For a man of whose forebears inhabited the summery Mediterranean for millennia, living in New England is akin to imprisonment on Pluto. Even when you aren’t personally thrust into the jaws of hyperborean cold, you still are surrounded by vistas that at best include the endless blank-white of snow and ice and at worst are restricted to stygian blackness.
There have been recent winters where it snowed relentlessly from New Year’s Day to April Fool’s Day. The ordeal of clearing snow and going back and forth to work basically took up every waking hour. And because of the short winter day it seemed like your whole existence took place in snowy twilight or inky darkness. After living here for the last thirty years I’ve come to completely sympathize with Jack Nicholson’s character in The Shining and see the wisdom of cutting his losses. Although, to be fair, my wife is nowhere’s near as annoying as Shelley Duvall was.
But this year is quite different. We’ve probably had only about thirty inches of snow all winter and we’ve had so much balmy weather and rain that my entire roof is free of snow. There’s been so little snow removal that my back is in excellent shape. And today I saw a small shoot poking out of the exposed dirt. My wife said it was a Shasta Daisy plant that she planted a few years ago. And even the chipmunks have awakened from their winter stupor and begun racing around looking for trouble. Without a doubt, Spring has sprung.
They say in Spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. Well, young I ain’t. So, to thoughts of what will my fancy lightly turn to? Why, Supreme Court appointments of course!
Yes, there is no poetry left in my soul. The progressives have rotted it all away. In its place is spite, a desire for revenge. And what better vehicle for this petty malice than the Trumpian blitzkrieg! Trump’s current nominee is slated to begin hearings next month and be approved by Easter (April 16th). This will allow his executive orders on immigration to be upheld in SCOTUS and begin the work of challenging some of the other federal court outrages that have cropped up since Scalia’s death last year.
But I must confess I have a fonder and more nefarious hope than Gorsuch’s succession to Scalia’s spot. What I really want (and actually hope for) is a replacement for Kennedy. There have been rumors that such an occasion is coming up this year. Kennedy will be eighty and he has said he wanted to allow a republican to pick his successor. There are some circumstantial events that have encouraged these thoughts and even though Kennedy has denied any present intention it is not unlikely that he is planning a retirement soon.
This I look forward to with great enthusiasm. I envision a reversing of all the recent social over-reach that Kennedy allowed and returning these decisions to the states where they can be decided to the satisfaction of the people, the outraged, frustrated, spiteful, vindictive people. I think that would be true social justice. So, here’s to an early spring. In the words of the poet George Costanza, “life, renewal, all that crap!”