High Water and Low Blows

Well, so far, we have survived Hurricane Florence.

We got a lot of rain, some wind, downed trees, but, at least in my corner of Durham, we kept our power and water services. In fact, my automatic lawn sprinklers came on during the height of the downpour--first world country problems, I guess. Had to keep a wary and worried eye, however, on the normally little creek that marks the boundary between my property and my neighbor's. This usually placid and bucolic runnel, did its best to impersonate a raging river. About eight to ten feet wide, with banks about three to four feet high, or so, it filled to the brim and for several hours threatened to spill over. In its fury, it washed away a neat little foot bridge. How will I ever be able to visit my neighbor again? The horror! This morning it has resumed its placid, post Xanax ways, but now my trust is broken. Gone. I have seen its Mr. Hyde face.

The house in Wilmington? Well, I don't think the news will be as good. My neighbor there reports that our garage has flooded--which, probably, means that so has the basement--and the place is without power. Lots of downed trees, and the highway there is still impassable. Whatever losses I might have suffered, however, pale into nothingness compared to what other folks in this beautiful state have. Gaia is a killer. I am sure that had we stayed with the Paris Climate Accord none of this would have happened.

Since we have had power here, I have been able to spend hours watching and reading the news, generally, an awful exercise and waste of time. The one thing I learned, yet again, is that our prog "friends" will stoop to anything to destroy a rival. The last-minute stunt they have pulled with Judge Kavanaugh is beyond reprehensible, probably even worse than what they did to Clarence Thomas. They have dug up some ultra-prog professor of psychology from, of course, northern California to allege that some time, somewhere, perhaps 35 years ago or so, in a place not fully established, at a party or gathering in an uncertain place on an uncertain date with an uncertain number of attendees, Kavanaugh, then either 16 or 17 years old, proved himself an archetypical, white patriarchal straight male and groped or tried to grope the then also 16 or 17 year old future professor.

How can one defend himself against this type of accusation? Pretty damn hard in our new era where the accused must prove beyond a shadow of a doubt--and without insulting or offending his accuser--that perhaps, maybe, the accuser has it wrong. This is beyond outrageous. No matter what happens, and I don't believe the accuser's story from what I have heard so far, Kavanaugh's life will be permanently altered; he will become the punchline for every prog comedian and politician, will be harassed on the street, and will constantly have to worry about the safety and security of his wife and daughters. Talk about the politics of personal destruction.

A little update: One of my sons is betting that the Dems have more women accusers lined up. They will "Roy Moore" him, he says, with a barrage of accusations. Gloria Allred call your office!

Just before the hurricane, a friend warned me about snakes getting flushed out by the rising waters. Naive me. I thought he meant on my property in North Carolina. Turns out the snakes are a bit further north . . . in Washington DC.