Crime and punishment

Part of being a good parent is preparing your child to be a good adult.

You teach your kids not to lie, not to steal, not to cheat, not to bully.

Donald Trump’s parents apparently skipped all those lessons.

Most of all, they never taught him how to say, “I’m sorry.”

Not only does he not know how to say it, he doesn’t know how to feel it.

It seems there has never been a time in his life when Trump has been able to admit to a wrongdoing, a mistake, an error. It is always someone else’s fault, someone else’s misstep, someone else’s job to take the blame.

But we’ve all seen the video timeline of his lies. Yes, let’s call them lies. Unlike the media that has tiptoed around his perfidy by calling it factual errors or misstatements, I am willing to call him out for what he is —  Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire.

It was frustrating to hear the constant lies. It was infuriating to hear him call my profession “The Fake Media.” It was painful to see him cozy up to international bullies and killers.

But watching him punish government workers with a needless government shutdown is the last straw. He doesn’t care about the unjust pain he is inflicting simply because some FOX hack tells him he needs to keep fighting for the wall.

Trump needs to be taken to the woodshed and given a good political beating. I hope the Democrats, with the help of any decent Republican still holding office, will finally teach him what his parents never did.

It’s likely too late to hope for any decency out of this most indecent of presidents.  But maybe he can be forced to do the right thing when circumstances leave him with no other choice.

I hope that happens soon.

 

 

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And still I remain

Today was the last day of delivery of the La Crosse Tribune to my door.

Because it actually costs money to deliver it to me, the promise of a free paper for the rest of my life has gotten shuffled to the online world.

I like to hold the newspaper in my hands, thus never reading it online.

I like to hold a book in my hands and turn the pages, thus no e-reader or anything of the sort for me.

I like my magazines the same way, thus no online subscriptions.

So this a blow to the last living Luddite.

Yes, they don’t come much more tech-averse than Geri Parlin. Even this online blog came about because a former co-worker gave me instructions on how to do this. That’s how tech-averse I am. I’m still bad enough at it that I don’t know the number of people who read it. (But I know for sure that my mom is following it.)

Once, when I couldn’t get a new router to work, I just banged on the keyboard for a few minutes in frustration … and the thing connected.

Isn’t that a bit like the 17th Century Luddites smashing the textile machinery when they were displaced by those machines in Nottingham, England?

I have never owned a garbage disposal or a dishwasher. My kitchen scraps go on the compost heap where they belong and my dishes go into soapy water where my hands do the washing. These were supposed to be time-saving devices but I don’t think I spend any more time on these chores than my sister whose garbage disposal seems to break down way too often and always seems to be loading or unloading the dishwasher.

I own a little apartment-size dryer that my mom gave me when she sold the rental property next door. I tried to use it once but it appears incapable of drying anything. That’s OK, though, because I didn’t actually want a dryer.  My house is so dry in the winter that my sheets dry in a few hours. And in nice weather, the laundry goes out to the clothes line where it belongs.

I don’t have a smart phone, partly because they are expensive and partly because I feel my operational level is not where it would need to be to use one. I still have a difficult time answering the dumb phone I own. It could do a bit more if I let it, but I’m not interested in sending or receiving texts.

I have a hair dryer that I use once in a while to dry out something I am refinishing. My hair and that machine have never been introduced.

I don’t tweet, or do Instagram, or find music on Spotify. That’s what my radio and turntable are for.

For a long time, I couldn’t post pictures on Facebook until wonderful Facebook friend Lynn Miller Carr responded to my distress and sent precise directions. Now, I can post like crazy, which gives me rare moments where I almost feel tech savvy.

But now, if I want to know what the Common Council is doing or what nefarious criminals have been nabbed in the Coulee Region, I will be reduced to scrolling through the Tribune’s website.

It’s enough to make a Luddite read a book.