As usual, I got up on the wrong side of the bed today—twice. Suffice it to say that it involved the little woman and the little dog. Order was restored by early lunch time, so I sat in her nib’s bedroom/TV room and watched Obama “place” a wreath at the Grave of the Unknown Soldier in complete silence. The silence was due to the TV being on mute, the missus being in the kitchen and the remote being lost somewhere in her tangle of covers on the opposite side of the room. Watching a silent TV isn’t ALL bad, I’ve learned, for you can supply your own script.
This time, though, I was watching and thinking about our out-going so-called president. Unless I missed something, he seemed to behave himself today. He looked somber and respectful as the situation should merit. There was no crotch salute or arrogant rhetoric from what I could see. I had to wonder, of course, whether his somber demeanor might be due to the knowledge that he would soon be kissing his position as big cheese good-bye forever. After Trump’s inauguration, he’ll have to pay for his own golf games and vacations. I’m sure it troubles him that his so-called “legacy” may soon be only a small, ugly pimple scar on America’s backside.