Things are heating up in DC. For many of us, it feels like all we can do is whine about the politicians, and, for those of us in Montana, the weather (winter storm warning earlier this week.) We have about the same amount of control over both.
Steve Garnaas Holmes wrote a fine song for the Montana Logging and Ballet Company, the chorus of which went:
We’ve got problems, but that’s just fine,
I don’t won’t to solve them, I just want to whine.
Let me say my own good word in defense of whining. A good word or two, but not a good poem. Don’t complain about it to me.
In Defense of Whining
Each Montana spring is like Seattle showers,
It may last long days or it might be just hours.
But each spring is perfect for manly pursuits,
Like running or fishing in big wading boots,
Drinking beer from a keg, telling off-color jokes,
And buying expensive cigars no one smokes,
Lifting weights in the gym, and the long list goes on —
But never for me, I’m stuck mowing the lawn.
It’s not self-propelled, it’s the kind that you push,
It should make me strong, with a small manly tush.
Instead I’ll be sweaty and winded and sneezing,
And feeling my age with a long bout of wheezing.
“Are you done complaining?” Pat asks, “I must say,
You’d be finished by now, but you wasted the day,
And the grass isn’t cut, so now get up and go.”
—-“Hey, honey, I can’t. Look! It’s starting to snow.”