It’s a fine thing that Raphael Warnock defeated Herschel Walker and preserved a Senate seat for the Democrats.
But it stinks that the Republicans will have a majority in the House. The return of the GOP clown car means constructive legislation will come to a halt. Instead, we’ll have idiotic investigations into such weighty matters as Hunter Biden’s laptop.
They’re Republicans. They’re incapable of positive contributions.
I had hoped Senator Warnock would win by a larger margin, but Georgia’s bible-thumpers, nutjobs, and rednecks are rigidly tribal, and they automatically vote Republican. In my county, which is 87 percent white and staunchly GOP, Walker got 21,600 votes, and Warnock got 5,800.
Herschel was a lame and embarrassing candidate, but you have to feel bad for him. He is a troubled guy who doesn’t belong in the public eye. Putting him there was cruel.
In spite of the behavior of the rednecks and MAGAGAs, however, the larger problem is that half of eligible voters don’t vote.
In a typical US election, roughly one-quarter of the electorate votes Democratic, one-quarter votes Republican, and one-half stays home.
In the 2018 midterms, 48 percent of the voting-age population voted, and 52 percent did not.
In the Biden-Trump presidential election, only 63 percent of the voting-age population went to the polls. 37 percent couldn’t be bothered.
Compare our record to Sweden’s: in 2022, 80 percent of their voting age population voted. In 2021 in Peru, the number was 84 percent. In 2020 in New Zealand, it was 77 percent.
In the US, with the right-wingers becoming more wild-eyed and bonkers every day, and the democratic process literally in peril, failing to vote is practically criminal.
In 19 countries, it IS criminal.
In Australia, voting has been compulsory since 1924. Federal elections are held every three years, and all citizens over 18 are required to vote, or at least to show up at the polls.
Since the system was instituted, turnout has never been lower than 90 percent.
I’m certainly in favor of mandatory voting in the US, but it isn’t likely to happen. Requiring people to vote would bring GOP/MAGAGA influence to an immediate halt, since far more of us are rational than not. The right-wingers would riot in the streets to prevent that.
Still, the idea of lighting a fire under the indifferent half is mighty appealing.
American author William Sydney Porter (1862-1910), better known as O. Henry, served time in prison for embezzlement.
In 1894, before he started writing, Porter was charged with embezzling $854.08 from a Texas bank. One day before his trial began, he fled to Honduras, which had no extradition treaty with the US. The plan was for his wife to join him, but she had suffered from tuberculosis for years and by then was too weak to travel.
In 1897, as she was near death, Porter returned to Texas to be with her, and he surrendered. A few months after she died, he was tried and sentenced to five years in prison. He was paroled after three for good behavior.
While incarcerated, Porter began writing as O. Henry. He and his publishers were careful not to disclose his situation and residence, and his career took off.
After his early death (cirrhosis, diabetes), the O. Henry Award was created to honor short stories of exceptional merit. It has been presented annually since 1919.
The story below was published shortly after Porter’s parole and — oh, my goodness — it involves a man being escorted to prison.
———
Hearts and Hands
By O. Henry Published in Everybody’s Magazine, December 1902
At Denver there was an influx of passengers into the coaches on the eastbound B. & M. Express. In one coach there sat a very pretty young woman dressed in elegant taste and surrounded by all the luxurious comforts of an experienced traveler.
Among the newcomers were two young men, one of handsome presence with a bold, frank countenance and manner; the other a ruffled, glum-faced person, heavily built and roughly dressed. The two were handcuffed together.
As they passed down the aisle of the coach the only vacant seat offered was a reversed one facing the attractive young woman. Here the linked couple seated themselves.
The young woman’s glance fell upon them with a distant, swift disinterest; then with a lovely smile brightening her countenance and a tender pink tingeing her rounded cheeks, she held out a little gray-gloved hand. When she spoke her voice, full, sweet, and deliberate, proclaimed that its owner was accustomed to speak and be heard.
“Well, Mr. Easton, if you will make me speak first, I suppose I must. Don’t you ever recognize old friends when you meet them in the West?”
The younger man roused himself sharply at the sound of her voice, seemed to struggle with a slight embarrassment which he threw off instantly, and then clasped her fingers with his left hand.
“It’s Miss Fairchild,” he said, with a smile. “I’ll ask you to excuse the other hand; it’s otherwise engaged just at present.”
He slightly raised his right hand, bound at the wrist by the shining “bracelet” to the left one of his companion. The glad look in the girl’s eyes slowly changed to a bewildered horror. The glow faded from her cheeks. Her lips parted in a vague, relaxing distress.
