Did I really wake to a world where the president of the United States fumed again on Twitter at a couple of TV hosts? Bitterness spewed internet-wide over coverage of himself on a show I’ve never watched?
Will the Trumps go on a Fourth of July picnic and eat hot dogs and potato salad?
With much of America beginning a four-day weekend, risking the highways to travel and hopefully not forgetting to be careful with campfires, is the president’s holiday message really “Happy Canada Day?”
It’s only seven hours since I put down my nighttime New Yorker, reading not about health care or Syria but about the emergence of the National Enquirer in national political debate.
My 15-month-old dog, eager to get the day started, is trying to start a rumble in bed, but I look out out the window and see a gray horizon.
My New Mexico, along with Arizona, is one of the two fastest warming states since 1970. Wildfire smoke has become a more noticeable signature of June than greening hills. I think of a winter coat in the closet that I now never wear.
Oh, well. I am encouraged after lunch yesterday with a fellow cancer patient, even though saddened that she has to go through this. I pull a Bruce King and probably pat her too hard on the back after surgery, but she seems sharp as a tack, looks seriously healthy and determined to stay that way. I am cheered by a Facebook photo of a friend on the Snake River, looking happily independent, grinning her big grin on the back of boat cruising Hells Canyon.
Yes, onward into the smoke it is, still believing there is a cure.
dream ranch 