I Wrote A Book And No One Wants To Read to It

 
A couple months back I had the notion to write a book. I think it's pretty good and so do a few others, but the problem is no one wants to read it. 

Oh, it's not that it's written in Middle English or on a subject like "the primordial growths in newborn inhabitants of Subsaharan Africa" or anything like that. Not that either of those factors should dissuade you from reading a book, but let's face it, neither is likely to boast a million dollars in sales from Amazon. 

No, Whither We Tend is a political dystopian fairytale that is likely to piss off liberals and Trump-lovers alike. Conservatives would probably also hate it, but there are like five of them left in 2021 and I have no idea how to reach them as a demographic anymore. 

Why do I think they will hate it? Because they won't read it. 

The minute anyone hears "political" people get all hot and bothered that their precious opinions will be questioned and that is a great reason to not invest in new ideas. Because after all, that is what a book is.  A collection of new ideas. 

My new ideas happen to be about the chances that America will slide into civil war in the upcoming years. As everyone knows, the Trumpists aren't going anywhere and the Libs are even more intransigent in their political leanings. When two sides refuse to budge, the invariable outcome is usually something violent. 

Take for example a subductive fault line in the Earth's crust.  Two tectonic plates crashing into each other, each refusing to yield. One must go above and the other below but having no brain, they push and push at each other until an earthquake erupts and a new mountain chain is born. 

The mountains created and the Earthquake that creates them are on the highest order of violence and oceans are moved and civilization crushed with its occurrence. Such is the nature of Earthly motions. 

Humans are made of ocean water and dust from cosmic collisions. They are animated with a touch of the Holy Spirit and motivated by the hand of God alone. Can you tell me that when they collide with unyielding force, that the Earth might not tremble and civilization not come crashing down as well?

So too fell Rome, and the Monarchs of Europe when the populous moved. The Nations of today were built from the ashes of yesterday and might not these civilizations also fall someday in similar accord?

 The United States of America was itself the first to initiate the dismantling of the English Empire. Might not they also be tending towards dismantilization, when we can no longer feed our families, and plague besets our people?

Well, I wrote a book about it and I aim to write two more to complete the tale. But no one will read it, because no one can find it. 

My book is one of over 500,000 new books in the market place right now. It might be a rival of a work by Hemingway or Tolstoy, but it won't be even considered because unlike them, I am in an Ocean of authors and through navigating a maelstrom of information right now.

To get it to stand out, I am told I need reviewers to bless my book online and tell people how much they enjoyed reading it for other people to find it. And to get those reviews, I need to buy them. 

Money is the name of the game in book sales and they say the term for it is promotion. The more I spend on promoting my book, the more likely it is to make money. 

Forget for a moment that my book is about what might actually occur to the people of America, I need to pay people to say they have read it, to get other people to read it when all I am trying to do is tell them to look for it. There something decidedly wrong about paying someone $600 to port a review to get other people to buy it. And I don't want to do it. 

Instead, I would prefer I to try and harness the very forces that will be the source of America's undoing, the authors. 

With 500,000 authors all trying to sell their books at the same time, what if we all worked together to read each other's books and peer review them for each other? If even a small fraction of all those authors, who know the perils of creating a novel through first-hand experience, reviewed my book then I could reach 100 or 200 reviews in short order. In return, I could provide them with my review of their book in exchange, 100 times over. If 200 authors bought my book, then I would have the money to buy the book of 200 other authors and the circle would be complete. 

What I am thinking is starting a Facebook group of published authors. You publish your link of your book on the page and someone who thinks they would like to read your book responds with a link for their book. You each can ensure that your book is something you feel confident that you can fairly review and if you both agree, you swap stories, they buy your book and you buy theirs and read it and review it. 

Whether they like your book or not should be irrelevant because a review is a review whether it is good or bad. But for this to work, we ought to keep it positive and if you don't like the book, you should have the honor to do no harm. Find the positives and refrain from trash talking. 

Example: The book was not to my liking, but the cover and binding were professional and it looked good on my bookshelf. 2 stars

The golden rule should be the guiding principle in every reviewer's playbook, but particularly if you are a fellow published author, do unto others as you would have done to you. 

As an author though, if out of 50 peer reviews all say your work is two stars, then perhaps you should take that as advice and review your manuscript and republish. The good news is you still got fifty reviews though and that will help you sell some books online, even if it is the worst of dogs in books. 

