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Probably i shouldn’t allow it to bother me, but this whole Trump thing is such a daily embarrassment to our beautiful nation! The feeling i get is similar to the one when someone i respect gets sucked into a professional wrestling match, as if it is real, and i say again, “You KNOW it’s NOT REAL!”

“Trump isn’t real!” the wise David Brooks entitled his latest political essay. i know, i KNOW, David! But, then again, he IS! And this really IS happening – to the shame of America. It’s all a show, you might say; it’s all a game. But, it’s not funny – and not fun anymore. But, then, SOME GAMES WERE NEVER ANY FUN.

i’m thinking of one in particular, and i know that this is the very one that is being played for all of these sad months. We called it, UNCLE. We all remember the game, especially those of us who were small. Someone bigger would get on top and hold us down, pushing and pressing as we ached and struggled to breathe, until we cried, “Uncle!” Never fun for the little guy – and i doubt it was really much fun for the bully. i mean, Big Deal! So much to brag about! Does it really make you feel good about yourself?

Well, here it is again. This is what it’s about really. All a Game, but it’s all too real. How do we make it stop? Our wonderful Republic is on the floor, squirming, flailing its arms, fighting for air, an embarrassment to the world. Every time he opens his mouth – with one more cliche, another threat, or another false claim to victory, and poof, nothing else, no plan, no remedy, but a mob to cheer him on, Uncle Donald makes US look so foolish!

Or maybe i should put it this way – to a tiny praise of Mr. Trump. He isn’t really strong, you know. He might have lots of money, but the more he stands up there in the arena, the weaker he appears, especially when he screams “WIN” a hundred more times. But here it is. He does have ONE GREAT BIG MUSCLE, namely the truth that our government is a disaster. He is like David Brooks’ Professional Wrestler, taking his whole show to Washington, the Trump Circus to the Circus Maximus. He is right, and his camp keeps cheering him on. They have good reason to.

But to think that this Wrestler,who is really just a great performer, has any clue as to how repair the circus, Whew! That would only be putting the Super-Heavyweight D.T. into the D.C. Ring! i know, Mr. T., what this is all about. You are trying to make a point, a GIANT POINT (Can Donald Trump make any other sized point?) He is like the Giant Gold-Loving Ogre who came down the Beanstalk of Fifth Avenue, though this point does deserve, and need, to be made, and i will say, “YES! THANK YOU, SIR!!! POINT MADE. POINT TAKEN. Now please go home…or to the links.”

But that wouldn’t be enough for him. i’m nobody. Though a lifelong member of that “Silent Majority” he claims to be his people, my appeal would never work. So, what do we have to do, for love of our nation, to get him OFF OF US, off the stage, off our backs, off of our throats. ONLY ONE THING IS GOING TO WORK. Donald Trump has absolutely no business in this arena. We know it. He knows it. Everybody knows it. But he is not going to leave until someone CRIES UNCLE! And i mean someone from this broken, dysfunctional fiasco we call Congress YELLS, “OK! OK! OK! You are right! You WIN! UNCLE!” This is obviously the Ultimate Power Move which “the Donald” wants to be known for in his lifetime Wikipedia.

So, hey, down there in Washington! i realize that most of your egos are nearly as big as his. They weren’t so, when many of them were sent there BY THE PEOPLE FOR THE PEOPLE. Something about D.C., “something in the water,” makes egos grow. (LOL, D.T. in D.C. would grow into a Mushroom Cloud! i should not say, Laugh Out Loud.) HELLOOOO, is there anyone there who will dare cry Uncle – for the good of US all?

i would place my wager at this big WWF Match on Marco Rubio, “the little guy” as Trump calls him, “the Kid,” “the one who has no money, I MEAN ZERO, nothing, absolutely nothing to show for himself” – ¬†how the hell is he planning to beat ME?! Rubio is a real part of that disgraceful government, though one who really keeps trying. A genuinely “littler” guy, i’m sure he got held down many a time in life and made to cry Uncle. Maybe that is where his beautiful humility was born, there and in the clear and certain knowledge that every little thing he has came from poor but GIANT-hearted parents who never stopped working. Marco has not stooped to the lows of others in this campaign. He has taken blow after stupid blow, loud screams about his weaknesses instead of his many accomplishments already, though he may be “a kid.”

PLEASE, Mr. Rubio, please be the one. Say to Mr. Trump, “OK! You are sooooo right! Things are really bad down here. OK! UNCLE!” Maybe then he’ll go back to the golden tower and let you take care of things, the right way. Satisfy the Bully, even if he does it all because he says he loves Veterans (though Veterans starve outside his tower, and he wants the City of New York to move them out…) Even if he says he loves Iowa, then claims the next day, “Iowa is meaningless.” He does it all because he loves the USA, as he ought; it is, of course, what gave him everything, though he claims it was all HIMSELF!

Please, Marco, CRY UNCLE. Otherwise, we’ll just have to endure…month after month of his doing the very opposite of what he promises, Making America Instead GRAVER and GRAVER. After suffering loss after loss after loss, with lawsuits initiated in every state, Uncle Don will go home, a beaten dog with tail between his legs.





At first i was going to put a photo or two on Facebook…but then i realized that this is well worthy of a blog!

Whenever i cross the Hudson River by my home, if i have even a few extra minutes, i just have to pay a visit and my respect to one of my Great Heroes, the Balmville Tree. Just think of it, born before George Washington! Born before Georgie’s Mother, Mary! This type of tree, the Eastern Cottonwood, usually dies after 100 years. But this guy kept on growing. My photo is just a zoom on a bit of bark. Its belly is 25 feet around!

Before the Revolution even began, it sat outside a tavern and shaded folks as they drank and grumbled about King George and his odious taxes. In 1783-1784 a New George lived just down the road a bit. Over their brewskies many spoke of making him King now. Who knows, maybe George himself and Martha stopped there for dinner and laughed away such notions. The General was very clear that THAT is not at all what they fought for. All of those wonderful conversations are held, hidden, cherished inside those ancient crannies.

Franklin Roosevelt stopped many times to visit my pal, and he made sure that it went on the National Register of Historic Places. The 349 square foot cove has been America’s smallest state forest/national park – of ONE PHENOMENAL TREE!

Three times passed its normal lifespan, it really hit some turbulence on its 300th birthday. Hurricane Floyd claimed bragging rights for strength. The limbs began to tumble down. Dangers to neighboring homes and roadways meant near-death.


But there he still stands, his stump alone greater than any other tree in sight, and the eyes of George and Martha still watch over their friend and mine – for now.

Good to see you again, ole buddy.