Well, here we are at the gateway to The Season. Don’t even have to name it.
… ‘Tis the season to be jolly.
… ‘Season’s Greetings.’
… ‘It’s the most wonderful time of the year”
So why am I not jolly and feeling wonderful?
Perhaps it is the arrival of the cold, and with it the gray skies that are so much a part of this hunk of the planet. Maybe it is the immensity of the work required to have all that fun. Could it be that sputtering stock markets and turbulent oil prices and diffident dictators and truculent nations and arrogant presidents are unmitigated despite all the tinsel?
This year I sense that The Season is more delusional than usual, a frantic attempt to ignore the grim reality we share. If this was something implacable, like winter, it would make some sense. Defying the gods is an old and honorable custom. But most of what afflicts us is self administered. The answer to our woes is us, not the gods or their vicars called princes and presidents.
One other thing.
Come January the earnest race for president begins. And despite every reason to think my party shall prevail I feel little enthusiasm for the top contenders, and downright unhappy with the leader. After eight years of the worst president ever to occupy the office I had hoped for something better than this.
James Buchanan is widely regarded as the worst to occupy the office, helping the Civil War get started. He was succeeded by Abraham Lincoln, conceivably the best occupant. If 43 is nearly as bad as Buchanan, arguably worse, show me the Lincoln that should be rising.
We have two candidates from Illinois, it turns out. I think the current leader is more Douglas than Lincoln. Whether the other is Lincoln I cannot say. Sure wish I could.