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Going to town again
A cool, but bright sunrise this morning. Chocolate macaroons with coffee on the table. Some ker plunk plunk banjo playing on the puck. Another go-to-town day for me. Hopefully this will be the last trip for a while. Eyeglasses for me, gas for the mower. Drop off a couple of old computer cases at a computer shop that rebuilds them into student grade PC’s …
The inner turmoil has eased today after the horrors of a synagogue bombing only to be replaced with bitter cynicism. One of the elderly victims survived the holocaust only to be taken out by a Jew hating loon. She was very old and a real threat to him, apparently. Five will get you ten that the loon thought he would be a hero and be lauded by legions of oppressed people. It makes me want to be there when it dawns on him that the world thinks of him as a tragic flake that needs to be put down like a sick animal.
And all my friends whom I have not returned calls to … I will return them! Honestly. I just didn’t know that so many things were going to crop up all at once. After my trip to town, I’ll mow the jungle that has sprung up around my house after the long fall rains. Then my week will return to its normal idle reverie.
Got all the fixings for an eggs benedict brunch this week. Kosher style, of course. Maybe mid-week. I am about three meals behind with my cooking duties and thought maybe I would catch up with some morning brunches. Snooks doesn’t care, as long as she doesn’t have to meal plan.
And so the day unfolds.
Perfect coffee, perfect cookies, and glorious noise for the bird.
Good morning!
Confessing
“My name is Rusty, and I am a political junkie. It has been one day since my last slip.”
I dunno. Maybe my calling is stirring up strife. About the time I think I have settled into the comfortable habit of chronicling mornings in what I call coffee posts, some new outrage sets me off in a flurry of snarky posts.
I like the morning posts, though I quickly run out of ways to say the same thing every day. There is only so many ways to describe a golden sunrise, the cottony softness of a rural morning, my wife’s comforting morning routine and antics of a parakeet.
I have read the book, and I know how this drama called life eventually ends. I am fairly confident that I don’t want to hang around for that. We have been tested in peace, we have been tested in war. We have been tested in misery, we have been tested in joy. We have been tested in poverty, and we have been tested with great wealth.
Today’s poor live like kings compared to the poverty of other times. I was watching a few video clips of the great migrant parade in Mexico. Everyone had cellphones! Paper plates of half eaten food littered the sidewalks. I saw no babies with distended bellies from hunger.
Then I watch a bunch of politicians piously call for peace with liberal doublespeak when they were the very ones spreading rancor, and seethe at the chutzpah. Such gall cannot go unchallenged and I rise to the baiting. But then, writers far more eloquent than I have risen up throughout history to decry the sins of the opposition. Life goes on with or without me, and I shan’t be the last decrier of their sins. An ancient instruction comes to mind: If it be possible, as much as lies in you, live peaceably with all men.
I repent. Again.
Good morning!
Don’t sing kumbaya at a shooting …
I hate being the crank, but all this candlelight / kumbaya singing over the synagogue shooting is really off-putting to me. They’re dead, and many probably wouldn’t be dead had there been a couple or more armed citizens in the congregation.
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Morning comes slowly …
Woke luxuriously late this morning. Don’t know why neither the mutts nor Mr Bladder decided to leave me alone, but it was a nice break in the morning routine. We have an actual sunrise this morning, albeit a chilly 54°, so I’ll observe it through the double pane windows. Bluegrass boogie woogie on the puck this morning. The bird loves it, of course, but it disrupts my slow waking routine of coffee sipping and low-grade musing.
I had hoped to hear of an arrest of the incompetent Florida mail bomber, but so far nothing. Not surprising though. I still smell political stunt. The media pack has apparently left the immigrant parade in Mexico to cover the bombing and huffing left wing outrage over the right causing the bombings, completely ignoring their role in the rancor. Of course.
Today is voting day for us. Snooks already has a shopping itinerary laid out since we’ll be in town anyway. But I suppose one trip to town a month isn’t going to kill me, will it? I dunno. I am pretty frail these days. But it won’t be until after lunch. I have found late afternoons the best way to avoid crowds in this land of early-risers. They have their chores done before 10:00 am … but I am a yankee, so they don’t have real high expectations for me.
