walking alone
School of fish breaking the surface just below 7H as a herd of pelicans (“pod of pelicans” is too ridiculous to say) flomped awkwardly down in their midst to breakfast eagerly, along with a flock of white gulls circling around, above and in the midst of. Moved on heading east, the mass is gone and I watched rather than photograph, but a few keep arriving, both pelicans bobbing on the surface and rude gulls darting about alert to snatch.
Welcome back October and the same boat mornings to drift about and cast for mullet just offshore of 7H. Dinner or catching for a local seafood cafe? Time to head to either the fish market in StAndrews or Crawdad’s in LynnHaven for a mess of mullet. If C/LH fried; oven baked and broiled if we bring them home. Mullet and black coffee.
From his younger days, my father liked black coffee or an ice cold Coke with his fried mullet. I love CocaCola freezing with ice to enjoy about twice a year, but like nothing sweet to drink with my meal, not Coke, not even sweetened ice tea, and never, never, never ever sweet wine. Speaking of, thirty years ago CocaCola changed their formula to something that tasted like a counterfeiter's PepsiCola, a short-lived debacle lasting just long enough to teach them that the old ways are best. A 1928 prayerbook Episcopalian, I could have told them that to begin with.
When I was twelve or thirteen, a boy’s most unsanitary, nastiest age, my tennis shoes StinkStankStunk so bad I had to hang them out my upstairs bedroom window overnights. This comes to mind because TeaParty Republicans may this morning be hoping to scrape the slime off the GOP’s filthy tie and usher Mike Pence into the WhiteHouse. But that’s not going to work because as he competes with DPRK for the world’s worst haircut, the SleazeKing is not about to do anything even remotely semi-honorable and step aside. Not “the Party’s” nominee, he was hoisted aloft by a grassroots populist movement of groups who pushed up to the feeding frenzy every time he said something to bait a new swarm of flies. Metaphorically, we can accomplish the same thing with roaches by leaving food on the kitchen floor overnight. Mike Pence looks clean-cut and he was a PhiGam, Catholic, Christian, and his conservative aura. IDK. Having slid from national prominence into state politics, he was off the radar screen unknown and forgotten, but if now pushed by default to the top of the ticket, he’d solve the dilemma of many in a landslide. Depends on how bad the GOP power structure wants to defeat the BlueLady: and not even the Ryan has enough guts to push a ticket change regardless of BigBoyFuzzyWuzzy’s latest outrage.
But this is not a political blog, just sayin’
Roger WilCo Over and Out
Just missed an elegant sunset last evening as I left my church office and drove along EBeachDrive. Lots of lovers and loners out taking in the western sky as the sun said goodbye to the workweek.
Welcome back October and the same boat mornings to drift about and cast for mullet just offshore of 7H. Dinner or catching for a local seafood cafe? Time to head to either the fish market in StAndrews or Crawdad’s in LynnHaven for a mess of mullet. If C/LH fried; oven baked and broiled if we bring them home. Mullet and black coffee.
From his younger days, my father liked black coffee or an ice cold Coke with his fried mullet. I love CocaCola freezing with ice to enjoy about twice a year, but like nothing sweet to drink with my meal, not Coke, not even sweetened ice tea, and never, never, never ever sweet wine. Speaking of, thirty years ago CocaCola changed their formula to something that tasted like a counterfeiter's PepsiCola, a short-lived debacle lasting just long enough to teach them that the old ways are best. A 1928 prayerbook Episcopalian, I could have told them that to begin with.
When I was twelve or thirteen, a boy’s most unsanitary, nastiest age, my tennis shoes StinkStankStunk so bad I had to hang them out my upstairs bedroom window overnights. This comes to mind because TeaParty Republicans may this morning be hoping to scrape the slime off the GOP’s filthy tie and usher Mike Pence into the WhiteHouse. But that’s not going to work because as he competes with DPRK for the world’s worst haircut, the SleazeKing is not about to do anything even remotely semi-honorable and step aside. Not “the Party’s” nominee, he was hoisted aloft by a grassroots populist movement of groups who pushed up to the feeding frenzy every time he said something to bait a new swarm of flies. Metaphorically, we can accomplish the same thing with roaches by leaving food on the kitchen floor overnight. Mike Pence looks clean-cut and he was a PhiGam, Catholic, Christian, and his conservative aura. IDK. Having slid from national prominence into state politics, he was off the radar screen unknown and forgotten, but if now pushed by default to the top of the ticket, he’d solve the dilemma of many in a landslide. Depends on how bad the GOP power structure wants to defeat the BlueLady: and not even the Ryan has enough guts to push a ticket change regardless of BigBoyFuzzyWuzzy’s latest outrage.
But this is not a political blog, just sayin’
Roger WilCo Over and Out
Just missed an elegant sunset last evening as I left my church office and drove along EBeachDrive. Lots of lovers and loners out taking in the western sky as the sun said goodbye to the workweek.