Gorgeous sunrise today. Gave up on ever returning to a muscled truck jockey and gentleman farmer and started tossing the old wardrobe this week … now waiting for new offerings to arrive via the big brown van. The new me: unkempt geezer in corduroy shoes and gray jerseys. There is something freeing about surrendering to old Gere, the god of gentle aging.
Unfortunately, the first command to be fruitful doesn’t release its grip on me, however, and visions of slaying dragons mounted from the back of a white mobility scooter interrupt my reverie from time to time. The urge to impregnate anything resembling femininity doesn’t go away with geezerhood. I was hoping it would. The desire to breed has been the cause of much turmoil in my life, and I suspect that I’ll be entertaining thoughts of taking a turn in the cabbage patch on my deathbed.
Arabs are still up and about killing Jews in Israel today even though a cease-fire has been declared. No one wants to talk about the solution, however. One side or the other must lose utterly. There is no negotiated peace that will be lasting. So, the Arabs try this. And the Arabs try that. And the Arabs try the other thing. And the results are always the same. They lose, then cry for a cease fire so that they can rearm.
“I am tired of living among people who hate peace. I search for peace; but when I speak of peace, they want war!”
And so war it is … all while day follows day, and night follows night, and I sip my coffee and watch it go by.