Tom Hicks | October 31, 2026

Dear Diary,

Apparently, I’ve offended the lumberjacks.

I’m not entirely sure how. I’ve always thought lumberjacks were perfectly lovely people. They provide a valuable service, particularly when one requires firewood or needs an unsightly tree removed from a summer property. I certainly have nothing against them personally. I just don’t see why one needs to be a United States senator.

Apparently, that makes me arrogant, which I find deeply offensive. After thirty years of patiently explaining things to people who don’t understand them, this is the thanks I get. And now Sam Patten, who used to work for me, is telling everyone that I’ve been concealing my arrogance for decades. If I’ve managed to conceal something successfully for thirty years, shouldn’t I at least receive some credit for the accomplishment? It’s not as though maintaining a pleasant expression through all those town halls has been particularly easy.

The whole thing started with a perfectly innocent advertisement. Bill Green simply pointed out that buying a cord of wood is different from serving in the United States Senate. Which is true. I’ve served in the Senate for thirty years, and I don’t believe I’ve purchased a cord of wood myself even once. That’s what staff members are for, although apparently I’m no longer supposed to say things like that.

Now people are bringing up the fact that Troy Jackson was president of the Maine Senate. Well, that’s hardly the same thing. State senators don’t even have to travel to Washington. They can practically go home for dinner, which seems a rather significant distinction when one considers the sacrifices required of those of us who serve at the national level.

And everyone keeps mentioning that he’s a fifth-generation logger, as though that makes him particularly qualified. Five generations! I should think someone in the family might have considered a different profession by now. Of course, I would never say that publicly. I have enormous respect for people who work with their hands, especially when they’re working on something I need repaired.

Oh, dear. That sounds dreadful when I write it down. Perhaps I should cross it out, although I resent having to censor myself in my own private diary. Surely a woman who has devoted so much of her life to public service deserves the occasional unguarded observation. Besides, it’s not as though anyone is going to read this.

I told my staff that I was deeply concerned about the reaction to the advertisement. They seemed relieved until I explained that my concern was that people had misunderstood how deeply concerned I was about their concerns. Sometimes I wonder whether anyone listens. I spent nearly twenty minutes explaining the distinction, and by the end of it, three people had suddenly remembered appointments.

I’ve spent my entire career being reasonable. I consider every issue carefully, weigh all the arguments, and then explain why the conclusion I’ve reached is the sensible one. Occasionally people disagree, which is unfortunate, but democracy does allow for that sort of thing. I do wish people would exercise the privilege a little more responsibly.

What troubles me most is the suggestion that I’m out of touch with ordinary Mainers. I know ordinary Mainers. I’ve met thousands of them. I shake their hands, ask about their families, and listen attentively while they explain whatever difficulty they’re having. Sometimes I even remember their names afterward, particularly if someone has written them on a card beforehand.

And now I’m being criticized because I don’t believe chopping down trees necessarily prepares someone to serve in the world’s greatest deliberative body. Honestly, it’s enough to make a person lose faith in the electorate. I shouldn’t have written that, either, but I suppose there’s little point in keeping a diary if one must constantly worry about offending people who aren’t supposed to be reading it.

Perhaps tomorrow I’ll issue a statement explaining how much respect I have for hardworking Maine families. I’ll ask my staff to prepare something warm and sincere, preferably with a photograph of me standing near some trees. Maybe holding a piece of firewood. Although that might be interpreted as condescending, and heaven knows I’ve had quite enough of that accusation for one week.

Good heavens. Must everything be so complicated?

Goodnight, Diary.

P.S. I’ve asked someone to find out how much a cord of wood costs. Apparently, it’s more than I thought.

Share

Subscribe now

Your Turn

Ever watched a politician try to explain why an insult wasn’t really an insult? Tell us your favorite example.

Leave a comment below. We’d love to hear it.

Leave a comment

More from Tom Hicks Media

Enjoyed this little excursion into imaginary political honesty? Explore the rest of our independent publications at Tom Hicks Media — The Complete Collection.

DEAR DIARY: APPARENTLY, I’VE OFFENDED THE…