Coonridge Digest: Waitin’ for my Inaugural invite

Dear George W. Bush, Nearly President, 7 a.m. Greetin’s from the Ridge. My name is Freida Marie Crump and I have waited about as long as seems reasonable to receive my invitation to your Inauguration. Perhaps you have held up my invite a bit, figurin’ that Herb would have to come with me. He don’t. Fact is, I’d rather he didn’t.

You’ve said that you want to "…begin the new millennium with a spirit of non-partisanship." I think this would make me an ideal candidate for your invite list since I didn’t vote for you. You said you want to, "…reach across the aisles." Mr. Bush, if you go reachin’ for me, I promise to grab you right back.

10 a.m. I have just come back from checkin’ the mail and find that there is still no gold-bordered envelope with the Presidential seal. Time is runnin’ out, George.

11:30 a.m. You’ve probably got a hundred million little things on your mind and have plumb overlooked both me and my invitation. Would it be okay if I came anyway? I mean, if the invite shows up after I’ve already left for Washington, my name’s surely on some list or another, ain’t it? Herb claims that if you knew me better, I’d be on one of your lists for sure.

1 p.m. You know, all this waitin’ could be futile. I realize you’re a busy man, but I got things to tend to as well, and I can’t just sit around all weekend waitin’ for a letter which may or may not show up.

1:15 p.m. Did I mention the outfit I had picked out to wear? It’s conservative, Mr. Bush. I promise you it is. I’m not, but the clothing is. This is not because I’m necessary a Republican but in the Midwest we all dress like Republicans regardless of how we vote.

1:20 p.m. It’s blue. Mid-calf. I got it at Penney’s.

5 p.m. Well, it’s gettin’ close to suppertime and I have checked the mailbox one last time in case you had sent my invitation special delivery. I suppose you could send it by Western Union but I’m not sure there is still a Western Union. Or maybe you’d like to avoid any mention of unions. There is a Best Western just thirteen miles south of us and I would gladly go in there to pick it up if I knew when you were sendin’ it.

6 p.m. Supper’s over. Herb and me had leftover barbecue tonight in your honor. Did I tell you that I think I did vote for your Dad? He was the tall one, right? No, come to think of it I voted for your mom Barbara as a write-in. But that’s the same thing, ain’t it? I mean, if she’d of won, she’d brought your dad with her, wouldn’t she?

8 p.m. Herb and me are just sittin’ down to watch The West Wing. I hope your courier doesn’t show up on my doorstep durin’ the show. It’s my favorite. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll answer the door, but the boy will have to make it short. I hope it’s not a singin’ telegram. Do you watch The West Wing? Probably too Left Wing, I suppose. But I do watch the General Motors commercials. That’s a compromise, ain’t it?

9:05 p.m. Have you ever thought about nominatin’ Martin Sheen to your cabinet? That boy makes one crackerjack President if you ask me. He’s short, but smart.

10 p.m. George, it’s gettin’ late. We usually watch the news long enough to catch the weather then flop into bed. I’ll leave the porch light on so your messenger don’t stumble over the snow shovel that Herb keeps propped up against the banister.

10: 20 p.m. I changed my mind. I just can’t sleep with the thought that I might have to get up in the middle of the night and accept a personal invitation to your inauguration. Unlike the blue outfit I’ve picked out for your swearin’ in ceremony, my nightgown is not conservative. I don’t mean to imply that it’s purposely risque, just worn a bit thin in all the liberal strongholds.

Midnight. Well George, this about does it for me. I usually wouldn’t stay up this late to watch my own child bein’ born but I wanted to give you every chance I could.

From my typewriter I look right down Main Street in Coonridge. There’s only two cars left at the tavern and one of ‘em has been there since 1998. The town’s all but shut down for the night.

It sort of hit me as I sat here listenin’ to Herb sing his nasal lullaby in the next room, that maybe you didn’t intend to invite me. Fact is, I’ve pretty much come to that notion. I suppose there’s no hard feelings. If I don’t get a ticket to your festivities then I hope that some deservin’ soul gets my spot.

I just wanted you to know that we wish you well, sir. I really mean that. My gettin’ along depends a good deal on your success. I wish you well. (And I’ll be up early tomorrow in case there’s somethin’ stuck in my door.) You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door, but you’ll enjoy the trip.