The bad news is you have to head back to the drawing board and start again. But now you have read 50 other books and hopefully have learned a thing or two to make you a better writer. And who knows, in 20 years, maybe your book will be a cult classic and we were all wrong. But you have had 50 peers look at your work with compassion and the whole experience didn't cost you several thousand dollars, but instead, you broke even. 

The big paid reviewers make no promise that their reviews will be any better and costs as much as $600 per review. How is that a good business model? 

You will not be allowed in the group without proof of a published book. It is something that Good reads should have done already, but since they haven't I will. It's free to join and if there are others like it, share them with me and I will join them too. But since it costs nothing, here's the group if you want to join 

https://www.facebook.com/groups/2483450521961934

I found a 22" Brass Propeller & Had A Thought

 Whither We Tend is about the next chapters for the US in the wake of a historical pandemic and political upheaval. It is my hope that you are insp[tried to build a better America in this time of change. I invite you to read it as a beginning to a conversation about tomorrow.

Whither we tend is available at all major bookstores. if it isn't at your, ask the manager, to order a copy for you! Or buy yours today at https://www.thechartedlife.net/whitherwetend Read my latest blog, Who is Simon and Gus? at https://whitherwetend.blogspot.com/2021/02/who-is-simon-and-gus.html #whitherwetend #thechartedlife #captchristopherman #thegreatloop

Who is Simon and Gus?

 Asking a writer to explain his novel is like asking a painter to explain his painting. It cant be done and that's not why it was made in the first place.

Whither We Tend was written with the idea that things are wrong with America. The poor get poorer, the hungry go unfed and we have children in cages on the Mexican border. There is a pandemic raging that may have a vaccine, but I have no idea if I will ever live long enough to get it because a 70-year old retiree is deemed more important than a teacher or a Walmart worker. 

There is one political party that believes satanic pedophiles are taking over the world and another political party that thinks we are so stupid that they can force-feed us their anointed politicians. The sad part is both are right to some degree and I have no idea what to believe anymore. 

The last year has been one disappointment after the next when it came to expecting anything from the US Government. The stimulus checks were a joke. The pandemic response is and was a joke. The SBA, the State Department, and even the US Coast Guard dropped the ball when it came to doing their jobs for the last year.  

Hell, the IRS stopped taking calls sometime last winter and stopped processing returns. All of a sudden last week, they came back to life and in doing so, seemed to ignore the 150 pleas we made through my congressman's office to give our refund back to us because of financial hardship and in lieu of the stimulus checks that never seemed to show up. They still haven't acknowledged that we submitted our 2019 tax return on their website, but had the thoughtfulness to tell us by mail that they were keeping our refund because they needed the money more than we did. 

My wife looked at me the other day and said, "You know, it's really expensive to be poor."

She of course is right.

In truth today, we are all heading toward poverty and oblivion, some faster than others, The thing about oblivion is,  once your there, it is like climbing out of a hole at the beach. You just keep pulling the sand down upon you as you try to climb out until the tide comes in and drowns you. 

It was with all these thoughts that I wrote the book. The two men in it, Simon and Gus, are really just two sides of me. One is a stable establishment kinda guy who sees the writing on the wall but can read it, while the other is a jaded battle-weary soul who just wants to throw it all away and start again. 

They were born from those two ideas but became personalities in their own right. As I was writing it, my wife would could home daily and I would give her updates on Gus and Simon and the adventures they had today. They really were just two sides of me though and when writing I sometimes would forget myself and exchange their names mid-chapter much to my editor's confusion. 

Once they were written however and the book was sent off to the publisher, the copyright filed and the audio files rendered, that was when they become yours. Simon and Gus belong to you, the reader. 

They are yours to use and learn from. Yours to love and hate. In this novel, I have no more I can give them and they, along with the direction the United States takes in this book, is yours alone. However you envision the Army will grow under Gus' leadership, or the Patriotic Unity Stations grow with Simon and his team of volunteers, is up to you. 

I can tell you in the next book, Governments of Men, which is painfully stalled somewhere in the Arizona desert right now while I work to make a living by sharing Whither We Tend, they check back in and all hell breaks loose with President Crawford and the Independent Army of Resistance. But it is the adventure they make in the first book that inspires my ideas for them in the second book. 

