… lead to Putin. Could there be anything more damning, or revealing, than the revelation Trump’s known since March about Russian agents paying the Taliban to kill American troops and has done nothing about it, not even a diplomatic “fuck you, strong message to follow” to Moscow?
Oh, you mean besides Trump’s repeated attempts to weaken NATO, threats to pull American troops from Germany, and insistence that Russia, with its third-rate economy, be part of the G7? Sharing intelligence sources and secrets with Russian officials in the Oval Office? Or the concessions he agreed to in Helsinki in 2018, never made public and known only to Trump and Putin?
Is it possible, as alarmists have claimed all along, that the Electoral College installed a straight-up Russian agent in the White House? A literal traitor? Can polite people start saying it out loud?
I need a rage break. How about you? Here’s this morning’s breakfast, fried leftover polenta with eggs. I took the photo before hiding the eggs under freshly-grated Romano cheese. And yes, I shared a couple of small bites with Mister B, who has taken to scrutinizing all offerings to ensure no pills lurk within.
Yesterday, for the first time in weeks, Mister B went to the mailbox with Donna, then tracked me down to let me know it was time for dinner. That makes me cautiously optimistic he’s getting better, but we’re still worried by his coughing and shortness of breath. He has a follow-on appointment at the animal hospital on the 2nd, where they’ll take a fresh set of x-rays. I’m going to ask them to also scan his throat area … the thought that this all started with something stuck in his airway keeps me up at night.
All three televisions are working now, with new remotes that respond to voice commands. Zowie! I made bread again, first time in over a month. My monthly book club meets via Zoom in a couple of hours; we’re discussing “The Overstory” by Richard Powers (click here if you’d like to read my review). Since it’s Saturday, it’s time to replenish the bird feeders. Life goes on, despite Mister B’s troubles. Despite Trump. Despite (knock on wood) the pandemic.
Stay safe, friends and readers. Wear a mask. #Resist!
© 2020, Paul Woodford. All rights reserved.