So a groggy good morning to y’all!
Thor’s Day*
Well, so much for swearing off politics. I created such a storm on my two blog pages, two facebook pages and twitter. Not that I mind the brouhaha. Truth is, I sort of relish it.
But there must be more to life than politics. Most people rise above even the most repressive of regimes, though they do quickly learn to avoid being critical of Dear Leader and his bureaucrats. That can cause major unhappiness. And more, my religious credo insists that I be at peace with the government, when possible. I have one and only one recourse, and that is the ballot box. And use it I shall.
Leftover blueberry waffles for breakfast this morning. Oh the horror! But I ate ‘em anyway. And the sun broke out late this morning in a hazy glow. But it is still a breezy and cool morning. The rains will soon end and we’ll warm up to porch sittin’ weather this weekend. We are ready for a little dryness but cross our fingers behind our back when we ask for it. When it dries up here, everything goes dormant.
And that is the exciting news on this Thor’s* Day.
A late good morning!!
*The only dirty joke my mother ever told me;
Thor mopes on Mt. Olympus. Zeus asks him why he looks so depressed. Thor says that he misses the companionship and love of a woman. Zeus tells Thor that he will fix the problem by sending Thor down to Earth.
Thor lands in the backyard of a single woman. The two immediately start making love and continue all weekend.
After the weekend Thor is back at Mt. Olympus with a big grin on his face. Zeus asks Thor the great woman’s name, but Thor admits that he never asked.
Horrified at his rudeness, Zeus sends Thor back down to find out the woman’s name. Arriving in the same backyard, Thor calls out to the woman, “I wanted to tell you I’m Thor.”
She yells, “You’re thor? I’m tho thor I can hardly pith or thpit!”
Stuffing the genii back in the bottle
Isn’t it funny how the very ones who ginned up the hate rhetoric are the ones piously calling for toning it down now?
Another day of idling …
Some days I seem to wake more groggily than others, and this morning was one of them. I staggered into the kitchen for coffee, saw a cup sort of shaped like the one I prefer to drink out of, and poured the mocha colored stuff toward the center of it. My timing was ok, however, and I didn’t overfill my cup. A couple of Oreo’s and I was on my way to my studio.
I like the word studio. It is an exalted name for the place where I journal, write irritating barbs aimed at editors and journo’s, comment on friends posts, and harass the parakeet. Oh yeah. Share my cookies with the four legged mooches who follow me in.
[Delete political sarcasm paragraph]
[Delete factual report on Beto da plastic Mexican]
** Refill cup
So now armed with a refill, I continue.
Snooks is still on the treadmill, the rains are returning later in the week, and it is still too cool outside for anything other than a bundled-up walk, so this week looks like another indoor week. But I like that too. My studio is almost perfectly laid out to my liking now. The bird has a spot by the window where she can watch the activity outdoors. I have a daybed for napping, I just repaired my $49 executive chair, so it should be good for awhile.
God grants me another day of idling …
Good morning!
Gotta travel on …
The day dawn with real sunshine streaking across the fields and under the trees. We haven’t seen that for a number of days, and it lifts my spirits a bit to see it as I retrieve my coffee cup and pad down to the studio. At 58° outside, it is a bit too nippy for porch sittin’ in pj’s.
News of a friend of 20 years that I never met in person loses her father this morning. Baruch dyan ha’emet. Blessed be the one who judges truly.
Not much else on the newsfeeds catches my eye, other than the lottery being one billion bucks. My surroundings might change a little if I won that, but essentially my life would be about the same. I suppose an old dog sanctuary and a couple of retirement packages for pastor friends would consume some of the funds. But I am done traveling. I have my woman and dogs, and breakfast. I need little else.
And so the morning passes. Soon I must begin the Sunday waffles.
Good morning!
Curing worms
I am such an anachronism.
Today, a niece posted a rap song called “Worm Her” on facebook
I searched, and searched, and couldn’t find the lyrics because my old ears don’t comprehend rap lyrics.
It took about twenty minutes before I discovered the group was WORM … and the song was Her Song.
It had nothing to do with curing a woman of worms ….
Dam. And I thought I was about to learn something about this generation …
Rusty's Armory 