If a man watches three football games in a row,
he should be declared legally dead.

—Erma Bombeck
______________________________________

It’s been a strange season. Less than six weeks before winter officially arrives, fall has fallen. It’s November. Buggies clog the roads like swarms of locusts each Tuesday and Thursday morning, bound for Amish weddings. The frosts and cold have finally arrived for good, it seems, and the leaves are dropping from the trees in great brown torrents.

Not on my property, though. When the last old decaying oak was unceremoniously dismantled and removed from the front yard last summer, I had no more shade and no more leaf-shedding trees. The negative balanced by a positive. Makes life more simple, and the yard a lot cleaner.

And then, of course, the election clamor and fuss we endure every four years. It’s over. Finally. A great hush has descended on the land. Punctured only by continued sycophantic, enraptured accolades for the winner. Already the glowing comparisons to JFK’s Camelot have begun. And some group is lobbying for a national holiday in honor of the One.

But it’s over, thank God. The election, I mean. A clear winner. And a lot of clear losers. Except in Minnesota, where the vile Al Franken has manufactured the exact number of magical votes he needs to win. As I predicted. Simply breathtaking. Open fraud. You gotta hand it to the Dems. They go for the jugular, for victory at all costs, voters be (bleeped).

But overall, it’s pretty amazing, when you think about it, how power passes from one party to the other with a minimum of violence. We think nothing of it; it’s just the way it is. But in many, if not most countries in the world, such a thing would be impossible. Elections bring blood and fire and death. Think Zimbabwe.

The country expelled a long collective sigh of massive relief. Slightly over half the people in this country rejoiced wildly, along with about 95% of the people in the rest of the world. Those of us who didn’t, well, we can at least breathe again, albeit with a deep sense of doom and foreboding. At least the doom and foreboding can be absorb-ed in some relative peace and quiet.

Having posted my thoughts on the outcome last week, I’ll refrain from repetition. I’m just thankful not to be assaulted by inane campaign commercials every time I turn on the radio or watch a football game. A little peace and quiet is a good thing.

After the election, it’s back to the daily grind of focusing on making a living. The economy stumbles along like a sick horse. One more bailout, another company (Circuit City. Go buy their discounted stuff.) going bankrupt, more layoffs, it’s enough to make me appreciate my job a lot more. I’m still quite steamed about the $750 billion banker bailout last month.

We definitely see the slowdown at work. Fall is normally our crunch time, our busiest of the year. People want to get their building projects completed before winter. Usually our post-Labor Day sales take off and last well into December.

Not this year. We were having a record year up until August. Then suddenly things slowed almost overnight. Soon the calls came in, from crews looking for work. We declined all such requests, preferring instead to keep our own crews busy for as long as possible.

It’s strange too, when you look at what happened to fuel prices. Dropped like a rock. Reduced demand, is the official explanation. But one wonders. We’re down to just above $2.00 a gallon. A lot of places are under $2.00. Big Blue is back in fashion again. Not that he’d ever fallen out of fashion with me. Costs less than $50 to fill his tank. I never thought I’d see that day again. But it’s here. At least for now.

In August, when I was freaking about my projected winter heating bills, I went out and bought one of those Eden Pure heaters that’s supposed to run all day for about $2 in electricity. Framed in dark black plastic, no Amish-made wooden cabinets for me. The sales lady smoothly assured me it was maintenance free, wouldn’t deplete the oxygen supply, and would heat my whole house. I took it home eagerly.

I’ve been using it now for the last two weeks. Works well. I leave it turned on low during the day, turn to high in the evening and to low again at night. So far it has heated the house as promised. But lately, a strange odor greets me when I enter my house. Assaults my senses. After a few minutes, I don’t notice it.

At first, I feared my bachelor pad was, well, emitting unpleasant odors from who knows where. Maybe a dead mouse; I’d set poison around the house for the fall invasion. And it’s not like I clean my house thoroughly every week, or even every month. But I tracked it to the heater. Not sure what to do about it, or why it’s happening.

