The Flowers (A Story)

08/17/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

Shane knocked on the front door a bit hesitantly. It was his first real date in eight years. When Susan told him to drop by around 5 p.m. to pick her up, he realized she must trust him. It was a rarity for a woman to invite someone so new in their life to her house. Not that he kept up with dating trends.

Susan opened the door, smiling.

“Shane! I’m so glad to see you. Hug me.” Susan didn’t wait for him to respond. She stepped forward and gave him a strong hug. It was difficult for her to believe she’d only known him a week, doubly so because one of her friends from work had highly recommended that she get to know him. None of the previous attempts at being matched were successful. There was always a catch to their enthusiasm. On one memorable date, her friend Claire conveniently forgot to mention that the would-be boyfriend spent a lot of his free time at gentlemen’s clubs.

Shane laughed. “You must be glad to see me.”

Susan nodded enthusiastically. “You promised me flowers, Shane.” She winked at him.

“Indeed I did. And I will surprise you with them soon enough.” He gave Susan a cryptic wink in return.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you? That’s fine by me. Surprise away. Do you want something to drink before we go? A sandwich? A pool float? Maybe an entire apple pie?” Susan fired off the humorous options rapidly.

“Haha. No, I’m good. If you’re ready, we can go. Unless you want an entire lemon cake as a snack before we head out?” For a second, Susan couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“No, I wait until Sunday night before bed for that.”

Shane nodded and smiled.

“Let me get my small purse and we’ll go. I put on comfortable shoes, just as you requested.” Susan pointed at her shoes, then twirled in full circle as her sundress swirled around her.

As Shane backed out of Susan’s driveway, she immediately started asking him questions. He looked over at her every few seconds, both to acknowledge her and to steal a glance. At forty-seven, she was naturally pretty. Her hair was restrained by a ponytail. It was her quick smile and wit that captivated him.

After ten minutes of banter, Susan smiled at him. “You said you had a song for me to listen to, one that you wanted to share with me.”

“Yes.” He pressed the input button on his console stereo. “It’s not what you expect.”

Susan clapped her hands quickly together. “Goody! Another surprise. Who doesn’t like surprise music?”

As the music started, Susan realized it was the original version of a song she hadn’t heard in years, not since her grandmother died. One of her favorite memories was of her Nonna playing records in the kitchen as she cooked.

Both Shane and Susan were quiet as the song played. When it finished, Susan said, “How could you have known that this song is so special to me, Shane?”

Shane cleared his throat. The song had taken him back to nostalgic memories, too. “I didn’t. My grandparents used to play this record over and over and talk about how they almost weren’t together. I can’t hear the song without thinking about how it is a song about our temporary place in the world and to appreciate one another.”

Suan reached over and touched Shane’s right arm as he drove. She recounted her childhood and her grandmother Nonna in the kitchen.

Just as Shane was about to speak, Susan said, “Can we listen to it again?”

“Of course,” Shane answered and hit a button on his console.

They both listened in silence as “Il Mondo” repeated. When it ended, Shane took a glance over at Susan. Her eyes locked with his. He nodded. Susan smiled in return.

A few minutes later, Susan realized they were heading toward the lake. “Swimming? I didn’t bring a swimsuit, Shane.”

Shane laughed. “No swimming. Unless we have an accident. Or the urge overtakes you.”

Susan laughed again, something she found herself doing often. She had the idea that if she did strip down to her underwear Shane would look at her with appreciation. He radiated… gratitude about everything. Normally, she felt awkward because she tended to talk a lot. Or laugh. Not with Shane.

Shane turned onto a side road near the lake and drove about a mile into the trees that stood thickly around the road. “I know someone who lets me come visit. You’ll see.”

He took a left onto an almost invisible dirt road, not much more than a path. Within thirty seconds, they neared the water’s edge. The water lapped up against the shore.

Shane turned off the truck and stepped out. Susan didn’t realize that she was waiting for him to come around the side of the truck to open her door. When he pulled it open, she held out her right hand for him to hold as she stepped down.

