… And if I may digress. Oh please do, this is your blog, after all. Thank you. I came across a New Hampshire newspaper with that lovely photo of Nancy with all the children in her lap, touching the precious gavel and all. NANNY STATE, it said. WELL THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED, AMERICA, SNEER, THIS IS WHAT YOU GOT.
They shoot Nannies don’t they?
Okay, funnies over. In point of fact, my roots are in New Hampshire; my grandmother was born in Rumney, in 1897. She was the first person to ever go to college from Plymouth Highschool (her little sister the second) and when she finished Colby, she promptly married her very handsome highschool English teacher. Then the First World War ended her chosen career, teaching German, when it was barely begun. They set up housekeeping in West Hartford, and she spent her life in Connecticut. Ostensibly editing the Connecticut Church Times, but mostly telling the Bishop of Connecticut what to do, and and I expect he is just now learning how to get along without her.
When everyone with half a brain leaves a state, that leaves the dregs and seriously inbred. I know and you know, if the mere photograph of an Important Woman, and her grandchildren crawling all over the podium in the capital of these here United States is enough to whip the Live Free or Die fringe into a Freudian lather, we got issues.
What bothers me is the hatred and fear behind such shows of disgust. These are the kind of men I, as a woman, fear most. Who are so full of hatred for the father, likely had the crap beaten out of them by Daddy, the only possible place they can express it is upon the body of the mother, the feminine. Upon women, girls, little girls, the vulnerable, the precious and the “weak”. These are the men for whom rape means rape, and in whom remorse was killed a long time ago.
Sure you have to be tough to survive a New Hampshire winter. Tough is no excuse. We ought to turn upon such contemptuous bullshitters the toughest black heavyweight and watch ‘em piss themselves—whilst he then bestows a kiss upon his venerated mother.
And I will lead a little talk on Freud. Ri-ght. Oh she is filled with fantasy tonight. But the sad fact is, sometimes the biggest buffoons are just little quaking shits. And they are not going to slur Nancy Pelosi or the grandchildren that way, not as long as I am around.
Nor do I see where, like, the White Man has done so much better, hello?
No, Granite-Staters, we don’t want to take care of everybody, not even you. We’re just waiting til you guys get the hang of what it is to take care of somebody beside your granite selves.
My grandmother died in Connecticut, several weeks short of her 101st birthday. Sharp as a tack, in good health til that moment, funny as hell. Never did get the hang of being old.
I see I haven’t gotten around to Norman. Next post.