Scorpions in an unusually early season invasion of yards and homes in Arizona. There are tarantulas too, I know, horror of my existence. What nightmare or wicked touch of mischief made God create eight-leggeddies.  In this blog I’ve reported that after we moved from our SanDiego home to Columbus, Ohio in 1971, a neighbor wrote that the new owners of our house had found a tarantula in the garage. OMG … Saturday morning on fogged-in StAndrewsBay, a happy hour in another world researching a Packard that son Joe texted me on April 3rd and I held off checking it out until time to thoroughly enjoy. It’s a coupe from the second half of the 1930s, a five-year era when Packard capitalized on a beautifully designed front end, fenders, headlights, hood, vents, and especially the tall, thin radiator shell of the front grill with classic Packard shape, curves, style, design.  No cars in American history have been more perfect to gaze on and love. This morning I studied...

First off this morning, preparing our handout for next Tuesday morning’s Bible Seminar. Revelation, ἀποκάλυψις, the Apocalypse, we’ll read and get some shivers over the Second Cycle in this late first century equivalent of StarWars. So far, seven churches have been sent scary letters; seven seals have been opened, six meant to stir fear of the wrath of God, the seventh, silence in heaven for about half an hour to let folks go to the restroom and buy popcorn before returning to our seats. Next: seven angels with seven trumpets, buckle your seatbelt. Last evening we watched Lauritzen Line’s ship Interlink Activity (whoever dreamed up that name needs to be taught respect for ships) sail by close, make the hairpin turn and head out to sea, underway for Tyne, UK with a cargo of wood pellets.  Commercial vessels may not be as exciting as warships coming and going, but Sea Fighter doesn’t stir the blood like watching destroyers, carriers and cruisers in the old days. Newport,...

Mind in the MineField  μὴ γένοιτο Dawns the Thursday. Bit later there goes the Navy out for another hard day’s work at sea. Two craft, I might say too small to be ships, too large to be boats. Don’t know about now but nearly sixty years ago when I started in the Navy a boat was defined as small enough to be lifted aboard a ship. Except ein Unterseeboot. A wistfulness attaches to watching them come and go everyday, life here in 7H all the more special. Would I go back, go there? But yes. I would if I could but I can’t so I won’t. Truth, turn that around, I could if I would but I won’t so I can’t. Except for what the mind does to me in spite of myself. Same with looking straight across: Annie & Jennie disappearing round Davis Point, Alfred aboard, every single time I glance there. Seldom I’m aboard to make it right, mostly watching from here. The vision goes with the life, take it or leave it, and I’ll take it, the only life gifted me. “… the Lord God formed man ...

Just about dark last evening, as light was fading over StAndrewsBay, the U.S.Navy ship FSF-1 arrived through the pass and I thought to get a picture. But she steamed down to the hairpin turn (that’s not the right word anymore, she’s not steam driven), turned around, and headed back out to sea. We watched this morning as she arrived again, and this time I did get a shot.  http://www.navy.mil/navydata/fact_display.asp?cid=4200&tid=1200&ct=4 FSF is “Fast Sea Frame” and her name is Sea Fighter, and my thought is OMG what a homely beast and in my Navy days and years we had beautiful, sleek warships, mostly left over from WW2, including my first ship, a WW2 destroyer. My all time favorite: battleships. Everybody thinks their old ways and old days were best, including me, not only about warships, culture, music, films, cars, clothes, the world, but even BCPs. Maybe especially BCPs. When I was a new Navy ensign, my petty officers used to grouse about how much bette...

Warm and Humid Our spectator sport from 7H is the Port of Panama City, spotting larger ships out in the Gulf beyond Shell Island, sometimes anchored out several days before entering port, anticipating and watching ships come and go by our porch. Some ships are regulars back and forth between PC and Progresso weekly or so, some long distance. Smaller vessels seldom have a tug on arrival, largers generally have two tugs standing off at the turn in the channel just to the west of us, sometimes three tugs.  We especially enjoy the big ships, yesterday Lauritzen’s oddly named “Interlink Activity” arrived from New Orleans to load wood pellets and off to Tyne. IA is 587’ LOA x 105’ beam, arriving empty or nearly, she was sitting high and I suppose drawing 23 feet of water; may draw 32 feet on departure in a day or so. iPhone camera does satisfactorily for most things, but cropping a ship photo in lieu of a zoom  lens  yields pretty fuzzy. That's Shell Island in the b...

