Summertime, and the living is easy. I’m back from a week in the ever-interesting East, mostly the environs of the District of Columbia, and can reliably report, in the words of yet another classic song, that it’s Too Damn Hot. Otherwise, it’s fine.
The first couple of days were devoted to a family reunion of sorts, what started out as a memorial picnic for my aunt, who died this year in her late 90s. Something like 44 of us turned up, and those were just a subset of my 15-cousin generation and their descendants. I’m proud to report that every one of them more than met my standards for political correctness and right livelihood, and many of them had a sense of humor to boot. This includes both those born into the family and those who simply married into it, though there was a nasty rumor that one spouse had Republican relatives.
I’ve often heard anguished musings about Thanksgivings in other families marred by heated disputes between Trumpoids and Liberals, but I’m happy to say that we don’t seem to have any of the former. This causes me once again to wonder who those other people are, and how they got that way.
I did hear a few hints in my crowd that some had wished for a flashier candidate than Hillary in 2016, but if so they kept it to themselves this week. There’s a remarkable unity of purpose these days among anyone who’s ever voted for a Democrat: Just hold your nose, and pull the Democratic lever.
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