She followed him around as he reached over and pulled a small cooler from a crate fastened against the cab of the truck.

“Interesting,” Susan said. She stood and smelled the strong, earthy smell of the trees and the water.

“This is about the best place on the entire lake, Susan.” He smiled at her. She felt goosebumps on the back of her arms.

“After you,” Shane said, and pointed toward the right, along the shore.

Susan walked on the small rocks and pieces of driftwood, watching the water capture the shimmering reflection of the late August sun.

“It’s fairly close,” Shane said as if he needed to reassure her.

Susan turned to look at him. “I’m good for any amount of walking, Shane. I can keep up.”

Shane watched Susan walk, her feet confident on the shore. Her ponytail bobbed as she walked. He followed her around the curved shoreline.

Susan pointed. “That’s such a beautiful island! Look at that huge dead tree.”

Shane laughed. “That’s where we’re headed.”

Within twenty yards, Susan saw a small Jon boat tethered to the shore. Paddles leaned on the inside.

“I was hoping we could swim to the island. I’m kind of disappointed.” Susan laughed, teasing.

“We could, but the alligators get cranky this time of the year, Susan.” He smiled back at her.

She shook her head. “I ride alligators, so that’s okay with me.”

Shane unanchored the boat. He then leaned over the edge of the flat-bottomed boat and placed the cooler inside. He held out his hand and helped Susan step into the boat. He walked into the water and stepped quickly over and toward the rear of the small boat. Grabbing the oars, he pushed them into the water and pushed hard, moving the boat slightly away from the shore.

Shane slowly rowed the boat back a bit and then managed to get it turned toward the island about a hundred yards away. Susan didn’t ask him why he didn’t use a trolling motor. She knew he’d tell her he didn’t want to disturb the quiet of the lake. Shane seemed to be one of those rare people who spoke plainly and rarely made her wonder about what he wasn’t saying.

As he rowed, Susan smiled and then laughed. “I didn’t mean to laugh. You’re not very good with those oars, Shane.”

He winked at her. “I know. You’d think I’d be an expert by now as much as I’ve visited. But I don’t love rowing. I love getting across. I could spend time getting great at it but I don’t see the point.”

Susan looked at Shane as he rowed. She realized that he just inadvertently revealed something about himself with his admission about rowing. She liked the realization. Most people, and men in particular, didn’t openly agree they weren’t good at something.

Susan turned sideways in the front of the boat, watching the island slowly approach. It was filled with thick trees and bushes. The dead tree sat on their side of the island. Susan saw movement and realized a large bird sat immobilize on top of the broken, dead tree.

“It’s an eagle,” she shouted.

“Yes, it’s that time of the year when you can almost touch them as they fly down across the lake.” Just as he spoke, the eagle spread its wing and dived off the tree. It flew across the surface of the lake about twenty feet away from them. Susan watched it effortlessly cross the lake and over the trees lining the shore.

Shane continued to row and turned to row parallel to its shores. Susan now faced the island, keenly watching the trees and brush. She was silent. Shane watched her face as he rowed.

“How long has it been since you’ve been out on the water like this, Susan?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Years. And not since I was very young have I been in the water so… closely. This is beautiful, Shane.”

“Wait. Just wait.” Shane laughed softly. Shane continued to row and the boat made a long arc around to the other side of the island. The opposite shore was only about thirty yards away on this side.

“You can often see deer swimming across here, Susan. This side isn’t inhabited. My friend owns the entire length. It’s empty. At least of people.”

Susan watched the far side of the shore instead of the island, which was Shane’s intention.

He rowed a little faster and when the boat reached the intended destination, he turned slowly toward the hidden far side of the island.

“Wow!” Susan almost shouted. Her voice carried loudly across the lake.

Shane smiled as Susan asked, “What kind of plant is that?!”

“Buttonbushes. Late in the season for them. But beautiful and practical.”

