I spent the day in America today.

The real America, a place where Americans live — where it is well nigh impossible to find a single person who hates America, who hates the Founding Fathers and who still call them Fathers, as they all in fact were, a place where there are American flags and references of one kind or another to guns and religion.

A place, in other words, which is definitely nowhere near the so-called “Clinton Archipelago” and is certainly not named New York City, Chicago, Los Angeles, Harvard, Yale, or Palo Alto.

A place, it might be noted, which was recently on the edge of the recent hurricane which, while not at the epicenter still received much noticeable damage. But, in this small town in actual America, in the restaurant where we had real, honest-to-God (and they — gasp — actually used that very phrase) American, of course, home cooking, neighbors were “visiting” with each other, as it is called in America, not networking, about damage to their homes and reassuring each other that all would be well. And, it will be — in America.

Not once did I hear a single one of these fine citizens grumble about the fact that “man-made warming” caused their losses and one got the distinct impression that if someone did, he would get very lonesome, very fast.

They simply don’t think in those terms — in America.

In the friendly, warm, welcoming restaurant where we had what must be the very personification of the phrase “down-home-country-cooking,” it would have been unthinkable for some “outsider” to come in and demand that someone leave because they were wearing clothes carrying the wrong message — like “God Bless America” or “America — Love it or Leave It”, or a message as outrageous as “Make America Great Again!” As a matter of fact, based on the size and build of some of the younger citizens I saw in that wonderful place, that kind of insulting, rude, and, dare I say it, uncivil behavior might happen once in that restaurant — but only once. And the types who tried to claw — literally — their way through the doors of the highest Court in our land would never, ever, ever come back for a second helping, of that I am sure.

And, along those lines, this was not a place for a certain former person in the higher atmospheres of the “leadership” of the FBI, as if Peter Strzok thought he could “just smell the Trump support” in that Virginia Wal-Mart, had he even been fortunate enough to get through the door of that restaurant, he might well have been knocked down by the support of, again, dare I say it, the purest perfume of Americanism either he or his fellow (?) FBI colleague, Ms. Page, have ever drawn through their olfactory senses. The citizens I saw today would teach Strzok and Page a whole new meaning of the phrase he used about the election of the President of the United States — “we’ll stop it” — one which might well have borne unpleasant memories for both of those swine.

In the America I visited today, the parking lots of the churches were full to overflowing and the towns were, for the most part, save the obvious scars left by the nightmare named Michael, lovely, well-tended, and quiet on a pretty Sunday afternoon.

This is the America in which My Lady and I were both raised and while I have read much lately about how America is finished — and even I have had those thoughts myself — what I saw today in the America I visited convinces me that the foundations our Forefathers built this great Nation on are simply driven too deep to be “fundamentally transformed” by Alinsky-ite Marxists wearing stupid hats and wailing at the sky like wounded animals.

So, if you’re getting a little, or a lot, down by the steady drumbeat of the San Francisco Democrats (look what they did to one of the most beautiful cities on the face of the earth) wearing their symbols of nuttiness like pussy hats, I have a little elixir which I hope will lift your spirits as they did mine this very day.

Spend a day in America! It’s a wonderful place!

It is one of those days which is so beautiful, clear as crystal, crisply cool, here in the far West of the Panhandle, the part which the Good Lord willed to be spared the ravages of the nightmare named Michael, that I thought I might note how grateful I am to Him for this gift he has granted us.
I was moved to note these feelings of the deepest kind of gratitude, the kind which is simply not capable of being captured by mere words, by reading a truly poignant column in my daily scan of news items, an undertaking which is almost always, shall we say, not exactly uplifting but overflowing with news which is the polar opposite of inspirational. This piece, by Salena Zito, is entitled “A 90-minute flight, 45 presidents, and an 8-year-old American boy” and, especially if you’re not having the kind of lovely afternoon with which we have been graced, please go read this wonderful and inspirational piece. Ms. Zito tells of meeting two uniquely, and true, Americans — one, the little boy of the title and another who does, indeed, qualify as one of the heroes of the story.
She sets the stage thus:
“Sometimes, you meet special people, people who have an impact not just on your day, but on your outlook in life. People who provide you a priceless gift by letting you see the world through their eyes, and thus showing you that everything is a little better than you thought it was before you met them.
Sometimes, those people are only eight years old.
The first thing you will learn about Jared Gyure when you meet him is that he likes U.S. presidents.
He has no problem sharing that affinity, which he did the moment he plopped himself down in seat 17E on an American Airlines flight from Charlotte to Pittsburgh, sitting next to his mom, with his dad and his 3-year-old brother, Jackson, in front of him. Two older brothers sit way up in the front of the plane.
They are all heading to Uniontown, Penn., for the funeral of the boys’ great-grandmother.”

