoming President. If Donald Trump wins, I will spend the next four years perpetually nauseated every time I see his orange face on television. His election will forever disabuse me of my formerly confident opinion of American exceptionalism. His election will permanently exile me from political life, shift my entire world view away from the national to the local. . .what can I do to make life better around here? So, that may be the slimmest of silver linings, but at least it's something.

How To Explain Your Vote

Two more weeks and this 5 alarm dumpster fire of an election will be over. But, how to vote? Reading through the commentary on this decision is an exercise in rationalization. It's like nobody is proud of their candidate, so every vote comes with a caveat, a disclaimer meant to explain the unexplainable. Trump is a narcissist, but. . . Clinton is corrupt, but. . .

So, as a public service, I have gathered the better a**-covering qualifiers I've run across below. Pick whichever one feels best.

I'm for Trump because of the Supreme Court.
I'm for Clinton because of the Supreme Court.
I'm for Clinton because it's about time we had a woman President.
I'm for Jill Stein because it's about time we had a woman President.
I'm for Clinton because Trump is unhinged and dangerous.
I'm for Trump because Clinton is a murderer and a liar.
I'm for Gary Johnson because I'm tired of having to sneak around to buy pot.
I'm for Evan McMullin because he puts principle over party.
I'm for Gary Johnson because he puts "let's party" over principle.
I'm for Clinton because she wants to tax the rich.
I'm for Trump because I want to be rich.
I'm for Jill Stein because it makes me seem environmentally conscious.
I'm for Clinton because it's about time we had a lesbian President.
I'm for Trump because it's about time serial adulterers caught a break.
I'm for Evan McMullin because 75 years without a bald President is enough.
I'm for Trump because he will lower my taxes.
I'm for Clinton because she will raise your taxes.
I'm for Trump because I don't want Bill Clinton back in the west wing.
I'm for Trump because Huma is an Islamic spy.
I'm for Trump because Melania is smokin' hot.
I'm for Trump because he will build a wall.
I'm for Clinton because it's her turn.
I'm not for either of these morons.

My People

The Dixon family reunion at Green Hill in Buckingham County is in the books. It was a delightful day, sunny and breezy with random memories whipped up in the wind all around us. There were probably 80 people there, 70 of whom I didn't really know. But it was like an episode from the twilight zone where in a room full of strangers, everyone looked familiar. Someone would pass by you and there would be a flash of recognition, that nose, those eyes, that facial expression, so closely held, so dear. 

". . . you must be Bubby's girl."

" Yep! You look like Betty's son."

My Uncle John, the war hero was my Mom's big brother. His family lived in Gladstone, Virginia in the big house by the railroad tracks. We would visit when I was a boy. He had four kids, my cousins. There was Bootsie, the oldest, Bubby who would go on to be a war hero himself, then Peggy and Joanne, the youngest who was my age. Yesterday, those three sisters were in charge of things. They had organized and planned the event. I watched them as they talked, saw them interact with everyone, felt the love of family and the pride they have in being a Dixon. I have it too. 

There was a table with pictures, all pressed behind plastic, some with short descriptions. . .  Alice Horsely Dixon 1910. . . John Henry Dixon in New Orleans. The pictures were mostly black and white and faded, over exposed here, bleached out there. But each of them sent out a message. . . We were here. Here's the proof.

Then I saw this picture of my mother. Bootsie suggested that it was either her high school graduation photo or maybe a picture taken for her wedding announcement for the newspaper. . . either way, she would have been. . .16. It took my breath away. Was my mother ever 16? But, there she was in 

glorious, faded black and white. I saw my son in her eyes. Her hair was my daughter's hair. I looked closer and saw myself staring back. I saw my sisters in her smile. That nose, the dead giveaway of my ancestors, the playfulness and great expectation in her face was stunning. She had her entire life ahead of her, about to marry the man of her dreams. And now, four years after her death, the grateful family she left behind stands on the spot where she grew up, with tears forming, fascinated by the transformative power of a photograph.

It's funny. When she was alive, this was the type of event I would have come up with any excuse not to attend. But now that she is gone, something inside of me was longing for it. The older I get the more aware I have become of my mortality. These people are my people. They share with me a common ancestry. Their blood is my blood. 

We wandered the grounds, visited the cemetery up on the hill overlooking the ghost of the old homeplace. There lie my grandparents. A few feet from them lie my great grandparents. It is an odd feeling, walking through a cemetery, something that is equal parts pride and sadness.

But on this day, it was mostly pride.

Glorious Thought For The Day

I woke up at the appointed time this morning, walked downstairs, made my coffee and settled into my cozy chair. I had just opened my iPad when it hit me in a revelatory flash...

. . . It will be four long years before the American airwaves are once again bespoiled by a Presidential debate.

That happy fact rolled over me like a wave of Caribbean water. It produced in me the same feeling I get when reaching for the first strip of bacon whenever Pam makes apple pancakes. It was like how I feel whenever I see one of my kid's cars making the turn onto Aprilbud Place at the end of a long, safe drive home. It was like. . . ok, now things will be better.

Did I watch? Uh. . . No. There was baseball. Did you watch? If so, did you change your mind about either of them? I didn't think so.

A Bittersweet Memory

This coming Saturday there will be a Dixon family reunion up at the old home place, Green Hill, which is now the James River State Park. It's the sort of thing that my mother loved to attend, while most of us kids always found excuses to get out of attending, shamefully. Now that my parents are gone, I am drawn to the idea. I will see people I haven't seen in years, some who I couldn't pick out of a lineup if my very life depended on it. But, I'm excited about it. Mom would be very proud of me.

As prepararation for the event, the invitation instructs us to gather up any old photographs of family members that we can find. Apparently there will be a scanner on the property to properly duplicate these pictures and enter them into the official record. In doing so, Pam pulled out the album she had put together of my parent's 50th wedding anniversary/vow renewal ceremony from 1997. It was a moving but quite sad experience to flip through the pages..

When these pictures were taken, none of us had any idea that they had less than fifteen years to live. They looked so healthy and happy. They were surrounded by all of the people they cared most about in the world, their family.

There we all were looking healthier and younger than we do now. There were some of Mom's Dixon family. There was her dear kid brother Jim who walked her down the aisle.

There was their dear friend and pastor Ron Boswell administering the vows, and a yard full of friends sharing the moment.