That is why I wrote Whiter We Tend.  To share the adventures of Simon and Gus with you as they work to survive in this collapsing hole of existence we are heading toward. It is my hope that you can be ripped from the pain of life today to imagine if just for a few hundred pages what we as a Nation could become.

 I wrote so that we could imagine a better place together and talk about it and envision what could come next. I wrote it because there will be a 2024 and life will go on and it is ours to imagine. Let's imagine it together, shall we?

The Reason for Whither We Tend

You might ask, why would anyone write a novel about the coming of a second civil war? With all that is going wrong with America, I say why not?

Check it out in print or e-book today at 

www.thechartedlife.net/whitherwetend

#whitewetend #thechartedlife #Blacklivesmatter #Nonstimuluschecks #failededucation #healthcarethatsucks #congressisbroken #stopthesteal #cagedchildreniswrong #ETC.

Lake Powell, The Great Drought, Wither We Tend

In Book Two of the Whither We Tend series, we envision what the world would be like without Lake Powell. But in real life, the lake is drawing down fast due to environmental change. Have a look! if you would like to purchase the ebook version of Whither We Tend, it is available at https://amzn.to/2LMPL4b​ #lakepowell​ #Utah​ #Thechartedlfie​ #captchristophergerman​ #whitherwetend

Whither We Tend: Chapter 1

 

 Chapter One

“The restoration of American Democracy is complete. The United States Army has secured all the territories that displayed acts of rebellion following the recall of the presidential electors from the 2020 Presidential race. As such, President Franklin Crawford is asking all volunteers to register in person with their local Patriotic Unity Station at their earliest convenience. There, those seeking to support the cause of restoring services to the affected areas will be assigned a volunteer service. For more information or to find your local station, please go to www.AmericanStatesUnited.gov” 

He read the email with a sense of incredulity. “How did we get here? What does this all mean now?” he asked himself. Ever since the rebellion started, strange emails and texts similar to this would show up regularly on his phone. He wondered why we needed a “restoration” when, supposedly, we never lost the Nation. 

It had been three years since the emergency election, and Simon was getting tired of the mixed messages he read constantly. One day, the “Rebellion” was just a rumor and a bad hoax, while the next it was going to be the undoing of our American way of life. 

It was just like the covid pandemic: One day it was a hoax. The next day we were all going to die. He had no idea what to think, and he hated feeling as though he could no longer trust his judgment. Where was the truth, he wondered. 

The general election was just the start of it. The protest and scuffles at the Million MAGA march should have been the first sign of trouble. No one confirmed how many known seditionists were in attendance or how many were actively tracked by the FBI. When they stormed the Capitol Building, they finally started arresting extremists individuals, but no individual or group was ever identified as the leader or organizer. The blame was laid solely on President Donald Herzog and his cronies. 

Despite their rhetoric, it seemed that no one took any real notice or considered the white demonstrations a threat to national security until they bombed the bank buildings in Tampa. Oh sure, they rolled out the National Guard for every black lives matter protest and every announcement that yet another cop wouldn’t be charged for killing yet another black man. For the seditionists however, it was hands-off, until something big happened.

For an advance look at the rest of the chapter and to buy an advance copy for just $5, go to my Patreon page at That Sailing Guy

Wither We Tend Preface: Christmas in America 2020

 
Christmas with the Major

The terminal was empty except for the half dozen passengers who were arriving from BWI. Gus was just getting back from a job in Fallujah and he wondered where the other four passengers were coming from. They all looked like government employees of some sort, except for the one, an Army private who was in utilities. He, no doubt, was on leave and coming home for Christmas.

Although he had no way of knowing for sure, Gus was certain that no one else on this flight had to fly home on Christmas eve for a funeral. 

He got the message while he was on duty on Monday and was on a plane home by Wednesday. He was tired from the flight, first through Frankfurt, then over to BWI and now into Bradley. Her wake was happening right now and he wanted to be there but he realized he still had to rent a car and make it down to New Haven by 6PM. He looked at his watch, 12:24. It was still on Fallujah time, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to make a 6PM closing time. 

He figured her parents were probably there, maybe some friends from College and of course, the theater. None of her people had anything good to say about him in the good times and they probably were cursing his name right now, for not showing up to her wake. “They were divorced” her mother would say, “But at least he could have showed up for her wake”. 