Shane looked at the dozens of buttonbushes about twenty feet from the island shore. Most were white blossomed. Three or four were pink. Off to the right, a picnic table and upright steel grill stood. A pile of driftwood at least four feet high was closer to the shore.

“Did you do all of this, Shane? It’s like we’re in another little world on this side of the island.”

Shane nodded. “Boats can’t approach from the inlet side because of the rock outcroppings underneath. The water under is only about two feet deep, believe it or not. But yes, I did encourage the foliage and made the space.”

“It’s magical.” Susan’s eyes devoured the hidden space that Shane had willed into existence. “I bet you bring all the special girls out here to woo them, don’t you?” She smiled from ear to ear.

“Why yes, I do,” Shane said. “So far, it’s been a grand total of you.” As he spoke, he moved the boat to the shoreline and it skidded to a stop. Susan steadied herself as it slid across the shore.

Shane stepped forward in the boat and then climbed out. He held out his hand to help Susan step off. When she put both feet on the ground, she surprised herself and Shane by tilting her head, stepping closer, and kissing him on the lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I love it already. Are these the flowers you promised?”

Shane grinned. “Yes.”

“They are perfect. This place is perfect.” Susan twirled again.

Shane walked over to the picnic table and placed the small cooler on top of it. Opening it, he pulled out two small single-serve bottles of wine. He opened one for each of them and handed one to Susan. She tipped her bottle forward and Shane clinked his against hers.

Susan sat on the bench of the picnic table, facing outward. Shane sat next to her. They both looked at the buttonbush-covered treeline and then back toward the opposite shore. The sun was about thirty minutes from setting. Oddly, Susan didn’t feel the urge to talk. She sat next to Shane, watching the water and the sunlight. The quiet of the island was a surprise to her and felt almost like meditation.

Susan didn’t realize that she reached out and grasped Shane’s right hand with her left. Their fingers curled together. She looked over at Shane and locked eyes with him. A smile broke out on her face. She leaned toward him and put her head against his right shoulder. Shane heard her sigh.

Behind them, the food Shane prepared was forgotten. Both took pleasure in the quiet and the presence of one another. Though neither knew it, each of them was experiencing an almost unfamiliar sensation: hope. After finishing their wine and placing the bottles on the table, Shane put his arm around Susan.

Maybe later Shane would assemble a bonfire so that they could make smores together. He’d let her decide.

She leaned into him.

She leaned into the future.

Lord help them both.

Love, X
.

Animals, Lemon Moment, Personal

Tag

08/16/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

I followed this bird upstream for a long time. It was aware of me. As long as I stayed in the middle of the stream, it would let me go past it slightly. It would then take flight and perch a few yards from me. We repeated this cycle for 20 minutes. Just me, the bird, and the cool water. It was the most Zen match of tag.
X
.

Personal

Insult To Injury

08/16/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

Regarding my vehicle vandalism, because I can’t open my trunk without the key, it didn’t occur to me that the miscreant who broke out my window had accessed it. They stole my air pump and a few other things that were in the trunk. But more importantly, they stole my box of chalk. To be without an ample supply of car chalk is akin to waking up naked in church. The several hundred dollars it will take to replace the window is bad enough. But to face a missed opportunity of chalk shenanigans is one step too far. I haven’t forgot about my sentimental plastic dinosaur that was stolen either. Even my cat Güino is bummed on my behalf.

Story, Writing

An Afternoon In Archibald County(A Story)

08/11/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

“Jones, are you still out by Highway 63?” Deputy Jones heard his radio go off as he urinated by his truck. He finished, reached up, and held the send button on his shoulder-mounted radio. “Copy. Yeah, taking care of business,” he replied. The deputy raised his left hand to wave at Joe Smith as he drove by. Joe shook his head and waved with an index finger.

Jessie, the Sheriff’s wife who also served as dispatcher, secretary, and sometimes backup deputy answered, “Didn’t need to know that. Shake it off and go see what’s going on at Dave’s house, would you?” Jessie was accustomed to hearing the two deputies use the radio like teenage boys.

