The other day, my landline rang and, as usual, I just sat in my favorite chair and let it ring.

It was about 10 a.m. The time I usually hear a disembodied voice asking for money for a worthy (?) cause. 

This time, an irate voice crackled on the answering machine ordering me to pick up — now.

Was it the end of the world? Maybe, a death in the family? How about an old pal wondering if he might borrow a couple of grand to tide him over until the IRS finished the audit? It was none of the above.

“Look Buster, I only have a few more minutes left on this cell phone’s battery and want to pick a bone with you,” said the caller.

Of course, it was none other than Ms. Pigette, the sage of knowledge she learned while watching the traffic pass her post on Route 27. 

Recently, traffic has been backed up as MaineDOT contractors finally repair the crusty road. She tells me that lots of folks stop, open their windows, and exercise their right of free speech to the flaggers. Sometimes they wave to them. Sometimes they use all five fingers. Sometimes not.

“First of all, what is going on with the Boothbay Register and Wiscasset Newspaper? The website is all messed up,” she said.

I pointed to notices we posted asking for patience as we replaced the old computer operating system. Even a sophisticated critter like you knows that it takes time. And, we are still encouraging readers to subscribe to their favorite local news source.  How about it,” I asked her.

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t read those notices. My bad.”

“Ok, now you know. So, why don’t you crack open your piggy bank and pony up for a subscription,” I said.

When I asked if she had other thoughts, she answered with an NSFW phrase as she yelled at a pickup truck that splashed water on her designer outfit, then, she gave me her take on politics.

“I see the former Republicans, aka the MAGA crowd, and the opposition are still spending most of their time blaming the other side for everything from foreign wars to toe fungus. 

“Once, just once, I would like any candidate to answer a question rather than offering the latest campaign talking points.

“And, when will you alleged reporters make them answer the question and not let them sidestep it with a quip or made-up fact,” she said.

“Well, Ms. P, we can ask tough questions. But, we don’t have subpoenas. We can point things out and check facts. But, it is up to you, the voter, to decide whether a candidate is telling the truth and is worthy of your trust. That is if you even care,” I said.

“Well, smarty pants,” she said. “Election Day is in five weeks. Some states are already collecting absentee ballots. Maybe as much as half the nation will vote early.

“Why are the candidates not talking about the border, wars in Europe and the Mideast, climate change, or the price of eggs and gasoline? 

“No, they ask for money and call each other names. Grandpa Don calls the Veep a Commie, a flip-flopper, and worse, a San Francisco liberal. She shoots back accusing him of sexual abuse of women, multiple bankrupt businesses, and fraud.

“Nay, nay, sayeth he. It is all fake news from the evil media and the Democratic-controlled justice department. What about court rulings, she says, and both sides go on and on.

“Why aren’t they talking about things that affect all of us, like the hurricanes that wreaked near biblical flood damage from Florida to western North Carolina and other communities? Didn’t I see stories about how some GOP folks want to get rid of NOAA and their weather forecasting experts because they encourage folks to believe in climate change? What is next, axe FEMA?”

“Yes, Grasshopper,” I shot back.  “They plan to shift FEMA’s burden of preparedness and response costs to the states.

“And, to answer your question, they only talk about stuff their consultants tell them to say,” I said.

“OK,  I get it,” she asked. “What did you think about the recent vice presidential debate?

“Well,” I answered. “Who cares? The VP doesn’t mean squat, unless POTUS croaks, and, to think about it, Grandpa Don is 78 years young. Remember, old dog, Father Time always wins the race. If you don't believe me, ask Grandpa Joe." 

At that point, she uttered a word I first learned in U.S.M.C. boot camp, and slammed the phone down. 

That seemed to be the end of the conversation, so, I got back to my chore for the day and baked a big batch of chocolate chip cookies.

It seemed like the right thing to do.