Rusty's Armory

Mourning dove …

Posted on June 13, 2015 Updated on June 13, 2015

A blog friend of mine posted that she went out to work in her garden, then was washing up and going to meet her best friend for lunch.

I marveled. I am a snail in the morning. One cup for waking up, and one cup to ponder. I marvel at people who have half a days work in before I even try. I did get out on the porch for a little communing this Shabbat, but on weekends, food prep is my chore. We have a good system. I like to cook, but hate cleaning. Snooks hates figuring out menu’s, but doesn’t mind cleaning. So I cook, she cleans on the weekend.

It was already hot and very humid when I went out on the stoop with my second cup. The mocking birds and cardinals had already sang, and only the mourning doves lonesome dirge, wooeeewoo woo woo filled the air. They usually call out most of the day.

But the reverie was cut a bit short by having to go in and whip up some pecan waffles. One of my morning staples. Usually it is a Sunday thing, but I forgot to get potatoes for hash browns this morning, so my usual Shabbat country breakfast of eggs, spicy turkey sausage, and hash browns with onions was postponed. Nevertheless, I do not get many complaints with the waffles either, so I am good for the day.

Yesterdays rescue run went well, and I managed to get them handed off to the next relay before they pooped. Glad I missed that one, because they weren’t traveling with a grain scoop.

Not much happening on the religion front. I am still uncommitted to an assembly. I seem to be more content and spiritually fed when I am with a group. Very odd for an anti-social curmudgeon. Yeesh. Synagogues got just about all that annoys me. Children, mothers, save-the-whalers, do-gooders and cloying sweet speech. They bleed for everything, and aren’t shy about telling you so.

So I just smile back benignly, knowing that you scratch anyone deep enough, the ugly comes out. They can be very sweet and loving if not challenged or forced to spend an extra couple of hours with the needy. I find that to be true more often than not. The arseholes in life seldom give me the problems that God’s children do.

I am still on a creative hiatus. We old knights need a fair lady to dedicate ourselves to. All that tension and stuff that tales of valor and romance are built with. The agony of understated, unrequited love. The rose we hand to the princess is quickly tossed aside and trampled by the masses as the fair maiden rides off to the easy comfort of her castle. The prose and dragons we slay lie covered in dust, now objects of disgust rather than gratitude at their vanquishing. The lady turns into a fickle, self-centered [bleep], and the battered old knight retreats to the fresh clean air and honesty of a waterfront bawdyhouse and the loving arms of the slatterns within.

Let the reader understand.

Anyhoos, so’s it goes … the sun set, the sun rose. The meal was consumed, the dishes washed. A line of prose and poes here, a line of prose and poes there. A sun at 15° past noon bakes the greenery. And a little Shabbat snooze is next.

Good morning, good afternoon.