Swim Lessons

I get it now. I don’t know how I missed it before. I didn’t completely, of course. I haven’t been in a coma exactly, just a head-in-the-sand kind of hopefulness that wasn’t as realistic as it should have been. Not that I’m gonna “should” on myself. It’s hard to put a puzzle together with half the pieces missing.

All these years. I missed it. Even though I’ve been an upstream swimmer all my life. Growing up in a conservative church environment will do that to you. Having a father who worked in the Haight-Ashbury District of San Francisco in the 60’s as a narcotics agent dulled the glamor of the drug culture. Then there’s the fact that I was born with a conscience more sensitive than a seismograph on the San Andreas Fault. I once turned myself in to my mother for getting in trouble at a friend’s house. “Go get the paddle,” my eight-year-old self announced. She did. Somehow, I felt better in spite of the spanking.

I don’t break rules. Until I hit menopause, you could count the number of swear words I’d uttered on one hand. Okay, maybe both hands. That was seven years ago and I no longer blame menopause for my potty mouth. I blame no one. I just call it my latent rebellion.

I have never smoked a cigarette. Not once. Reference the “drugs are no fun” declaration above. I didn’t taste my first beer until 2010. I was 52 years old. It was nice – all two sips of it. Then I gave it to Rob and drove us both home cuz he’d already finished off his own when I donated my glass. I’ve never stolen anything, not even a pack of gum. I crossed my legs for four years in high school so I wouldn’t have to breathe in the marijuana smoke in the girls’ bathroom. I didn’t go to dances because I wasn’t allowed to. As a result, I still can’t dance, which is really a shame.

I have been called ‘pure as the driven snow’—a favorite of the not-my-people crowd—which isn’t as vitriolic as they thought, although it still managed to hurt my feelings. After all, the reason non rule-breakers avoid breaking rules is because they want to be liked. And stay out of trouble. It’s hard to be accepted by troublemakers when you disagree with their platform.

So, I grew up as an oddball. I was not a cool kid, in case you haven’t picked up on that. The most rebellious thing I ever did was get my ears pierced on my 18^th birthday because that’s the age when my father figured I was old enough to add extra holes to my head. I’m still glad I did it. Two years ago, for my 60^th birthday, I got my first tattoo. The next year, I got another one. I think I’m done now. No matter what anybody tells you, tattoos really hurt. That’s about it for my rebellions. I cuss when I’m mad, have had pierced ears since I was eighteen, and own two tattoos, both of which I’m proud of.

Please don’t misunderstand. I was saved from a lot of pain by marching to the beat of a different drummer. For example, I’m not chemically addicted to anything except chocolate. I’ve only ever been intimate with my husband of 44 years. I don’t have a rap sheet. I can’t even rap. I have scars, both inside and out like everyone does, but they’re survivor scars. They’re not self-inflicted.

Swimming upstream all my life may have been the best preparation for what I’m facing now.

And what is that? It’s the same thing you’re facing. That we’re all facing. An attempted overthrow of our 244-year-old republic by our own citizens. The horrifying possibility of the downfall of freedom. To be sure, we have enemies outside of America, but they have wedged their big fat toes in the door of traitors who have sold us out for cash on the barrelhead. Promised favors. Wealth and power. You know, the normal bribes weak-charactered people can always be bought out for. But what really hurts is that we didn’t see it coming. Or, maybe I need to own this since I can’t speak for you, I didn’t see it coming. I heard rumors in the wind, listened to warnings from political watchdog groups, and tried not to panic. I may be used to going against counterculture, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t scare me.

We once owned a red-headed beagle blend of a dog who thought she was safe if she stuck her head under the dust ruffle of our bed. Or cozied up against the two-inch ledge beneath the oven in the kitchen. Her logic seemed to be if she couldn’t see us, we couldn’t see her. We laughed at her stupidity as much as at the bulk of her exposed body while she thought she was hiding, but the joke was on us.

Maybe she was just imitating her owners.

There’s plenty to be scared about now. Socialism masquerading as democracy, which is a pretty lousy disguise if you ask me, has declared itself in control of our country. Illegally. Right now, their tentacles are so far-reaching you’d be hard pressed to find a mayor or council member, secretary of state or governor who has not deserted their sacred oaths and crossed over to the dark side. The proof of their attempted coup is everywhere. Dishonesty recorded and played back to the socialist players means nothing to them. They lie to our faces and are proud of it. Overflowing evidence of a stolen election can only be discounted from that hole in the ground where sleepy ostriches hide their brains. Now the impetus is on our courts, many of them pre-packaged with corrupt judges, to sort out the good from the bad. They are woefully unqualified, being themselves as crooked as sin.

