[R-G] Slow Day -- but a political thought or two

[Hunter Gray]

Slow day on our Idaho hill.  Colder now, snow higher up, wind and rain have just cleared, leaves beginning to fall.  Slow day, too, on most discussion lists -- with my only exceptions being Hybrid Cats and Bobcat/Lynx. On that note, Sky Gray has emerged as the most active Kitty I've known -- and, especially toward me, fully as attached and affectionate as Cloudy; Cloudy being very likely, judging from virtually every facet of Sky's behavior, Sky's former incarnation or at least her faithful spirit guide.

It's day that I could have used a good Western flick.  My standard with those is that, preferably, the Indians win -- or at least don't lose; no John Wayne and maybe no Clint Eastwood; and no psychiatric twists. Not too much love stuff -- and lots of guns with filming in the geographical Real West.  Couldn't find anything that fit my bill, so I watched CNN.

And there I saw Sarah Palin's attempted attack on Obama, focusing on the contrived Ayers "terrorist connection."  That factor, non-existent re Obama, and extremely remote for the now long-standing respectable Ayers, struck me as far more desperately pathetic than sinister and a good indication of how thoroughly bankrupt the Republican party has become. [Not that I'm  always a fervent admirer of the Democrats.]

The last time I saw  eyes like Palin's were those of a coiled rattler a couple of years ago on the sagebrush slopes just above us here.  Its tongue flickered back and forth and its eyes glittered with excitement.  But there were a couple of differences:  the rattler just wanted to be left alone [and we, of course, honored that.]  And the rattler was smart, sharp -- shifting its position with defensive finesse.

Palin isn't smart nor sharp -- nor is McCain.  But she is quick-cunning so, like our friend in the sage, she bears some watching. But never to the point of slowing one's momentum.

We remember the Weatherman "outbreak", such as it was, in Chicago in the fall of '69.  A cloudy and rainy day and our family was driving far down on the south-east end of the city, passing by a large open gravel pit.  We heard the spectacle on the Near Northside being breathlessly narrated on one of the radio stations but, frankly, we were not all that interested.  I, with a growing and fine staff, was digging in for what became more than four years of hard, grassroots organizing on the city's South/Southwest Side -- and the Weatherman thing seemed as remote as a falling star.

At that point, Baby Mack, riding in a baby seat, was about one month old.  Now he's a top-flight editor for the Lee newspaper chain with three kids -- two of whom are in what's now calculated as "young adulthood."

That was a long time ago and I really don't see many Americans -- especially in our wracked nation of today -- giving a damn about any of that.

But I do always like to see a rattler or two.  Fellow Ishmaelites.

Yours, Hunter


HUNTER GRAY [HUNTER BEAR/JOHN R SALTER JR] Mi'kmaq /St. Francis
Abenaki/St. Regis Mohawk
Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
and Ohkwari'

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