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Will you give all you can give
So that our banner may advance?
Some will fall and some will live
Will you stand up and take your chance?
The blood of the martyrs
Will water the meadows of France!
~Les Miserables – Do you hear the people sing
So sang Feuilly* in Les Miserables.
But no. I have charged the barricades for the last damned time. My time has come and gone, so stop huffing in outrage at me over the shortcomings of the people and the nation. I might agree with you. The nation has gone soft, the wise have become fools, and the revolutionaries fail to attract a following, and how it galls them.
So what? But I am past caring about your damned crusade. Show me more than your mouth or your disdain for everyone but your claque of malcontents. You aren’t the first revolutionary to come along in my lifetime. I am not going to oil my old M-1 Garand up with 50 year old ammo and go fight a battle under your banner.
Outside my door a warm summer is starting to beckon. Time to sit on the porch and watch another generation die like flies for “freedom”, only to have the power sluts rush into the vacuum and bring seven more demons with them.
So spout your rage, but I am out of here.
*Feuilly was a fan-maker, an orphan, who with difficulty earned three francs a day, and who had but one thought: to deliver the world. He had still another desire – to instruct himself, which he also called deliverance. He had taught himself to read and write; all that he knew, he had learned alone. Feuilly was a generous heart. He had an immense embrace. This orphan had adopted the people.
He has great interest in foreign affairs and history, and he has a particular interest for Poland, shouting, “Long live Poland!” while marching to the barricades. He is the only workingman among the Friends of the ABC. Feuilly is revered by Enjolras, and he dies on the the barricade in the June Rebellion.
Being without a mother, he had meditated upon his mother country. He was not willing that there should be any man upon the earth without a country. He nurtured within himself, with the deep divination of the man of the people, what we now call the idea of nationality. He had learned history expressly that he might base his indignation upon a knowledge of its cause. In this new upper room of utopists particularly interested in France, he represented foreign nations. This poor workingman had made himself a teacher of justice, and she rewarded him by making him grand.
In the 2012 film, he is killed by the National Guardsmen while he fends them off with a pistol, as they shoot him in the chest while firing up to the window that he was taking cover behind.
Tuesday morning. Up at daylight but I am still waiting for the sunrise. I haven’t had a chance to do that in a while. It is not as hushed as it used to be now that the housing developments have filled my once tranquil country lane into a feeder road for the commuters. Ah, progress!
But we take it in stride. Foggy mornings slow them down, but as we move into the warm season, we don’t have many of those and the drivers run down the road at highway speeds only to slam on their brakes at the sharp and narrow bend, then accelerate out for the last 2/10ths to the stop sigh.
I can still pour a cup and sit smugly watching the wage slaves go by in waves. The 6:30 am wave for those punching in at 7:00, the 7:30 wave for those punching in at 8:00. We don’t have many 9to5ers out here. Mostly construction workers and tradesmen.
My cul-de-sac has a lot of firemen for the surrounding towns and they seem to work 24 hour shifts starting and ending in the evening. But they are huge motorcycle fans and weekends has them roaring out in the morning on their way to parades and rides.
My sub-woofing low-rider down the lane has moved on, so I don’t have to listen to his thump thump thump as he set out to cruise in the afternoons and returned at 2:00 am with the speakers at eardrum shattering levels. I consider his absence a blessing and I wish him well.
So the day begins unfolding, with coffee, and people watching.
Today is a BIG preparation day since Pesach is at sundown … but being good slaves to the tictoc machine, we will have it on the man made sundown. The real sundown is 8 o’clock on the dial tonight, and is much too late for geezers with acid reflux to observe.
I wonder if the Israelites had gastric reflux …
I have been going crazy with the media’s obsession with what the Mueller report didn’t prove. I really must learn that the crazies have one, and I live in a nation of despots. God’s children have endured oppressive civilizations and governments for æons. It is nothing new. But I am saddened that the grand old experiment died just like all other civilizations died. The ideal has been so thoroughly corrupted that it is not salvageable. The lunatics won. The people want a nanny, and they will get one. They deserve no better. They failed the liberty test. So the later stages of life go. “I got mine” is my mantra today … I just don’t care anymore.
So with that cheery revelation, I turn my thoughts to things I can do something about. Me.
Good morning, and chag sameach!
I have come a long way, and it has been a rocky road getting here. I was reminded of that today when a friend who visited us last month sent some photos that he took. Yikes! I look like ever burned out Texan you have ever seen in a movie.
Here is one of me as a world famous actor who played across from greats like Dennis Hopper, Peter Fonda and Jack Nicholson. Well, truthfully, playing across from might be a stretch. I had walk-ons and was listed in the cast of characters. But it was a great time of parties, girls and free wheeling dope.
