The garden is being harvested. We’ve got a bumper crop of potatoes, four hills will fill a five gallon bucket. The tomatoes are limping along but quickly dying, it’s just been too wet and cool. I’ve got 60 quarts of green and yellow beans and the damn things won’t die. I found a neighbor who needed some, they’re welcome to ’em but they gotta pick ’em themselves. I don’t bend and kneel as well as I used to pickin beans and tomatoes and everything else raises hell with my back, knees and hips. Twenty years of being immortal took its toll. Oh well. It was good while it lasted. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not broke, just badly bent.
My phone shit the bed a little while ago and between that and my car my daily listening options have been limited to the public airwaves. Radio Free South Dakota which broadcasts Rush, Hannity, Levin and Savage is weak inside the building where I work. I can get it in my car, much to the dismay of Governor Dayton’s BLM lovin’ ass. My only option has been alternating between pop country and NPR. I can only take so much Blake Shelton.
I have learned things listening to NPR, like globull warmening is responsible for everything, even Trump. The science is settled, I’m a “flat-earther” in addition to being deplorable and racist and misogynist and white and male. I also learned that the Republicans ganged up with the southern Democrats to oppose the Civil Rights Legislation of the 1960’s. Wow, NPR’s history is so different from that which I lived through. Speaking of changing history, the past two days have been filled with odes to the late Senator John McCain, the left is overflowing with praise for his “bi-partisan” ways. I’ve got my own opinions but my Mom always told me not to speak poorly of the dead. I found a way around that conundrum.
Born in 1741, Benedict Arnold was well into his 30’s when he took charge of a military expedition to besiege Ft Ticonderoga. He succeeded in capturing 80 cannons, an impressive feat for a fledgling Army. He went on to attack Canada, defending the rebellious colonies from British attacks from the north. He was wounded, the attack failed but he built a fleet of ships from the readily available lumber and blockaded the Canadians in their frozen tundra. Where they suffer yet today. No threat from the British colony of Canada ever raised it’s ugly head.
Brigadier General Arnold was a rock star, he’d provided the fledgling military of the colonies with their first victories. He was the leader of a few more failed expeditions and then appointed Military Governor of Pennsylvania, where he entertained and sucked up to the Tories of the area. He soon married a prominent Tory’s daughter and decided to betray his country. The Fort of West Point was strategic at the time, having been appointed Commander, General Arnold was about to turn it over to the British when an unexpected visit by General Washington forced him to flee. Into the arms of the British. He was roundly despised by his new British Officer peers, they understood loyalty. He lived out his life as a sorry, traitorous piece of shit and was treated as such.
Every General in the history of the US Army has a shield hanging on a wall at the United States Military Academy, at Arnold’s former command of West Point. There is one black shield, bearing no name, no date, only distinguishing the acts of a traitor. A fitting end to a man who sought fame and fortune at any cost.
There should be some black shields on the walls in the halls of Congress. There ought to be a few bodies nailed to those shields, rotting while they remind the elected whom they serve and the price to paid for perfidy.
Maybe I’ve gone beyond the boundaries of good taste and my mother’s admonitions, oh well, In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company.