Communique "Tasty Winslow, Tasty" 7-7-2021
So here I was lying in bed at 3:00am and I couldn’t sleep. This is not unusual in the slightest, but I have been reading about the value of finding one’s “happy space” and although I was in no way distressed, I decided this was as good a time as any to try and find mine. I would say it took about ten minutes for an image to start forming in my mind’s eye and then, there it was.
As it turns out, my happy place is on the beach. However, if you are thinking I was having an I wish they all could be from California girls Beach Boy moment, it was not. In fact, quite the opposite.
Where I found myself was sitting on a one of those short-legged beach chairs on a blanket and under an umbrella. It was not sunny, kind of a June gloom sort of day with the sky overcast and misty grey. It was obviously a bit chilly and I was dressed for the occasion, wrapped in a blanket and wearing a big brown scarf and for whatever reason for it was not visible to the eye, I “knew” I was wearing my favorite set of white thermals, two sizes too big.
An unnecessary pair of sunglasses and a Bing Crosby 50s or maybe 60s style hat completed the look. Let’s not forget the steam coming off of the coffee mug I was cradling in my gloved hands and you get the picture. Or do you?
As the sounds of being ocean side started to become audible, the waves crashing louder on the shore and the cries of seagulls circling all around I began to realize this was not a beach I had ever physically been to. Soon, I was convinced I was not even on the West Coast at all but on the East Coast, probably in New England. The water and waves were darkish blue tipped with white foam. Then I saw the boat.
It was a small sailboat making its way slowly across the sea. There were several persons on board who did not seem to have a care in the world. Then I saw a second ship. It was much farther away and presented as little more than a silhouette. Where did it come from and where was it was going? Who knew and who cared? Not me.
The clouds hinted of a storm in the making but for now, the wind was in our sails and life was good. It was indeed a happy place. Then came the revelation. In the clouds, you could see faces. One billowy face was blowing wind into the sails of the small ship. This was the final giveaway and I knew what I was looking at was a painting by Winslow Homer. My father’s favorite artist and he always liked to point out the faces in Homer’s paintings. I had seen this scene many times before. I had grown up with it.
Entitled “Breezing Up (A Fair Wind)” it was my father’s favorite painting and we had a framed print of it hanging in our living room. So, while ignoring the possible psychological implications of returning to my childhood, not a time I consider terribly happy, and with the gummy finally kicking in, I fell asleep.
It was approximately four hours later, 7:00am PST that I awoke and much to my surprise, I remembered a fairly large degree of detail regarding my East Coast, New England clamato with cranberries on top happy space.
As I started to gain consciousness I began thinking about a place I had been, Hyannis Port and the Kennedy compound. Then, I had a thought most odd. I stopped for a moment to reflect on how the Biden presidency has transformed our nation from a rudderless and badly taking on water with no land in sight mess that the Former Guy left to a time where there is a west wind blowing the stars around and I’d really like to see you again vibe of decency, purpose, hope and direction.
Isn’t it wonderful to wake up in the morning, every morning and not have to wonder what the mealy mouthed soon to be in prison orange menace was going to do? Every single MF day for four grueling years? I know I sleep better.
And then, in a lighthearted, mischievous way, I began to ponder, if you are still an unvaccinated, irresponsible imbecile who still believes in a fantasy world where Dr. Fauci is the villain and obviously directed the deep state to steal the election, what would you be thinking every morning as you work yourself up into a lather over the socialist takeover of America even though you have no idea what socialism actually is.
Better still, if you are the average looney tune my pillow guy worshipper of false prophets, idols and assorted clowns and fools who are waiting for Tubby McTrumpFace to be re-installed as president, I found it a worthy use of time to venture a guess at what your GQP MAGA QAnon would consider to be a happy space?
For instance, would you be a special guest who just so happened to click the reoccurring automatic monthly donations at Mar-a-Lago at a breakfast bar and buffet thrown in your honor?
Or, would you be back stage at a MAGA rally? Hanging out with Kid Rock, several gray aliens, Bigfoot and Elvis with chants of “Lock Her Up!” and “Build the Wall” as well as an assorted selection of Donny’s “greatest hits” served up one after the other? Is that Melania you see in the wings? Why not go over there and introduce yourself to her, it’s your fantasy isn’t it? If you are feeling lucky, she might even spit on you.
Would you just go the whole hog and find yourself at the end of times in the middle of Armageddon fighting it out with the forces of darkness? With Trump and Patton and who knows, for the hardcore racists, Rommel riding on tanks decorated with red white and blue stars (swastika optional) by your side? Why, throw in Zeus, Xerxes and Attila the Hun, how can you lose the battle for eternity? Rapture me up, Scotty.
Or, perhaps you would settle for a bit of nostalgia and a return to the “good old days” where immigrant children are kept in cages, the unborn are people and birthed people are garbage?
I’d like to end on a conciliatory note, something along the lines of to each his own or some other platitude, but you know what? Nah, if you are still supporting any of this madness, you are one sick f*uck and I’ll leave it at that, for now. Happy space, here I come!
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