untitled
78F 83% on my porch, an “unsettled” day ahead says the Weatherman. Weatherperson. We loved when the Weatherlady was on Channel 13. Weatherboy now most mornings. Off my porch, Navy craft underway with way on for another day of victory at sea.
Xmas comes early. Or late: in a corner of my chairside bookcase, down at the end of the second shelf beyond a row of books that I brought from the house, an unopened bag of Ghirardelli assorted dark chocolates: 72%, 60%, and SeaSalt&Almonds. Well, it was unopened, not anymore.
What’s bothering me? IDK. Yes I do. The colorlessly nonphotogenic day outside reminds me of a white meal on the messdeck of a Navy warship. My main laptop has decided that logging on requires both iCloud password and also some password that only it knows: threats to sail it off the seventh floor porch into the Bay’ve not yet broken its will.
After lunch yesterday we gave ourselves a thousand-year treat, trip to Dunkin’Donuts new store on Hwy98 West in Little Dothan. While at UMichigan in 1962, we loved to stop at Dunkin'Donuts on the west side of AnnArbor for my favorite, old-fashioned plain, had a little holding handle on it for real dunking. Know what? Not only no handle any longer, but the boast “zero trans-fat” is fair warning: instead of a delicious caky donut of yore, the first bite gums up in the mouth. Politically correct donuts. Quoth the raven: nevermore.
Moral of the donut story is that everything doesn't need to be good for you, for Chrissakes; some things you need to be able to rely on them to just taste good.
Moral of the donut story is that everything doesn't need to be good for you, for Chrissakes; some things you need to be able to rely on them to just taste good.
Of donuts, life’s happiest days: watching and hearing the kids when I walked into HNES chapel Wednesday mornings carrying a stack of ten or twelve boxes of KrispyKreme dozen assorted. It wasn’t bribery, it was part of an ongoing exercise in ἀγάπη those years: I love you, you must love others. Why donuts? I may still have around here a Time magazine cover-page article on teaching a classroom full of 13-year-olds: bring donuts, and their hearts and minds will follow. “Father Tom! What’s for snack today?!!!” Sometimes donuts, ice cream, celery and carrot sticks with sour cream dip, sliced apples with caramel to smear on. What's that rushing, stomping out in the hall? Students running to be first in everybody's favorite class: religion. Only at HNES.
First read this morning, a Fortune magazine editorial on - - well, I might call it “selfishness,” me-first-ism. Thinking beyond the instant global horror - - Brexit and the neoprotectionism of the emerging world order overagainst the fact that economic interdependence militates for, if not sheer peace, getting along with each other internationally. My last Buick was made in Rüsselsheim. My cellphone in China. My microwave oven in Malaysia. Its bill keeping the glare out of my eyes, the U.S.Navy hat on my head at the moment also made in China.
A little less stupidity and a little more ἀγάπη, s'il vous plait, and danke schön.
As usual, I'm not sure it matters who is our next president anyway and after-all. If our system of checks and balances continues to function, neither boastmouth will have power anyway, and we'll enjoy another four, eight, twelve, sixteen years of wild and worthlessly reckless flailing government.
God bless America anyway.
DThos+ out