these lazy, hazy, crazy shards of winter

Apologies to Hans Carste, Nat King Cole, Paul Simon and the Bangles for mashing-up and mangling their lyrics as I struggle to complete this particular season. Winter doesn’t even come in fourth on my list of yearly divisions acknowledged. Long ago — when I was living in Kansas — I shortened it to end on February 28th or 29th in my personal cosmology. That was an immense psychological boost, especially because it lengthens spring, my favourite season by far. Try it and see.

As this particular winter enters its final 11 days, this particular day on the farm is raining, snowing or both: decidedly, tenaciously noncommital. This month may go down as the worst in recent human memory, given that the roof didn’t really cave in last year until March. Imagine being sequestered in an apartment with your kids without food, heat, electricity and no money to buy it even if it were available. Crazy-making.

I’m checking in with friends and family in Texas and the Midwest to see how they’re coping with the cold and the Covid. So far so good for all of them, and some have even gotten their first shot. Here in balmy British Columbia, despite not having the excuse of a late start due to Trump, the vaccine roll-out is paltry. Only one of my friends and neighbours has been stuck yet, and we are generally old. My doctor has yet to hear from the province.

So let’s dwell on the good news. The top headline is that Donald John Trump is no longer present 24/7. True, he’s still getting out his message through the Fox/OANN/Newsmax circuit, but gone are the days and nights when his every thought never went unsaid and always got reported. He did get some screen time when his immensely reduced motorcade was greeted by avid supporters in a planned and highly-promoted “spontaneous” drive-by at an intersection in West Palm Beach on Presidents’ Day. Quite a letdown from his 40K attendees at the Save America rally which, as he promised, was “wild”.

Of all the many legal woes from which Donny is no longer immune, the civil lawsuits and criminal charges that will likely grow out of the failed insurrection should top the list. There will be multiple investigations of the Capitol attack and the mini-coupers. None of them will help Aging Orange. He will be probed more than an alien abductee. Indeed, as the queries unfold over the coming months and years, they should provide ample fodder for Democrats’ campaign ads in 2022.

All of the House of Representatives, including the odious Mo Brooks of Alabama, will have to claim or disclaim fealty to Trump. In the Senate, the GOP will have 20 seats to defend, compared to the Dems’ 14. Seven of those Republicans are Trump sycophants: Roy Blunt, Mike Crapo, Mike Lee, Jerry Moran, Rand Paul, Marco Rubio and John Thune. Ron Johnson, worse that any of the aforementioned, has announced he won’t run again. Likewise longtimers Richard Burr, Rob Portman, Richard Shelby and Pat Toomey. Skilled Trump ass-kisser Chuck Grassley, age 87, hasn’t decided yet.

If Trump stays on his chaotic course and Biden continues to rise in approval ratings, Kamala Harris could take the reins in ’22 and the Dems could have a solid 12 years. Stay tuned, but try to get some fresh air, exercise and Vitamin C.