It’s
a beautiful day here at the Old Politicians’ Home.
The
sky is a deep, deep blue, the humidity has disappeared overnight, and there’s a
gentle breeze keeping the heat down even on the front porch, which faces right
into the sun, and where our residents like to congregate after lunch.
Yes,
it’s a beautiful day here at the Old Politicians’ Home -- though of course it’s
not nearly as beautiful as days used to be.
Mr.
Jesse and Mr. Bill are on the front porch this afternoon. If you asked them -- and even if you didn’t -- they’d be
quick to tell you how the beautiful days these days don’t hold a candle to the beautiful days they
remember.
“Back
in the day,” Mr. Jesse would say, “now those days were truly beautiful.”
“Not
like today’s days,” Mr. Bill would chime in. “Not like today’s days at all.”
Mr.
Jesse and Mr. Bill are two of our newest residents here at the Old Politicians’
Home, and like most new residents, they’re still getting adjusted. We try to do everything we can to make
our new arrivals feel comfortable, but we still haven’t found a way to make the
clocks run backward, or the pages of the calendar stop turning. That can be hard on some people.
Mr.
Jesse and Mr. Bill are finding it harder than most.
“Kids
these days!” Mr. Jesse is saying.
“They just don’t have any respect!”
“No
respect at all!” Mr. Bill is saying right back at him. Then they shake their heads, and then
they rock a bit. They’ve got their
rockers side by side right in the middle of the porch, right near the main
entranceway, so they can see everyone who comes to visit. And vice versa.
“They
never had to work for it,” Mr. Jesse is saying. “Not the way we
did!”
“They
think it oughta be handed to ‘em!” Mr. Bill is saying. “On a silver platter!”
Then
they shake their heads again, and they rock a bit more. A bit faster.
(We keep an eye on all our residents to make sure they don’t get too
agitated. We can’t have anybody
tipping over.)
“Did
I ever tell you about the time when…” Mr. Bill begins, and even though the
correct answer is “Yes,” Mr. Jesse is kind -- or maybe he’s just forgetful --
and he lets Mr. Bill tell it all over again. So Mr. Bill tells it, and he chuckles and he bellows at all
the same places in the story he always does. And Mr. Jesse laughs or raises his eyebrows in all the same
places, too.
“This
Obama guy,” Mr. Jesse is saying as soon as Mr. Bill is finished, like he’s been
waiting for an opening. And for a
split-second, Mr. Bill stops rocking.
“Yeah?”
he’s saying, and then he’s back to rocking again, but you can tell he’s
listening really hard.
“I
don’t mean him any harm, or any hurt,“ Mr. Jesse is saying. “But he never had to fight for it!”
“And
all this talk about him being such a great speaker!” Mr. Bill is saying. “I never heard such a fairy tale in my
life!”
“Exactly!”
Mr. Jesse is saying.
“Exactly! Now, if you want
to talk about great speeches, I can tell you about some great speeches…”
And
that’s just what he does.
Suddenly, Mr. Jesse is reciting whole paragraphs from memory, and waving
his arms -- a little at first, and then a little more -- and Mr. Bill is
smiling and pumping his fist at all the right spots, and waiting for it to be
his turn again.
It
helps pass the time.
# # #
Rick Horowitz is a syndicated columnist. You can write to him at rickhoro@execpc.com.
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