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I’m counting on your acknowledgment of our common humanity here, Ricochet friends, so that you’ll look past the thin gruel I’ve cooked up for you today. I don’t have much more to offer than an eager heart whose only desire is to please.
The fact is, I have very little going f0r me these days, and my life is contracting by the minute. I rarely leave the house anymore, and the ennui that often accompanies old age smothers any impulses I might have to do something, anything. Worse, I’ve begun to sense that Marie, the most generous of souls, is dropping little hints that she’s bored with me.
But a few days ago, Marie and I got out of the house to take a little trip to Olympia, Washington, to visit my daughter Annie and the grands. I’m going to see if I can mine that outing for content on which to build a Ricochet post.
I’ll begin with my strong suit: My daughter’s cat has six paws on her left front foot. I followed that darned cat around trying to get a good shot of her polydactyls just so I could share it with you. I enjoy looking at oddities, and I was hoping that you would too.
You may already know, from RushBabe’s posts, that Washington may be the country’s wokest and nanniest state. Upon crossing the Columbia River (think Woody Guthrie), the border between Oregon and Washington, the politics turned so left-wing blue that I scraped off my dated MAKE AMERICA GREAT bumper sticker so that I wouldn’t arouse road rage from any crazed lefties.
Just after crossing the border, Marie and I were greeted by a huge freeway sign that ominously warned us, YOU MAY BE VACCINATED, BUT YOU STILL NEED TO WEAR A MASK. That message was repeated along the freeway for the next fifty miles or so. Marie and I were intimidated. We like to follow all rules and we adore science, so we put on double masks inside the car. Fauci rules!
A little farther on, we came across piles of plastic bags that a cleanup crew had left behind for a truck to pick up. In large black letters on the white bags, we drivers on the freeway could read, “Ecology Crew.” So we’ve gone from “Trash Man” to “Sanitation Engineer” to “Ecology Crew.” Even wordsmiths among the Right would have to admit that lefties are better than we are in the use of words to shape reality. (Think “There is no crises at the border. There is only a border situation.”)
Later, when we got to my daughter’s house, I took a stroll around the neighborhood. Every other house, it seemed, had one of the common woke signs, from the simple “Black Lives Matter,” to the inclusionary “Everyone is welcome here,” to the moderately clever “Voting is like driving a car: Choose R to go backward, choose D to go forward.”
In the sign below, probably the most common among the woke signs, we are told that the inhabitants of that house believe that love is love. Damn, love is love. What a concept! The virtue-signaling was so thick that the houses might as well have had neon signs that declared, “I’m just a bit better than you: I’m more moral, I’m more empathetic, and I have more up-to-date opinions. If the state of Washington is the future, loves, we’re in for a long slog through a slough of despair.
A month or so ago, when my electric car, a 2018 Nissan Leaf, was almost new to me, I wrote a post about how an electric car was ideal for this time in our lives. The car was so new that I was kinda flying blind (and a host of internal combustion naysayers and nitpickers let me know that).
At any rate, I now have real-world data from a 125-mile trip we took to my daughter’s house. Our Leaf has a range of about 160 miles, so we could have gone all the way without stopping to top off the battery. But we were curious about what it’s like to charge our battery along the way, so we stopped in a Wal-Mart shopping area in Chehalis to top off the battery. (Wal-Mart’s around here all seem to have charging stations.) So we plugged in and walked over to McDonald’s for ice cream and to Wal-Mart for a look-see.
When we got back to the charging station after an hour (the charging stations consist of nothing more than an unattended rectangular post with an electric cord and an ATM machine), we paid for the electricity with a Visa card, and our battery was back at 100 percent. When we got to Annie’s, we plugged into her outlet, and the next morning we were back to 100 percent. We drove back to Portland without stopping anywhere along the way, with the exception of a drive-through at a MacDonald’s for pair of chocolate sundaes.
Electrics are not for everyone. But they’re perfect for Marie and me. We’re at an age where long trips in the car give us no pleasure. We take the train or fly. That trip to Annie’s was about as far as we want to go in a car. (We’ve never owned more than one car at a time, so electric is that one car now.) _______________________________
Postscript: I made a promise to Jim McConnell a couple of weeks back that I would include a photo of Bob in my next post. So Jim, here is a pic of Bob the conservative dog as he worries, as we all should, about this fallen and bent world. The state of Washington may be a precursor of that world.