Journal
Brisket Bluegrass Beer and Skittles
Monday, rainy Monday. Once again I am amazed at this wild lands ability to recover from droughts. The ground vegetation had almost disappeared, the bermudagrass was straw colored. Then we gratefully receive two days of intermittent rains, and it looks like a verdant spring outside, albeit on the soggy side.
“Old Joe Clark” by Bill Monroe plays on the google puck for the budgies benefit. I am slowly adapting to her tastes in banjer music. She is happily chirping and whistling in response to the five string pickin’s and my foot starts tappin’ out the rhythm. My days as a classical music snob have ended. No more wine and brie. It is beer and skittles now. Well, maybe not skittles. We got too many armadillo holes here for lawn bowling. But you get the idea.
And it’s Rosh Hashanah today. Honey and apples and brisket on the menus. Sort of like black-eyed-peas on New Years day, but with more meals and liturgy. We bluegrass types don’t stand on a lot of formality, though and give a passing nod to the holy day and move on.
So here in my little corner of paradise we cycle through the seasons, each morning marked with one or two cups of perfectly brewed coffee from Snooks pot.
Good morning!
Merry Minuet
Well, I made it through Tuesday without listening to a single Senate soundbite. That is quite a feat with the lapdog press covering every wheeze of sound from that ostentatious gaggle of nouveau riche social boors. Heaven trembles when peasants are made kings.
So one more day of headline picking for me today, sorting out real news like the hurricanes in the Gulf and Japan, Trudeau getting his comeuppance as ‘negotiator’, and the latest sky falling alarm from the EPA.
Made the bird sit in silence again this morning. Some days I just got to push back against her bad taste in music. And believe me when I say it’s bad! A little silence as I write, try to look through the wet window panes into the world, and search the web for bits and pieces of news from friends and family.
Mz Muse has been tickling me again, but with some pretty edgy ideas that I probably wouldn’t post in a public forum! And new insights into the “hidden things” of God that is begging a lot of pondering. But that all takes a back seat to coffee sipping and cookie nibbling this new day.
Good morning!
Two Political Funerals and a Raspberry
“And when they thought in themselves that they were wise, they became insane.”
~Aramaic Bible
Well, America’s first political funeral is over, and will shortly be forgotten. The attendee’s and their biases will be remembered for decades. They felt that the shadow of a peevish also-ran would cover their conceit but may soon discover that many of his supporters were also put off by it. It doesn’t bode well for average Americans, however. The rancor will not be abated.
So how do I not care? In truth, my life will change very little by whichever side sways the unwashed masses to vote for them. But the generations after me? They will reap the rewards of this generations hubris. For them, I’ll say a little prayer, then sing a la-de-dah song and turn to watch the sunrise while I sip the morning coffee and wish it all away.
Good morning!
Saturday, September 9, 2018.
A cheerful budgie greets me this am as I stagger into the studio this morning, balancing cookies and coffee. Snookums had already raised the blinds and started some Shabbat appropriate music on the puck to entertain said bird, so I just flopped down and munched cookies and sipped coffee until the last rivulets of Lethe’s waters drained away.
Twitter wants me to watch people filing by a POW’s casket in the rotunda, but I skip on by the suggestion. He has my respect as a POW, and I didn’t ask him to be a saint too. But politicians should be carried out and dumped in the refuse bin if they aren’t saints. And he wasn’t. All this lauding of him by Democrats smacks of insincerity.
But I force myself to not dwell here, and move on to more pleasant thoughts of Shabbats, music and sunrises, and what to prepare for breakfast.
Good morning!
Tick-tock strikes again
Dentist Day, the tablet reminds me as I stagger blindly into the studio, balancing the coffee cup while trying to not stub my toes on anything. The dentist is another one who insist that you schedule by the infernal tick-tock machine. I would ask why they can’t schedule by God’s time, but I would only get an uncomprehending stare in return. I am sure the staff and dentists are all good Baptist who would support doing things God’s way, so I don’t understand their intransigence in this area.
So, precisely at 2:10PM I climb into Bucephalus with my ever doting wife, and we drive the fifteen minutes to town, arriving at the 2:30PM appointment exactly five minutes early. Click. Click. Click.
It is an aggravating series of steps before then, too. I suppose I should bathe so the dentist doesn’t have to suffer from old man’s stench. That takes about 20 clicks on the machine. And tooth brushing takes another 10 Clicks. And it takes about 20 clicks to dress, accompanied by grunts, wheezes and groans.
I’ll start the prepreps about 1:20PM. Then adding the 15 clicks home, I come up with almost three hours away from my day job of swearing at the press on the PC newsfeeds. It’s a crappy job, but someone has to do it, and I seem to be well suited for the task.
