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I'm fond of progress. We used to drive around
with a big road map spread out and yell, "I told
you to turn west a half mile ago, ya dummy,"
and now a robolady is our navigator directing us
in gentle tones and road trips are more
enjoyable. I make impulsive phone calls to
distant friends as Alexa is guiding us through
Connecticut and say, "Hi, Marcia, how's it
going?" and due to bandwidth or magnetic
resonance or the Earth's rotation, I know I won't
get a bill for $85 from AT&T. This is still a
source of wonder to an old coot like me.
And instead of having a back seat full of
encyclopedias and atlases and dictionaries, I just
google "Hartford" and read about its history.
And most important: I am 23 years older than
my uncles who died from the same congenital
heart defect I had, a gift of time, and I am
permanently grateful to my surgeons Dr.
Orszulak and Dr. Dearani and the Mayo Clinic
and the anonymous wonks who did the tedious
labor in sterile laboratories similar to the
research labs the World's Richest Nazi is now
slamming shut whenever the mood strikes him.
Medical researchers who marshal the data from
extensive tests, share their findings with other
wonks, scramble for funding to do the research
that will lead to procedures and pharmaceuticals
that will change lives, getting no credit for their
work, and now they live in fear of a car dealer
from South Africa. Weird. But I just go on
having a good time. The sun comes up and
the sun sets due to the Earth's rotation, the
Mississippi runs into the gulf and you can call it
whatever you want to, it's the same gulf, and as
Solomon said, "What is is what has been and
what shall be, there is nothing new under the
sun," except that we find ourselves with a
president who seems to have no idea what he's
doing, and every morning my wife puts the
newspaper down and says, "You won't believe
this," but I do.
I'm willing to listen to reason. Like most
Americans, I don't like the idea of radical
Marxist troublemakers in the federal judiciary
but feel that through due process these things
can be worked out.
Meanwhile my wife says, "Listen to this" and I
listen. What is beyond the man's capability?
Declaring a national emergency and dismissing
the Supreme Court? Deporting George Will?
Evidently the American military will put on a
triumphal parade on his birthday with
parachutists landing on the Ellipse and the
marching bands of all the services and tanks
rumbling up Pennsylvania Avenue.
I would not want to be the person in charge of
hiring the cheering crowds along the route and
making sure they cheer and that no divisive
banners are held up over people's heads, but I
pulled the plug on the guy long ago. I'll be living
my life.
Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality. His latest book is "Cheerfulness". Buy it at a 38% discount! by clicking here. Sales help fund JWR.
I'm a happy man, rather sane,
Who's avoiding gin and cocaine,
And agitation
Although on occasion
I like to take walks in the rain.
But I worry about the kids. My generation is
fading away, and the kids who type 50 wpm with
their thumbs on a cellphone are becoming
prominent but will they have the chance to be as
wildly lucky as I've been?