Our young student of this particular aspect of American history then proceeds to demonstrate his remarkable knowledge of all, not just a few, of our Presidents, and is awestruck when Ms. Zito tells him she has actually interviewed several Presidents, including the present occupant of that office.
Which brings us to the second hero of this flight to Uniontown, PA:

“For someone who rarely flies, I find myself for once enjoying the opportunity to meet someone so inspiring and inquisitive on a plane all packaged into one small compact boy.
Jared receives a lot of smiles as the passengers exit the plane. Our boisterous conversation has touched more than one person traveling from North Carolina to Pennsylvania, including an African-American young man dressed in a deep-blue dress sweatshirt and pants with the traditional gold Navy emblem across the front.
He pulls out his white navy sailor’s cap and asks Jared’s mom, Adrienne, if he could give it to the precocious boy, who probably taught everyone on the plane a few things about U.S. presidents — most importantly, a deep respect for the office outside of politics.
Jared is stunned as the sailor hands him the hat. He pauses to take a photo with him, then walks away with a broad smile, without giving his name.
It’s a reminder that sometimes lightning strikes twice in one day, when you meet two special people who make an impact not just on your day, but on your outlook in life.
Jared likely made such an impact in so many ways Wednesday evening on a plane over the middle of the country to a lot more people than he’ll ever know.”

That lovely vignette just filled my heart with gladness and as I sat outside in this glorious weather, and thought about Jared and his brand new friend, one of those brave defenders of all we hold dear in this, the greatest Nation ever created by Man in history, I reflected on how immersed we all are in the “unlovely” news of the day. I probably should amend that statement as even I am not presumptuous enough to speak for “all”, but I know that I must plead guilty to spending far too much of my time on the “unlovely” and not near enough time learning about the Jareds of the world, and of the kinds of men like the “other hero” in the story, a proud member of the United States Navy, who gave a little boy the gift of a lifetime!

Perhaps some day we will come to see Justice Kavanaugh as the closest thing we have in modern times to the abjectly miserable Winston Smith in Orwell’s dystopian novel 1984, who suffered unspeakable forms of torture in “Room 101”, the worst torture chamber of all in Oceania.
Perhaps, in fact, that day is here, as the final day of the Senate Judiciary Committee hearings brought us to a new low of ruthless cruelty in an attempt to destroy a man and his family. I would posit that this kind of barbarity and savagery is just one baby step away from the “creative” methods of torture administered to Winston Smith and any of his fellow Oceanians who ran afoul of the dreaded “Thought Police”.
And, what was in Room 101? As O’Brien told Winston as he was being led to the room of so many nightmares on Oceania:
“ “You asked me once,’ said O’Brien, ‘what was in Room 101. I told you that you knew the answer already. Everyone knows it. The thing that is in Room 101 is the worst thing in the world.’
“ ‘The worst thing in the world’ said O’Brien, ‘varies from individual to individual. It may be burial alive, or death by fire, or by drowning, or by impalement, or fifty other deaths.’
“ ‘In your case’, said O’Brien, ‘the worst thing in the world happens to be rats.’ “
In the novel, recalling an earlier incident when Winston and his (forbidden) paramour were intruded upon by a large rat, surveilled by the “Thought Police” through the all knowing telescreens installed everywhere in the country, the “worst thing in the world” to Winston was a rat. O’Brien goes on to explain the nature of the horrific torture he has planned for Winston, involving an imaginative device which fits onto Winston’s face containing very large, and very hungry, brown rats. The thing, a cage with several chambers which can be opened in sequence allowing the rats to get closer and closer to the face of the “enemy of the State” until he or she either dies of shock or tells the Thought Police what they want to hear. O’Brien describes their demonic reasoning in this passage:
“ ‘ By itself,’ he said, ‘pain is not always enough. There are occasions when a human being will stand out against pain, even to the point of death. But for everyone there is something unendurable—something that cannot be contemplated. … It is the same with the rats. For you, they are unendurable. They are a form of pressure that you cannot withstand, even if you wish to. You will do what is required of you.’ “
For those of you who followed this National disgrace as we did, you will know where this is going, because what would be the worst thing in the world for a man like Judge Kavanaugh, a man whose life’s record of accomplishment is simply, there is no other word for it, legendary in the annals of law and jurisprudence? While none of us can claim to know the answer to that question, we may reasonably surmise an answer based upon the intensity and emotion of his responses at the now-iconic speech he gave in answer to the gutter slanders of the despicable creatures on the Democrat side of the committee.
The “worst thing in the world” for this devoted and loving husband of Ashley and father of Margaret and Liza, son of his Mom and Dad, brilliant student and lawyer and closest assistant to a President of the United States, a Judge whose 312 opinions are masterpieces of legal erudition—would be for his honor and integrity to be besmirched before the world—but so much more importantly to this fine man—before his wife and little girls and Mom and Dad.
And so it was in our modern version of Room 101, which contained “the worst thing in the world” for The Honorable Brett Kavanaugh.
And, don’t believe the remnants from Oceania such as Spartacus and the blandly sinister Feinstein and Stolen Valor Blumenthal and their fellow brown rats didn’t know exactly what the “worst thing in the world” was for this truly Honorable man.
To those who may feel I have become just a tad overwrought about this: I have in my family beautiful little girls I absolutely adore, I have a wife who has been my life partner for almost half a century without whom I cannot envision life, I had a Mom and Dad I revered and I have been blessed with some of the most amazing friends, far and wide, anyone could hope to have. I simply cannot imagine what a man of such towering quality must have gone through while having his obviously adoring wife and precious little girls hearing this steady stream of raw sewage being poured all over their Dad and Husband by bottom feeding vermin like those who mounted this dreadful lynching.
Room 101?
Yes!
Complete with a pack of avariciously hungry rats.