However, the second cup of coffee is perched on the hutch, the two morning cookies are consumed, and I have a little time to day good morning.
So. Good morning.
A New Day
Turkey sausage patties, eggs, toast and coffee this morning sits happily on the tummy by the time I get around to a good morning post. I am hungover from my peevishness at the overblown reportage of the rift between Trump and McCain. I should get used to the media’s excessiveness. Really, I should.
But there are still constants that ground me. Sunrises. The smell of coffee brewing. Morning dogpiles of happy mutts. A budgies lousy taste in music. Affirmations of a larger purpose.
And the luxury of slowly awakening. There are people who would give all they own for a morning of peace, and I remind myself to show a little gratitude.
Good morning!
From Peevish to Maudlin in 4/4 Time
A little less cranky today. No more news for me until the week is past. Hillbilly music for the bird, coffee for me, and the world gets set aright. Most of my old man complaints are resolved this late summer morning other than mild wheezing from some sort of nature respiratory attack. But the misuse of steroids quickly takes care of that ailment. It is a peaceful moment, and a rare treat of Pachelbel’s canon arrives in the midst of the bluegrass fiddling. Odd how that simple yet elegant piece seems to cut through the political resentment that I have toward so many.
I am not much of a music lover. I really have no music soul. Not one ounce. So naturally, I have a lot of music lovers as friends who send me audio clips of meaningful lyrics which I rarely play. I think that poets and writers of music share much with politicians. They’ll tell you a tall story to make a point. Lovingly, of course. Sometimes I just don’t want to put the effort into catching a metaphor.
And the music segues into Shenandoah, and my mood shifts into the heart aching loneliness of the song, and my mind goes to the long and largely bitter panorama of mankind’s life. We birth. We breed. We protect. We die. If we are famous, we become footnotes. If we aren’t, we are forgotten.
And so it goes from peevishness to maudlin.
Good morning!
Tires, tired, and retired
Kippur da Budgie is happy again after three days without banjo music. I just couldn’t take it anymore and wanted some blessed silence while I sip my coffee and slowly poison my mind with political arsenic. Called out the $mechanic$ yesterday to fix the flats on the mowers. Nice guy, but he was wasn’t a very competent tire changer. It was driving me crazy to keep my mouth shut. But we got one mower going, and he’ll be back to fix the other one … someday.
Annie-Annie has decided that I need a foot dog in the mornings, so I had better have my feet where I want them before she comes in after breakfast. I was a little hesitant, so now I am sitting with my body cranked 10° to the right of the keyboard. A more stalwart individual would make the mutt move but not Mr Wuss.
On the agenda today: Install Snooks new high dollar printer. Her $38 online special just wasn’t up to the task. She does tend work the snot out her printers, though, so it will be money well spent.
I will sit and sip awhile longer, though.
Good morning!
Delayed Ambition / Procastination
Sunday, August 19, 2018
8 Elul, 5778
ח׳ בֶּאֱלוּל תשע״ח
The first day of the week dawns at 6:57AM on the tick-tock machine this week, but it always rises at 6:00 AM on the sundial. And shortly after that, I arise. Usually for the second time. My mind wishes to wake before dawn, but my body ain’t having none of that.
And we are into the eight day of the month of Elul, a time of introspection. But then, I live in introspection, so the observance doesn’t change my routine much. All of this leads up to a reflection of a larger truth. The time comes, however, when we grow weary of the reflection, and wish to see truth, even if that knowledge is damaging.
Doctors and blood draws are in the week ahead, along with a growing list of uncompleted chores. So we sip coffee, munch on a soft cookie, and wait for ambition to arrive.
Good morning!
Cold Coffee
Thursday dawned, but I just rolled over in bed and ignored it. But eventually nature calls and I rolled out of bed. Lost a quick wrestling match with the beagle, now I am going to have to affirm to the doctor that I feel safe at home has he examines the bruises and scratches at next week’s visit. I wouldn’t want ‘Becca the Beagle to go to jail for elder abuse.
Snooks brought in the morning coffee along with a suggestion that maybe I could inflate the tractor tire and get the verges mowed to even perfection again. Either that, or stock it with lions and charge people to drive through Safari Land.
Made the mistake of reading the newsfeeds before I finished my first cup of coffee. That is always a bad move. I dashed off a few nasty retorts to the newspaper and political elites who keep telling me that I need to be like them.
Uh. No. I’ll pass.
So back to a cold cup of coffee. Not good.
Good morning.
Rusty's Armory 