Tuesday, June 28, 2016

... wild black yonder,

When Jeremy is here, he brews a pot of English tea, and after they leave I hope there’s tea remaining in the brown betty, because it makes the most delicious iced tea imaginable. Unsweet over ice: perfect. With supper last evening.

Supper. Taking it out of the freezer, Linda thought it was beef. Turns out two patties of ground lamb I bought at TAFB commissary last week. She had hers plain, medium well. Folded into mine a chunk of English Stilton, on top a thick slice of marvelous Vidalia onion that we get once a year, springtime they show up. They are not hot, make a perfect onion sandwich, touch mayonnaise. Supper last night, seared on each side, rare lamb patty with Stilton, topped with Vidalia onion slice. 

TAFB Monday evening, night ops. Starting at sunset, watching as they take off, rise high, bank left above me, west and south out over the Gulf of Mexico then around maybe far as Apalachicola, PSJ, Mexico Beach and back. Two lights coming closer, down, briefly disappear behind the tree line, then up. Bingo? Night landings: from here I watch Tyndall’s tower light bright white, then comes round green … white … green … white … 

Turns out it’s not Brexit but Engexit, touch of nationalism felt as patriotism some of it perhaps by those still living who, hearing the sirens, dashed for the nearest air raid shelter and huddled, frightened, German bombs exploding distant, coming closer, learned to hate and, with me, have never been able to let it go. Fear, hatred, distrust, contempt, suspicion lodges deep, deeper than logic and undeterred by enlightened wisdom that total interdependence is the only preventative against the past. EU executive who rightly deplored “stark polarization and disturbing nationalism” didn't hear the sirens. 

Two last evening, or four, two by two. Raptors? IDK. In my binoculars, two roaring lights, round and round. Off we go into the ...


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