Right is called wrong (vote for Trump? We will find you and make sure you disappear from polite society.) Since when is the privilege of voting a punishable offense? City-destroying violence is called ‘peaceful’ by the mobster politicians who now govern blocks of ashes—convince the families of dead policeman and children to accept that description while the smoke from Antifa riots hovers above their graves. Medical “authorities” have sold their souls to the devil, convincing a terrified populace that a virus with a 99.9 per cent survival rate permeates the air they breathe, even in their own homes, and the only way to protect themselves is to isolate. Forever. Faceless, fearful people in grocery stores are a constant reminder that all is not well with the world.

I’m not telling you anything new. This is barely scratching the surface of the fallout of 2020.

But why do public servants surrender to evil? Is it for money and power? And why does half our population think they’ll have any freedom left if they submit to the government putting them out of business, purposely impoverishing them until they’re completely dependent on it for their very survival?

Why are so many people blinded by what’s really going on? Is it because they’ve stood for nothing and will fall for anything? Are their muscles atrophied because they never swam against the easy flow of compliance? Do they seriously believe that the progressive socialist platform of the thieving left will still be their savior once they’re in control? It’s a lie—an unraveled rope clung to by those who have never learned the repetitive nature of history and may be doomed to repeat it.

I don’t know if it’s too late. I know good always conquers evil, eventually. Even the decrepit movie industry portrays that in the plot of every film they’ve cranked out for the last hundred years. I know that turning us against each other in the arena of opinions and politics is deadly. Haven’t you been reminded that united we’ll stand and divided we’ll fall? There must be some common ground somewhere that we can agree on, a safe place where we can all link arms and stand against lies and corruption and the threat of a holocaust more horrible than even World War II represented.

If we are listening. If we are watching. If we pay attention to the rumbling earth around us and shake the sand from off our heads. There’s so little time left to recognize the signs of an approaching earthquake. The trap has been laid for the future of our children and grandchildren—a stolen heritage that we could have prevented if we’d put aside our pride and taken a hard look at the truth.

Everything that has happened this year—one enormous tsunami of bad news and lockdowns and riots and politics—has been in the works for decades. That’s what I missed. Maybe it’s what you missed, too. The slow, purposeful erosion of our morals and our liberties have converged and now the dam is about to break.

For the love of God and everyone else who matters to you, I’m begging you to connect the dots and turn around. Start swimming against the flow before it’s too late. It’s going to take all of us together, speaking up, standing for freedom, demanding the truth, and refusing to settle for anything less.

It’s the only way. There’s no more time to hide. This is the time for righteous rebellion. Civil disobedience. Swimming upstream. Taking off the floaties.

And it’s gonna hurt. Evil doesn’t give in easily, but we don’t either. I’m taking my own advice to heart, pulling my head out of the sand, practicing my breaststroke. I’m scared, but I’m not willing to give up without a fight.

This could ruin my snow white record, though. I may wind up rapping after all.

With thanks to Prezmek P for the use of the photo above. The original may be viewed by following this link: https://www.flickr.com/photos/globalquiz/27757743303/in/photolist-JhRG26-6D6U1W-c5eg7o-6D6XQb-b7jVq-b7kmb-b7jRe-3d7GJb-b7khJ-b7jkT-b7jp8-jbQ7d-EYnGh-2vEm3b-BpoP-7wGUsp-7CJAWG-e6EKzT-nNHAD-4mW7sJ-6D6TSE-Bprt-aRQmVX-8gcH6n-5T2SMo-d6TaX-fhMb71-7wLGkU-s5jkGe-9713CV-6ctBUQ-gTXdq-561Xjm-6sChh7-pswDrU-jbQ7e-BppN-W3SJf-6sCh2A-7PP5VC-56F26o-56F1Ph-56F1LC-6sCfBb-Bpuu-56ARhB-Bptt-BpHN-Bpvm-Bpjy/

Chivalry Is Dead

“Welcome, m’Lord and m’Lady,” the medieval peasant muttered in a deep bow. His eyes narrowed in confusion as he looked us up and down. “Thou dost sport strange attire,” he said slowly and then stepped behind my husband who wore our toddler in a baby carrier on his back. The timid man pointed a dirty finger and then drew away in mock fear.

“Hast thou noticed a child grows between thy shoulder blades, sir?” his voice warbled. “Might this be some kind of . . . witchery???” Covering his mouth in feigned horror, he quickly disappeared through the arched entry at the annual Renaissance Festival.

“He’s right, you know,” I laughed. “You do look like a two-headed creature.”

And that’s how the costumed actors convince you that for one day in the desert of Apache Junction, Arizona, you have stepped back in time to live among kings and queens, bawdy maidens and hapless beggars, merchants and musicians, knights and jesters. With a turkey leg in one hand and a wooden sword in the other, you can transform yourself into a noble whose virtue is above question. Long live chivalry!

That is, until you reach the highlight of the festival—the jousting. Then all bets are off.

