Maxed Out

Finally, we’re in the home stretch. Even I’m starting to experience election fatigue.

The end came mercifully quick and early. Seconds after the polls closed in California, newscasters who seemed on the edge of bursting called the game. Hope triumphed over fear.

Andrew Robertson apologized last week in the back of the Question. Missed it? Me too; I don’t usually make it all the way to the classifieds. Sorry, I’ll try to do better.

We are fa-mi-ly. Whistler-Blackcomb, all of you and me. Like most families, we have our ups, we have our downs.

Little Stevie was, gasp, enthusiastic, animated, cheerful, emotional… smiling. Yes, smiling! I didn’t even know the guy had teeth.

I’d like to take this opportunity to say a few kind words about our current mayor and council. No, seriously. The past three years have neither been the easiest, nor the most opportune time, to govern Tiny Town.

I’m sailing this week. Don’t know if an Internet connection is in the travel plans so this is what can most graciously be called an encore presentation. At least it has something to do with sailing… if nothing to do with elections.

Masters of the universe, indeed. The current paradigm of cosmic creation and destruction posits that the universe has been forever expanding since the Big Bang, some billions — 5,000 to True Believers — of years ago.

“St. Reagan must be spinnin’ in his grave,” I thought to myself.

I was kinda procrastinating writing this column. Wednesday mornings generally follow a fixed routine: get up early, drink strong coffee, hope the muse visits, write a column. But this week there was a Wednesday morning wildcard.