Her mother had a soft spot for her eldest daughter. Gus knew how they must have felt when Melissa told her Mom that he had left her. 

Melissa. Just thinking of the name gave him knots in his stomach. Knots from anger, knots from heart ache and knots of regret. 

Maybe, if he hadn’t left her, she would still be alive? She’d probably have hepatitis from drinking so much, or the early stages of lung cancer, but she’d be alive just the same. Maybe if her mother had not placated her little girl , giving her the top notch ivy league schooling and the BMW for her sweet sixteen? Maybe if she had worked an honest job, like medicine, instead of being  an actress, she would have had the strength to overcome her addictions and be a grown up. 

He remembered when she was turned down for the role in Wicked.  She said that her career was over and that she was washed up as an actress. He tried to tell her that she could play all sorts of other roles or write or direct, but if she wasn’t the lead, she wanted none of it. 

That was when the drinking got bad. A year and half of boxed wine and antidepressants took their toll on her body and their marriage. When he came home from his last mission before they separated, he found her sitting on the couch crying at 1PM in the afternoon, a full glass of blush and a half empty bottle of Xanax on the coffee table. The pile of empty boxes on the back deck made him shake his head. They weren’t there when he left the week before

He tried to get her help. He called her mother and told her what he found when he got home. She once again made excuses for her daughter, “she’s learning how to live life without the theater” she said. 

He went to the al anon meetings with her and drove her to her therapy appointments. She sat in silence at the 10-step meetings and managed to wrap her therapist around her finger the way she did everyone else. He was an easy target, a pill pushing quack in Milford who had seen her in Mama Mia in 2007. He loved the fact that he had a Broadway star as a client. 

The last time he drove her home from hospital, he knew that was the last time he would see her. The divorce had been final for a year, but he was still the emergency contact on her medical forms at St. Raphael's. Her lips were stained from charcoal and the doctor said that her liver function indicated the early stages of liver disease. 

“What the hell are you doing to yourself?” he asked, “You're not going to see 40 if you don't quit drinking”. 

He could see the black stains between her teeth when she spoke, ”It wasn’t my fault, Julie and Sandra came up from the city and we met for a drink downtown. They forced me to take a shot and after that I blacked out”. 

“You don't remember wandering downtown with a bottle of 151, singing the entire score from “The Sound of Music”? When the cops picked you up, you were halfway though your fourth rendition of “Something About Maria”, on the stairs of the Yale Art Gallery wearing only a bra.” Gus said. 

She began to cry, “Since you left me, I am lost Gus. I feel so alone” 

“Don’t try that crying shit with me Mel, we’ve don't this too many times. Why the fuck did you have them call me? When are you going to change your emergency contact to your parents, or Julie, or to Sandra, or anyone else other than me?” he said. 

“I meant to have them call My Mom, but your number was already in the file and they just called. I’m sorry I bothered you.”, she said, rolling her eyes. 

“You are bothering me. Your killing yourself and that bothers the hell out of me. If you could take this the least bit serious, you’d see that is why we got divorced. That is why you were cut from the show and this is why you aren’t working anymore”. Said Gus. 

The car slowed at the light and she took her opportunity to say, “Fuck you Gus,” and got out.

He drove slowly behind her as she walked away, yelling to her, “Get in Melissa. It’s freezing out and you have no clothes on. Let me take you home.”

“No asshole! I don’t need you. I’m fine” she screamed back. 

The police cruiser pulled up behind Gus and squawked the siren. The officer said on the PA, “Are you OK sweetheart?”  She turned and flipped the cop the middle finger. 

Gus loved the look in her eye when she was being defiant and laughed when the cop ordered him to pull over. 

He stopped the car and rolled down the window, as he watched Mellissa shiver and walk down the sidewalk. 

The officer got out of his car and walked up alongside Gus on the drivers side and said, “Relationship problems sir?” 

“No officer, I'm divorced. She is my ex and just got her stomach pumped at St. Raph’s. I'm trying to drive her home, but you’re more than welcome to take over. I believe she was your guest last night as well”. 

“Oh, you and she have history?” asked the Cop. 

“To be honest sir, I think now she has more history with you guys than me” said Gus. 

“Why don't you just get her in your car and get home, she looks like she had a rough night” said the Officer. 

