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Melly Clismas!
Christmas Eve dawns brightly this morning. What little commentary I can find on this day is fluff, hardly worth reading. It seems that most of the media do not observe the holiday, but that doesn’t stop them from commenting authoritively about it. Endlessly
Not all people in the world buy the illuminated Santa Clauses and decorate fir trees. Some actually do treat it as a special day. But you wouldn’t know that from the media accounts.
Oddly, the day pushes me into special observance too. In a few hours, most of the media will be taking a day off, and the news feeds will scramble for banal content so their pages aren’t blank. Friends on the social sites will go silent. The rumble of traffic on my overburdened country lane will cease. It will be just me and the hiss of the allergy filters in the background, and perhaps the occasional commentary from Kippur da Budgie.
It will be as good of time as any for a little introspection. Perhaps I will write for the next few days.
Good morning!
Trains and Muse Abuse
I was happily playing a computer railroad sim where I was the engineer of a heavy freight. masterly running it over Tehachapi Pass, when I noticed her fidgeting as she sat on top of the monitor. She was still in her shop-worn, too tight sharks tooth skirt, and hideous pink rayon® blouse. And horrors. She was wearing a felt ‘elves’ hat with a huge white tassel ball on the end.
Just when you think she couldn’t possibly commit a worse fashion statement, she ups the ante. She swung her legs over the edge and tried sitting pixie-like, and I averted my eyes until she got her dimpled knees back together.
“Can’t you see I am busy?” I said as I applied a little dynamic breaking to keep the train from running unchecked towards Cable Crossover.
“Busy my …”
“Watch it, Sis. This is a family blog.” I warned.
“… patootie!” she replied sullenly.
“You can take your patootie and …”
She waved her finger in the universal no-no sign, and said, “Your rules, Master Prig. Let keep it to one standard.”
“So what brings your intrusion on my conscience today?” hitting pause on the game. A man cannot run a train and talk to an inquisitive woman at the same time. Both can cause a train wreck. One actually, and one metaphorically.
“Mainly, your lack of a conscience. You need one. Just call me the conscience fairy.” she replied smugly. I could almost see her crowing.
“I admit I am feeling a bit guilt stricken over my lack of discipline.” I went on. “I have been down for a while, now, and I can’t write when my soul is unquiet.”
“How quiet was your soul when you tried to write that pornography short?” She smirked.
“I never finished it. Anyway, it was the product of a dare to write a man-viewed version of Shades of Gray after I panned it on a blogsite. The women there tried to put me up to it. I admitted defeat.”
“How noble of you. Many women like it when they are around men who know what they want, and are forceful in getting it.”
“The women in my life like it when I hit the toilet bowl ten out of ten. But in all honesty, I could not do it as a serious write. I am not very comfortable playing around with the primal instincts of humans. We have ‘em, but we should be trying to overcome them. Anyway, that is my story, and I am sticking with it.”
“That was about the only thing you tried to produce this season. You don’t have a lifetime left to accomplish something worthwhile.” she said, putting on her best Dutch Uncle-ette look.
“Maybe I won’t ever do anything exceptional in my life.” I lamented.
“Well, if we aren’t just bubbling with optimism. Come on! Give me something to work with, here!”
“Sorry. But I am just out of ideas right now.”
“I’m the idea fairy. You are the writer. Write something, and I’ll give you something.”
“I am not so sure you got anything I want!” I retorted.
“You are too high and mighty, hero. You want to be as deep as James Joyce, as heroic as Hemmingway, and as funny as PJ O’Rouke, but you aren’t willing to put the time into it that it takes. You want easy success!” she preached.
“Well, yeah … and your point? Besides, you just said that time is running out for me.”
“I didn’t say it had run out, Mr. Sunshine. I just want you to write something. Come on! Let me show you what I can do for you!”
“Well, for starters …”
“Well, not that! Why not do another ‘It is ok to wish me a Merry Christmas!’ piece?”
“Maybe I will.”
“And maybe you should.”
“And maybe YOU should ….”
“Watch it, Master Prig. You’re stepping out of character. Assuming you ever had any.” she said as she flitted away.
I averted my eyes again …
Midnight oil night tonight.
An almost forgotten voice from ages long past says “I’m sorry”. Causes
A number of H’wood glitterati and many liberals are saying that the SBD shooting was caused by the evil NRA and right-wingers with bad oral hygiene, while the ill-informed rubes on the right are saying that is adherents to a third century religious cult is the cause.
Fools!
Informed people who read the mainstream press KNOW it is global warming that is at the root of it.
===
Geesh, people. Is it possible to put your causes aside during the unfolding of this latest horror?
“We shall not pass this way again”
A Shabbat of rain, hot chocolate and classical music has pulled my mind into light and darkness, along with a vague feeling that I am missing something very important that is passing by. However, my windows into 
the world merely observe soft rains and mists, and an uneasy silence.
A decade ago, a door clanged shut with the finality of a prison door, and an authoritative voice announced in a dream, “We shall not pass by this way again!”.
Time and distance has soften most of my hypnagogic dreams, some now to obscure to notice. But this voice still clearly rings in my thoughts and dreams this day. We shall not pass this way again. In what way shall we not pass again?
Maybe I do not wish to know.
Autumn of Life
Thanksgiving Day dawns like any other day in my tiny corner of paradise. Still, it is a day to stop and consider whether it was just blind damned luck or God’s ample bounty that has made me so smugly comfortable in this Autumn of life …
Actually, I do like having someone to be grateful towards. Science is just too fickle. With science, I know that being struck with a meteor is statistically unlikely in my short lifespan, but my odds of being killed by a conscience deficient miscreant is uncomfortably high.
I think I will go with a kind and loving god to be grateful to, rather than some mindless cosmic cypher. The odds are better.
In any case, may this day of thanksgiving be a good one for you and your family!
Beyond All Consolations …
Baruch Dyan Emet!
“Blessed are You, L‑rd our G‑d, King of the universe, the True Judge.”
An ancient Hebrew blessing that we recite upon hearing tragic news. The story behind the blessing is long and torturous, and I will not wander down that path today.
A somber winter day dawns quietly outside of my studio window. A young woman’s life is tragically cut short and her stricken family grieves. We are born, we breed, we die, and in all of that we ponder as to whether that is all there is to life, or if there is more that is just beyond our sight.
I sit mutely with the family, for there are no words of consolation, nor should there be.
Cici … may you be awaiting us.
~r
12,783 pots of perfect morning coffee
Slept in on preparation day. Awake you sleepy head! Today, we gather twice as much, for the morrow is a day of ceasing …
For the moment, however, a cool and shiny Texas dawn greets me in mature greens and purples, and a cup of Snookum’s perfect morning coffee spreads its healing warmth to my sleep swollen fingers.
Sunday will mark
since we were married thirty-five years ago. Times, family, friends and seasons come and go, but neither the coffee, nor the glint in her eye has changed.
Good morning!
Was it worth it all?
When I look at how we have squandered their sacrifice,
I find myself wondering if it was all worth it
… but at least they gave us the opportunity …
Rusty's Armory 