In the wee small hours of the morning, the United States elected (effective January 20, 2017) to become a Banana Republic, or more specifically, an Orange Republic. My rational mind is trying to console me with thoughts like, "Maybe Trump is crazy like a fox!" But, it isn't having any success. Trump’s choice of Cabinet Secretaries and his nomination for Supreme Court Justice will portend the fate of the nation for the next two years until the House goes up for election. Until then, Trump will spend his political capital freely. At least we know what Alec Baldwin will doing for the next four years.
There are two truths this morning: one, never trust the polls; and two, Hillary Clinton's political career is over. Although Secretary Clinton marginally won the popular vote, I can't help but feel that the country just doesn't want her. She failed the "beer test" as did Mitt Romney, but there is more to it than that. It's a given (or should be), that career politicians will say and do anything within the elastic limits of the law in order to get elected, but three decades of Clinton scandals (Whitewater, extra-marital affairs, Benghazi, the private email server, The Clinton Foundation, et al.), whether proved or only alleged, are enough to suggest that they believe they live above the law. And, when her message distills to "four more years," it certainly doesn't foment either inspiration or action compared to Bernie Sander's whackadoodle ideology or Donald Trump's Hitleresque hate-and-blame pedagogy. Hillary Clinton may have been the best qualified Presidential candidate across all parties, but she was a poor choice for the Democrat party, and she was "chosen" because it her "turn" (again). While Donald Trump has derailed the Republican party of Reagan, Hillary Clinton has also proved that the Democrats need to retool their ideology.
I'm not sure if I'd feel any better if Clinton had won. I didn't want a second Obama administration let alone a third. It's like putting your money in a CD – sure it's safe, but your wealth isn't going to grow. A Trump presidency is like putting your money in junk bonds – you're either going to make a fortune or lose everything. He'll probably make Michael Milken Secretary of the Treasury. I might feel better about Trump if I had a job. Looking for employment has its own measure of uncertainty vis-a-vis the with whom, what, where, when, and how much; however, the certainty of dissaving never feels good.
This morning I drove to Assateague Island National Seashore which is 80 minutes south of Kim and Kate's beach house. I'm dry-camped for the night. Assateague, MD and Chincoteague, VA are known for their wild horses. I've wanted to visit (Chincoteague, in particular) since I read Misty of Chincoteague when I was a kid. The book also made me want a "pony." My father promised me one when I turned 10, but he didn't deliver. Occasionally, he acknowledges his failure, then attempts to make amends by offering to buy me one for my loft condominium, or, more recently, BOB.
The weather forecast for this week had proved more accurate than the election polls, but today it similarly shit the bed. It began raining this morning, and was predicted to continue all day. Fortunately, it didn't. I took the dogs for a long walk at mid-day and we saw a doe and her fawn, then one wild horse. The deer and the dogs were quite curious about each other, but the horse and they took no notice. The horse was chestnut with a blonde mane – a spectacular color combination – but we were never closer than 100 feet to her or him. The horses are likely descendants of farmers' horses turned loose to graze tax-free in the 17th century. The poor diet has rendered them pony-sized and bloated from their high salt intake. The Maryland horses, which are owned by the National Seashore, only receive veterinary care when they are mortally ill or wounded, in which case they are euthanized. The Chincoteague horses receive routine veterinary care because the local fire department owns them and sells the foals to raise money.
I've agreed to meet Kim and Kate on Jekyll Island the Sunday after Thanksgiving. I don't need two-and-a-half weeks to get there, so I'm not sure what I'm going to do to slow down my natural progression. I'll spend three nights each in Chincoteague, Rodanthe, Emerald Isle, and Charleston, but that still leaves me a few days to kill. I'm trying to channel my "don't plan, experience" mantra, so I'll play it by ear. All I know is that I'll use Uber to go into Charleston for lunch.
One night, while visiting my parents last month, I invited them for cocktails in BOB (as one does). My father stood because he was mad at my mother about something (everything), and he didn't want to sit beside her. My father remarked that if he had a motorhome he would add a third front seat to the cockpit (for my mother, assuming someone else was driving and he was riding shotgun). I had displaced two tubs from the rear storage when I bought my bike. That required them to ride shotgun, which was aesthetically offensive to me. As I shifted my seasonal possessions last month, it occurred to me that an ottoman would solve my storage problem and give me additional seating in the cabin. So, I bought one. The dogs are thrilled, and my father will have a place to sit the next time he and my mother come over for cocktails.
Siobhan M. Knox
In May 2016, I bought a five ton, 25’ long Class C motorhome because I like to drive, I like to travel, and it’s more fun and less expensive than living in a hotel. No prior RV experience was required, and I had none: perfect. I’m writing a book about my adventures which will come to an end when I get a job. The dogs will be sad.