The Station this morn came to mind, maybe more so as today marks 9/11, and the last time I spoke to mom was some days after, all we spoke about was that, and 6 weeks or so later she was gone, it’s been 17 years. I wished I’d said other things, but, there you go, ya never know.
That Station, originally I saw it when mom cut it out from Ann Landers when I was a kid and posted it on the fridge. I have always liked the train analogy, maybe due to my affinity with trains, but here is a part so you know what I’m referring to.
But uppermost in our conscious minds is our final destination–for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the Station with bells ringing, flags waving, and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the Station.
“Yes, when we reach the Station, that will be it!” we promise ourselves. “When we’re eighteen. . . win that promotion. . . put the last kid through college. . . buy that 450SL Mercedes-Benz. . . have a nest egg for retirement!” From that day on we will all live happily ever after.
by Robert J. Hastings, The Station
Chicago Tribune, December 02, 1987
Like I’m now almost her age when she died, and life has had a couple more bashes on the head in store for me, but I’m still standing. I have learned a thing or two though, about enjoying the ride, watching out the window, speaking my truth, saying my piece, and living and enjoying the now, knowing maybe one day I’ll arrive, wherever that may be, but the taste of freshly brewed morning coffee, the cool misty rain on my face on my way to work yesterday, those things are far more significant.
Anywho. On to some more insignificant trifle, or so the White House would say.
The next thought I had this morn, is that if I lied as much as Sanders, Pence, the 45th, I swear I would have spent much of my childhood in my room, coming out briefly to lie some more, and right back in. The 45th lies so much some papers have taken to doing a daily tally, think it’s the WaPo? Anywho, almost boggles the mind how easy it is for them, and then have days, maybe a few weeks later, have everything they said found out to be false. And not, adding an extra ‘0’ to an economic stat oopsy, but a “no sir, I did not meet with any foreign agents” sort of bull-pucky, again, again, and some more, and oops…another one popped out. Oopsy.
Big lies, small lies, medium size lies, makes ol’Bill look like a choir boy, lifting up the skirt of a girl and peaking at her underwear sort of naughty. The bunch of them are still pointing their fingers at Hillary, like my sister trying to get me in trouble, buuuuut she said shite, she said damn and Mom washing both our mouths out with soap.
I think Washington needs a Mom, eh?
Lying is a characteristic intrinsic to the politician’s character, though, the stereotype, of crafting these spins on facts, not OUTRIGHT lying, but lying by proxy, lying by omission, that sort of thing. Rinse, wash, spin, repeat, the mantra of the town guy who wants political power, and one day finds himself, maybe, roaming the halls of that storied Hill. Those lies, the lies of government, to protect their own power, whilst appearing to serve the peoples interests.
Today, all that pretense is gone. Least we can say it’s honest lies, right out in the open, no by proxy lies, omission lies, just straight-up, LIE. Why? Well, that’s easy, cause they’ve figured out they can, and nothing happens.
Like, stealing change from your mom’s wallet. You steal .75 cents one day, 4 quarters the next, then one day you get brave and steal a whole dollar, and WHAM, found out. Mom scolds you, says, BAD, but that’s it, and you just go along your merry way, next day, steal a couple of quarters, .75 cents, and so forth, knowing all mom will do is scold you, mere words, and words don’t matter. Maybe she’s too busy to bother, maybe she’s overwhelmed and can’t cope, maybe she doesn’t have those sorts of mommy skills, just doesn’t have the wherewithal, didn’t grow up in a household where a sound commonsense adult meted out the punishments, and could not so easily be swindled.
But, the House, the Senate, the opposition, all of them, completely incapable of being any sort of deterrent, nor strength or conviction, nor backbone in the lot of them, pansy voices speaking up once in a while, saying the obvious, and then scurrying back to their Hill, peeking their little noses out to see what, if anything, is coming for them.
But no one is. All talk, no action Jackson amongst the lot. Everyone is waiting on bated breath, maybe, for Mueller’s findings, for the midterms, for, I don’t know, Christmas maybe?
It continues, and we all know it, cause we all do it, wait on the next turn, the next goal, the station, the place where everything will be just so, and perfect, and glory be, we will get what we deserve. Which is pure and utter hogwash, but we do it, each of us, at some point we have. The piece goes on, you know, eat more ice cream, more walks in the sunshine, more joy…and;
“So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather the regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today.
We don’t need to wait for the station, those men and women in Washington are servile and inept if they do not feel they can act. Why not? Why not begin hearings, why wait? Why not speak up? One by one, without mercy, without reserve, speak the truth, and followers and constituency be damned, be damned, as divided we fall, together we are strong. THAT is a truth.
To see those who oppose this man walk forward, hat in hand, owning their mistakes, and sharing their truth, regardless of the consequence. As we have seen, lying has no consequence, surely telling the truth should have none, right?
The Repubs certainly put up a stink when Clinton lied about peeking at Monica’s underpants, amongst other things.
Hypocrite much? I know, I know, that’s politics today. It’s about spin, attack, pivot, spin, attack, pivot, stand on holy ground, or as if, and pronounce the wrongdoer, impeach impeach, he lied.
So, maybe we should just enjoy the ride, chuckle when it’s funny, scream in horror as they careen the country from crisis to crisis, against the guardrails, shields up, oh good, look, some pion took the phone out of his hand, WWIII averted – back to regular programming – commercial break – up next, on Who The Hell Is Driving The Train?