Gus was sick of this conversation and said, “That was what I was trying to do before you pulled me over, jerk off?”

The officer ordered Gus out of the car and he watched her turn the corner and walk out of his life. 

When he got the message that she was dead, he wondered if that cop knew that he was partially responsible. 

The voice mail came from her friend Sandra. In it, she said that Melissa had left a note saying that her life meant nothing and that the worst mistake she ever made was losing Gus. She downed a bottle of oxy with a bottle of Everclear and was found floating face down naked  in her tub by the police doing a wellness check. Her mother asked the cops to do a wellness check when Melissa didn’t answer her phone for three days. 

Now that he was back stateside, and back in Connecticut, he felt alone knowing that she was no longer there and that he couldn’t call her. He hopped on the car shuttle and stared out the window as he watched the sunset. The only trouble he had getting to the car was when an old woman yelled at him for not wearing a mask. She said, “The vaccine isn’t here yet asshole, you still have to wear a mask!” 

He threw his duffel in the back seat and ripped his mask off as soon as he got in the driver's seat. He looked at his watch and it said 12:47. If he hurried, he could make it to the wake. 

He sped down I-91 and got to the funeral home on State Street, fifteen minutes before the close of viewing hours. He walked in and saw Melissa laying in a casket and her mother weeping with her father’s arm around her back. Sandra and Julie huddled in a corner talking softly beneath masks. A half dozen other people Gus didn’t recognize, with masks on, sat in the folding chairs around the room. 

The emptiness of the room depressed him. This was the woman he loved and she was leaving this world as lonely as she was when she lived in it. Sandra walked to him as he walked in. 

“Hey Gus, did you have a good flight?” Sandra asked. 

Julie turned her back on him and several of the faces turned to look at him. 

“Yeah I did. It took two days, but I made it. Sorry I’m late” Gus said. 

“It’s ok, you made it”, she said.

Gus didn’t like most of Melissa’s friends, but Sandra could be decent from time to time he thought. 

“Hey thanks for letting me know”, said Gus, “I can’t believe she’s dead.”

“She was so lonely and lost, '' said Sandra, “I tried to help but there was no reaching her”.

Gus said, “may I go see her?” 

“Sure please do”, said Sandra as she motioned towards the casket in the front of the room.

Gus walked slowly towards the open casket. He could see the makeup that they put on her face covered her beautiful cheeks and skin. Her hair was stiff and unnatural and he guessed it smelled of hairspray. She looked asleep. He touched her hand and it was cold. A sprig of pine was tucked in her pale fingers to remind everyone that she killed herself at Christmas. 

Her mother walked up, wiping the tears from her eyes and said, “You're late. She's gone.” 

“Yes I know”, said Gus, “She left us too early.” 

“You know you did this to her” her mother said. 

 Gus waited for someone to come fetch this bereaved woman, but no one did. He didn’t want to answer her. 

“You’re the reason she is dead. You’re the reason my daughter is gone”, she said. 

Gus said, “I know” and walked toward the door. 

He attended the funeral on Christmas day and stood well away from the sparse crowd, behind a tree that stood next to a marker that read “Rose Marie Santiello July 4, 1962 - September 7, 2001”. They sang Amazing Grace and Sandra spoke of her days on the stage and her love of horses. She made no mention of her marriage to Gus. 

When it was over the family all climbed in cars and drove away. No one spoke to Gus and he made no effort to speak to them. 

He got in his car and drove back to the car rental place at Bradley, this time ensuring to have his mask on. He sat in the terminal when he got through security and waited for two hours until his flight began boarding.

 He watched news about the newly approved vaccine and the violence from protests between the Proud Boys and Black Lives Matter activists in Washington D.C. He read an article in Newsweek about the effort to exclude the 106 members of congress because of their support for the Texas lawsuit attempting to overturn the election. Then he watched the end of a Spanish version of “It's A Wonderful Life”, wishing the airport bar was open. 

An older man sat two seats down from him and started a conversation, “Don’t you just love traveling on Christmas?”

Gus said, “I dunno I just buried my wife, think I would rather not travel today.”

“Oh Christ that’s hard. Was it Covid?” the old man asked.

“Nah, she ate a bottle of pills and drowned in her bathtub naked” said Gus. 

