Thank You, Thank You Mr. President

"Thank you, thank you. . . thank you Mr. President."

Those were the words most spoken by members of the audience at last night's Royal Proclamation.  Bowed heads and words of fealty were the common response of the republican horde.  The night was a sickening display of unguarded loyalty to a Syphilitic King who spewed untruths to the adoring crowd.  

But for one.  They had him escorted out of the building.  In that instant, I was disappointed that every democratic member of congress didn't rise to their feet and follow him out.  

Selavy.  

I know I wasn't going to talk about me, but here's some big news.  I have been in my mother's house for two months today.  And today, my cousin from Ohio is coming to stay with my mother.  I will pack my bags in a bit and head on home.  For how long?  Beats me.  But tonight, I will sleep in my own bed.  How will that be?  I'm nervous, I must say.  But there is much work to do around my house, so it will be a busy time.

But first, the roof and chimney.  I can't believe how much the "friendship" deal is costing me, but that is life.  

"How'd you go broke."

"Two ways.  First slowly, then suddenly."

I feel I have been living in suspended animation and now am being awakened into the world as it has become.  There is no winning in life, I'm afraid.  What matters most, as Bukowski proffered, is how you walk through the fire.  

The best I can do is limp.  

So, for my farewell meal, yesterday I cooked a roast in my Dutch oven in my own kitchen and brought the meal to my mother's house to feast.  I invited the tenant to come as well.  Earlier in the day, it was a question as to whether my cousin would be here that night, but she didn't make it.  I had a roast big enough for all who came.  It was about a yard thick, and I began cooking it in the afternoon.  I put it in the oven just as the maids came to clean my clean house.  When I came back, they had turned the oven off.  Oh-oh.  The roast was going to need to cook for two and a half hours by my estimation.  Dinner would be a little late.  I turned the oven on once again and sunk into the tub for a soak followed by a hot shower.  When that was done, I did something I haven't done for a very long time now.  I poured a glass of wine and sat out on my deck.  The afternoon air was like a soft hand upon the cheek.  Can't remember the phrase's source, but yea.  

I worried about the roast and how it would turn out.  One should always let beef sit and come to room temperature before cooking it, but I hadn't had the time, so the roast went into the pot cold.  An entire pack of organic carrots, half a pack of organic celery, two large yellow onions, and quite a number of small red potatoes went in with it.  Salt, pepper, and half a bottle of red wine.  I had no idea.  

Holy Moly, mother of Zeus. . . when I took it out of the oven to check it, the big knife went through the meat as if it were butter.  I put a piece into my mouth.  It would have been impossible to have seasoned it better.  Total victory!

At dinner, everyone ooed and ahhed.  It was that good.  

But here's the funniest thing about being a "good cook" as I claim, not a chef at all, but a damn good cook.  My mother was bragging about my cooking to her occupational therapist, a woman with whom I am completely taken, and she eyed me up and said, "Really?  What do you like to make?"

What could I say?  There is nothing spectacular in the dinner mix.  It sounds really stupid.  

"Uh. . . chicken, rice. . . uh. . . stew beef. . . salads. . . ."

She then explained that she and her husband had salmon the night before with cream sauces and probably reductions. . . I couldn't follow along.  It was all too fancy for my head that was shrinking rapidly.  

But I am a good cook and the roast was tremendous.

Whatever.  

I probably won't cook for awhile when I get home.  Tonight I may go to Tennessee's house for wine.  He has a new pizza oven at his outdoor kitchen and is ready to cook one up.  Such a thing.  

But this is only a brief vacation, I fear.  My cousin will tire of this and will go back to the coast to stay with my other cousin who lives there.  This is not a permanent solution.  And so.  

Trump and his republican allies are going to Make America Christian Again, I think, in the worst, most restrictive ways.  I am full of Original Sin, I'm afraid, and some secondary sins, too.  As I've reported, I have a hard time following rules.  I'm in trouble now and will have to keep a careful eye out for the swarm of Christian Soldiers and their minions.

But what can we do?  Trump is the Syphilitic Beast with Two Backs who is Slouching Toward Bethlehem.  I think he will proclaim himself the New Pope as well.  

"People say it would be a good thing.  I don't know.  It could be a good thing.  It would be very popular, and we may do it.  We'll just have to see."

O.K.  I have to get ready for departure.  My cousin left awhile ago coming from the coast and will be here soon.  It is an inauspicious day, however, with predicted high winds and thunderstorms through this evening. 

Tomorrow I'll be writing from my own home.  Isn't that something?  

Thank you, Mr. President. . . thank you.