A Love Note to Remember
Time is now to affirm, promise, pledge and swear – yes, swear – that no more politicians from Maryland will be jumping into the billion-dollar presidential fray.
Further, no politico from the Frederick County environs will try to make a national name either. Thankfully.
I have been receiving a number of “love notes” from those involved on the national scale. In all probability these love notes are created, developed, printed and mailed by the same direct mail maestro.
Since Saturday’s elocution by the O’Malley fellow the electronic mail hasn’t just been limited to the Democrats’ FLOTUS. I was quite taken by First Lady Michelle Obama’s salutation, “I love you Harry.” Yes, it was a pleasant missive, sweet, of course. Then I learned some hundred thousand others were accorded similarly affectionate words.
Well, it seems if I responded with a gift, money that is, I might have a chance for a dinner with Ms. O, including Mr. O, or a trip to Florida for a weekend of joy. Friends, I declined. I wasn’t fooled.
At the same time other notes arrived from opposition folks. They weren’t filled with amour. They were pleas for donations – big ones – for many of the slew of Republican candidates who want to be first among equals.
Bear with me. None of the sophisticated letters lured me. They all carried about the same line of gobbledy-gook. I’ve listened, received and ignored the gibberish. That is not un-American.
For the next few years citizens of Frederick can take a rest from the political electioneering wars and can keep a tight grip on their wallets and any cash laying around.
This period is nothing short of being “swell.” Remember the times when that marvelous adjective was popular? People I know, like Maury Hassett, Bob Waltz, Clyde Crum, Mike Fitzgerald, Russ Delauter, even Roy Meachum, among a few others, always exhibit moxie. Mighty fine. They may even get some good chuckles from “hubba-hubba.” Certainly these are still in vogue but never used. Probably better than the slang used in these times.
During these days of recovery from all the trials and tribulations of local politics and those who feel anointed to change the landscape, where in the world is Kilroy? Holey moley.
Admittedly there is joy being an Anglophile. But, the line is drawn for any coronation of the next POTUS. We just don’t do that. It is not a family hand-me-down. But isn’t it time to cut back on the billions of dollars to be spent on the race and the monotony of speeches and general bull-shooting that invades us free peoples?
Great Caesar’s Ghost! Thanks, Mr. White. Haven’t we had enough of the meaningless words, promises and all that goes with half-truths, etcetera, etcetera and etcetera? Oh, Mr. White you ask? Clark Kent’s boss and editor.
To be honest at the end of the day, I did receive the previously mentioned sweet note from the First Lady of the United States. To my near dismay, it wasn’t handwritten.
Thanks to a marvelous penman, Richard Lederer, a Harvard man, we’re sort of not living the “the Life of Riley. It might be a grand thing for the superannuated to reconsider those “olden days” when youth had on their best big and tucker, straightened up and flew right and, sneaked off to local haunts for some “necking and petting and smooching and spooning.” No “shooting up” or “robbing” was involved in the” passion pits” or “lovers’ lanes” most natives still remember.
Let’s talk about the fun and games of the days of yore and keep the troubles out of the verdure of Frederick. Okay, the beautiful and elegant freshness of the surrounding land.