The old man bit his bottom lip and looked at the floor. He looked up and said, “I'm sorry for your loss sir”. 

Gus thought for a moment and said, “The world lost something in her, I'm sorry for your loss sir”. 

Before the old man could say anything else, the announcement came to start boarding. Gus gathered his bag and pulled his boarding pass from his pocket. He stopped to look at the setting sun across the tarmac and boarded the plane for DC. By New year’s Eve, life was back to normal and he was standing guard at his post in Fallujah, humming “Auld Lang Syne” 

      _________________________________________________________________

Christmas at The Gates

Simon opened the bottle of Browne and poured two glasses. The sound of Christmas music playing in the living room and the golden color of the setting afternoon sun, made it seem like Christmas, even if the usual crowd wasn’t coming this year. 

His parents were isolating in Palm Springs and Sarah’s parents were staying home on the Eastern Shore. Every year since they were married, they had either gone to Maryland or Florida, but this year they were staying home in Stratford and enjoying their first Christmas together as a couple. 

This year, they got their first real tree, cutting it down at Jones Tree Farm and trucking it home tied to their roof rack on Sarah’s Outback. He hadn’t used a Christmas tree stand in years and forgot that he needed to put a plastic bag under it, before he brought the tree in. 

The leaking water soaked and stained the rug and Sarah shook her head as he walked in with the wine looking at the stain. 

“You know, I would give anything if we hadn’t spilled that water when we put this tree up”, Sarah said, taking the wine glass from Simon. 

“I haven’t had a real tree in years, I’m sorry that I forgot how to do it”, Simon said. 

“It’s ok, we’ll get it out somehow, “ Sarah said, “ At least we have a tree”. 

Simon and Sarah were celebrating their third anniversary this year, and Christmas was always a second thought to the celebration they shared nine days before. Usually they went away for their anniversary and would just be arriving at one of their parents houses right about now. 

This year though, they had to forgo the anniversary trip and  the tree, the decorating and the cooking was all up to them. Simon kind of preferred it that way. 

“You know, this pandemic has a bright side” Simon said, “we’ve never spent Christmas by ourselves before.”

“It’s kinda nice, isn’t it?” Sarah replied. 

Simon had bought a small rib roast that he was going to cook on Christmas day and Sarah was making bacon wrapped scallops with asparagus for Christmas eve dinner. Their families had always done these two meals for Christmas eve and Christmas day, because the quick cooking scallops made it possible to make it to Christmas eve service at the church and everyone loved prime rib on Christmas day. Since it was just the two of them this year though, Simon had the butcher cut a two rib roast, so they didn’t have a bunch of leftovers to throw out. 

The two made dinner and ate, finishing their bottle of Browne. They had dessert in the living room and turned on the television to watch the evening news.

The anchor read a story about how conservative leaders like Rush Limbaugh and Alex Jones were saying that the Trump loyalists should consider sedition if Trump was going to be denied the presidency. The anchor said that they ought to be jailed for their suggestion and that all Americans should be coming together to celebrate the holidays with the spirit of forgiveness and thankfulness after a year like 2020. 

 

Simon said, “I can’t say I agree with sedition, but I also can’t say that they don't have reason for concern” 

“What do you mean?” said Sarah, “Biden won, lets just accept that and get on with ending this pandemic”. 

“You know they did rig the primary and who knows what Biden did to keep his son out of jail for Burisma. Where there’s smoke, there has to be some fire. Their gonna keep investigating Biden and his team well into the next year and you know it” said Simon

“I can’t believe you are even considering their side Simon. They are racist assholes who want to overturn a legal election because it didn’t go their way!” Sarah said irritated. 

“I’m not saying they are right, I’m just saying that they have a point,” said Simon.

“And what point is that? That if you lose an election you can just set aside millions of votes and name whomever you want president or threaten to secede from the Union if you don’t get your way?” Sarah said with growing anger. 

“I can see you take this very personally Sarah, it’s Christmas eve.  I don't want to fight”, said Simon. 

“You bet your ass I take this personally, I’m a woman. Trump is a rapist bastard who grabs women by their pussies and you want me to understand HIS side of the story?” she yelled. 

“I'm not saying that…” said Simon.

“Or he can divert millions of dollars to a wall no one wants, cage immigrant children from parents who cross the border and otherwise be the xenophobic asshole we know him to be?” yelled Sarah.

