RIP, Republican Party

May a once-great political party rest in peace while those who remain loyal to what it once stood for find the courage to shirk its current incarnation.

Republicans, you have a stern challenge ahead of you … even if hell freezes over and the MAGA warrior in chief actually wins the 2024 presidential election.

I fear the once-Grand Old Party has been hijacked by a huckster disguised as a politician. The men and women who are its stoutest adherents all comprise a group of dimly lit chuckleheads who somehow have managed to be heard above the din in this wildest of presidential election campaigns.

The MAGA cult would have us believe that Democrats caused Hurricanes Helene and Milton to ravage the Southeast. They also seem to believe that immigrants are eating our puppies and kitties. They also continue to insist that the2020 presidential election was stolen from their guy, who actually was indicted by the US House for …. trying to steal the election.

Republicans once called a candidate’s character to be the end-all to determine their fitness for high office.  These days? They embrace the blathering of a boastful Bozo.

More items are revealed daily.  My latest favorite involves reporting by Robert Woodward that the 45th POTUS offered to give COVID test kits to Russian thug Vladimir Putin while they were being rationed to Americans who also were suffering — and dying — from the killer virus.

The Republican Party I knew as a child and as a much younger adult no longer exists.

I am going to miss it as long as it remains captive to the gullible goons who call its cadence.

Sabol earns her spurs

DRIPPING SPRINGS, Texas — Our first overnight trip away from home resulted early in a case of my new puppy, Sabol, showing her intelligence.

She’s a keeper.

Here’s the Cliff’s Notes version of what happened.

My brother -in-law and I went out for breakfast this morning. I sent Sabol outside to take care of business before we left. She came back inside and I closed the back door to the patio. We were gone for an hour and returned home.

Awaiting us in the driveway was my pooch. Her tail was wagging and she said something that I interpreted to be, “Hey Dad and Uncle Mike, I’m glad you came back!”

How in the world did she get out?

I checked the back door. It was wide open. Sabol pushed it open and ventured out to wait for us to return.

This is an astounding event on a couple of levels. First, she was in a location that was new to her. She could have panicked and run off, but she didn’t. Second, and this is my niece Mary’s theory, she might have recognized that my Ranger pickup was in the driveway; Sabol might have realized I was coming back. She applied her canine common sense.

I merely concluded that I didn’t allow the door to latch shut when I let my puppy into the house.

Yep. This smart girl has earned her spurs.

New journey begins

High Plains Blogger came into being as a political platform for yours truly, but I decided a while ago to branch it out to include what I call “slice of life” matters.

I have chronicled my grief journey on this blog and it has given me great comfort in the time since I lost my dear wife, Kathy Anne, to brain cancer.

I am proud to announce that this blog is going to accompany me on another journey. It’s a weight-loss trek called MOVE!, and it is run by the US Department of Veterans Affairs.

Not long ago I rolled out from a fitful sleepless night feeling crabby, out of sorts, and I had pain in several parts of my overfed body. I hadn’t stepped on a scale in some time fearing what I might learn. That morning, I did … and I was bowled over by the number that flashed at my feet. That number told me I gained more than 40 pounds since the passing of my bride. I had smothered myself in comfort food.

I have tried dieting on my own. I have tried exercise routines on my own. They did nothing for me. What did I do next? I reached out to my VA doc and told of this struggle. What did she do? She arranged for me to visit a nutritionist at the Rayburn VA Medical Center in Bonham. where my doc works.

I visited with the nutritionist and told her the following: I am old fat man, I am grumpy a lot of the time, I don’t want to look at myself in the mirror, I am in constant pain, my vanity is taking a serious hit because of the way I look. I am reaching out for professional help!

The nutritionist delivered to me a detailed program titled MOVE! She told me veterans have enjoyed considerable success in peeling off the pounds. There appears to be a serious caveat: You gotta follow it to the letter! No cheating allowed! I must set goals, establish a firm eating pattern, exercise regularly, the whole nine yards, man!

OK. Deal. I’m all in.

I will not bore you to sleep with all the nitty gritty of what awaits this tired old man. I just want to share with you a life-changing decision I have made … and one that I intend to follow to its successful conclusion.

Hoping for a moratorium extension

DRIPPING SPRINGS, Texas — Looking around this thriving Central Texas community, I am struck by what is occurring back home in North Texas, where I now call home.

Both communities are growing at breakneck paces, although I can argue that Princeton is setting sort of an unofficial land-speed record for residential growth. Princeton is acting on it, believing it is time to put the brakes on residential construction to enable infrastructure development to keep pace with the demand on those services.

Princeton has imposed a four-month ban on residential construction. Four months, at first glance, doesn’t seem as though it provides enough time for the city to provide enough infrastructure to keep pace with growth.

Police Chief Jim Waters said he needs to hire 30 more officers. Thirty more officers? The city needs to erect more water towers to control the flow of water into residents’ homes.

Street repair, construction and maintenance also must be bolstered.

It looks to me that Princeton finally has tapped into its proactive streak in managing its growth. Man … it must act.

The question now becomes: Is four months enough time?

No. It isn’t time to do all the things the city needs to do.

I see a moratorium extension in the city’s immediate future. Other rapidly growing communities, such as Dripping Springs, would do well to follow suit.

Highway work: a Texas thing

DRIPPING SPRINGS, Texas — Forget high school football, or fried beer that they peddle at the state fair in Dallas, or the 12th Man that fills the stadium in College Station.

The newest “Texas thing” has to be the highway construction projects that disrupt traffic flow in virtually every corner of this vast state.

