+Time

The morning we left Cleveland to fly home to Panama City, I switched from CaringBridge to this +Time blog that Jeremy set up for me. Early every morning I peck out a post, Since October 2010, haven’t missed a single morning in four years. Only once did I later, the next day, delete a post, and a friend called me to task for that; so even if tempted I’ve not gone back and deleted again, because, better or worse, it was my legitimate thought of the moment.

+Time is just my thoughts, what I’m doing, what I’m thinking about, what’s on my mind or comes to mind as I sit looking at the computer screen. A friend said she takes my temperature by it. Mood, frame of mind, life in general, cars, or something about Panama City during my growing up years here, Bay County, St. Andrews Bay, college football, oysters, mullet, a Bible verse or church event, Navy years, my house, Alfred, something in the news or blowing in from the skies. An anger, in disgust or a delight. Maybe a social issue; but because I don't agree with anyone on anything, it's seldom about politics. It’s just blog format where I post and keep moving. For a reason, it’s not on Facebook as a couple friends suggested, because it’s not meant to be a forum or open a discussion. If someone responds to a blog post, I let it go. Why?

My friends are not lunatic fringe; but there are plenty of those out there, every one rabidly certain. Not wanting to stir a forum, I’ve found no value in life in conversing with the certitudinous. Anyone who wonders what I mean can scroll down any online news item to the Comments and read a few comments. Typed and posted from behind the veil, shrouded in shadow. Anonymous, the RoadRage of the WorldWideWeb. Kingdom of the deranged speaking from darkness.

So +Time is just a blog, a web log. Write, post and move on. If someone comments and I don't respond, never be offended, I'm already gone. The moving finger writes, and having writ, moves on.

A sadness: the old Kaiser-Frazer dealership on W. Highway 98 is being pulled down. It was time, the building was long an eyesore. But not for me. Every time I drove past it, every single time all these years, I returned to 1947, a good place to be. That was a beautiful art-deco building, filled with America’s newest cars, Kaiser Specials and Frazer Manhattans. America was prospering. The War was over and the next war hadn’t begun. Pop, my grandfather, not as old as I am today, bought a Kaiser.

Would I go back? Would I go back is as meaningless a thought as I’ve ever had.

Wait. A new Kaiser?