“No...I just think…” said Simon

“Or his followers can intimidate, and threaten innocent people with weapons at their homes because they didn’t like the fact that he lost an election fair and square?” she continued yelling. 

Simon was growing irritated as well at being domineered in this conversation, but did his best to try and diffuse the situation. 

“Honey I’m just saying that they aren’t all wrong”, said Simon. 

“Oh like Hitler wasn’t all wrong because he was named  Man of the Year in 1939 despite the fact that millions of German’s followed a dictator blindly resulting in the deaths' of millions of Jews, Russians, Americans, English, French and every other country where he killed people? Trump is the same man as Hitler, he just isn’t as successful. You and all those other assholes who say they have a point or that that orange haired bastard shouldn’t be run out of the town on a rail covered in tar and feathers are just as complicit in the installation of a monster” said Sarah getting up and going to the kitchen. 

When she came back she had poured a glass of wine and didn’t bring one for her husband. 

“Sarah”, he said, trying to hold his temper, “I resent the fact that you lump me in with Nazis and racists. You know me and you know what I think, I don't support his racist policies, but I also can’t support the Democrats who have rigged the political system ever since they lost to George W. Are we supposed to just turn a blind eye to all the things they have done wrong simply because Trump is an asshole? That is why they have a point, we can’t trust the democrats any more than can trust the republicans and something stinks when it comes to Biden. I wouldn’t be half surprised if they didn’t impeach him in the first six months” 

Sarah took a long sip of her wine and listened to her husband. “Simon I am sorry if you think I am lumping you in with racists like Rush Limbaugh, but if you believe for a second the conspiracy crap they are feeding you about Biden and Barisma and the Hillary’s emails and the satanic liberal cult that is taking over the world, then I say you are as much of a shit head as they are”. 

Simon could feel his temperature rise and the fact that she had not brought him a glass of wine while she so conspicuously sipped hers made him angry.  He tried to fight fair, but was losing his patience. 

“You libtard morons are just as bad those racists fuckers who say they want to secede. You're all part of the same problem, just different sides of it. You take half truths as fact and blindly follow your almighty media, whether it's MSNBC or Fox news, you're all part of the same problem” he barked at his wife. 

All she heard was the phrase “libtard” and the glass flew from her hand. It smashed on the wall behind Simon’s head into a thousand shards, that rained down on him soaking him in wine and covering him with glass. 

The sound stopped him first and then the feel of the wine on his head stole his attention. He looked at her with incredulity. His jaw dropped and his mouth lay open mid thought. 

She looked at him and her face went pale. Neither could believe that she threw the wine glass and no one knew what to say next. 

She got up from her seat and went back to the kitchen. When she came back she had a sponge and towel and another glass of wine which lovingly set in front of Simon while she dabbed the wine from his head and picked the glass off his head and shirt with the towel. 

He lifted the wine glass and said, “Thank you.” 

When she had cleaned most of the glass up, she said, “Honey why don’t you run up stairs and hop in the shower. Just be careful about the glass and your bare feet” 

Simon did as she suggested and went up to shower. He came back down, all clean and free of wine and glass. He saw her cleaning the stain from the wall and the back of the couch. 

He saw a fresh bottle of Browne sitting open on the table and two clean wine glasses with a piece of pecan pie with whipped cream slightly melted on top. Next to the table, she placed his slippers where she thought he might like to sit and on the television played “It’s a Wonderful Life’. 

She said, “I love this scene” as George ran down the street in the snow, wishing the old building and loan a Merry Christmas. 

Simon said, “I do too. I am sorry for what I said. I never meant to call you a libtard”. 

Sarah said, “I'm sorry too. But I still think you're an asshole for agreeing with anything those racist morons say.” 

“If I tell you that it wouldn’t hurt my feelings to see Biden impeached, will you throw another glass of wine at me?’ asked Simon. 

“Probably, said Sarah, “so don't say it out loud ever again in my presence” 

Simon said, “OK good tip. Thanks for the pie”. 

They watched the rest of the movie and went to bed. The next morning they walked on the beach and enjoyed a prime rib for Christmas dinner in their home together, without a single visitor or family member. 

That night when the holiday was ending and a gentle snow began to fall in the backyard, Simon put his arm around his wife and said, “Sarah, this is the best Christmas ever."