A magazine installment from the world’s leading Diarist.
(Page 3 of 3)
Then a nice stroll with my wifey back to the hotel, hoping to find something great on TV. No such luck. Just packing and getting ready to go back to LAX tomorrow and see my Julie Good Girl. I miss that girl so much, that sweet loving girl. Sometimes in the night she actually sleeps with her trusting, noble head on my pitifully unworthy shoulder.
What a gift work is. What a gift Chuck Colson was. What a gift dogs are. What a gift my wife is. And my son and his wife and my granddaughter and my pals. What gifts from God.
But what is going to happen to this great nation? Too much debt. Too few people who want to work. I took pictures with many Haitians today at the hotel. They really work. They also all carry little bottles of Clear Eyes. Those people come to America to work. Too many of the ones who are born here want no part of work. There’s too much of mockery of work—and nowhere near enough work. Not even close to enough. It all scares me but I cannot do a thing about it. I can just step out on my balcony and look at the moon over Miami. Or maybe it’s Fort Lauderdale. It shines on the man who owns the Pershing 88 and the man who mops the floors. It shines on anyone who pays attention. We all live our lives with a death sentence, but it can be a beautiful ride.
Oh, dear God, how I miss my parents though. I bought perfect postcards of Miami. I sent them to my sister, to close friends, but I wanted to send them to my parents. This is cruel. I told them I loved them a million times. I wish it had been a billion.
TIME TO GO HOME. This hotel turned out to be fabulously good. Great room service most of the time, fabulous view out our windows, basically quite quiet. Whatever they did wrong that first night, they recovered beautifully.
Florida is glorious when it’s not hot or humid or rainy. I had breakfast on the balcony with Big Wifey this morning, eating oatmeal with the waves in the background and birds hovering nearby.
My wife said, “I woke up in the middle of the night and turned on the light next to the bed and there was the most beautiful insect I have ever seen. Like a long, glowing, blue-green stick.”
My wife sees beauty everywhere.
A man of faith in a godless age is hitting Americans where it hurts.
Mr. and Mrs. American Spectator Reader, let P.J. O’Rourke talk sense to your kids.
In Britain, defending your property can get you life.
It won’t take long for conservatives to scratch this presidential wannabe off their 2008 scorecard.
Was the President done in by the economy, or by the politics of the economy?