Tales From Exit 22 by Al Batt

“Uffda! What a lovely, brisk morning. I don’t see how the weather could be more pleasant.”

That’s what I said as I walked on a lawn made crunchy by frost. You may have used different words. Perhaps billingsgate (abusive language or scathing profanity). I strolled while dressed appropriately in shorts, flip-flops and parka. I was full of dietary fiber and high hopes.

It was only November, but the month had tested positive for winter.

The newspapers were full of pumpkin things — pies, jack-o’-lanterns, contests, etc. Halloween was in the rearview mirror, but still visible. A California man broke a North American record for largest pumpkin with one weighing in at 2,058 pounds, a bit shy of the world record set by a Swiss grower at 2,323 pounds.

I hope you are rested after getting that hour back. You needed it, especially if you lugged around one of those pumpkins. We knew that we’d get the hour back, but it’s like loaning $100 to a nephew. You know he’ll pay you back, but you still worry.

The discussion at the local cafe was about daylight-saving time. A man seated at the table of infinite knowledge summed it up this way, “Leave it to the government to cut a foot off the top of my blanket, sew it onto the bottom of the blanket, and then tell me that I have a longer blanket.”

I wished a safe harvest to every farmer at the table. We’ve had some windy days. Some blame it on the Norwegian ancestry of area residents while others claim that the wind turbines actually produce wind. I don’t mind the wind when it comes from a direction that blows the leaves from my lawn onto a neighbor’s yard.

Election signs waved in the wind as if they were a field of brightly-colored grain. I counted campaign signs to see how accurate their numbers were in predicting election outcomes.

I enjoy watching baseball. I watched bits of the World Series. I had no horse in the race, but was pleased to watch anyway. I saw only the beginning of Game 5 in San Francisco. Aaron Lewis sang the Star-Spangled Banner before the game. I wasn’t familiar with him other than Lewis had criticized Christina Aguilera when she’d messed up the anthem prior to the 2011 Super Bowl. Lewis said that she was a self-absorbed performer who had commandeered the hallowed national anthem for her own personal use.

How did Lewis do when he had the opportunity to sing the anthem? Lewis lost his place and botched the words.

It’s not easy being critical of others.

Or maybe it is. It’s said that a good politician can throw dirt without losing ground. This election unleashed a plethora of negative ads. They smeared one another with the truth, half-truths, and falsehoods. They produced a vile hotdish of ugly ads claiming their opponents hated puppies. I received four mailing pieces a day on behalf of one candidate, each disparaging the opponent. Bad attack ads make for stupid mail that went right into the recycling pile.

Someone’s mother must have advised, “If you don’t have anything nice to say about someone, mail it to everyone.”

I try to find humor in most things. It’s not always easy. I reach a dangerous level of fatigue. Politicians dig up the facts on their opponents while burying theirs. Years ago, I asked a veteran campaigner if it bothered him that his opponent told lies about him. He replied, “Not really. It could be worse. He could be telling the truth.”

I figure those who produce such nastiness will eventually have an Aaron Lewis moment.

I’m sure that I wasn’t the only wannabe Solomon who voted for the one criticized and against the one the mailings supported.

Zhuangzi said, “We cling to our own point of view, as though everything depended on it. Yet our opinions have no permanence; like autumn and winter, they gradually pass away.”

My neighbor Weasel growled, “Having lawyers make laws is like having doctors make diseases.” He is sad to see the election season end because that means the lutefisk season begins.

I’d listened to a candidate claim that small-town folks had made the country what it is today. That’s just like a politician to blame everything on others.

I’m no crepehanger. I love where I live. I’m glad there are those willing to run for public office. I’m proud to vote.

It’s all fun and games until someone gets elected.

 

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Wednesday and Sunday.