Turning

It appears fall may actually and fully be upon us, even as the last leaves drift down from the trees. It has unquestionably been warm, though this is the rare year that we will take it happily, as it affords us an opportunity to have just a few more lunches outdoors before that becomes a bad option.

One of these days this election may be well and truly over. Yesterday I allowed the news of the evening -- that the Board of Elections in Wayne County, Michigan (home of Detroit, which provided Biden with the margin that let him take the state), had refused to certify that county's election results, part of a scheme to let the state's Republican state legislature appoint an alternate pro-Trump slate of electors. My blood boiled.

To calm myself I decided to watch episode 1 of season 4 of The Crown, which I had been patiently awaiting all these months. In this episode a fair amount happens. We are introduced to Margaret Thatcher, played by Gillian Anderson. There is violence from the IRA (no more detail than that, lest I spoil a plot twist). But mostly we are introduced to the young Diana Spencer, who appears and fills a hole in Charles' heart and life, which could have been occupied by Camilla Parker-Bowles from the start had it not been denied him by the strictures of the court.

I will confess I was moved by her appearance, by the promise she offered, and I was transported back to the suburbs of Manchester in 1981 where I, at the tender age of 15, met one Sara G-R, cousin of Alistair (with whom Leslie had a little thing), who lived in Paris. She was only 13 at the time, which seemed like a huge gap, but she was so clever, so charming, so cute, she in many ways was a first love. Back in Chapel Hill I had had girlfriends and sexual dalliances, it's true, but none of them seemed like a really great match for me and, honestly, I was just trying to build confidence as I grew into my teeth and achieve status within the local social hierarchy, and of course hit sexual milestones. Don't get me wrong. I was happy for the attention and for the validation of my fragile ego, but none of them seemed to offer romance, like Sara did. I think we may have kissed once if that, but man did I have a crush on her. At the end of the summer,  I went home. She sent a very nice letter, one I would really like to find it somewhere, but because I had no epistolary experience and because I was a lazy dolt, I never answered it. I left a message for her when I was in Paris in the summer of 1983, but didn't connect. Then I tried again when I was there in 1988, no luck. We are of course in touch now on Facebook. 

In any case, seeing Charles swoon for the younger Diana last night brought all of it back.

After the show, I looked at the news again, once more breaking my rule of no evening news. The Wayne County BOE had in fact certified the election results, moving them on to the state BOE. Watch the fuckers try it again there.