“Copy, be there in three minutes.” Deputy Jones laughed, knowing that Jessie would immediately chastise him for speeding.

He didn’t wait long. “Jones, you drive a Ford. It can’t go faster than 50 without taking a break.”

Deputy Jones didn’t ask what the disturbance was at Dave’s house. Dave used to be a hell-raiser until he met his wife June. Last weekend, June had met Dave on their porch as he came home from work and gave him an ultimatum: quit coming home after drinking or she’d leave. Sheriff Thomas made it clear to both deputies that he couldn’t allow Dave to return to his old ways. Their holding cell held only two people at a time and the sheriff couldn’t afford to drive Dave to the next county every weekend.

Deputy Jones floored his Ford pickup and turned down the last gravel road to Dave and June’s place in less than six minutes. As the deputy neared Dave’s house near the end of the road, he saw Dave standing next to his Chevy truck. The deputy didn’t hold Dave’s poor choice of trunk against Dave.

Dave held a rifle and fired shot after shot toward his porch. The deputy wasn’t worried about anyone getting shot, as Dave wasn’t that sort of person. Bullets were getting expensive, though, and Dave needed to be saving money.

Dave turned his head toward the deputy momentarily as he fired found after round at his porch. The deputy noted that one of his two rocking chairs on the far end of the porch had sustained considerable damage.

“Target practicing, Dave?” Deputy Jones had to shout between rounds as he approached Dave.

Dave lowered his rifle. He leaned it against his leg and pulled out a pack of Camels, lit one, and drew in a long drag on the cigarette.

“June left about an hour before I got home, Jones.” Dave exhaled a long blow of cigarette smoke.

“Well, she did tell you to stop going out and drinking, didn’t she?” Jones smiled.

“Yeah. But I wanted one more beer with the gang.”

Jones answered, “Did you tell her that? Or did you just stay after work and drink a couple?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell her every damned thing I do, Jones. She knows I’m not up to no good.” Dave sounded like he doubted what he was saying.

“She’s pregnant, Dave. It’s her job to teach you common sense.”

Dave half-smiled. “I have plenty of common sense!”

Jones shook his head. “Nah, you don’t. Not only are you wasting ammunition, but you’re ruining a perfectly good rocking chair. And hanging out after work with those hooligans doesn’t get you anywhere. You need to be at home, taking care of your beautiful wife.”

“Are you calling my wife pretty, Jones?” He paused. “Well, she is pretty, that’s for damned sure. And I won’t need two rocking chairs if June ain’t coming back.”

“Dave, this is what the sheriff’s wife would call a wake-up call. She’s not leaving you unless you give her no choice.” Deputy Jones put his hand on Dave’s shoulder for a moment.

“I can have a beer after work, can’t I? I work hard.”

Jones nodded. “Of course. But here’s an idea. Why not come home and cook some food out here on the grill and have a couple of friends come to celebrate with you and June instead of you sitting up at the stupid bar?”

Dave looked like he’d accidentally chewed a grasshopper. “You are a genius, Jones. You think it’d be all right with June?”

Jones nodded again. “I’m sure of it. Why don’t you call her and ask her? You know she’s at her sister’s house.”

“I’ll drive over and ask her right now!” Dave flicked his cigarette into the yard.

“Word of advice, Dave. The sheriff wants you to stop getting into your truck after you drink, as a courtesy to your fellow Archibald County residents. Besides, you’re going to have a kid in a few months.”

Dave froze. “Dang it. I wasn’t ready to have a kid.”

“That’s how life is. Besides, what did you think would happen if you kept putting your moves on June?”

They both laughed.

The deputy took his pistol from the holster on his right hip and aimed it at the rocking chair without any damage. He fired six shots, one after the other. Each bullet shattered pieces and splinters off of the unharmed rocking chair.

