The past year began under the worst possible circumstances. You-know-what flourished and flowed downhill faster than we could run.
Daily twilight zone events aka the Trump effect popped up like a whack-a-mole on crack.
Disbelief has become a way of life.
Surely, I told myself, someone will tell the Pres that family members who have no experience in government cannot serve in his cabinet. No one did.
Other than outraged citizens, no one in government has seemed willing to man up and say, “That boy ain’t right.”
Eleven months later, disbelief has faded into numbing acceptance. The serenity prayer taped above my computer monitor has a knock-out clause regarding the part that mentions the courage to change things I can.
Life sometimes feels like a really bad surreal movie some contender shot in his mother’s basement. That’s when I know it is time for escape.
My escape of choice is the art museum. Being surrounded by beauty and creativity is uplifting. It is total and complete escape and I always leave with a feeling of contentment.
Strolling among the artifacts, some that date to 100 AD, is proof that since time began, people have survived under horrible circumstances and somehow created beauty.
I wondered, what artifacts will our current tribal leader leave for future generations? A gimme cap made in China, a long red tie, bronzer, hair dye and fake magazine covers? Perhaps some future videographer will cobble together a series of tweets and lies as an exhibit.
I decided to pass up the Mayan exhibit. A lost civilization hit a bit too close to home.