Folky Folks
Is it Noonan or is it Not?
by Barry Friedman
"When I think of what's complicated in life, I think back to my youth and what a jumbled mess I was--a brilliant one, my friends, if unvarnished, rough, yearning for more--a delicious mess. I was part girl, part woman, part otherworldly. I thought about a man with dark hair in boots on horses and fired air traffic controller is (yes, dear friends, I did that) coming someday to show me and stoke the fire burning deep within this young, brilliant Peg.
This Congress, these Republicans, too, also young--not unlike that waif. What do they want? What did I want?
To be loved, feared, yearned for.
Look, what I see in the halls of power is folky folk, some real, some avuncular. I think if they would only ride the congress the way Reagan rode his horse--with strength. Letting this legislative mare know who's boss, patting it, stroking it, soothing the beast.
I know that beast. I feel her everyday.
It is winter now. A time when my thoughts turn to that young girl who remembers putting on an overcoat and mittens (ah, Mittens!) and muffler and making snow angels in the snow (swish, swish went my arms, flapping like a bird) while dreaming of future Gods and their calves; so, mock Jim Inhofe, avuncular though he may be, if you must, but he knows snow. He knows my heart. He knows what I know."