The Golden Hour

5 February 2026

My nation, America, has been through quite an ordeal this past year.  Any patriot discovering the treachery of her elected officials is bound to evoke emotions of a negative tenor.

And, yet, as I look back upon the years that I call ‘The Golden Hour” — The Reagan Years — I realize how young we were as a nation.  For many years, starting with those of the abysmal George “Read My Lips” HW Bush, through the obscene 2-fer phase of Bubba and his lovely wife Bruno, and on into the post-9/11 years of a palpable and frustrated confusion over trying to figure out What the Heck is going on:

I was unwilling to let go of those Reagan Years.

I did so, with reservations, because it was in accordance with the orders of my Internal Committee.  Within the past several years, however, My Posse’s been saying:

“That past was The Golden Hour.  It’s the touchstone of the future.”

I’m going with my Posse, and hoping my Posse’s going with me!

Why precisely was/are those Reagan Years the touchstone for the much-heralded Golden Era in America?

The majority of Americans still believed in America.  We didn’t flinch from doing our duty, regardless of what it was.  The Media were a small Nightly News circus of sycophantic clowns, not a vulgarly stupid 24/7 blob of anti-American liars.

Men were men, and women were women.  The D.C. Bedroom Communities of the states of Virginia and Maryland had not yet been built as expanded smothering arms and club feet of the federal government.  That ever-encroaching Leviathan was just getting going!

When Bubba announced:  “The Era of Big Government is Over,” I knew the federal “workforce” and regulatory overreach were about to take on blubbery gigantesque proportions.

People working in Office World could still go out to Friday Lunch at a restaurant that served good food, and chat about their lives (cause they had Lives about which to chat) — without hostility or future “workplace violence”.

Shopping — in ye olde brick-and-mortar shoppe — wasn’t necessarily a pleasant experience.  The quality of wares, clothes, and appliances wasn’t all that good, but at least we weren’t being hectored to Buy Ethical, and watch that Carbon Footprint!  The social-credit-score, back then, would have been how many people you invited to a party, and how many stayed.

For the most part, I purchased merchandise from American Producers, thinking the stuff was Made-in-the USA.  And it probably was.  I didn’t feel the need to do my homework, and scrutinize labels about Country-of-Origin when buying clothes, accessories, and gizmos.

I still own a Champion sweatshirt, Made-in-the-USA, that was a wedding present/gift from Dear Hubby. It’s got sentimental value, but it’s also an extremely high-quality piece of textile history.  As for the 49ers, well, they’re history too!

Little did I know, as the years post-Cold War “progressed” into the offshoring of jobs, companies, and entire industries, that I was unintentionally “investing” in the globalist scheme to put an end to nationalism, nations, and a nation’s productivity, if not identity.  Headquartered Anywhere is an old and tired scam.

During the Reagan Years, a Work-League Baseball Game was played without berserk behavior that threatened life and limb.

The Flight of the Normals from the Cities had not yet become an Exodus of Biblical proportions.

Which brings us to today, when just about all that’s left in The City is rubble.  That decaying detritus is all that remains there, after decades of corruption.  Not local, ages-old corruption, mind you, of the marginally competent City Officials skimming off the trough of municipal tax dollars.

Oh, no.  The graft and corruption went global!

Those Byzantine schemes shall take years to unravel.  The weight of the fraud became nearly unsustainable, but, somehow, those shoats-in-office figured out ways to keep feeding at the public trough.

Talk about an Eating Disorder!  It’s no wonder their drug of choice, after Being On-Camera, is Ozempic.

The lazy, selfish narcissistic Boomers are to blame for a lot of this infernal mess.  The Feds had to create jobs for the slugs in That Generation, and they’ve left a slime trail of malfeasance that is still reaching historic lengths.

Successive generations have forked over their own minor percentages of non-producers, who also feel entitled to get paid boo-coo bucks for doing nothing except gaming the system.  The vast majority of Americans, however, that Silent Majority, is silent no more.

It’s about time.  No, it’s past time.  The time has arrived for that Golden Hour to turn the clock toward an even brighter Morning In America.

I’m not a morning person by any stretch of the meaning of that term, but I was up early this morning, working hard to write this essay in anticipation of these Moments in History that shall truly be golden.