The Apostrophe Blog
I picked the last batch of dahlias on November 22nd, seventeen days after the disastrous, shameful results in the U.S. presidential election. It had been a relatively warm fall overall here in the Pacific Northwest. The dahlias just kept on blooming right up until the day when it was time to cut down the stalks, cover the beds with thick plastic, shovel then rake a thick layer of bark mulch on top—their over-wintering insulation so I did not have to dig up all the tubers and put them into crates full of peat moss and newspaper for storage. It was a joy to still have fresh flowers in the house, their beauty an antidote to all the ugliness that was clearly upon the land.
And now here we are, a mere three days left in what may be the last vestiges of calm and sanity for a long, long time. I am not trying to be overly melodramatic. But it is hard not to feel that cruelty and wretchedness are on the horizon, that chaos and oh so much stupidity and nonsense are (inevitably) in the wings. It is already impossible to keep track of the daily inanities and who would want to. Here is but a random, ridiculous sampling from the past few days: Flags at half-mast for the late President Carter? Must be raised back up for the mob boss, but of course. The weather too cold on Monday to attract the requisite crowds for the felon? Move the debacle indoors and have your deplorable followers view your coronation on the Jumbotron in a sports arena. Three has-been D-list reactionary actors? Elevated to be faux ambassadors to the film community in Hollywood. The parade of odious broligarchs and Beltway grand poobahs all set to pledge their fealty. The shameless fools and diehard sycophants and unqualified toadies and everpresent grifters and downright deplorable conmen and women, too. The beat goes on and on and on. Nauseatingly so. We will soon run out of adjectives and adverbs to properly describe what has been unleashed upon this land.
But that is the last I will have to say about any of this. Because—as we did in late January 2017 when we went to Harrison Hot Springs just outside Hope, British Columbia—we are again leaving the country to be out of earshot of the performative theatrics on what used to be a solemn day now sullied by the traitorous clown, tarnished for the foreseeable future as this country somehow lets a criminal take charge. We will, instead, be in the lovely city of Vancouver, British Columbia enjoying art, culture, and the awesomeness that is the Granville Island Public Market. There are rainbow-hued water taxis to take us across False Creek and historic districts to explore. There are galleries and museums and bookstores and brewpubs to visit and enjoy as we turn our backs on the untoward regime change happening just under 4000 miles to the east and south. In a country that regulates guns and offers universal healthcare to its people.
And who knows—maybe there will still be flowers in bloom…
Interests: Reading, writing, not arithmetic. The art and craft of poetry. Photography. Vegetable and flower gardening especially heirloom bulbs and dahlias. Movies in real theatres. Theatre on real stages. Art in real galleries. Crossword puzzles and, of course, Wordle. Singer-songwriters like Aimee Mann and Patti Griffin. All kinds of music especially 1930s jazz. Venice, Italy! The Dude abides.
- The Last Bouquet - January 17, 2025
- Get Your 25-cent Poetry Here… - January 16, 2025
- Friday Afternoon Landscape - January 10, 2025
