Anchor Struck

Today starts the four day stretch of celebration when the two northernmost nations in North America mark their departures from the British Empire. Like true Canadians, Jude and I will commemorate the event modestly. We’ll do some yardwork, walk the dogs and eat some meat and watermelon.

It will be low-key for personal reasons, as well. I’m grieving the recent death of my long-time friend Wade, a passionate warrior who truly walked the walk. We hadn’t seen each other since 2019, but talked on the phone at least once a month. He was a dedicated father and grandfather. When his daughter hadn’t heard from him for awhile, she drove 300 miles to check on him and found him dead, probably from a heart attack.

Wherever you are, Wade, I’m sure you’re looking for Good Trouble.

On a much wider level, I’m fretting the possible catastrophe unfolding in the U.S. It doesn’t bother me so much that Trump can spew absurd lies in a national debate as it does that the Dems let him get away with it. Biden looked so clueless I thought his handlers might have to lead him offstage. He has to drop out. His unwillingness to accept that is as much a danger to democracy as Aging Orange’s sociopathy.