Saturday, March 12, 2016

+Time by Thos+ in +TIme+

Happy Birthday, Girla

Today is Tassy’s birthday. March 12, 1972. Daddy’s baby is forty-four today. Where to start? I can’t do it, my heart would burst. Home in Columbus, Ohio, water breaking as L & I head out the door to an officers’ club party. Thunderbird slipping and sliding on glare ice as we head to the hospital. Picking my mother up at the airport the next day, in the VW because the TB wouldn’t start. Home at the upstairs window waving at neighborhood children going off to school as she says, “Bye, Girrrs.” I correct her, “GirL. Gir-La.” She says it, “Bye girla.” It takes and sticks. “Girla.” Daddy’s girla. Memories flood my mind.

Water. Tried it this morning, glass of water before proceeding, to ignite the brain into life for the day. Reading that, or from television, L told me yesterday, so trying it. Maybe also a glass of water ten minutes before each meal to drown appetite or aid digestion. 

Now and then a friend asks how to register to receive my daily blogpost, which I call “my nonsense” because it most often is neither more nor less than just that, or how to become a member of my blog. Honestly, I’ve no longer any idea how to become a member, seeing it’s been over five years since Tass and Jeremy established it for me, he setting it up and Tass the background, a picture she snapped at St. Andrews State Park. These 1,925 blogposts (1,902 published, 23 drafts that need weeding out if I ever get round to it, which I have no intention of being bothered) have been all over the stadium and out of the ballpark including religious and political rubbish that drew comment from the MiddleEast, making me feel surveilled such that I blocked the ability to comment about four years ago. 

Lots of cars, because they’re always in my mind, one still parked in that garage out back, door ajar. Sometimes memories of around Panama City in the late 1930s, through the 1940s, early 1950s, especially things others don’t remember, where Sala Motors, the DeSoto-Plymouth dealership was on Harrison Avenue in the 1940s and 50s

and Rowell Motors, the Nash dealership the other side of Jimmy’s Drive-Inn, 

Selfie from the ER after telling Linda the gumbo needed more okra 

Pic of the admiral presenting my retirement papers on 1 Feb 1978

St. Andrews when I was a boy, looking west from Beck Avenue across what is now Smith Yacht Basin where the Shrimp Boat is now, at Pop’s fish house and beyond across St. Andrews Bay

And as to automatically receiving the daily blogpost, I’ve found no way to do that. From October 2010 I had that capability via CaringBridge as a doomed and recovering heart patient, but CB quit working for me one summer morning about three years ago. Anymore there’s no way to “subscribe.” Instead, on my Facebook page each morning I post a one-liner with a link to the day’s blogpost, and I guess that pops up daily for my FB friends. I don’t “do” Facebook except for that one daily posting, but L and I share the FB page and she scrolls FB and shows me anything I need to see. 

Otherwise one just has to have +Time as a “favorite” (boggles my mind) or saved as a desktop link and click on it. In fact, that’s how I get to it. Or go to the calendar list at the right of the day’s post. It’s all there if you look for it. 

e.g., here’s yesterday’s link Bubba whining because after fifteen months in this new home My Laughing Place hasn’t surfaced. Porch doesn’t work. Maybe the park next door, Oaks by the Bay. Maybe the rooftop, but I don’t have a key. At any event, now and then one needs a lone secret retreat, to laugh, contemplate, rejoice, remember, mourn, weep, thank God, curse heaven, gaze. The briar patch was Brer Rabbit’s laughing place, out of reach of Brer Fox. At the Old Place, MLP was the hurricane-ravaged cedar tree by the Bay down front and across the street. 

Everybody’s got a laughing place, a laughing place, to go ho ho. Take a frown, turn it upside down, and you’ll find yours, I know ho ho. Still looking.

This has been one of my favorite weeks with Anu Garg, new twists on five familiar words. Best one: ludic.

Saturday. Work over a sermon drafted ten days ago and not looked at since, better check, it's likely total rubbish. Two daughters to supper tonight to celebrate The birthday of the Belovedy who's in Tallahassee. 

Happy birthday, Girla, you’ve filled my life with love.


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