Friday, January 22, 2016

racler (Fr.): to scrape

Two Sundays ago, a twenty-something friend of mine looked out across the dinner table and said, to no one in particular, “Granny told me she’s ‘Feelin’ theBern.’”

Her mother, Granny’s daughter, turned to another twenty-something-year-old at the table, and asked him which candidate he liked.

I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of, “I like Bernie, and I think Bernie can win.”

It has been in my neighborhood for many weeks.

A week later, we had been invited to have raclette at the home of a new friend.  We didn’t know anyone but the host, but conversation had been lively, and limited to the two ends of the long table until one person spoke up in a lull. A funny and outspoken woman at the other end wanted to hear who was supporting Rand Paul. Or was it Huckabee? I can’t remember which one it was. One of the Republicans. Not Christie, or Trump or Fiorina. Maybe Carson, or Cruz. Everyone stared at her in silence. She kept listing candidates. More silence. No takers.

Cruz was dismissed by multiple people as, “ineligible.”

Kasich, someone said, “is a religious kook.”

As to Trump, another outspoken guest declared, “I know Donald Trump. I’ve had the misfortune to have dealings with him. He doesn’t care for me, either.”
“But,” she continued, “He has a real problem with the truth.”

Someone made a joke about Santorum.

A Frenchman, seated near me, asked, “Is the United States a democracy or a république?”

Once the list of Republicans had been exhausted, we got to the meat of the matter; this was Westchester, after all. There are about twice the number of active, registered Democrats as Republicans here.

Someone said with palpable irritation that Bernie Sanders’ candidacy was "unrealistic."  The woman who knows Trump said, after gathering everyone’s attention and promising three excellent solutions, “I just want it to be Biden. Or Kerry. Or Gore.” She paused between each name to let each of her nominees be invited, arrive, and take a seat.

Supportive murmurings rippled around the table, heads nodding with subtle restraint.

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