waiting for surgery, rain and the apocalypse

The hole in my lung is healing quite well, thank you, but a specialist in Victoria thinks I should have it reinforced. So I’m now in queue for surgery. Sind it’s not urgent, it could be winter before they can get around to me. That means that Jude and I might have to risk an icy drive over the dreaded Malahat Pass. It’s about 300 kilometers (186 miles) from our house to the hospital. Fortunately, that route goes by several Popeyes Chicken restaurants.

So that gives me several months to tend to other pressing matters, like football, Jim Jordan and drought. This, on average, is the time of year the autumn rains return and we switch over from solar to micro-hydro power. Our dry spell this year started six weeks early, so we’re keener than usual for the wet stuff. Experts are predicting that B.C.’s forest fire season could extend into winter.

While I baby my lung, I’m spending far too much time taking in TV news. I fully acknowledge the perils of that, but how can I not watch? The immediate future of the continent is in the hands of Trump ‘s tykes like Jordan, who spewed enough whale shit yesterday as Chair of the House Judiciary Committee to fertilize the Arabian Peninsula. The only thing that made his performance bearable was Eric Swalwell using his 300 seconds of mike time to display a clock counting the nearly 500 days Jordan has ignored a subpoena after Jordan had chastised others for doing so.

Kevin McCarthy looks absolutely at sea trying to control Jordan, MTG and the other enfants terribles. I hope the Dems can keep their powder dry as the Reps rush to self destruction.