I am not going to do it to you this morning. I am not going to talk about Detroit going bust, or the wild closing of the legislative session in Lansing, or anything like that. We have got enough trouble right here in River City, and I don’t even want to do that.

You can’t get away from it. We are trying to get ready for the season of Joy, and the cyclic rhythm of the human response to the growing of the dark and chillness of the Winter. I was charging the battery in my camera to cover the holiday party that evening when I got a note from a pal in the budget business in the middle afternoon that summed up exactly what I am thinking this morning as we sweep majestically into the holidays.

It is a little surreal, sort of like those whitewater raft trips out West- a regal tranquility abruptly transitioning to foaming white. I looked it up, just to see how this might work. Based on the International Scale of River Difficulty), there are six types of rapids, classified according to navigational difficulty:

Class I – Easy. Small waves in fast moving water. Few obstacles.
Class II – Novice. Wide channels and rapids that are easy to navigate, without many turns or obstacles. Small waves less than two feet high.
Class III – Intermediate. Strong currents require training and ability to maneuver quickly and effectively. From this class on, rafters require a guide. Not suitable for young children.
Class IV – Advanced. Powerful rapids for strong paddlers that can handle fierce turns and spins. Drops and waves are common.
Class V – Expert. Violent, dangerous rapids, usually through obstructed channels, tight turns, and soaring falls. Requires professional equipment.
Class VI – Un-runnable. Likelihood of death in attempting class 6 runs.

I trust my pal Jerry. He is in the business of navigating the budget rapids, and he said this yesterday, as the sun was breaking out through the clouds high above North Glebe Road:

“Just remember (because no one seems to at this point) once the President and the Speaker make whatever it is they are going to make (sausage seems to be a pretty apt metaphor although I really doubt that any of us will like the taste of it), BOTH the House and the Senate must pass bills AND if either does any tinkering there will be a conference requiring an additional vote by each body.  If we are REAL lucky, Congress works three days a week (Tuesday-Thursday, so they can spend time in their districts) – that means there are SIX legislative days (if you include Christmas) to make and enact this deal and preclude sequestration.

Figure the odds!”

So, here we go, I thought, calculating the odds as precisely slim and none.

I would have got a little pensive, but then my cell phone went off and Old Jim growled that he was at Willow and what about a holiday drink. I shrugged, looking at the papers piled up by the computer. The Holiday Party back at the building beckoned, but it probably was OK to have a little head of steam on a purely a priori basis.

I walked over to the bar and had a couple glasses of happy hour white, and we talked about the type of rapids ahead at the Amen Corner. I told him I was looking at property in Colorado for a variety of perfectly good reasons. Not for an immediate crisis, mind you, but maybe a place to go where there was no swiftly moving water.

Jon-no-H was there, waiting for the Lovely Bea, and big Chris-the-Marine, Sabrina and Jasper were holding down the business end of the bar. Sabrina had some brilliant crimson feathers woven into her hair and was at her exotic lovely best. Happy, too. She had just acquired two kittens, and the world was good. Tracey O’Grady, the executive chef and owner, came out to press the flesh, and I realized how much this aggregation of workers and bar-flies mean to me.

Old Jim had missed lunch and ordered up a couple salmon sliders, no tartar, just Frank’s Red Hot Sauce drizzled over appetizing lumps of fish. I waved away the menu. “There will be plenty of food back at Big Pink,” I said, finishing my last glass of wine. I slipped a twenty and a couple singles into the black folder with the check. “See you tomorrow.”

Which is how I found myself in Holiday Land in the lobby, the darkness full and the chill air outside held at bay. It was good. There will be a bonus story this morning about exactly that.

In the meantime, check your life vest. I can’t say if the New Year is going to feature a “Class I” or a “Class 6” set of rapids. Keynes would argue for the latter, at least in the longer term, but of course, I am no Keynsian.

I think if you find yourself deep in the hole, you ought to just stop digging, you know?

Copyright 2012 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com