Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Where to?

Yesterday for the first time since TEC was turned upside down and tumped out a couple generations ago, I was in a church singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers” and transported forty years. Fifty, sixty, seventy. So discombobulated by where I found myself that I went outside into a rainy day for self-collection and to return. To 2017. It was what, my terra. I was home there. I may go back. And stay this time. Maybe. I’ll let you know. Or not. Probably not. 

Monday: a deliciously rainy non-afternoon of reading, another escape from - - whatever. I want one of those self-driving cars. What? Tesla? IDK. They must have artificial intelligence of some sort, you tell it where to, then get in the back seat with a bottle of red, a glass, a piece of cheese, and a book. I’m contemplating where to. Don’t wait up. 

As I keep saying, this is not a political blog nor is it something spiritual. I was once in a seminar group of priests that included a noted Episcopal author. Someone in the group asked if he ever read spiritual writings. He said, "No. They bore me to tears." No spirituality here either. Sometimes religious, sometimes growing up in Panama City, sometimes cars, sometimes stream of conscious, never spiritual nor political. Still - - yesterday when I put my book down lest it end before I’m ready, and I was in “Book Five” of it and only a quarter-inch of pages to go, I resorted to email, read, clipped a piece from The Atlantic, link below. I’m afraid. But the good news is that I’m eighty-one, whereas you, you’re stuck with what you’ve wrought. Alas, Babylon.


CB&C tonight and maybe a cold one. Oyster stew tomorrow night. Life is Good. Do what you love. Love what you do.

Actually, at eight o'clock last evening I finished the book, which took me far away and long ago.  

Sunset PB407 looking beyond Redfish Point to the Pass

Big one: Federal Churchill 656x78 to load wood pellets for Studstrup

Sunsets from 7H

Earliest car memory: in my Gentry grandmother's 1934 or 1935 DeSoto Airflow pulling in to the drive-up curb service drugstore on Harrison Avenue, I'm thinking it was in the block between 5th and 6th Street, honking the horn, boy in white uniform rushes out and takes our order for ice cream cones. Another day, age, and world. Beam me down, Scotty.  

Sunrise?! 20170314 from 7H


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