In 1944, Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer wrote this title song for the film Here Come the Waves. The lyrics encourage us to: Eliminate the negative, Latch on to the affirmative, Don’t mess with Mr. In-Between. I admit since November 5th it’s been difficult for me to be positive.

As I read the newspaper or the news apps on my phone, all I do is shake my head in total disbelief. Loyalty to a demigod equals a cabinet post, a director position, or an ambassadorship. While this practice also known, as the patronage or spoils system, is not new, it is unfathomable in the 21st Century. (Andrew Jackson ushered in the spoils system of patronage in 1829.) I suspect, though, Jackson didn’t use sexual offense charges and FOX news personalities, as criteria for coveted appointments. Further, by all accounts, the majority of foreign countries are laughing at America for allowing inexperienced, ill-qualified folk to assume national positions. Of course, I could rail on about tariffs, mass immigration, and women’s rights, but what good will it do? The amoral, narcissist maniac will assume office in January.

With Thanksgiving next week, Happy Holiday celebrations around the corner, and the inauguration 56 days away, I’m embracing the Epicurean philosophy–eat, drink, and be merry. Or as the song lyrics say: You’ve got to spread joy up to the maximum, Bring down gloom to the minimum, Have faith, Or pandemonium, Liable to walk upon the scene.

Forget the boding pandemonium. Join me in celebrating “the most wonderful time of the year” with exhilaration for the next eight weeks. It may very well be democracy’s final moment. Yet, America survived the lunacy of Andrew Jackson. Accentuate the positive, and best wishes for a festive Thanksgiving!

Last Sunday evening, I began a curious journey with the number seven. According to my horoscope, seven is not one of my supposed lucky numbers, but I put twenty-seven dollars in a slot machine, pushed the reel button, and the lights and bells went off. Wow! I won $7007! Then, I went to dinner, and the bill was $17.77.

After this unusual occurrence, I started thinking about seven–continents, days of the week, notes in a music scale, phases of the moon, and colors of the rainbow. Then came the hills of Rome, wonders of the world, and sister colleges. Even Hollywood portrayed The Magnificent Seven, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and The Seven-Year Itch.

Oh, I forgot to add the seven deadly sins. Damn, I can’t recall: what number is the next POTUS?

“And the fodder’s in the shock,” a nostalgic poem by James Whitcomb Riley I had to memorize in the fifth grade, and one which I can still recite from memory. From the onset, as a former Ohioan, I’m not a fan of November for several reasons:

First: I absolutely detest pumpkin anything from pie to cookies to lattes! And now Kit Kat bars have been infested with the deadly, smelling orange.

Secondly: Thanksgiving food includes not only pumpkin, but such undesirable food as bitter cranberries and candied yams. OMG! Who in their right mind would “candy” potatoes with marshmallows? Marshmallows belong solely on graham crackers and Hershey bars–duh!

Thirdly: The Presidents of the United States for years have been absolutely correct–pardon the turkey. I can barely swallow its leg meat and am left with copious amounts of dry, tasteless white meat that even gravy can’t help.

Yet, in all fairness to November, it does have some positives. I begin to decorate for Christmas, shop the Black Friday Sales, and schedule holiday gatherings. But the BEST thing about November 2024 is: the election will be over…perhaps and hopefully, peacefully. And yes, I’ll probably lose my right to vote, to have an abortion or IVF, and be forced to provide childcare for my grandchild. So be it. I’ve already lost a number of friends over this election. What will be will be.

Ever since I was little, I loved the magic of a garden and the joy of picking beans and tomatoes, shucking corn, and searching for the biggest pumpkin. When I moved to Arizona, I tried to replicate a much smaller version of the ones my grandparents had. But unlike their Ohio garden, in Phoenix, I could have both a spring and a fall/winter garden.

Yet, this year high September temperatures prevented me from planting until two weeks ago. (It remains to be seen if it will mature and produce.) And given the late start, I was forced to not use seeds, but mature plants of zucchini, broccoli, and tomatoes. Thanks to an ample supply of horse manure from my neighbor, I meticulously tilled, watered, and firmly set each plant. All was well. Until….

Being Type A, my ingrained-morning routine includes a walk to my garden, where I assess soil moisture, plant growth, etc. Much to my horror and disgust, I discovered some varmint had invaded, dug several holes, and pulled up all of my tomato plants. Damn, damn, damn. Gophers? Moles? Years ago, I’d ordered some solar-powered, sonic pest repellents; I’d try those. Alas, they wouldn’t arrive for two more days, and my garden could be decimated by then. With the help of one of my old campaign signs, a piece of screen, and duct tape, I built a barrier. Viola! It worked. The varmint had vacated.

Curious and curiouser. Suddenly, it occurred to me. Given the random holes in my garden and the uprooting of my plants, it wasn’t a gopher or a mole. It was my cabana gal’s long-legged Bernedoodle, who loves to dig anywhere and everywhere.

Tomorrow, I’ll return my unopened sonic repellents to Amazon.

I spent this weekend in Houston attending my niece’s 40th birthday party. Though I missed the freshmen football game on Thursday night, another grand nephew is the center for the varsity team and played Friday night.

Now, I’ve never seen a full episode of Friday Night Lights, but I have been to Houston often enough to know about how revered high school football is in Texas. (In fact, currently one district in suburbia has a $69.5 million bond issue on the ballot to build a new stadium to seat 8,000!) As a spectator for the visiting team, I had to buy a ticket on-line. No cash–not even for concessions.

The school parking areas were full when we arrived, and we parked across the street. The police had strategically and conveniently set up a temporary crosswalk to facilitate our entrance. We walked toward the gate and I saw two, semi-trucks and a panel truck with my nephew’s school logo. WTH? The band equipment!

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I spied the stadium. It outshone any small college athletic facility. In fact, I’ve never seen anything in the Phoenix area of that quality! Unfortunately, I can’t share photos of the field due to a mishap. But thankfully, the school district has its own YouTube channel and not only streams each game live, but replays it all weekend. Thus, I watched both half-time performances and the second half. Had I been in the stands, I would never seen my nephew’s snaps up close and personal.

Curiously, Texas ranks 42nd in public school funding, even though 91% of its children attend public schools. Its governor and legislature has embraced funneling public monies to 9% in the name of choice. Clearly the vast majority attend public schools and support athletics, band, and extracurricular activities. Yet…oblah dee, oblah dah.

(Note: Photo is a $70 million, high school football stadium in Allen, TX)