Easton, with a little laugh, as if amused, was about to speak again when the other forestalled him. The glum-faced man had been watching the girl’s countenance with veiled glances from his keen, shrewd eyes.
“You’ll excuse me for speaking, miss, but, I see you’re acquainted with the marshal here. If you’ll ask him to speak a word for me when we get to the pen he’ll do it, and it’ll make things easier for me there. He’s taking me to Leavenworth prison. It’s seven years for counterfeiting.”
“Oh!” said the girl, with a deep breath and returning color. “So that is what you are doing out here? A marshal!”
“My dear Miss Fairchild,” said Easton, calmly, “I had to do something. Money has a way of taking wings unto itself, and you know it takes money to keep step with our crowd in Washington. I saw this opening in the West, and — well, a marshalship isn’t quite as high a position as that of ambassador, but —”
“The ambassador,” said the girl, warmly, “doesn’t call any more. He needn’t ever have done so. You ought to know that. And so now you are one of these dashing Western heroes, and you ride and shoot and go into all kinds of dangers. That’s different from the Washington life. You have been missed from the old crowd.”
The girl’s eyes, fascinated, went back, widening a little, to rest upon the glittering handcuffs.
“Don’t you worry about them, miss,” said the other man. “All marshals handcuff themselves to their prisoners to keep them from getting away. Mr. Easton knows his business.”
“Will we see you again soon in Washington?” asked the girl.
“Not soon, I think,” said Easton. “My butterfly days are over, I fear.”
“I love the West,” said the girl irrelevantly. Her eyes were shining softly. She looked away out the car window. She began to speak truly and simply without the gloss of style and manner: “Mamma and I spent the summer in Denver. She went home a week ago because father was slightly ill. I could live and be happy in the West. I think the air here agrees with me. Money isn’t everything. But people always misunderstand things and remain stupid —”
“Say, Mr. Marshal,” growled the glum-faced man. “This isn’t quite fair. I’m needing a drink, and haven’t had a smoke all day. Haven’t you talked long enough? Take me in the smoker now, won’t you? I’m half dead for a pipe.”
The bound travelers rose to their feet, Easton with the same slow smile on his face.
“I can’t deny a petition for tobacco,” he said, lightly. “It’s the one friend of the unfortunate. Good-bye, Miss Fairchild. Duty calls, you know.” He held out his hand for a farewell.
“It’s too bad you are not going East,” she said, reclothing herself with manner and style. “But you must go on to Leavenworth, I suppose?”
“Yes,” said Easton, “I must go on to Leavenworth.”
The two men sidled down the aisle into the smoker.
The two passengers in a seat nearby had heard most of the conversation. Said one of them: “That marshal’s a good sort of chap. Some of these Western fellows are all right.”
“Pretty young to hold an office like that, isn’t he?” asked the other.
“Young!” exclaimed the first speaker, “why — Oh! Didn’t you catch on? Say — did you ever know an officer to handcuff a prisoner to his right hand?”
1. The mythological griffin (or griffon, or gryphon) is a combination of what two animals?
2. What US president took the oath of office using his nickname instead of his given name?
3. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer first appeared in 1939. What is his origin story?
4. What do you call the slot in the shaft of an arrow where the bowstring fits?
5. What was the profession of the seven dwarfs, the characters in the 1812 German fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm?
The Answers…
1. An eagle and a lion.
2. Jimmy Carter.
3. Rudolph was created by the Montgomery Ward department store chain as a Christmas promotion. Bob May, a copywriter in the MW advertising department, wrote the story about shy little Rudolph leading Santa’s sleigh, etc., and an illustrated version of the story was printed and made available to shoppers.
4. The nock.
5. They were miners. Or, in the parlance of 1812, delvers.
Being a single guy and having no one to stop me, I am free to do as I please when it comes to decorating the house.
My taste is decidedly whimsical. I like fun, funky stuff, so the vibe around here leans toward the offbeat and humorous.
That goes for the fan pulls…
…the suncatchers…
…the refrigerator magnets…
…and my assorted collections.
Which isn’t to say, mind you, that I lack couth and good taste.
Starting several years ago, I extended my whimsy/funky theme to include Christmas decorations.
My Christmas tree is a modest, artificial four-footer that I display on a table in the dining room. At first, the decorations were just the usual colored lights, glass globes, etc.
Then, at a craft show somewhere, I found an intriguing item: a dried okra pod, painted as Santa Claus with a long white beard.
This okra pod.
It was a revelation. It opened the door to exciting new possibilities. It showed me that a ho-hum Christmas tree could be transformed to embrace serious funk and whimsy.
