Friday, February 27, 2015

Bubba did not write this rubbish

World I live in stirs again my settled soup of longing to have lived life in some prior age. Pick any generation free of wars and hatred, set me down and forget me, I’m gone. Was there ever such, or have we always been human?

Or anyplace where the rest of the world doesn’t happen. 
No TV. No WWW. 

Even Grovers Corners, where we learned about life and love and death and contemplated eternity and the meaning of it all, was defiled by the world.

What stirs my soup -- ? watching TV news with my first cup of coffee. Big mistake. So horrific I have to put milk in it. The news not the coffee; the Kona is this morning’s link to sanity. 

There goes the Navy, just out my window, steaming out for another day’s hard work at sea. Okay, not steaming, it’s a small craft. Sailing, then. They leave this time every morning M-F and return at the end of office hours. I could go for that sea duty, is there an officer on board that vessel? 

Morning’s problem. 45F cloudy, weather is depressing, maybe that’s my problem. And a cold: sniff, sniff, honk. Outrage, horror. ISIS. “Barbarians” doesn’t say it. Conscienceless, amoral sub-humans. Disgust at my own view of how to settle them and it isn’t trying to nice them out of it. Due process be damned. Leaving to join them: instantly per se lose all constitutional rights and when arrested at the airport dealt summarily as wartime spies. Need leaders who realize our vital national interest is at stake and aren’t indecisive until ISIS horror spreads to the local shopping mall. 

Vanilla Ice, your hat is too big, lose the earbobs and tuck your shirt in.

Who sang it? 
When? at our graduation? 
Where? in the USO? 
Thanks for the memories
that Cove School has brought us
the things you have taught us ...
The teachers, and ...
We thank you, so much ...

In the news: eight foot nine inch catfish, caught last Thursday on hook and line. 

Underway, shift colors.


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