Saddened this morning to see Johnny Manziel headlined in the sports section of an NYT article. For one, it moves the mind ahead to the mid- and late-summer build up to football season, I’m not ready to go there yet, anticipating excitement for Jim Harbaugh at Michigan and the Gators back in the game. For two, although I was happy to see Manziel leave TexA&M to get him out of the SEC and an ongoing threat to the teams I love which TexA&M is not one, it was clear when he declared for the draft that he was too immature to take on life as an adult, needed to stay in college and get it out of his system, finish his boyhood. Even an obnoxious spoiled brat needs a chance at life. Hope he hasn’t totally doomed his talent and promise, misdemeanor assault indictment for hitting his girlfriend, alcohol abuse and rehab, ruined, spoiled wasted opportunity with the Browns. What a shame. Pray he can pull life out of the hat after all.  A pro-football fan or enthusiast I am not in th...

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal.  And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  If I give away all I have, and if I deliver my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends; as for prophecies, they will pass away; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away.  When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a chil...

Whatever it may be, my talent is not photography, though since ascending to 7H the urge to grab iPhone and snap has been irresistible. Creation is that magnificent a place to live that it’s easy to visualize Elohim looking and seeing how good it was, even very good indeed.  And after all, Instead of lovable Earthlings, we might have been finished as the reptilians that psychologists say our subconscious innermost brain remains, thriving as coldblooded dwellers of such as the planet I once saw on a StarTrek episode, perpetual driving rain. But here we are, RSF&PTL and can somebody shout Amen. It’s a beautiful day where "the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee." (fm Ps 139, KJV) This morning’s early reading, NYT article about Ted and David that surprisingly made the media’s cowboy into a palatable human being. What I didn’t realize until too late was that clicking on it used up one of my ten NYT articles for the month...

What’s rolling around up there this morning. And do rhetorical questions always need an eroteme, I don’t think so, at least mine don’t, because I say so and I’m the oldest. Behind clouds, eerie moonrise last evening, eerie as life itself at 86%.  A lovely Saturday predawn. Full moon over StAndrewsBay, high in the west, at least one shrimp boat moving slowly back and forth beyond my porch. It’s that green boat with the Vietnamese name. Mornings she arrives escorted by a tornado of seagulls, backs stern-in to her berth. White walking birds, I guess they’re egrets (?) wander around hopefully as the deckhand hoses off her deck. Shrimp, overnight’s catch, are loaded into large cooler chests brought from a red pickup truck. All will happen again this morning, but is yet to do. Why change the liturgy if it works (eroteme) And so what about life this Saturday morning? Walk? Breakfast? I may cook that piece of lean pork bought at Tyndall. Or that  lambchop  from ...

Generally a headache takes four, but one aspirin will do this morning. Ship sailing by in heavy rain under dark, thick clouds. Looks to be Juan Diego , one of her class anyway. Obliterated by rain, cannot see her now, even her silhouette, can’t even see Landmark Condos a quarter mile east. What’s going on. Prince dead at 57. Gwen Graham declares she won’t run. ShrimpBoat in receivership, hope (pray is overdoing it) they succeed, Lo Smith and Son can take pride in helping the resurrection of St. Andrews starting with the old ShrimpBoat. It’s not been resurrection actually, metamorphosis. I knew St. Andrews when and it’s never been like this, in my growing up years dying remnants of a fishing village from my grandfather’s day, dirt roads, ice plant, fishhouses, fishing boats, plenty of mullet, drunken fisherman and Mattie’s Tavern. Now interesting cafes and little shops thank God not clicky enough to be shaded “boutique.”  From 7H at the moment I can’t even see Davis...

There went the paper mill whistle, seven o’clock point zero zero sharp, next signal will be twelve noon. What it stirs from dark recesses, releases from behind some rock, is the bosun’s pipe and announcement from the quarterdeck in port, from the bridge at sea, “Now turn to, turn to, all hands commence ship’s work.” What do I miss? never the being there but always the sounds. The sounds and the smells. A Navy ship has (had?) smells and sounds that were unique in my life. Would I go back? You betcha. HTH did I get there, the mind was on cars, our first cars. My first car was that 1947 Buick Special sedan, bought for $75 co-owned with a friend, $78.80 for assigned-risk insurance from Allstate my junior year at Florida. Our first car was the dark green 1948 Dodge that mama and I chose from the two cars still loaded on the boxcar that day in May 1948, mama’s 36th birthday present, that my parents gave to me as I started my senior year of university and on into the Navy.  Wher...