Oddly, the malls are overflowing, at least in this area. Last Saturday afternoon, I stopped at Park City for some coffee and people-watching. I could hardly find a parking space for Big Blue.

In the mall, I dodged through the crowds, and the small temporary vendor stands in the middle of the halls. One particular vendor, who sells some sort of beauty product, Dead Sea Natural, or some such name, staffs the stand with perfectly coifed, aggressive beautiful women. They assault the unwary and entrap them with long presentations.

I’ve always avoided that particular stand like the plague. I duck, I hug the walls, I hunker down behind other people and try to slink past. I never, ever make eye contact. But the aggressive beautiful women always, always focus on me like a laser-guided missile.

“Sir,” one will say pleasantly, approaching with a plastic thousand-watt smile, “may I ask you a question?”

I hunch down. I’ve never learned the question she wants to ask because I always extend my hand straight out to fend her off.

You’d think they’d recognize me and leave me alone. But no. So we dance again.

“You may not,” I say, plunging ahead.

The smile dims to a mere five hundred watts. Pleasantness morphs into unmasked aggression. “But it will only take a minute.”

I’m through the gauntlet. “Not my minute.” I’m gone. Safe for now. Until I pass through again.

I’ve often seen other hapless men, less wary than me, standing there hopelessly ensnared, glancing around desperately for any source of rescue. While the aggressive sales lady spins her spiel, smiling plastic thousand-watt smiles. They won’t escape until they buy. It’s just that simple.

Oh, well, everyone’s got to make a living. Just not off me. Not like that.

Last weekend I attended a gun show in Reading. Medium sized, probably a hundred-plus tables. The first post-election show. Gun people are quite discouraged and gloomy about the future. What the One will do to take their rights, and ultimately, many believe, their guns. Paranoid? Maybe. Maybe not.

I browsed about, taking my time, absorbing the atmosphere and the camaraderie. The place was humming, especially the ammo tables. Stacked with customers two or three deep. Gun vendors, too, were doing brisk sales. I usually check out all the merchan-dise, make a mental note on what I might want and make my purchases just before leaving, so as not to walk around lugging a bunch of stuff.

I was immediately drawn to a large Ontario Bowie knife, brand new, made in the USA, for about 40% off retail price. I examined it, walked away, returned, hefted it again. The grooved black Kraton handle fit my hand perfectly. The black powder-coated carbon steel blade gleamed seductively.

It drew me back again and again, from all points of the trade floor. Finally I made the decision. Forked over my forty bucks and proudly took possession of my prize. Fifteen inches overall, ten inches of razor sharp steel. Heavy. Wicked looking. I attached the leather and codura sheath to my belt, tied the lanyards around my leg and walked about proudly, feeling very manly.

Why would a man buy a great Bowie knife he didn’t really need? I don’t know. Because I wanted it. Because I could. Seemed like an entirely rational decision at the time. Still does. Great price. It’s a guy thing, I suppose. Dubbed the “Sword of Righteousness,” it now resides quietly under Big Blue’s driver’s seat. Ready for instant access in any emergency.

Pro football season is more than half over. That’s how I keep track of time in the fall. And somehow it always just flies by. My Jets have been doing quite well, actually leading their Division. I expect them to at least make the playoffs. Favre has worked out better than I ever imagined. Last night he led the Jets to a win in overtime, beating the evil Patriots 34-31. Any win over the Patriots is especially sweet.

In college football, things are shaking out. Late October/early November is my favorite football time of year. Huge college shootouts every weekend, with huge implications for the national standings.

Penn State, my local nemesis, found itself perched loftily in the #3 spot in the nation. Undefeated. Getting a bit uppity, they were. JoePa still had it, they proclaimed. Maybe they’d get a chance to play in the National Championship game, even.

But then, alas, they traveled to Iowa last weekend. The lowly Hawkeyes. The sacrificial lambs. Unranked. And still my favorite Big Ten team. There, in the cold blustery northern Iowa winds, the Nittany Lions met their fate, losing on a last second field goal, 24-23. Their visions of grandeur cruelly crushed. I was on the road, my only regret being that I couldn’t watch it unfold live.

