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Here I am enjoying the first porch sitting morning with my brand spankin’ new computer cart and laptop. Well, the laptop wasn’t new when I bought it, and I bought it a year ago in an effort to get me out of my underwear in the morning. It probably isn’t a good idea to sit out on the porch in your BVD’s … not that any of the millennials in the audience would know what BVD’s are. But they would know that I wasn’t dressed for the out-of-doors if they saw me in ‘em.
I was hoping my old tree trimmer would answer my call, he was a lot more reasonable than the big tree trimmers are, but I need the tree out of here. Another local boy, dairy farmer and goat raiser living down by the confluence stopped by and bid on it. I cried a little, bartered a little, shook hands and the deal was made before my second cup of coffee.
The mocking birds that have taken up in the black pecan tree next to the fallen tree are really piercing my eardrums this morning with their mating songs, while the neighbors high pitched mower whines in the distance. Saplings spring up, old trees die, country lanes are paved, and pickup trucks are exchanged for hybrids. Time marches relentlessly on, and geezers write long rambling posts with the mornings coffee.
In Memoriam: Where my mother rests today she needs no frothy memorials, flowers, or sentiment. She is beyond those, and sleeps in peace. Should this age miraculously go on for a few more centuries, she’ll be a mere box in a genealogy tree, with her children chronicled in boxes below her name. Her life has returned to the clay she was formed of, and I’ll not see her until I too awaken from my slumber. The time to honor her has passed. The time to cease mourning her passing has yet to come, and there is no poetic verse or bouquet for that. Time marches relentlessly on to its own doom, and I’ll not miss it when it ceases.
Sunnandæg, or Sunday as we say now, arrived appropriately with a sunrise. Odd how so many cultures consider this day of the week the sun’s day. But some European nations go with “rest day”, and some religious cultures go with “the first day”, יום ראשון yom rishon in Hebrew. But I don’t think the sun cares. You can call it fried okra day and the sun will continue to rise. It just does that, and only foolish man is compelled to give it a name.
I am a bit peevish today, the tree people were supposed to have come by yesterday to tell me how much of my disposable income they want to remove a tree that blew over next the house, and didn’t show. It was a miracle that the roof didn’t cave in over Snooks and my head when it went … we were idly watching it just sort of rotate like God’s hand was on protecting us as it slowly went down alongside the house. It was a surreal slow-motion moment in time. But maybe he’ll come by today … I really need that tree taken out.
I’ll miss it for sure, because it housed birds and provide a lot of important morning porch sitting shade. The cardinals and mockingbirds sassed me from the branches as I woke to the day. It seems us old men need a lot of scolding, and the world happily provides it.
I am almost totally ignorant of the Democrats antics in staging their little coup. As long as they don’t try to enforce it at the point of a gun, they’ll be allowed to do their peevish little dance in Congress. I am still among the most ill-informed now that I have kicked all news off my TV, and permit very little to come via the internet. It’s a fight and I am far to decrepit to take up a cudgel and bash heads. Reformers are all pushing the Presidents boorishness at me, and getting irked when I answer “So? I didn’t vote for him because he is a saint. I voted for him because he wasn’t Hillary.”
Oh well. It will play out how it plays out. La-de-dah and fiddle-de-de.
Today is waffle day. I have the artform almost down pat now. Batter in one bowl, sausage in the skillet, and I make Snook drink a glass of grape juice because I heard on the internet that it is good for her even if she isn’t so fond of it. And we all know how reliable nutrition experts on the internet are.
So goes the weekly tedium. Hmm. Tedium. Probably from the Latin ti deim. Short prayers to God that are strung together. Odd how we can take praise and make it boring. Oh well. Shant go down that bunny trail
Well, old Woden’s Day rolls around again, and he is dark and gloomy. It is 69° and a 100% chance of rain. Were I a pagan, I would be looking around for a more benign god. But god causes the rain to fall on the just as well as the unjust, and by August we will most likely be begging for rain. We’ve had a few unfortunate deaths by people trying to drive through swollen creeks. You would think after decades of this that the natural selection process would have weeded the stupid gene out.
