Good morning, Netizens…
Halfway through the month of March and perhaps the lion that has savaged our fair city will simply disappear, taking with it the interminable snow berms, the fiscal malaise and perhaps if we are truly fortunate, the abominably high Avista bills that have so haunted everyone this winter. Now we can begin the annual festivities called “pothole patrol”, in which various members of the news media state they are tracking pothole complaints.
Yeah, sure. We have the same potholes that ruined our automotive suspensions last year, only now they are new-and-improved, with better axle-snapping, ball joint rupturing, mind-boggling chasms that will, at the drop of a hat, put you permanently into the house of smooth-talking mechanics of the first order who will eagerly help themselves to what is left over of your wallets after Avista gets their latest rate increases.
When my beloved pre-teen-aged granddaughter comes creeping into my office just before the dawn for a hug and some rocking, each time I try to tell her about how much we love her, and each time I want to tell her we will try to correct all these social ailments before it is her time to assume control of society. Each time as I hold her close to my battered old heart, I try to envision the future we are leaving for her generations, and how they will address those few remaining inequities of the system when her time comes.
Unfortunately, try as I might, I cannot even begin to express to her how utterly unjust, outrageous and thoroughly uncivil things have become while on my watch. All that I have to give her is my unconditional love, given early before the day’s new dawn, as she makes her early-morning potty run. I hug her close to me, making promises I cannot keep, and wondering at how fast she is growing.
Perhaps it is not enough, this brief moment, a wee slip in the passage of time, but as I gaze into her lustrously huge brown eyes, I simply do not have it within myself to tell her how it is now, for I want her to live without fear always.