At the post-game press conference, JoePa mumbled incoherently. He didn’t seem to know exactly where he was. I do believe the man is getting senile.

My new screen saver.
The Bowie will complete my outfit.

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

—William Butler Yeats, “The Second Coming”
_________________________________________

The final weekend. It all closes in, the raging noise, the incessant campaign attack commercials on every channel, the rabble rousing threats of violence and rioting. It punctures every facet of one’s awareness.

It’s impossible to detach. Strain and tension permeate the atmosphere. Around the country and the whole world.

Oh Lord, I groan. Let this, too, pass.
____________
THE WEEKEND

I leave for a trade show, the first of the season. A small show at Delaware Valley College in Doylestown. Might as well go hang out with wacky horse people for a few days.

I arrive Saturday morning and set up my booth. Small show, maybe sixty vendors. First year for it. It opens at ten. Traffic is slow from the get go. A few mild rushes, mostly nothing. Probably our first and last year at this venue, I figure.

I mingle with the other vendors. We chat. Complain about the lack of show traffic. My neighboring table hosts girl scouts. Some trail ride setup. They have free candy and cookies. I chat with the Den Mother. She’s friendly enough, and almost normal. No horse person is completely normal. Turns out she’s a Democrat. No big surprise there. I avoid identifying my political allegiance, or lack thereof.

She returns to her scout troop. I hear her speak Sarah Palin’s name, followed by scornful snickers. Den Mother is busy indoctrinating her precious little troops.

“You laughing at Sarah?” I ask, irritated. Leave her alone. You snide easterners.

“Yep,” Den Mother answers.

“You better not,” I retort.

“We are,” she replies.

“You better not,” I repeat. “Don’t even get me started on Obama.”

They huddle and lower their voices. I ignore them.

Thankfully, the show reaches its disastrous conclusion on Sunday afternoon. Suppos-edly at five, but all the vendors are packing and fleeing at four. Nothing going on. I leave Delaware Valley College, probably forever. Head home to slurp up the Simpsons Halloween Special and some good old Sunday Night Football.

The Colts beat the vile Bellichek and his evil Brady-less Patriots.
________
MONDAY

I sleep in. Take the day off, as I usually do after a weekend show. Finally rouse up around ten and head to the gym. One day to go.

Glenn Beck is on the radio. I like Glenn. Today he’s somber. Worried. Mostly about his job. Nah, that’s not fair. I give him credit. He’s worried first about where the country is headed. Then about his job. He figures the Fairness Doctrine might knock him off the air. He may be right.

Rush bounces on at noon. Loud and boisterous as always. Rages against Obama. I detect a tinge of fear, maybe mild hysteria. I like Rush. Respect him a lot, mostly for his outlook on life through good and bad times. Today he’s urging people to get out and vote. Just go. The polls are what they are. Who knows how biased for Obama? Designed to suppress the conservatives, Rush claims. He may be on to something. I don’t know.

I check my email. Loads of forwarded junk. Don’t forget to vote, one admonishes. What am I, a child? Obama is like Hitler, screams another. I sigh and wonder what sins I’ve committed in the past that would make anyone believe I have the slightest interest in reading this political garbage. I’m an adult. I’ll vote if I want to. Won’t if I don’t want to. I delete the emails without reading them. There will be many more in the next twenty-four hours, I think to myself resignedly.

Election eve. I check Drudge. Polls bouncing all over. Obama blowout, screams one. McCain closing, proclaims another. They all show a decent percentage of undecideds. If McCain wins, it’ll be because they broke for him.

I watch a bit of Monday Night Football and head for bed. Tomorrow is the day.
________
TUESDAY

I head back to the office. Daylight savings time came on Sunday. The day drags. A buddy calls. He’d gone out and bought a new rifle the night before. The gun shop was jammed. People buying rifles and handguns. Gun sales have shot up 30% to 50%, in anticipation of an Obama win. Fear reigns. Of what the Dems will do, if they win it all. It won’t be pretty.

