Wednesday morning at 7H

It's gray out, light but gray, cloudy, and feels damp. Temp here at 32401 is 63° and sure enough 98% humidity. Little to no wind but that's not to be trusted, because it's always calm on 7H porch even when the wind is vicious on the Beck side of HV. 

Yesterday I wrote a blogpost about cars, cannot remember why, what triggered it. Oh, now I do, a pic on Facebook of a totally desirable gray 1953 Chevrolet 210 two door sedan, my favorite, but with a most detracting and distracting flaw of a 1954 taillight. I had a good Time writing that ramble, then didn't post it because (1) I didn't finish it even though it was rambling on too long; and (2) earlier I'd already pressed Publish for a different post, I think something religious. 

Yesterday was good: perfect oysters, farm raised in Alabama, somewhere around Mobile Bay we were told; oysters and fried mullet. That was all after we did other chores - - stop at Sam's to pick up a prescription med, amoxycillin that for reasons of foreign heart valve I'm to take before appointments that might involve blood; stop at the old original carwash on 23rd Street because Linda's car had grown nasty; stop by the Habitat ReStore with a box of something Linda gathered together, probably all my good stuff, Linda is neat and likes and keeps the place neat, which living with me is a challenge she has relaxed into over the past sixty-nine years. 

Well, it's seventy-four years since we paired off Fall 1952, her sixteen a Bay High junior, me seventeen a Bay High senior itching for the next stage of life - - Summer then college where I could work into becoming my own person. Someone wrote that "it's the work of young adulthood to learn that you are in charge of your own life" and I certainly could not have done that at home. 

Wandering, Bubba.

Sorry, furosemide strikes again.

Back.

Not speaking for daughters, but a son has to get away. There was a certain and definite tension, and I had to get away. Looking back, I no sooner broke free than I started twenty years in the Navy, where nobody is in charge of their own life; even a four star admiral has folks over him (her) who can make life miserable, I'd never again do that to myself. 

After Navy years, my own business for awhile, all the new cars I wanted, and next I found total freedom in being a parish priest as the bishops always left me alone, it was perfect for me. 

All in all, total retirement is best for me though, I eat cold, salty raw oysters when I DWP and nobody chides me about eating them.

No longer have a car, though. Although I do keep an eye on the used Buicks at Cramers' even though Linda nixes every one. Maybe I'm not as in charge as I thought, eh? 

Now and then I do ask Google something about my health, which AI responds to, differently depending on what words I use to ask the same questions; but age and health-wise it's pretty clear that I have no business out car shopping. My all Time favorite car make was Buick, my first car was a Buick, I owned several Buick cars over the years, and I wanted my last and final car to be a Buick, but it's not going to happen, is it. No, it isn't. 

Anyway, it would have to look like a Buick, and they don't anymore.

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To finish about yesterday, after the stop at Habitat, on to midday dinner of raw oysters and fried mullet, then home and a mug of hot & black to ward off the afternoon nap, which runs ninety minutes to two hours and waking up feeling not refreshed but miserable groggy.

All this is none of your business, you know, why are you reading it? Worse, why am I writing it? Such an alarming number of far away readers these days that I'm contemplating cutting it off altogether, maybe just muse privately, got to do something with all this stuff that's buzzing around in my head though, nomesane? 

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Wednesday, reading this week's issue of The New Yorker, the fiction piece "This Is How It Happens" - - frequently their fiction has an unpleasantly surprising ending, but I'm not there yet. Having my second magic mug of hot & black from my club coffee, already opened for breakfast a tin of Portuguese sardines in hot tomato sauce but've yet to sit down to it.

Cool, damp and gray, hoping to stay home, Think, and a bit of exercise.

RSF&PTL

T90

images sunset last evening, 1948 Buick