Oldsmobiles

Having myself as my object, contemplating myself, what I observe is not necessarily and certainly not always to my liking. Seeing, I then try to figure out "why?" and correct or change or overcome. 


Obsessions and Attractions - why? And at least if I can't figure out "why?", then how to be shed of? The how-to-shed I know at least elementarily and therefore can bring about, but they always return, unconsciously until I notice they're back.

At the moment, two books. Tara Westover "Education - a memoir". C G Jung "Answer to Job". No, three, Robb White "Flotsam and Jetsam". Some reads, especially novels, are compelling to stick with, can't put down. These three are good to pick up and read a section, chapter because each one stands on its on as an adventure. I learned to enjoy essay-style writing with Harry Golden ages ago. "Flotsam" is like that. So is Tara, each chapter a new and often appalling adventure in her fascinating life growing up. My reading preferences. (I realize that book titles are italicized not quotation marks, but italics frequently do not "take" properly on blogger). Jung is different, buy it, you may like it, Sam I Am.

Tastes in food. Breakfast favorites - Oysters. Mullet. Leftover baked snapper. Liver pate, chicken from TJs, German pork with goose from TAFB commissary. Crabmeat, this morning half cup backfin lump, lemon squeezed over, sprinkle salt, tsp mayo, stir without breaking up lumps, let warm to room then fork onto saltines. Black coffee, experiment with source, brand, strength. Pizza with double anchovies and touch mayo. Cheese-eggs scrambled soft that only Linda can make. Experiments with butter, recently "cultured" with the little bugs added, currently "vegetable butter" made with avocado. Trying to shed: butter, mayo. Less salt.

Blondes, in younger years, blond girls, why? Why, IDK, do not understand, disappreciated because a distraction that had zilch to do with the quality of the girl herself. From earliest memories. Sitting behind a blonde girl in 1st grade, 4th grade, 9th grade. Teen, spotting across the room and instantly irrationally stupidly smitten. Why? In "Psychology Today" and others I've read that females are attracted to males with power, and/or wealth, and/or Type A personality, and/or profession, occupation, vocation (some to doctors, even some to clergy, a red light, watch it, bud). Males are attracted to females based on appearance, first impression, hair color, eyes, perceived reaction if reading body language and facial expressions. I'm long past this absurdity, but that I once had it is still troubling.




Cars. Cars cars cars cars cars. Lifelong. From earliest memories, late night family returning home from Pensacola in the 1935 Chevrolet, on the long pitchblack stretch of US98 between Destin and Philips Inlet, me in the back seat of the 1935 Chevrolet, late 30s and early 40s, standing on the car floor, excitement, spotting as it overtook and passed, shouting, "Look! Packard with a trunk rack!!" In my lifetime, some 60 cars and more. Trying to get over this obsession.

Theology. Not content to let lie and let be the theology of my church, got to fuss and worry over. Personal religion of Xnty v national religion of Israel v universe of billions of stars and planets in each of 200 billion galaxies v Jesus on persistent prayer against the unjust judge and the visitor at midnight. At times I rather go back to children's Sunday school.

My office at church today. Trying to use it, whiskbroom off my chair, wipe off a little desk I salvaged from Cove School decades ago when we were renovating the building. Found the Sony laptop the loving folks at Grace PCB gave me as a farewell gift in 2001, and have it charging; it still works fine.

Why this post? IDK, you figure it out.