I returned to Dripping Springs in the Hill County to introduce Sabol, my new puppy, to members of our family.

The road work here does not end. I doubt it ever will. If and when it does, I’ll likely be underground for eternity.

US Highway 290 is getting a second deck above the existing thoroughfare. I understand the state wants to build a no-exit thoroughfare through what they call “The Y” along 290. The existing highway will remain and local motorists can exit whenever they want.

I have done my share of griping about the work occurring in North Texas along US 380. We are not alone! Yes, other parts of the state are going through much of what we’re enduring in the Metroplex.

I now will vow to avoid griping too loudly about future highway projects at home. It’s a Texas thing … you know?

Trump hits new low … again!

Donald Trump’s lying seemingly plunges into a bottomless pit, but hold on, because it’s likely nowhere near the bottom of the abyss.

As emergency services personnel in Georgia, and the Carolinas struggle mightily with rescue and recovery efforts in the wake of Hurricane Helene’s devastation, the Republican Party’s presidential nominee started fomenting the lie that the federal government is withholding resources to deliver to the struggling Americans.

Trump tossed despicable falsehoods contending that money that should have been spent on hurricane relief instead has gone to assist those who have entered the national illegally. The government lacks the money to provide help for hurricane victims, the numbskull nominee has alleged.

President Biden has called Trump out directly, accusing him of undermining relief efforts, of sowing fear among victims. Vice President Harris asked out loud “where is the empathy, the compassion?” that Trump should be exhibiting. I have an answer for the Democratic presidential nominee. Both traits are MIA, that Trump possesses neither of them!

And yet this idiot continues to draw cheers from the MAGA cultists over his profoundly stupid accusations.

Wait for more of the same rubbish to fly out of this nincompoop’s mouth. It is an endless array of lies that he has turned into some sort of perverted art form.

Dude is dangerous to the nth degree.

It’s laughable … but I am not laughing

Human beings cannot control how they look, as some of us are born to be attractive while others … are not.

We can, however, control our actions, some of which leave indelible marks on our past and which can haunt us for the rest of our lives on Earth.

So … when Donald Trump pokes fun at others’ appearance, I tend to leave that kind of crap alone, allowing it to stand as a statement of the Republican presidential candidate’s ignorance. When he declares out loud that he intends to be a “champion” for women’s rights, I have to guide us to what the public record already has delivered.

Trump recently made the “champion” remark at a rally. This comes from someone who has admitted to cheating on his wives, who’s been found liable in a sexual assault, who has admitted to groping women because he’s “famous,” who has used hideous language to denigrate women’s appearance; who once said his daughter is so hot that he’d date her if she wasn’t his daughter.

I shake my head out of disbelief and disgust.

Then this numbskull has the audacity to declare that he stands with women while vowing to be their protector.

The record is full of examples that demonstrate clearly that Trump is unfit to wear the noble title of Women’s Champion in Chief.

I missed you, Internet

Once in a while, you lose something you know is important to your life but that somehow you remain reluctant to admit its value.

The Internet tanked at my North Texas hone for most of the day Monday., It came back overnight and I am posting this brief item simply to acknowledge that, by golly, I missed the sucker and all it provides for me.

My cell phone service cratered as well. I had to leave the house, drive a few blocks away to make a phone call. No biggie. The rest of the info I collect during the day was out of reach.

I never thought I’d say this, but I did miss having the Internet available to me. It’s back.

I am whole again!

Feeling like a dinosaur

Some days come and go but while they’re around, I am feeling like the dinosaur I have become.

Today is one of those days. Nothing precisely triggered this ancient feeling. I survey the political landscape daily. Sometimes, in fact, for several hours on a given day.

I feel compelled to comment on issues of the day. Then I stop. What’s the point? I figure no one is going to care about the thoughts of a washed-up newspaper reporter and editor.

Then it occurs to me that younger versions of myself are still toiling away, studying the issues of the day and chronicling what they learn each day on various media platforms.

Then I don’t feel like a retread.

At a certain level, though, my nearly 37 years as a print journalist make me feel older than I am. I turn 75 in a couple of months, which is many more years than either my Mom and Dad were able to celebrate. Dad’s death at 59 in a boating accident shocked us to our core. Mom’s slow decline over many years to Alzheimer’s disease was impossible to stop, but no less tragic when she finally let go at age 61.

The career I pursue with gusto and vigor bears little resemblance today than what it looked like when I began. Then again, the career I started in the late 1970s already was undergoing massive change. My journalism forebears no doubt felt like prehistoric creatures when we young punks took over.

So, what goes around surely comes around.

You know what? I don’t feel so old right now as I did when I began this message.

Who knew?

Whether to vote early

I am in the midst of an intense internal struggle between what I normally do during election season and what I am tempted to do for this one.

Do I vote early or do I wait until Election Day?

Readers of this blog know what I have said previously about early voting vs. waiting until Election Day to cast my ballot.  I have sought to avoid the unwelcome surprise that can occur between the day I vote early and Election Day voting. My candidate might mess up mightily, you know?

There is nothing on Earth that Donald Trump can do to win my vote. I have declared him unfit for public since long before scored that fluky win in 2016. I do not anticipate Kamala Harris doing anything to make me regret voting for her.

What about down-ballot races? I detest the Cruz Missile, the US senator named Ted Cruz. I also deeply admire US Rep. Colin Allred, who is challenging Cruz.

Do I sound like I am talking myself into voting early? Possibly.

I am going to wait a while longer before I decide.  This election will be safe and corruption free. The question for me is whether I want to know whether I am part of the trend when the polls close on Nov. 5, or whether I am swimming against the tide.

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