Maya and the Nice Lady

Standing with a pile of outgoing packages packages at UPS, there sat on the floor next to me a woman about my age, petting Maya, the owner’s ten year old dog.   I mentioned that my own dog was called Maya, named after the hotshot UConn Women’s basketball star, Maya Moore.  The woman smiled, and announced that if she had a dog, she would call it Condi, after Condoleezza Rice, a woman of strength and culture, who knew how to play classical piano.

The name Condoleezza Rice naturally took me back to the 9/11 Commission hearings (doesn’t her name evoke this very same thought in every American’s head?) to the moment that Commissioner Richard Ben-Veniste asked Rice about the notorious memo handed president Bush on August 6, 2001.  Rice, then National Security Advisor, squirmed noticably when revealing the title of the neglected Presidential Daily Brief provided by the CIA, “Bin Laden poised to Attack United States.”

Despite letting a highly organized attack slip by her national security fingers a month after this warning, Rice went on to become Secretary of State.

I told the woman that I agreed, Condoleezza Rice really played the piano brilliantly.

“I wish Condi would Run for president and Colin Powell were her running mate,” offered up the woman, churning up yet another image in my mind, this time of Powell earnestly and methodically proving to the entire world through his presentation to the U.N. in February of 2003 that Iraq harbored weapons of mass destruction.   His act succeeded so much so, that U.S. troops are still in that country, looking for those weapons.

I sighed.  I could wipe the snot out of this woman in a political argument.   But doing so while paying UPS for my packages was neither the time or the place.

“I take it you didn’t vote for Trump,” I said.

“God no,”  she recoiled.  “I would never vote for HIM!”

How did I guess?