With velveteen layers of royalty watching from the reserved boxes above, the dusty arena below their stands the center of equine machismo, visitors like us filled in the cheap seats to watch and applaud. It was a display of divided loyalty. Everyone in the east stands, rooted for the good guys, cheering a loud “Huzzah!” for the King’s favorite, while the spectators in the west, including us, gave their best boo’s and screamed at the top of their lungs, “Cheat To Win! Cheat To Win!”

And cheat they did. Charging the hero’s horse when he wasn’t looking, the popular knight was knocked into the dirt to the horror of the royal family and the easterners while the western crowd went wild, clapping in glee. While the royal favorite showcased courage and skill, the arrogant challenger played every dirty game in the book to the delight of half the stadium. We hooted at his sneaky antics and the childish insults he lobbed at the crowd favorite. Boy, was this ever fun!

It was hilarious to throw our support behind the rival knight even though he was so obviously bad to the bone. “Cheat To Win!” we laughed and yelled, caught up in the delirium of the western crowd that surrounded us, all of us behaving like newly rebellious teenagers, stoked up by our enthusiastic peers. Of course, I knew it was all a game and assumed the good guys would win in the end, bruised and bloodied as they were. After all, it was just for show, right?

But sometimes the bad guys won. Then what? Was the kingdom lost? The princess spoiled? The royals flushed? It was like reeling in a catfish after a struggle with the spiny creature—maybe you won the battle, but suddenly that salty trophy lanced your fighting hand.

You gotta be careful what you fish for.

It’s a lot like politics, don’t you think? Especially this year, in the battle to end all battles between communism, a two-headed creature disguised as progressive socialism, and our republic of freedom. It would be one thing if the challengers were transparent and honest. Heck, at this point, I’d settle for just one of those. Instead, they’re no better than actors on a stage, their selfish intentions disguised by scripted speeches. I know, that’s politics. But this year, 2020, they’ve managed to outdo themselves. The supporters of the left—more often than not rebellious crowds of naïve college students blended with the murderous, violent rioters of Antifa and BLM—cheered from the wrong side of the stadium while their puppet hero sold them all out. They don’t know it yet. And my prayer is that they will never know it if the Good Guy in the White Hat arrives to save the day.

But it might not happen.

This year’s elections have been hijacked. With ballots cast by long-dead voters. Underage voters. Multiple ballots by the same voters. Out of state voters. The playbook used by the left is long and complex. Ignoring a state Supreme Court order to allow observers in buildings to keep the elections clean, poll watchers have been left standing with nothing to watch except disappearing votes reported by a corrupt media on their cellphones.

But that’s not the coup de grâce. With their carefully contrived plot of deceit involving the sophisticated supercomputer system known as The Hammer and its counterpart program application, Scorecard, the left engineered a way of hacking into computers to flip votes on election night, effectively knocking the Good Guy completely off his steed so they could steal an election.

In plain sight.

Right in the middle of the political arena with western stands of traitorous reporters, cowardly conservatives, and greedy, power hungry politicians all cheering wildly, “Cheat to Win!” After all, the ends justify the means, right? It’s not the first time they’ve done it. It’s just the first time they’ve been caught at it. The only option now involves the nation's Supreme Court. Litigation. And hostile accusations aimed at the right that they don’t know how to be good sports.

It’s embarrassing, isn’t it?

Why can’t we all just get along? Let bygones be bygones, accept defeat and get on with our lives? That’s what it means to be an adult after all, isn’t it? Sure. Under normal circumstances when a fight is fair. When the count is accurate. When your vote matters.

That’s the problem.

If the left can claim a victory on the basis of the all-out cheating lengths they went to in this election, then your vote and mine will never ever matter again. You think this kind of election is a lark? It’s not. It is all too common in socialist countries across the globe. Just ask every immigrant you know who came to the land of the free to escape communist leaders and manipulated elections. And those are the lucky ones. The rest of their countries’ dissenters had their voices silenced years ago.

This is what’s hiding beneath the masked intentions of the so-called president elect and his co-conspirators. If they win the White House, not only will there never be another true election in the United States, but our days of personal freedom will be numbered. And all those turncoat politicians selling their souls to enemies both foreign and domestic? Boy, will they be surprised when they’re dismissed by the new regime as quickly as a far-right conspiracy theory. Puppets are disposable, you know.

This is an attempted coup. An overthrow. A forced takeover by the socialist mob who are now threatening to make Trump supporters pay for their crime of endorsement should the left win an Electoral College victory in December. Inspiring, isn't it?

It could happen. Victory can be stolen from the jaws of defeat. It happens every spring in Apache Junction, Arizona. You just have to remember the rules of the game.

Cheat To Win.

With thanks to Hans Splinter for the use of the photo seen above. The original can be viewed by following this link: https://flic.kr/p/an7koM