Trying to Stay Gruntled
It’s a tough thing to do in this disgruntled world we live in today, and I’m old enough to remember the days of being comfortably gruntled. That’s when we were (mostly) favorably inclined, not only with one another, but with the institutions of government, the mayor of our town and even that idiot down the block that never kept his lawn mowed.
Gruntlement is not actually a word yet, but it ought to be
There’s a sense of quietude about it, a feeling of lying on an exotic beach, with a book laid open across our eyes, and the warmth that goes clear to the bone. When did you last feel that relaxed? I know, for me, it was Thailand in 1998, and that’s way too long ago.
That’s why I think the determination to search for gruntlement should be a major plank in any political platform. Tired of being promised a brighter future, dispirited from the useless anticipation of change, unbelieving of the ability of either major party to actually provide something of value, I would cast my eager ballot for the promise of gruntlement.
Damned right
Give me a home where the buffalo roam, where the skies are not cloud all day and I’m yours. Where never is heard a discouraging word, and the deer and the antelope play, simply seals our bargain. On September 27, 1933, Bing Crosby recorded ‘Home on the Range’ with Lennie Hayton and his orchestra, and all across America people smiled, in the middle of the deepest economic depression the country ever endured.
Things began to get better. A smile suggests the approach of gruntlement.
2024 is another time of depression, these days by crushed American dreams flushed down the toilet, and a formerly gruntled middle class abandoned by both parties for nearly half a century. Crosby, Leonard Cohen and Sinatra are gone, but Willie Nelson is still hanging on at 93 and Taylor Swift is there for the young at heart. If one looks closely enough, the shadow of gruntlement shows itself on the horizon.
The song has ended, but the melody lingers on
Leonard Cohen best described the American condition when he wrote these lyrics in 1988.
“Everybody knows the boat is leaking
Everybody knows the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died
Everybody talking to their pockets
Everybody wants a box of chocolates
And a long-stem rose
Everybody knows”
That’s 36 years ago, folks and nothing positive has happened to the American psyche since. In the meantime, the chief argument prior to the presidential election is about whose candidate is oldest, past their prime, on the edge of Alzheimer’s or carrying the most political baggage.
Disgruntlement, that feeling of sulking discontent, is a fair definition for the left, the right, and America’s undecided voters. Win, lose or draw in November, we don’t need to make America great again, we simply need to get ourselves gruntled.
Why is it I feel neither candidate can do that?