Texans without Electricity Yada Yada Yada

Let me begin by stating I have never worn sweats over pajamas to run errands, but on February 13, 2021 in Dallas, Texas I did. I have lived here long enough to know if weather forecasters mention snow, grocery store shelves resemble the fields after a locust invasion.

I felt a bit silly as snow predictions rarely materialize here, but who wants to go without coffee anytime, especially when the weather is awful.

It was a quick trip, and I did not see anyone I knew; one of the few advantages of the mask – total anonymity.

Back home while unloading the groceries, birds, hordes of them, began to swarm overhead zigzagging crazily and chirping. It was a creepy moment and I wondered if mother nature was giving them a heads up.

She was.

The next day we woke to a cold house, and no power. It would be the first of three days, that I wore insulated underwear under pajamas, under fleece lined sweats, under a heavy fleece lined bathrobe.

I’m here to tell you Dr. Zhivago’s romantic romp in an ice castle is total bull.

We made it the first day with sterno can soup and coffee huddled with the cat in a room with a propane heater, open window and carbon monoxide detector. I was thankful to have fully charged laptops and extra power banks for phones.

We were fortunate as we had rolling electricity after a day and a half. During that time, a mad dash to prepare hot food and coffee to put in a thermos occupied our time.

Rick Perry said, “Texans would be without electricity for longer than three days to keep the federal government out of their business,”

Rick did not waste one nano second to work for the federal government after his failure at Dancing with the Stars.

When Trump’s ship sank, Perry joined the board of LE GP, general partner of Energy Transfer.

I’d bet my last cup of coffee, on February 14, 2021, Rick Perry was not in a sub-zero home wearing insulated underwear under pajamas, under fleece lined sweats, under a heavy fleece lined bathrobe.

Rick Perry can go straight to hell.

A Donald Trump Presidential Library and Other Oxymorons

Note: First published in June of 2018

Oxymorons are words, or a group of words that are self-contradicting, according to Webster.
Rumor has it, however, the last syllable of an oxymoron applies to you-know-who, so the term may not be contradictory after all.

When he is no longer in office, there will be a permanent reminder of his reign of horror – i.e. a presidential library. Presidential libraries are privately funded, then turned over to the National Archives and Records Administration to operate and maintain.

Trump’s tenure could result in a location at Riker’s Island or Leavenworth and break with tradition.

Otherwise, my money says The Donald’s library will be on a Trump-owned resort property.

The facility will be as garish and tasteless as the Trump dynasty.

I envision a kiosk with  MAGA merchandise for die-hard supporters to purchase.

A jumbotron featuring various kinds of products such as hair color, gel, and tanning spray with a how-to diagram of the comb-over.

Museum-like film clips of his photoshopped inaugural parade with its huge crowds and rallies featuring his adoring followers would loop over and over.

Replicas of McDonalds and KFC family size buckets would replace official White House menus.

Credible proof of the stable genius’ awards, certificates of merit or other tributes are non-existent. In their place, bankruptcy filings, bogus tax returns, copies of fake news covers and a diploma from Trump University.

Alongside photos of interest during the Trump reign of terror, photos of his paramours will peak visitors interest. There will be no mention of a first lady, as she retired to a villa in Switzerland  and changed her identity.

Numerous photos of executive order signings will grace the walls replacing inspirational quotations, typically found in other president’s libraries.

The Trump Presidential Library will be just like the man himself – tacky and tasteless and the American Taxpayer will be stuck for paying for its upkeep through the National Archives and Record Administration.


Am I a great painter – No.

Do I foist my attempts off on friends and relatives for birthday, get well and holiday cards – Yes.

I got hooked on watercolor painting a couple of years ago as a lark. Nothing brings me so much frustration, joy, and satisfaction. It is so addicting, I get cranky if I don’t get my painting fix a couple of times a week.

It brings relief from the daily onslaught as a result of the Trump regime, enabled by the Republican party. Still, indignation and outright rage hung out somewhere in my gray matter.

I started painting these strange women with no particular reason in mind.

Until today, I realized I had painted four of them; one for each year of the Trump administration.

I voted last week with a mail-in ballot. Took it to the post office where the eastern Indian woman assured me of it’s safe arrival to the proper place.

I’ll bet she doesn’t like Trump either.