Restorative Extrospection

Out of curiosity, I went to Fox News online this morning to read what the network would say about yesterday’s $787.5 million settlement with Dominion. Surprise. I found no mention of the settlement, which amounts to the network’s admission of guilt (how could it do anything else?).  I do not have all the details of the settlement, but it would be delightful if the judge overseeing the case were to require Fox to post online—in enormous, bold type—and broadcast, daily, an unvarnished admission of being a dishonest, unreliable, bullying, collection of the lowest form of human scum.

But it would then be only fair to require something similar, though not quite as harsh, of CNN.

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I picked up a shirt yesterday. And I will have to return to the store again sometime after the end of the month to pick up another one. To my chagrin, the shirt tails of all three shirts I bought there are far too long to wear untucked, so when wearing them I’ll have to return to the days—long, long ago—when a belt was always visible around my waist. I suppose I could use some “gussying-up;” most people in my sphere today have never seen me in anything but my extremely casual attire.

While in Little Rock, we visited Costco, where we had lunch for two for $3.86, including tax. And we bought groceries. And a supply of Kleenex for the guest bath that should last until a month and a day past the end of Time.  And, when in Little Rock, one is required to buy naan bread from Trader Joe‘s. And, while in Trader Joe‘s, one tends to buy chocolate and orchids.

Once home in the backwoods, we found our way into the center of the forest and nestled into our little cabin. We invited my SIL to come visit for an afternoon chat. And what a perfect day to introduce her dog, a Pug, to our cat, still a kitten. That introduction almost turned into a bloodbath. We had never before seen our kitten behave quite like a frenetic, growling, hissing, clawing, biting, uncontrollable demon from the bowels of Hell. But we saw it yesterday. Fortunately, we were able to corral her…a little…and get them separated before any damage was done. But, after the dog was outside and we released the cat from her cell (my office), she raced to the door and let out the most menacing, sinister, unholy, beastly, terrifying growl I have ever heard. She was very nearly ready to go through the glass of the back door.

After that excitement, we sat in our “yard” chairs on our newish flagstone and gravel forest retreat. There, the two women drank sparkling pink wine (and I had a sip or two) and we munched on the meat of pecans. Except for the yellow pollen covering everything and the gnats flying in my nose, ears, and mouth, it was delightful. Actually, even with those negatives, it was quite nice to sit beneath the green canopy of pine trees and oaks with their new displays of fresh leaves.

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Obviously, today’s post is almost entirely just a journal entry. I am not sure this morning about my thoughts or feelings or philosophies about anything. So, I will leave those weighty subjects for another day and/or another identity. I have multiple identities, you know. Those who know me as a calm, friendly, unrufflable guy have never seen the 87% of me who is someone else. And those who have witnessed a short-tempered, aloof, unfriendly side of me that I would rather amputate have never seen the 50% of me who is someone else. It is not your imagination: you did, indeed, see me slip in a non sequitur there. But was it really a non sequitur? That is the sort of question that can plague me for hours, days, weeks, even years, on end. Depending on your perspective, every answer is wrong; at least to some extent. I say that because answers imply truths and truths are contextual. Just ask Kellyanne Conway about that; she can school you on alternative facts. I know, truth and fact are not synonyms. But each contains elements of the other.

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I am thinking about you this morning. But, then, I always do.

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Time for more coffee and something to restore my faith in humankind.

 

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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