When it finally occurs to me that Donna has ceased her latest diatribe on -- well, on something that interests only her, I'm sure -- I glance up from the memo on Israel-Palestine.  Sure enough, she's sitting in the guest chair with that look.  The one that says "I know you've been ignoring me, you jackass, and I will make your life suitably hellish."

That look strikes fear into the hearts of better men than me.

So I do the only thing I can; I give her the smirk and say, "Were you addressing me?"

"Josh."  She looks unamused.

"'Cause sometimes it's hard to tell."

"Joshua, be serious for one moment."

"Not sure I can, to be honest."

"Josh," she warns.

"Seriously, Donna, you should feel free to keep rambling, but I'm going to turn my attention to devising a strategy for peace in the Middle East."

She raises an eyebrow.  "Yeah, 'cause that's a one-person job."

"Well," I grin, "no one's ever given me a crack at it."

"Josh, I have a thing."

"Thanks for sharing, Donna."

"On campaign finance reform."

I am enjoying this entirely too much.  "Is it urgent?  Because I'm thinking bombs and--"

"Josh, you're Domestic Policy Guy," she interrupts.  "You don't even understand the conflict in the Middle East."

"I'm Jewish," I protest.

"Which doesn't mean you're born with an innate sense of the Israel-Palestine conflict!"

"Donna--"

She keeps right on talking.  "'Cause if that were the case, I'd be intimately familiar with British Parliamentary procedure and, I don't know, painting."

I stare at her.  "Painting?"

"I'm part Italian."

"And only Italians paint?"

"It was a reference to Michaelangelo."

"A veiled reference, maybe," I comment.  "Shrouded, even."

"Josh, can I please make my point?"

"All evidence to the contrary."

"You're not going to solve Israel-Palestine," she answers.  "And we need to be ready for Granny D."

I blink.  "Granny D."

"Yes," Donna nods.

"A sports drink for aging athletes?" I guess.

Donna rolls her eyes, but I can tell she's trying not to laugh.  "Doris Haddock."

"Okay," I say agreeably.

"You haven't heard about this?"

"No."

"How do you not hear about these things?" Donna wonders.

"In my own defense, I don't even want to be hearing about it now."

"She's 89."

I smirk.  "On a scale of...?"

"Josh, you're an idiot."

"You're going to have to take that back when I solve the Israel-Palestine thing."

Donna snorts, then plows ahead with her interminable story.  "Doris Haddock is 89 years old."

"I believe you mentioned that already."

"Do you know what she's doing right now?"

"Contemplating death?"

"Josh," Donna admonishes, "you are a horrible person."

"And yet I have a fan club."

"Comprised of twelve-year-old girls."

"Still."  I grin at her.

"Doris Haddock is walking through the Mojave right now."

I stare at her, my brow furrowed.  "The Mojave desert?"

"Yes."

"In California?"

"Yes."

I shrug.  "Okay."

"Do you know why she's--?"

"Donna, for the love of God, can we please skip the Q&A session?"

"Doris Haddock is 89 years old ad she's walking across the United States to protest the current campaign finance laws."

"Wait," I say, holding up a hand.  "What does walking across the country have to do with--"

"Campaign finance reform?" Donna interrupts.  "Granny D has a petition with her."

I shake my head.  "Still, walking across the country seems so..."

"Amazing?" Donna suggests.

"I was going to say 'tiresome.'"

Donna glares at me.  "She read about Mildred Norman."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," I mutter.

"Mildred Norman," Donna begins happily, "walked across the country seven times during the Cold War."

"Why?"

"To promote peace."

"Okay."

"Seven times, Josh."

"Right.  So this Doris--"

"People call her Granny D."

I glare at Donna for a moment.  "So Granny D is walking across the U.S. to support campaign finance reform.  This affects me how?"

"Josh," Donna scolds, "she's headed here."

I grin at her, intentionally being as obtuse as possible.  "My office?"

"She's planning to give a speech from the steps of the Capitol."

"When?"

"When she gets here."

"Let me get this straight," I say, my tone incredulous.  "You're interrupting the peace process to give me a heads up about an event that won't happen for -- what? -- a year?"

"Or thereabouts," Donna nods.  "She does ten miles per day."

"Donna!"

"What?"

"What am I supposed to do about this now?"

Donna watches me carefully.  "Plan her welcome."

"Donna--"

"I'm serious, Josh.  She's 89.  She's an old-school Democrat from New Hampshire, and this is going to be news.  The President ran left of center, but not far.  And he wouldn't have had to pull to the middle like he did if he didn't have to whore himself for money from Wall Street, the unions, big business--"

"Did you just call the President a whore?"

Donna ignores that.  "Campaign finance reform is important, and you know it.  The President knows it.  The least we can do is welcome this woman when she gets here."

It's my turn to watch her, because she is breathtaking when she's like this.  "Okay," I say finally.  "Look into it.  Just don't start with 'Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses--'"

Donna grins.  "And you call yourself a liberal?"

I wave her off.  "This is your thing, Donna.  Run it by Leo.  I've got to--"

"Resolve the Israel-Palestine conflict," she says, heading for the door.  "Good luck with that."

"Hey, Donna," I say as she reaches the door.  "Keep me informed.  You know, about Granny D."

Donna's smile is nearly blinding when she nods.  "You're a good man, Joshua Lyman."

I smirk at her.  "Did I stumble into a Charles Schulz cartoon strip when I wasn't looking?"

Donna rolls her eyes and heads for her desk.  "Another nice moment ruthlessly crushed by Josh Lyman."

"I do have a talent," I yell after her.

"That's one word for it."

THE END

04.12.01