“Damn it, Jones, you ruined my other rocking chair! Now I have to buy two!” Dave shouted in surprise.

The deputy put his gun back in the holster and laughed. “That’s the cost of having me come out and talk sense into you. I saved your marriage. Are you gonna complain about needing two rocking chairs?”

Dave grinned ear to ear and leaned his rifle against his truck. He held his hand out to Deputy Jones, who shook it with a laugh.

“Go inside and call June. Tell her I said hello. That way she’ll know that you talked to someone with sense.” The deputy grinned and gave Dave a one-finger salute.

“Thanks, Jones. Call me if that useless Ford of yours breaks down on the way home.” He returned the one-finger salute to the deputy as he walked back to his truck.

Deputy Jones hit the send button on his radio. “Jessie, what we have here is just a case of target practice. Two rocking chairs are down.”

Jessie’s voice answered. “10-4. Joe called to say you were urinating on the road again. You have to stop doing that in front of people.”

Jones immediately replied, “If I do it behind people, they tend to get nervouser.”

“Nervouser isn’t a word, Jones.”

Deputy Jones laughed. “Maybe, but you understood me.”

Jessie hit the send button too soon because Deputy Jones heard the beginning of a laugh on her end. “No one understands you. Over.”

As the deputy backed out to turn around and head back to town, he watched as Dave walked up on the porch and inside his house.

He shook his head and floored the gas on his truck. Dust followed him as he left. Another day in Archibald County.

Animals, Biographical, Brinkley, Family, Monroe County, Nostalgia, Personal

Calling

08/10/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

All Over The Place

“Cicadas are gross,” she said. That’s because she didn’t experience the magical connection of hearing them out in the wide fields of Monroe County during her formative years. The insects of that area are already formidable and should be considered true citizens, counting in the billions. Anyone who has driven on the county roads in the evening knows the folly of attempting to use windshield wipers to remove them. I don’t recall which year I happened to be with my Grandpa and Grandma to experience the cicadas. It was deafening at night because we slept with the windows open, surrounded by fields filled with them. Hearing the cicadas now evokes buried memories, all tied to wonder and childhood experiences.

I have the same reaction upon smelling creosote, especially when it heats up. It reminds me of things I can’t quite remember. Diesel and gas are inextricably tied to my dad’s attempts at operating a gas station on Highway 49. Or my Grandpa, who insisted that the smell warded off the torrent of mosquitoes. The trains humming in the distance. The area of my early childhood owed its existence to railroads. Brinkley was once called Lick Skillet, a name that should have been preserved. The topography conspires to have the train horns and rattling metal echo for miles. Those who’ve not lived in the flatlands don’t understand why people refer to it as haunting. Grandma’s house in Brinkley on Shumard Street was close to the railroad. My apartment is less than 50 yards from one, too.

Years ago, I drove in the late evening on Highway 70 from Little Rock to Brinkley. There were millions of small frogs. They coated the road and the low Geo Prism, so much so that the uneven road became slick and hazardous. My deceased wife, a native South Dakotan, was initially horrified but soon fell quiet in awe of the spectacle. She later told the story to her family. They were convinced she was exaggerating. Had we chosen the quicker route of the parallel interstate, we wouldn’t have had the moment.

Since I’m being nostalgic, yesterday I got out of one of my bottles of burned seasoning. It’s a delicious mix I make myself, but that’s another story for another day. Dabbing it on my tongue, I felt like I was tasting Grandma’s salt pork again. Salt pork is the antithesis of what I normally would prefer to eat. Because of my upbringing, I tended to avoid eating most meat. My dad’s proclivity toward forcing me to eat vile things almost at gunpoint soured me considerably. But if time travel were possible, it is what I would like to return to first. Opening the screen door of Grandma’s house and smell the aroma of her cooking bacon and salt pork. A wall of memory.

