Until recently, the spousal unit and I kept well clear of political discussions. We agree in our views, so a lot of conversation hasn't been necessary. With the 2020 election, all that changed.
We are angry. Something is very foul, very wrong, in the United States when hatred of one man can poison a nation. And the poison is still spreading. I've yet to figure out what he did that was so onerous other than send idiotic tweets.
We are concerned about the recent events in Ukraine, and today our discussion turned seriously morbid.
If the United States is invaded, we can not fuel our armed forces. We can't feed them. We can't get medical supplies to them. Our oil pipelines are shut down and truckers who effectively go on strike are made into heroes.
We not-so-jokingly said if the country is invaded, we'll give the dog as gentle a death as possible and then we'll both take an overdose of sleeping pills, go to bed and hold hands, and that will be that.
Our three thousand rounds of .22 ammo can't hold off an invading army. We have nothing of real value to invaders so our chances of survival are pretty slim. All I've ever wanted was to get to the stage of my life when I can spend my days on the manor enjoying a long retirement. It's about to be snatched away from me.
Our country is at risk and the youth of this nation are not going to fight for their own future. Why should we fight for them?
Yes, it was a theoretical conversation, but sobering nonetheless.
What is not theoretical is this: Climate change is a ruse to push us toward a Socialist government, a government that will tell us what to eat, what to wear, where to work, what cars to drive, and what types of homes we can live in. Surely I am not the only one who sees that.
It frightens me that my husband, a man who fought cancer twice just to stay alive can so calmly talk about the particulars of how to end his life.
It's time to THINK! To very carefully THINK about what our rulers are telling us. One wrong move is all it will take, and there is an idiot at the helm.
All our days are numbered, and the number is paralyzingly small.
The Lady of Holly Tree Manor (The Hideaway)