Today, my tree is adorned with everything from Fisher-Price Little People to gnomes with pointy hats. And every year, I find fun new items to add.
● Richard Burton, who starred in the 1984 film “1984,” died in 1984.
● Ninety Mile Beach in New Zealand is only 55 miles long. It is misnamed because European settlers in the mid-1800s could traverse the beach on horseback in three days, and horses typically covered 30 miles a day. They failed to account for sand slowing their progress.
● 250 languages are written and read from left to right, 12 from right to left.
● In Hawaiian, the word ukulele means jumping flea.
● The Province of New Jersey, an English colony that preceded the American Revolution, granted women the right to vote in 1776. But in 1807, as a US state, New Jersey reverted to the old system wherein only white men could vote. Classy.
● In America, 375 slices of pizza are consumed per second.
● 45 men have served as US President. Only 12 were elected to a second term.
● The only member of ZZ Top who doesn’t have a beard is Frank Beard.
VERO BEACH, FLORIDA — An object identified as a pre-World War II land mine was removed safely from a stretch of Atlantic beach by an Air Force hazardous materials team.
The object was discovered on a beach adjacent to Highway A1A near Patrick AFB. Officials at the base said that from the 1930s to the early 1940s, part of the beach was used for Navy training exercises. One of its missions was using explosives to test the strength of fortifications on the beach.
The beach was cleared of explosives after the training facility closed, the officials said, but the military almost certainly lost track and “left a lot of them here.”
VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA — A Vancouver supermarket printed embarrassing slogans on its plastic bags, hoping the reverse psychology would prompt customers to bring reusable bags.
East West Market ordered plastic bags featuring ads for an adult video emporium, an ointment for warts, and a colon care service. Included in small type was the statement, “Avoid the shame. Bring a reusable bag.”
Some customers got the message, but others turned the project on its head; many people appreciated the humor, and demand for the plastic bags soared.
The owner quickly switched to printing the sought-after images on reusable bags.
LAKE CITY, FLORIDA — Lake City Mall was evacuated after a suspicious object with multiple wires protruding from it was spotted in a public area.
Units from the Lake City Fire Department, Lake City Police, Columbia County Sheriff, and Florida Highway Patrol secured the area while a HAZMAT team investigated the object.
It turned out to be a sub sandwich wrapped in paper and adorned with wires to make it appear to be an explosive device.
A police spokesman said the device was “most likely intended to cause fear or as part of a prank,” and they intend to investigate the incident.
Under Florida law, placing a hoax bomb in public view is a second degree felony.
Science, as you know, is willing to change its conclusions as new evidence warrants. Well, while I wasn’t paying attention, science made a whopper of a change about the nature of evolution.
As Darwin explained, evolution occurs through the process of natural selection. Namely, the fittest organisms survive, reproduce, and pass on their traits to the next generation. The idea also took root that the process unfolds as a rather neat and orderly progression, as if the species is changing by climbing a ladder, moving onward and upward.
That concept — that evolution is largely progressive — is now out the window. Instead, experts think evolution is less like a ladder and more like a big, gnarly tree, with lots of branches and numerous dead ends everywhere.
The new thinking is that a species evolves to adapt to a specific, immediate environment. For example, researchers once believed that the first horses had four toes, then evolved to three, then two, and finally to hooves.
More likely, toed horses evolved as more suitable in various marshy habitats, and hoofed horses evolved to navigate dry, rocky ground. Maybe one evolved from the other, maybe it didn’t. Think chaos, not orderliness.
Learning this made my head swim, but it makes sense. And it’s wonderfully objective.
I love science.
The Chase
My dog Jake sees deer all the time as they pass through the woods behind our house. It’s a thrill for him, but he’s inside a fence. You can bet he aches to be free, to give chase as nature intended, galloping in pursuit through the trees, unrestrained by fence or leash.
Not long ago, he got his wish. He and I went walking at Jefferson Elementary School on a Saturday, when he could go off-leash. The school property backs up to a multiple-acre woods.
As we walked along the edge of the woods, Jake suddenly froze and stared into the trees. Seconds later, a deer bolted and took flight. In a heartbeat, Jake was after it.
The chase lasted 10 or 15 seconds. Ultimately, 75 or so yards away, the deer leapt a fence into the safety of someone’s back yard. The drama was over.
When Jake came trotting back out of the woods, he was panting with excitement and exhaustion. A beaming dog smile was on his face.
Chickens
The chicken (Gallus gallus domesticus) is the planet’s most common bird and one of the most widespread of domestic animals. More than 50 billion cluckers are raised annually as a source of meat and eggs. They are a crucial and relatively low-maintenance food source worldwide.