Since this post is titled, “All Over The Place,” something that I’ve mentioned before seems much more significant now. I never concealed that I wet the bed much too often when I was younger. When I started therapy, I did a workbook online. I didn’t know that most people barely write a page. I wrote at least fifty pages. I rarely wet the bed at Grandma’s. Of course, I now know that it wasn’t because laundry was much more of a chore for her. It was because I felt safe. Don’t get me wrong. Grandma could be stern. But she never once arbitrarily shouted at me or threatened to box my jaws off unless I wasn’t listening. While not actually boxing my jaws, I knew better than to tempt her. I did not, in fact, ever want for her to follow through on her promise to snatch me bald-headed, either.

Sometimes, Grandpa would tell me not to fear things in the dark or glinting eyes through the screens on the windows. He told me often that the only real danger was things walking on two legs. As mean as he was when he was younger, by the time he had me to call him Grandpa, he protected me. Quite often those who needed a reminder were the two people who came to pick me up at the end of the summer.

In a few short minutes, the train will speed by me on the other side of the road. I’ll be on the landing, cicadas buzzing. And if I were so inclined, I could walk over and touch my hand to the rails. They are connected, reaching the fields of Monroe County.

I undoubtedly awoke with all this on my mind because before going to sleep last night, I stood at my kitchen window, listening to the roar of the cicadas. I dreamed of fields and imaginary stories. Waking, I recalled none of them. Just the tendrils of fading geography and bygones.

Love, X

Humor, Lemon Moment, Personal

Monkey Balls

08/09/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

I went tree climbing a little bit earlier. I’m not perched high above the creek with my phone in my hand. I am standing in the middle of the creek in the cold water though. I saw that one side of the walkway dam had a couple dozen Osage oranges. The last time I looked them up for trivia, I was amused to see that Pennsylvania residents refer to them as ‘monkey balls.’

What still fascinates me about these and the trees that produce them is that only female trees produce the fruit. These are the largest fruits derived from trees in the United States. Thousands of years ago, these trees proliferated because mammoths would eat them and then spread the seeds as they traveled. I’ve still not tried the stinky process of roasting the seeds from these. It can’t be much different than watching my dad “cook” suspicious and unidentified meat, or looking at my mom’s famous Winston cigarette ash-speckled mashed potatoes.

I did climb the tree in the background of the photo. While I was up there, I practiced a few fake bird calls, hoping passersby might question their sanity or wonder if a small pig was being forced to listen to excerpts of Donald Trump’s book of poetry.

Ciao.

Behavior, Medical, Opinion, Psychology

Urine-Flavored Popcorn Tactic

08/09/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

The older man was standing outside the inconvenience store. He animatedly gestured to another man I see frequently. I’ll call the first man Steve and the man I recognized Paul.

I didn’t catch the first part of the conversation. As I exited the store, Steve said, “I just don’t understand how they’re blaming the folks below the border for the drug crisis.”

“Well they’re not controlling the border. Anyone can come in here.” Paul stated the obvious.

Steve nodded. “Okay, okay, okay, okay,” he said in a staccato rapid-fire reply. “Assume every one of these people comes in with a kilo of fentanyl, heroin, or meth.”

Paul looked at Steve like he was crazy. “I don’t think that’s true.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah but for the purpose of my argument let’s just say everyone comes in with a kilo.”

“Okay dude,” Paul replied.

“It’s like popcorn flavored with urine.” Steve smiled, knowing that Paul was going to either think he was crazy or ask a follow-up question.

“No one wants popcorn with pee on it!”

Steve smiled. “Exactly.”

“Exactly what,” Paul asked.

“Imagine that I’ve made the ugliest car in the world and manufacture 2 million of them. They’re going to rust because nobody wants to buy them.”

Paul was still confused. I listened in fascination because I could tell that Steve had told this anecdote before. Probably many times.

“The problem ain’t who is getting in the country. The problem is the people who actively want and use the drugs that you say are coming over the border. I’ve not seen anyone be forced to buy an ugly car or to use hard drugs. They go looking for it.”

Paul realized that Steve had a point.

