A Journal of the Plague Year 2020–chapter 180

Friday, December 18

The Twitterverse is alive with chatter about how Trump and his buds will attempt to pull off some kind of mid-January coup. 

On January 6, according to the scenario, Trump will push the Senate/House to accept his alternate slate of electors. Then if that fails, there’s plan B: the imposition of martial law followed by a re-vote in the disputed states of Pennsylvania, Georgia, Michigan, Wisconsin, Arizona, Nevada, and New Mexico. The primary backer of this fantasy is the loony, felonious, and recently pardoned General Michael Flynn—even more sure than Trump is that he is a victim.

A key part of this dark plot: the monkeyed-with Dominion voting machines, which were allegedly doing the bidding of the Chinese Communist Party.

It’s all kind of fun…in the same way that it was fun to imagine that Dwight D. Eisenhower was an agent of the international communist conspiracy. 

The winter storm that blew across the East on Wednesday dumped four feet of snow in upstate New York and killed several people. But out here on the East End, we got only a couple of inches, followed by rain that melted much of that. This morning I spread rock salt on our walkway, then shoveled away most of the ice that remained. 

The storm threat prompted Stop & Shop to cancel our scheduled Friday food delivery, but we were able to reschedule for Saturday. Emily was worried that the delivery guys could slip and fall on our ice—hence, my anti-ice efforts.

At the moment, the late-afternoon sun is out, casting golden hour rays across the woods and onto our side yard. Would that this might be the worst of winter that we’ll receive. Fat chance.

Dinner: an all-veggie affair with baked potatoes and sour cream, baby brussels sprouts, and a pear and lettuce salad.

Entertainment: The final episode of Britbox’ lame adaptation of the Anne Bronte novel The Tenant of Wildfell Hall.