Ah, November, a month of intense anticipation. Our nation is trembling on the verge of who knows what. And right smack dab at the very beginning of it all, your favorite Sinks Grove correspondent is celebrating his three quarter century birthday. Originally, there was a big party planned on the homestead but a couple of complications occurred. My neighbor has blessed me with an open ruptured septic field, befouling the air in my yard, and I cracked a couple of ribs when I slipped off the rock wall trying to finish my front porch. So I’ve decided to just turn around and go the other way; I was getting too darned old anyway. Now, as I begin the rapid descent back through a few childhoods, let’s get on with the news headlines.

A new mouse has shown up in my kitchen and instead of running under the refrigerator, he comes to the edge of the counter and stares at me, like, who the heck are you? When I stared back, laughing, he ran around behind the toaster oven and then peeked out from underneath, looking cute and curious. I named him Frank. I’m not sure what to do with him. I’ve been feeding him. He likes pumpkin seeds. They are a natural antidepressant but I hope they won’t make him any bolder. He refuses to run out on the knife handle baited with peanut butter and tumble into the garbage can like the other dozen or so have. (I then expatriate them to an abandoned Pickaway barn.) I have a few other compassionate mousetraps in the plans.

My neighbor, Homer, taught me that trick. You can find his story in my Pseudo News archives at sinksgrovepress.wordpress.com, and click on Farmer Invents Better Mousetrap. Homer showed up at my back door again with his hat in his hand. I asked him what the matter was. He said, “I don’t think I can vote for the Donald anymore. He’s just actin’ a little too nuts, and he’s already whining about losing and crying ‘unfair’. So, I’m just not going to vote.”

I pulled Homer into the kitchen for tea again. I told him, “When things get confusing, you can’t just pull into your shell and give up. You have to take your best shot and then be faithful with the outcome.” Homer glanced upwards.

“Yeah, there’s someone up there,” I assured Homer, “and He’s bigger than the Donald or Hillary’s entourage or all the European bankers combined. Hey, I just thought up a good campaign slogan: POWERS GREATER THAN OURS. Too late for bumper stickers, though.” I hiked a thumb toward the mystical domain just on the other side of everything. “He’s in charge. C’mon, I’ll go with you. We’re going to vote.”

My illustrious editor, Christina, and I are planning a Meet The Columnists event, Thursday, March 9th at the Asylum. We want to say thank you for reading our favorite magazine, the Hashtag Lewisburg. Watch for further news as the date approaches.