the Marches of 7 through 21 September 2017

If, as inclined, I blog what I had for Friday lunch at Felix’s on Mobile Parkway in sight of the battleship USS Alabama, my favorite* type of warship, then +Time, my blogging of seven years duration, degenerates into the diary that it already has to great extent become anyway. 

Oh WTH, crab soup delectably more crab than soup, and an overly generous filet of sautéed snapper covered with lump crabmeat. Our good waiter, who first warmed my mug with boiling water, kept it filled and refilled with hot black coffee throughout. The bottomless cup of coffee may have kept me awake for our drive straight home the rest of the afternoon, but it did not deter my falling asleep to the sweet tune of exhaustion last night. Thanks to alphabet FuroForty I only got up five times during the night to chat with Father Nature. 

Truth, whoever or whatever that Other is inside of me peering out invariably stirs to semiconsciousness to confuse Father Nature of my own life, and old Father Time whom Puddleglum, Eustace, and Pole encountered as Mullugutherum led them through the Marches of Underland. 

"That is old Father Time, who was once a King in Overland. Now he has sunk down into the Deep Realm and lies dreaming of all the things that are done in the upper world. Many sink down and few return to the sunlit lands. They say he will wake at the end of the world."

"While he lay dreaming his name was Time. Now that he is awake he will have a new one."

Mullugutherum, The Silver Chair.

Aslan, The Last Battle

DThos+, +Time+

*And, more Truth, DThos+ doesn't give a RA who disapproves his love of battleships.