I spent the day in America today.

The real America, a place where Americans live — where it is well nigh impossible to find a single person who hates America, who hates the Founding Fathers and who still call them Fathers, as they all in fact were, a place where there are American flags and references of one kind or another to guns and religion.

A place, in other words, which is definitely nowhere near the so-called “Clinton Archipelago” and is certainly not named New York City, Chicago, Los Angeles, Harvard, Yale, or Palo Alto.

A place, it might be noted, which was recently on the edge of the recent hurricane which, while not at the epicenter still received much noticeable damage. But, in this small town in actual America, in the restaurant where we had real, honest-to-God (and they — gasp — actually used that very phrase) American, of course, home cooking, neighbors were “visiting” with each other, as it is called in America, not networking, about damage to their homes and reassuring each other that all would be well. And, it will be — in America.

Not once did I hear a single one of these fine citizens grumble about the fact that “man-made warming” caused their losses and one got the distinct impression that if someone did, he would get very lonesome, very fast.

They simply don’t think in those terms — in America.

In the friendly, warm, welcoming restaurant where we had what must be the very personification of the phrase “down-home-country-cooking,” it would have been unthinkable for some “outsider” to come in and demand that someone leave because they were wearing clothes carrying the wrong message — like “God Bless America” or “America — Love it or Leave It”, or a message as outrageous as “Make America Great Again!” As a matter of fact, based on the size and build of some of the younger citizens I saw in that wonderful place, that kind of insulting, rude, and, dare I say it, uncivil behavior might happen once in that restaurant — but only once. And the types who tried to claw — literally — their way through the doors of the highest Court in our land would never, ever, ever come back for a second helping, of that I am sure.

And, along those lines, this was not a place for a certain former person in the higher atmospheres of the “leadership” of the FBI, as if Peter Strzok thought he could “just smell the Trump support” in that Virginia Wal-Mart, had he even been fortunate enough to get through  the door of that restaurant, he might well have been knocked down by the support of, again, dare I say it, the purest perfume of Americanism either he or his fellow (?) FBI colleague, Ms. Page, have ever drawn through their olfactory senses. The citizens I saw today would teach Strzok and Page a whole new meaning of the phrase he used about the election of the President of the United States — “we’ll stop it” — one which might well have borne unpleasant memories for both of those swine.

In the America I visited today, the parking lots of the churches were full to overflowing and the towns were, for the most part, save the obvious scars left by the nightmare named Michael, lovely, well-tended, and quiet on a pretty Sunday afternoon.

This is the America in which My Lady and I were both raised and while I have read much lately about how America is finished — and even I have had those thoughts myself — what I saw today in the America I visited convinces me that the foundations our Forefathers built this great Nation on are simply driven too deep to be “fundamentally transformed” by Alinsky-ite Marxists wearing stupid hats and wailing at the sky like wounded animals.

So, if you’re getting a little, or a lot, down by the steady drumbeat of the San Francisco Democrats (look what they did to one of the most beautiful cities on the face of the earth) wearing their symbols of nuttiness like pussy hats, I have a little elixir which I hope will lift your spirits as they did mine this very day.

Spend a day in America! It’s a wonderful place!