Unfortunately, I shortly ended up here, broke, broken, and confused. It was a long trudge out and I met many other broke and broken people coming out of the confusion of the 1960’s, and honestly, I became a better person for it. Still it is not a recommended path. Some didn’t make it out.
So I was really shocked when this old buzzard fell out of the pack of pictures in the envelope. How the mighty have fallen. Girls don’t vie with each other for a chance in bed with this one. They just offer to carry the groceries out to the car for him. I look like ever burned out old Texan that I have ever met, but with more whiskers than most.
No more wild parties with Angelica Houston, Dennis Hopper, Bob Dylan and even once with Elvis.
My nights are like this at 8 o’clock. The nightly treats, followed by the evening pills and turning on the electric blanket and one last check of my emails.
My mutts. Annie-Annie, ‘Becca da Beagle, Tic the trouble maker and Jenna, the moose.
Thank you, Don!
Monday breaks fair and sunny, with bright blue skies we haven’t seen for a few weeks now. Still a tad on the chilly side for porch sitting, though the day will climb to the low eighties later. Kippur joyously greets me with her loud call that almost sounds like she is saying her name, then segues into burbles, squawks and clicks as I open the blinds.
Happy dogs roughhouse as they wait for Linda to put on her shoes and get the tennis balls out of their cupboard. No big tragedies on the newsfeeds, just the usual low level Trump hating from AP and UPI. The House Democrats have gone silent in their relentless Inspector Javert like pursuit of the President. I don’t know if it is connected to the Nunes referral of leakers and counter agents to the DOJ or not, but that is where my guess will go. There are wheels within wheels here, and I think the truth will eventually out.
I don’t have many plans for the week ahead. Mostly routine hopes like getting Bucephalus running again, getting gas for the mowers, building a fire under Sears for incomplete work and maybe trimming some brambles back.
But as always, I have my priorities … coffee, and a comfortable place to sip it …
Shabbat dawned gloomy with rain laden clouds, and warnings of tornados. But most of them seemed to go on by, with one drencher right after brunch. Jenna, my huge white moose is ok with rain and thunder but doesn’t do well with lightning flashes.
Tic, the little sort of Aussie looking something or the other doesn’t like none of it, and huddled with me while it was far of, but when it arrived, ran in to Linda’s desk for protection. So much for being the hero and protector of this family.
I made ersatz egg McMuffins today with English muffins, ersatz Canadian bacon and cheese today. I am getting pretty good with those things, but still got them a bit too salty because I didn’t take into account the fake bacon being so salty. Our local market makes a pretty good tasting Canadian style bacon out of turkey. Usually I am underwhelmed with substitutes, but in this case, it was quite good.
So today is a day of rest. We avoid most chores other than eating, and generally have the Friday dinner rewarmed to cut down on Sunday’s activities. We don’t attend services anymore, more so because of the preparation time just to get ready. I would have to get up at four am. And now Friday services are out because of cataracts. But I am slowly adjusting to that. Snook does listen to services pod cast from Denver, but I just molder in the mornings, lost in fog and steaming coffee.
So the days come, and the days go. FB posts to friends and family just to let people know I am still sucking wind. Twitter to find out what is going on in the hate Trump universe. My Railroad sim from time to time, but not so often it becomes ‘work’. And once in a while, I tickle the muse.
A thundery good morning!
Those of you who know me know that I am an ardent supporter of the nation of Israel. Yeah, I am not totally unaware of her shortcomings, but I dismiss them much the same way you dismiss the quirks of an old friend.
So when this photo cropped up on my twitter newsfeed today, I was immediately smitten with her. Alas, gone are the days when I belted on shield and buckler, and girded up my loins to do battle. When today’s warriors run off to battle, like an old dog, I want to run off with them. Yeah, the last thing they need is a decrepit old geezer wheezing along at the rear, dragging along his battle gear from a long gone era. My war has come and gone.
I read tactical fighting articles from old warrior friends, and even some from the newer warriors, and dream of the days when I was fit … and stupid … war is for the young who can still see the glory. Venal old men know that glory is an illusion and avoid strife. It is just too painful and can get you killed!
So I sit back an daydream of long ago and far away, when idealism and lust ruled my body while time slowly envelopes me in its obscurity. We’re born, we live, we die. That has been our fate for a good many years. Yet even in that, there is mercy. We were given two jobs in this life. Breed and obey. But it seems that even those two simple imperatives give rise to rebellion in us. I was just reading a glowing story of a male/male couple who impregnated the mother of one of them so that they could have a child, just like normal people do. Does no one catch the irony in this?
But there is always coffee. And the time to sip it.