Steve kept talking. “The problem is never the supply. It’s that people want it. Heck, way over 10,000 people a year die from alcohol accidents driving. And 20 times that die from drinking alcohol every year.”

“What does that have to do with popcorn and urine?” Paul asked the question like he really needed to know the answer.

“Nothing. It’s just a way to phrase the question in such a weird way that it makes you reset your brain a little bit to listen.”

Paul laughed.

Steve added, “And while we look to where the people are pointing the finger at the border, we are kind of forgetting that the drugs that are really hurting people are made by the drug companies. The ones making alcohol and cigarettes are right up there with them.”

“It didn’t used to stop you,” Paul told him.

“Exactly. Drugs are everywhere. We can go next door and get them from several different people. They wouldn’t be selling them if people weren’t lining up to buy them.”

It’s not that Steve said anything particularly novel. It was the urine-flavored popcorn that stuck in my head. I sometimes engage in this type of nonsensical reference when I’m talking to people. In case you didn’t notice. Now I have a ridiculous name for the habit.

Humor, Opinion

Negativity

08/08/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

“You don’t have to give him hell.

He brought his own.” – X

This is obviously humor. But it is also stunningly accurate about some people. Most of them are oblivious to the negativity they bring to the room.

Government, History, Justice, Law, Opinion, Politics, Psychology, Review / Critique, Social Rules, Trump

Orange Threat

08/07/2024 X Teri Leave a comment

Orange Flag Behavior
(An Observation)

I’m a big believer in expressing myself directly. If I share a meme, I made it. Disinformation converts my brain to cottage cheese. Ad hominem attacks or personal derision, especially on social media, is not my cup of tea. It convinces no one and just bounces around in the echo chambers of the people who follow such content. I’m not sharing my thoughts because I expect anyone’s opinion to change. I’m sharing them because it exposes the things I believe and the frustration I see all around me.

It’s interesting that when most of us grew up, family members would warn us not to hang out with people who misbehaved. They would admonish us that it invited danger. And that people would judge us based on the people around us. Personally, this isn’t true in my case. My parents and some of the people they associated with tended to be the actual bad example I’ve struggled to unlearn my entire life.

Being in a group of people in no way automatically defines you. If you are in a crowd of people and all of them have a top hat on except you, people will assume you forgot your hat, not that you’re the odd man out.

This is one of the things that people struggle with regarding their family and friends. You might be kind. You might be open to diversity. Your views on sexual identity might be universal.

If you are under an orange flag, the tendency to fairly or unfairly attribute affiliation with those holding the orange flag increases.

It’s why people who might normally otherwise vote Republican usually react with silence when they watch Mr. Orange. He is the embodiment of what’s wrong with living a good life and suitability for the office of president. He did not serve as a beacon of reason and inclusiveness. Objective observers can only conclude that he oafishly and cleverly co-opted a specific brand of religion while simultaneously hijacking a political party to gain office. Politics and religion don’t mix well precisely because such systems invariably become autocratic and blur the line that is required for large groups of competing ideas and interests to coexist. Religion is personal and should not be favored or codified into our law. If you think otherwise, I’ll wager your opinion will shift if you find yourself in a particular religious group that loses favor to another.

Politics is never a question of intelligence. There are extraordinary intellects along the entire spectrum of politics. The same is true for those who succumb to the allure of tribalism with their respective ideologies, parties, and candidates. It is supremely difficult to argue someone out of a position they did not argue themselves into. One of the basic truths is that overwhelmingly people choose an idea and then avidly search for evidence to support it. Once entrenched, it is miraculous that someone will fundamentally shift their ideologies.

Fair or not, some watch their family and friends avidly support someone who has proven that he is not a man of character in his personal life. Sometimes, we draw erroneous conclusions. You might be a fan of disruption or economic issues. There could be myriad reasons for you to support such a candidate. But we can’t shy away from the fact that people around you are recoiling. They recoil because voting for such a candidate is a package deal. In his case, you can’t separate the consequences of your choice, regardless of the main reason he will be getting your vote. By endorsing him for a particular reason, you’re also dragging the rest of his damaging type of politics into power.