I am suffering from news withdrawal and other than an obsession with the Presidential tweets, I get almost no national news delivered unless it is a huge tragedy, such as the recent Highlands Ranch shootings. I don’t know what it is about that sanitary suburban paradise that provokes youngsters to such levels. I am sure the social scientists are busy trying to figure that one out too. I do have opinion, of course, but I’ll just leave it unspoken.
Rabid Democrats are having what is hopefully their last hurrah. I am weary of their pettiness, and it seems that a growing number of older Democrats are too. It is time to cut the head off of this snake and get on with legislating instead of politicking …
And I have relented on The Game of Thrones, or GOT as the devotee’s refer to it, and ordered the first season on DVD. I hate serials so I end up paying extra to get the series and watch it from beginning to end in one day. Assuming it can hold my interest. Up to this point, I have not seen a single episode, but the fans are relentless. They tell me it has everything. Dark magic, dragons, fierce warriors, sex and violence. OK … OK … I’ll try it … It will be hard for it because I compare all fantasy to Lord of the Rings, or LOTR as us connoisseurs are wont to say. ALEXIA, my overlord from amazon.com tells me the DVD’s will arrive today.
*refill coffee cup*
Apparently, Linda’s laser zapping of her eye has wrought a miracle in her vision, and she will return Friday to the clinic to get the second one worked on, so I need to be prepared to drive her on that day. That requires preparation the day before on my part. Little or no dinner the night before, and frequent doses of antacids. I knew that pain was a part of growing older, but I wasn’t prepared for it to be so damned unsanitary.
I dropped another old blogging site this week. I have been with it for quite a while, but it was torn apart by dissent and poor management, and it was time to bid it adieu. I miss it already, but I have been putting most of my stuff here on WordPress, even though it lacks the personal touches the other site had. I still have a non-public site on yet another free blogging site. But it is invitation only because I do occasionally write things that are extremely offensive to many, though that is happing very rarely these days. My biggest sin today in writing is banality. Coffee posts are now my stock in trade.
And the shooting has stopped in Israel. I feel for them, and do understand that if your family is under a barrage of unguided rocket fire, you just want the bombardment to stop. Unfortunately, it only allows the enemy to restock it missiles, and dig more tunnels. It will not buy a lasting peace from an intractable enemy that only understands complete defeat. But then I remind myself that this has all been predicted, and there is only one thing that will bring lasting peace to Israel. But before that occurs, much more misery has to happen.
So goes this chronicle of the days.
Tuesday … or Tew’s Day if you are a traditional pagan. Or the third day of the week if you are Jew or American. Or the 2nd day of the week if you are European or another country bound by international standard ISO 8601. Which makes me wonder why the US doesn’t abide by ISO 8601. I think I’ll chase that one down, but not today.
Gray tornado laden skies today, six chances in ten that it will rain, and a high near 80° F. Not good porch sittin’ weather, but I supposed I could have rolled the awning out and braved it. Oh well.
News is a bit thin today. The rockets have stopped in Israel. Not sure if that is good or bad. But I don’t live with it every day, so I just mutely accept it. Well, maybe not so mutely. Hamas was not dealt a decisive blow, so there will be a repeat in the future … count on it.
Beaker da Budgie is molting again, and feathers are everywhere. She sure molts a lot, but the experts just shrug and say some birds are like that. The hand training is still on, and I can now put my hand in her cage without her panicking if I take the time to irritate her first. Seems that parakeets thrive on strife.
And the tractor repairs are still awaiting me … as well as old Bucephalus needing a new battery. I am too weak to take on more than one project, and I have had such bad luck with SEARS repairs. At some point, you just give up on them … they used to be reasonably competent. Sad.
So … with any luck I’ll get old the old Dodge going this week … and when the rain ends, maybe the tractor will get repaired. Or not.
Today is Snookums work day. She is sort of like a checkout girl at the local food bank one afternoon a week. She is as responsible as it gets when it comes to punctuality and dedication and she has been doing this for several years now. She is more of a doer than I … I tend towards wishing people to be warmed and filled, where she will warm and fill them. But I still get to be the spiritual giant of the household … go figure!
So go the days as I return to the old coffee posts …
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.