Things wander through the mind, don’t they, busy little bodies, they shouldn’t, but they do, things, nicht Dinge aber Sachen, thoughts, notions, memories, ideas, longings, wishes that are not horses, die kleine Sache like how in hell did I get to be 81, I thought I was forty: where was I, did I miss it, what was I so busy doing when this sneaked up on me. Not to say what is an unsaved wretch like me doing wearing a white collar, fooling people I’m a holy man. And why did I use up Time of life being a workaholic, Saturdays into the office and worked alone for hours when we might’ve been up on Skyline Drive, but now I am 81 and they are 80 and 58 and just turned 56, what happened? Where was I? Even Tass is 44 and Kris three weeks from 24, what happened, where was I? “Working.”
First time living in Northern Virginia 1966f, we had a camper, a small travel trailer, did some camping, not enough, but pulling it, the 318 V8 Dodge station wagon averaged 4 mpg. Backed into the driveway up alongside the carport, it served beautifully as my home office. PCS to Naval War College, Newport, RI 1968-69, we drew the camper along, a few weekends in craggy shoreline campsites with enormous spiders lurking atop the public shower stalls, but mainly the camper sat in storage overlooking Narragansett Bay that year as Rhode Island winter froze and split the copper pipes. We sold it and the Dodge as a set before the next PCS to San Diego and sea duty. Without dedicated usage and enjoyment, a travel trailer is the exact same nuisance as a beach house, BTDT too, eine Sache für ein anderer Tag.
Dredge sitting out in the Pass channel and slowly working its project inside the Bay. Brightly lit all night, and noisy. Ship slips by.
Couple tasks to see to today before the morning seeps away, my life isn’t holding Time any better than my washbasin holds water.
USAF jet fighters in the air. Ah, next Time …