Holiday malaise has kept me from the Blogosphere for a bit, but judging from the absence of outcry from my readership I assume all are muddling through despite the dearth of witty pearls and droll commentary.
And the alert will note that I have belatedly realized that I can include pictures, all from before the holidays when we were graced with snow. The "busy" street scene is from the Christmas market. Most days you can walk down the middle without fear of vehicular mayhem. Click to enlarge.
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Boredom has increased my interest in local commerce, and perusal of the local Help Wanted Ads led me to the following: (a) at the local, highly acclaimed community school, “experienced Pre-School teachers, $8-$9/hour”, and (b) at the local motel, “maids/housekeepers, $11 - $13/hour.” Depressing but no surprise that we value clean toilets and hospital corners over the education of our children. Could that be why we have so many more day laborers than innovators?
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My new president continues to make impressive pronouncements, propose stratospheric (if vague) solutions, and surround himself with bright stars and few ideologues, which is already eliciting anguished wails from the left. The plethora of memorabilia on the market is astounding, particularly since so few substantive memories have yet been created. Coins with JFK and BHO side-by-side, sneakers that by some accounts are outselling Air-Jordans, and now a call for an official holiday in his name. It occurs that even Jesus had to perform the odd miracle before he was awarded December 25th.
My own expectations remain elevated. Pols traditionally spend political capital on furthering their partisan agendas. At this early point at least it appears that Barack Obama is cashing his in on the quest for national unity. His expressed “inclination” not to prosecute Bush and Cheney for war crimes, the one great dream of the radical left, is already elevating Pepto Bismol sales to record levels.
I suggested sometime back that the new Chief Executive was likely to receive more heat from the left than the right. From Rick Warren to Robert Gates and Hilary Clinton, to hedges on exiting Iraq, taxing the rich, and closing Guantanamo, our new leader is learning as does every President that there is more than a subtle difference between elocution and execution.
The fear is always that a leader’s heart will refuse to pump blood to his brain, and common sense for the common good with go the way of the 2008 economy. So far, at least, we appear to have a pragmatist, and although it causes some pain in the admission, a pragmatic liberal can sometimes be preferable to a blind conservative. Recent Chief Executive pragmatists include Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton. Good company!
And by the way, I have always been proud to wear the badge of conservatism, while it appears that liberals in their shame have now shed their appellation in favor of the more politically-correct sounding “progressive.” What was it Shakespeare said about a rose? Proud noveau-progressives are undoubtedly too young to remember the 1960s motto of the quintessential American beacon of private enterprise and its spokesman Ronald Reagan: “At General Electric, Progress is our Most Important Product”.
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My life these days is so dependent on Mother Nature that I should be immune to surprise, yet any celestial institution that can cut a surgical path reducing one residence to rubble while leaving neighbors left and right untouched deserves both admiration and respect. I am barely 10 miles east of the Continental Divide (landmarked by the Eisenhower Tunnel) and the streets of Georgetown are void of snow. Silverthorne, just 10 miles west of the Divide sports 12-foot high drifts in its parking lots and a consistent cover of white – replenished almost daily – that will conceal asphalt until mid-spring.
I long ago discovered that I love snow and hate cold and especially wind, although the east coast damp chill that seeps into bones is infinitely more insidious than its dry counterpart of the west. A cold Paris drizzle can wither the spirit while crisp Colorado nights are bracing and bring comfort. Of course the debilitating Gallic dank drives the populace into warm cafes, toasty bistros, and dreamily olfactory restos. It’s an ill French wind that blows no good, and I have as many happy memories of shedding a winter chill with a “Cotes du Rhone chambray” and a confit de canard as I do of August romps in the Jardin Luxembourg and sweltering in long summer lines at the Louvre or the Musee Hotel de Ville.
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Governor Jindal of Louisiana may be a rising star on the national political scene, but he erred grievously in allowing his minions to cancel a proposed disaster response contract that promised me lucrative employ in the land where les bon temps rouler. And so it looks as though I will be stuck in paradise for some time to come, unremunerated but content.
…the adventure, propelled by a howling Chinook wind, whistles through the trees …
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