this 'n that

You get your news from where you trust, even though your sources are bonkers. I'll do the same, my sources being apolitical and reliable, no fake news or untrue facts. Seriously leaning toward throwing in my towel with Birds Aren't Real and am counting on them to stand members for office in the 2022 midterms. 

"... reports already suggest that large indoor gatherings of fully vaccinated people can become super-spreader events in the age of Omicron" says an article "The Pandemic of the Vaccinated Is Here" that I just read. Get your booster, reorder facemasks, and stock in for upcoming shortages. Spam. A sensible role model for these Times, Stingo carried three cases of Spam up stairs on his back as he moved into his pink room in a Brooklyn boardinghouse in 1947. 

Driving over to Pensacola week after next. While Kristen's car goes to the Volvo dealer way out Garden for a safety recall, my brother is taking us to a restaurant on Cervantes for pumpkin-spiced mullet. Look, friend, I don't care if it's mullet sashimi as long as there's mullet, nomesane? When I was a boy here, if you ordered fried fish in a local cafe you got mullet, and hearing there's still mullet on the menus in Pensacola I may look around for an apartment while we're there. Before HMichael, we had a mullet hatchery just off our porch here at 7H every October: HM5 seems to have wiped it out permanently, and this fall a red tide infestation. 

What am I doing? Letting the fingers dance unchecked while I watch the water traffic out the window on this gray day, 72F 92%. A winter day on the Florida Gulf Coast. Supposed to be 80 tomorrow, Saturday, when I post my Sunday School handout for 12Dec2021. 

Earlier today and I should've snapped but did not, red sails, just off 7H, a sailboat with red sails, reminding me of my mother singing in the car, Mama driving, me standing behind her on the floor in the back seat, maybe Gina in a baby seat hanging over the front seat-back

red sails in the sunset

way out on the sea

o carry my loved one

home safely to me.

My mother had a sweet, soft singing voice, and when I was a little boy she used to sing, for me, and in the car. I remember another one, maybe Frank Sinatra in the late 1930s, 

what'll I do when you are far away,

and I am blue,

what'll I do?  

But I don't need to go there this afternoon, it's farther away than I can imagine.