The modern chicken is a descendant of junglefowl that evolved on the Indian subcontinent about 8,000 years ago. Man has raised domestic chickens since the time of the ancient Greeks and Egyptians.
Early ocean-going explorers, including the Vikings, helped introduce chickens to all parts of the world. Typically, live chickens were kept on ships as part of the crew’s food supply, and the birds often were traded in foreign ports for needed supplies.
The origin of chickens in the Americas? Christopher Columbus introduced them here on his second voyage in 1493.
Draw a crazy picture, Write a nutty poem, Sing a mumble-grumble song, Whistle through your comb. Do a loony-goony dance ‘Cross the kitchen floor, Put something silly in the world That ain’t been there before.
———
Harriet Tubman
By Eloise Greenfield
Eloise Little Greenfield (1929-2021)
Harriet Tubman didn’t take no stuff Wasn’t scared of nothing neither Didn’t come in this world to be no slave And wasn’t going to stay one either
“Farewell!” she sang to her friends one night She was mighty sad to leave ’em But she ran away that dark, hot night Ran looking for her freedom She ran to the woods and she ran through the woods With the slave catchers right behind her And she kept on going till she got to the North Where those mean men couldn’t find her
Nineteen times she went back South To get three hundred others She ran for her freedom nineteen times To save Black sisters and brothers Harriet Tubman didn’t take no stuff Wasn’t scared of nothing neither Didn’t come in this world to be no slave And didn’t stay one either
And didn’t stay one either
———
When Earth’s Last Picture is Painted
By Rudyard Kipling
Joseph Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
When Earth’s last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it — lie down for an aeon or two, Till the Master of All Good Workmen Shall put us to work anew.
And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair; They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comet’s hair. They shall find real saints to draw from — Magdalene, Peter, and Paul; They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!
And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame; And no one will work for the money, and no one will work for the fame, But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!
———
Remember
By Christina Rossetti
Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)
Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann’d: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.
———
Try Again
By W. E. Hickson
William Edward Hickson (1803-1870)
‘T is a lesson you should heed, Try, try again; If at first you don’t succeed, Try, try again; Then your courage should appear, For, if you will persevere, You will conquer, never fear; Try, try again.
Once or twice though you should fail, Try, try again; If you would at last prevail, Try, try again; If we strive, ’tis no disgrace Though we do not win the race; What should you do in the case? Try, try again.
If you find your task is hard, Try, try again; Time will bring you your reward, Try, try again. All that other folks can do, Why, with patience, should not you? Only keep this rule in view: Try, try again.
If a genie appeared and offered me one wish, and I were a better man, I would ask for world peace, or to end hunger and poverty, or for all Republicans to be raptured into the sky, never to be heard from again.
But no, I would ask to be 22 years old again, tall and handsome, financially secure, and with an IQ of, say, 200.
If the genie offered me a second wish, I would ask to be able to converse with my dog Jake.
I suppose it would have to be telepathic, since dogs haven’t evolved to speak. I’m fine with telepathic.
As it is, I talk to Jake constantly. But he only comprehends my tone and certain key words. I would want the genie to allow genuine two-way communication.
Jake and I understand each other pretty well, despite not being able to have conversations. As roommates of long standing, we know the other’s likes, dislikes, and boundaries. We have our routines and rituals, most of which occur smoothly.
But there is so much more I wish we could share.
I wish I could tell him, “Jake, we can’t go for a walk this morning because I have a haircut appointment. We’ll go walking after lunch, okay?”
And “I’m sorry, buddy, I can’t share these cookies with you. Chocolate is harmful to dogs. I got you some Alpo treats instead.”
And “Dude, I’m going on a road trip, and you’d be cooped up in the car all day. I’ll leave you at the kennel so you can play with the other pooches. I’ll be back before you know it, I promise.”
And “I know the thunder is scary, but it’s only noise. And it’s a long way off. It won’t hurt you, honest.”
And “Look, pal, when I sneeze, I’m not mad and yelling. It’s an involuntary reaction to a tickle in my nose. You sneeze, too, right?”
Jake also has information to share.
Such as “Rocky! We need to go out to the front yard, right now! A cat is out there! I saw it through the window!”
Or “Okay, this isn’t complicated. Leave the toilet seats up.”
Or “Look, you don’t have to keep me on a leash at the city pond. I know I get excited around the ducks, but would I chase one down and hurt it? Don’t be silly.”
Or “Uh… I ate some stuff outside, and I don’t fell so good. I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Anyway, I’ve given this considerable thought. I would be ready, if a genie appeared.
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