Letter From New York 02 28 2016 A day of almost unending travel…

As my train heads north out of Penn Station, the setting sun glints golden light off the towers that have sprung up over the years on the Jersey side of the Hudson River.  In the relatively balmy weather, runners are trotting up the paths that line the Manhattan side of the river while traffic on the West Side Highway is bumper to bumper.  I am skimming by it all.

This is the second to last leg of my trip back from Greenville, South Carolina, where I visited friends.  From their house to the airport, airport to Newark, the Rail Train to NJ Transit to Penn and now from Penn to Hudson, then by car to home.  I think I will be tuckered out by the time I get to the cottage tonight.

It’s the Academy Awards tonight and Lionel and Pierre are having folks over to watch on their large screen television.  I’ll go there but am not sure how long I will last.

The individual who has been showing all the qualities of lasting is Donald Trump, the much mocked man of the combover has defied his critics and all the pundits and the Republican Party is starting to realize he probably has a good chance of being the nominee.

He has stepped into some trouble [when hasn’t he?] when he refused to disavow the support of David Duke, the former head of the Ku Klux Klan and by failing to disavow the KKK itself.  His opponents, of course, jumped on it.  Rubio declared this failure made him unfit to be President. 

As usual, Trump backpedaled on Twitter once he got a handle on the fact his foot was in his mouth.

Will he live to fight another day?  Of course.

According to many reports, the Republican grandees are horrified, frightened and desperate to stop him and have no idea about how to do so. They have been losing their grip on the party since the Tea Party genie got let out of the bottle and now this…

Clinton, as in Hillary, is gleefully delighted in her win yesterday in South Carolina.  She and Sanders are on the march to Super Tuesday from which she hopes to emerge with a daunting delegate lead. 

The game is afoot, would say Sherlock…

An Ohio Baptist minister was shot to death today as he was walking back to the pulpit as the choir sang. The shooter may have been his brother.

In Indiana, three young Muslim men were shot “execution style” and the police are working to understand what has happened and how it happened.

In Baghdad, seventy have died from suicide bombers linked to IS.

In the European Refugee Crisis, 70,000 may be trapped in Greece next month as borders are closing.  Spring cannot come soon enough for the refugees.

36 Russians have died in a methane gas explosion in a coal mine.

The Syrian Truce is fraying as the army has attacked and the Russians have been sending out airstrikes.

I could go on.  The litany of bad news is seemingly endless.  And while there aren’t a lot of “feel good” stories today, the sun in the west is glowing red orange as I move north.  Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.

In the room at my friends where I stayed there was a pillow that was stitched with the phrase:  old friends are the best friends.  That’s very true.  Old friends are old friends for a reason.  We have endured and are still there for each other.

My mantra of gratitude was said today as I rode up the escalator at Penn from the NJ Transit train.  A little late but not forgotten…

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