The problem comes because Mr Orange marginalizes and demeans groups. They just want to live their lives without interference. When we see support for a person demeaning us, our interests, or the people we are close to, some of us cannot find the right words to explain to his supporters that they are inadvertently or purposefully endorsing some of his ideas. Mr. Orange is a failed businessman who doesn’t attempt to conceal his contempt and prejudice. Bullies empower other bullies.

Good people don’t want to attack those around them. But so many wince in silence because they are personally insulted by your endorsement of such a candidate. Good people also eventually stand up. Part of the reason is that people they love or respect are being harmed or marginalized. The other realization is that if we remain silent long enough, it could easily be us in the bullseye in the future.

Things that people explain away as “just politics” aren’t politics at all. Politics is running the government efficiently with core principles. We all get an equal voice regarding the collective rules we are supposed to live by. Prejudice and discrimination of any kind are among the things which have no place in politics. Furthering the interests of a particular group in such a manner that they receive special privilege through law counters one of our most basic principles.

It’s not my job to ridicule Mr. Orange. His record of fraud, coercion of women, and obvious attempts to avoid accountability for his actions speak louder than any condemnation I could utter. Even absent all the other behaviors in his business and personal life, he actively encouraged literal insurrection after the last election.

And of course, we wouldn’t be dealing with him if our antiquated system of presidential selection wasn’t based on an anachronism resulting from the power struggle of those who wanted to preserve slavery. A popular vote such as that which governs every other candidacy historically would have resulted in several different presidents in the last few decades. The Constitution is a living document, one which is supposed to embody our collective goals and ideas. Abusing one of the branches of government in such a way as to skew the balance of the separate branches will lead to ruin because people will lose even more faith in the fair process of elections and decision-making.

It is a shame that we do not have several political parties. Or even none. That the best idea and plan will overcome, but all of us know that this is a daydream. People across the spectrum, unfortunately, strive to exert power when they should instead focus on governance for the collective mismatch of people and groups that we are.

In so many ways, we are still that same nation of divided priorities. And we always will be. One thing we could count on was that even though we were not happy about the person occupying the presidency, we at least maintained the illusion that they were qualified for the office. That any party would put forward a convicted felon for a race in which said candidate could not even legally vote, we have a serious problem. I’m conflicted because I have believed for years that a felony record should not take away your essential right to vote. Fomenting rebellion or insurrection to destabilize a government or overturn an election is one of the unforgivable acts of a citizen.

The premise of this post was supposed to be a reminder that the candidate you enthusiastically endorse also comes with the perceived reputation and behavior to whom it is attached. Your alliance with particularly pernicious candidates comes with a raised eyebrow and a profound feeling of disappointment. Each time your candidate disparages women, minorities, and people of different religious groups, people are watching, expecting you to acknowledge that some people are a danger to democracy.

I don’t say these things because I question your intelligence.

I say them because some supporters say they don’t understand why they are arguing with their loved ones over politics. These are not political arguments. They are attacks not only on people but also on our entire process.

When you encourage authoritarianism, you place yourself in the future invisible line of being the target and losing freedoms that you take for granted. Each country that has succumbed to it couldn’t fathom that it could happen to them. The riots of January 6th should have been an obvious wake-up call that a certain faction of our citizenry was willing to upend the entire political process.

Joe Biden stepped aside because it was the best thing to do to further his political ideology. Who among us could imagine Mr. Orange swallowing his ego to further his political party’s goals? A party is not one person and a single party is not a government. We require competing and conflicting interests to maintain balance.

As damaged and erratic as the process sometimes is, you need to stop and realize that the entire system was constructed with checks and balances to prevent the subversion of the goal of collective politics.

Mr. Orange co-opted religion, a party, and populism.

We’d be wise to be done with him so that the Republican party of old might regain its stability and reason.

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