Charlie and Friend, 1957

Right at this moment, I’m not quite sure which most accurately symbolizes the status of our democracy — the insurrectionist mob that stormed the capitol on Wednesday or the endless blah-blah-blah of our lawmakers in Congress or the disarray of the executive branch– as in how many confirmed cabinet members do we have right now anyway?

Two days ago I declared on this blog, “There are no words” and posted only pictures which, as we know, are worth a thousand of them.

Charlie, 1958

Yesterday, I reported my conversation with our chickens –reduced to cluck-clucking because there still were no adequate words in my own limited lexicon.

Today, all I can think of is baby talk.  My son Charlie’s first word was “fishy” and his second words were “bogan bogan.”  Fishy was prompted by a colorful fish mobile that hung above his crib.   Bogan meant “broken” and referred to anything that wasn’t working the way he wanted it to.

Yep.  Fishy!  Bogan!  Out of the mouths of babes etc. etc. etc.  Whoda thunk that those baby words uttered sixty-three years ago would be the only ones I could dredge up all these years later?  There are some adult words that rattle uselessly in my head. “Impeachment” and “25th amendment,”  for instance. Uselessly. Drowned out by Bogan! Bogan!

How I hope that I’m wrong.