The talk shows are strangely muted. Glenn Beck believes Obama will win. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, reflective. But not Rush. He’s not convinced Obama will win. Or at least that’s what he claims. Don’t watch the news, he says. They’ll call the states early for Obama. Don’t pay any attention. Come back and listen tomorrow. I’ll have it all for you.

I don’t know what to think. I still believe McCain will pull it out. Or at least that it will be much closer than we’ve been led to believe. Just something deep down. But I don’t know. There is no early exit polling this year. Not after the Kerry debacle four years ago, where the exit polls had him winning in a landslide. The networks don’t want that egg on their faces again. They’ll be more careful.

Time crawls. I hate the week after a time change. Screws up one’s interior time clock. Five o’clock finally arrives. It’s getting dark outside. I head for the gym, then the polls. No crowds this late. I’m relieved.

I take a paper ballot and walk into a booth. I vote my principles.

I meet a friend for dinner. We chat over a leisurely meal. When I get home, it’s nine o’clock. Eastern polls have been closed for an hour. Time for calls to be made on the race.

This year, I have purposed not to watch any TV talking heads on election night. Can’t stomach their superior, sneering faces. I click on Drudge instead. Check the numbers. Tight in the battleground states. With 10% of the vote counted, Pennsylvania is called for Obama. Oh, well. It’ll be that kind of night. Republicans losing several Senate seats, too.

I go to bed a bit after ten. Tomorrow will tell. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

I sleep fitfully through the night.
____________________
WEDNESDAY & BEYOND

The alarm clatters. 5:45, time to get up. I fire up the computer and go take a shower while it warms up. Dress. Then sit down and click on Drudge.

Obama is our new President. Electoral landslide. I’m not surprised, but to actually see it, staring coldly from the screen, leaves a hard knot in the pit of my stomach.

He did it. Give credit where it’s due. He won it all. Both houses of Congress with him. All the power to the Dems.

At least the vile Al Franken hasn’t pulled it off in MN. Not yet. They’ll keep recounting until he wins. That’s the way Democrats work.

The office is muted. We discuss the election. What it means. What the future holds. What might change, and likely will. Higher taxes. Diminished second amendment rights.

For true freedom lovers, America is now an occupied country. As it has been for years, under Bush the Younger. And would have remained, regardless of who won this round. But especially so now under Obama. And Reid and Pelosi, two of Washington’s most wacko liberal crackpots.

A new day has dawned. Of “hope and change.” Vacant, undefined terms. Successfully sold by a slick Chicago huckster to a roaring, cheering mob of mindless swooning sheeple. A huckster who never worked an honest day’s labor at a real job in his life.

Republicans now inhabit the wilderness. As they so richly deserve. They will remain there until they repent. If they don’t repent, they’ll wander, forever lost.

In the meantime, dark forces of a new kind of oppression will be unleashed upon the land. They will reign, seemingly unchecked, and will do their utmost to dispirit, to de-stroy, to demonize, to mold and forge this country into the image of evil they worship in their hearts.

And they will succeed, to some extent. To the victors go the spoils.

Until a new force arises from the ashes and casts out the vile oppressors. Based on the raw simple concepts of freedom from the tyranny of the intrusive secular nanny state. Freedom to worship without being labeled hateful. Freedom to reap the rewards of one’s own labor. Freedom to be left alone. Freedom that will live always in the hearts of those who yearn for it. Value it. Cherish it.

The seeds are sown, they have sprouted, the free forces of liberty will grow. They multiplied exponentially in the past year under the great Ron Paul. Soon, a new and younger leader will rise and take up the banner from his tired and faltering hands.

It will be a long war, with many lost battles. Especially in the next two to four years. But the truth crushed to earth will rise again. Always has, always will. In the long term. Of not just years, or even decades, but generations.

Those who refuse to bow the knee to Ba’al will never surrender.

And so, with real hope for genuine change and true freedom, we continue the endless slog through the long night that envelopes us, toward the distant promise of a new and shining dawn.