A small piece in Heather Cox Richardson’s letter today caught my eye. The DOJ reached a settlement with the families who were separated at the border by Trump back in 2017-2018. More than 5,500 children were separated from their parents. As you’ll recall, a judge overruled the policy. After Biden stole the election, he set up a task force to reunite the families who were still separated. But the Trump folks had kept no records of the family members! WTF!! Eighty-five of the children are still, today, without their parents. The task force also learned that 290 of the kids were U.S. citizens. God bless America.
In the puzzle today there was an unusual clue/answer at 13D: “‘My word is my bond,’ informally.” The answer was ON GOD. To no surprise, it sent Rex off a bit:
Speaking of formal v. informal, what the hell is going on with the “ON GOD”!? (13D: “My word is my bond,” informally). How is “ON GOD” informal? Can you be “informal” and absurdly archaic as well? Who says “ON GOD?” If you said that to me, I’d assume you were challenging me to a sword fight. Me: [brandishing sword at you]. You: [looking surprised]. Me: “Wait, didn’t you say ‘en garde’? … no? … [sheathing sword] phew, good, you had me worried there for a second.” I don’t know when this phrase is used “formally” or “informally.” I know that Canadians stand “ON GOD” for thee, Canada, but otherwise I don’t know what’s going on with the phrase, and I cannot believe that whatever is going on, it qualifies as “informal.”
[Of course, the Canadians stand “on guard,” not “on God.” Wouldn’t it be disrespectful to stand “on God?” Wouldn’t He, like, “Get off me, you fucking Canadians.” (Rex corrected himself later.)]
This poem from today’s Writer’s Almanac by Patrick Phillips is called “Once.”
the father
of my son’s friend
watched his father die.
Then for some reason
came, still grieving,
to a soccer field where I,
a guy he knew,
or kind of knew,
stood with the others
trying not to stare
at the there-
but-for-the-grace-of God–
go-I of him:
his eyes raw-rimmed
behind dark glasses
as herds of little bodies
shrieked and galloped
all around us—
whoever he was before
a trace, a remnant now,
shaking in the gray October wind:
the truth about love, about all of us,
so plain in him
there was nothing left
but to pretend
I was not watching
out the corner of my eye
when the muddy dog,
and the bouncing ball,
and the children
chasing after it
all seemed to veer
and disappear inside him.
Owl Chatter friend Riverdale Joe tells me he’s pretty sure the picture of Phyllis Coates (Lois Lane) I posted yesterday (which he aptly described as “the hot movie star on a ladder”) was of Rita Hayworth and not Coates!! D’oh! What’s this world coming to when you can’t trust random crap you pick up off the internet, I ask you? The photo comes from a bunch of shots identified as of Coates in their writeup of her in Thebiography.org. But they could be wrong — Joe’s quite the old movie buff and he knows his starlets.
This one is definitely her. No question.
Egsforbreakfast had me chuckling today. One of the answers was DRESS DOWN DAYS. He opined that’s when women wear dresses made out of duck feathers. For THUNDER CLAP, he said it was a sequel to THUNDER BALL, in which Bond comes down with the condition and is saved by massive doses of antibiotics. I guess that’s what happens when you do it everywhere (see below).
Oy, I’m tired from my classes. Let’s call it a day. See you tomorrow.
The Wellington Files 