door's worn sill

The phone is turned off so as to silence the robocalls that come whether folks are asleep or awake, and with six people here ranging in age from three to infinity, someone is always asleep. But of course I forget to turn it back on, so it's off permanently. If you ring and I don't answer, it's not because I don't want to talk to you, leaving a message is a good option. Other possibilities are that your name will register, in which case I will call you back once whether or not you leave a message in my voicemail; and if you don't answer I will, unless your box is full, leave a message in your voicemail, which puts the ball in your court, doesn't it. Do bear in mind that Uncle Bubba's hearing no longer works well on the telephone.

Slept late this morning, to bed early, soon as Ray Britany Lilly arrived back "home" here in Walton County from their Disney vacation, therefore surprised self by sleeping until 4:10. For sake of the elderly stomach, sometimes, as this day, my mug has about half-inch of milk before coffee is added. And then, also in honor of the elder-gut, my slice of ww bread folded over has a smear of regular peanut butter instead of my most favored no-suger natural chunky pb with salt on buttered bread.

For several reasons, this morning we are to drive into PC. Maybe going to staff meeting at the church will help return some sense of the normalcy that has been absent these two months today October 10 to December 10. And I'm going by our regular plumbers to inquire about a change in a 7H bathroom as long as and while it's all torn up anyway. In the Cove, I may check on the school 

Grief is long: our beautiful, innocent town has been murdered, feelings are not just grief but anger, rage, fury in the extreme. Which is not abating, quite the contrary, stirs anew as soon as we cross the bridge into the midst of it. Anyone who thinks Panama City Bay County natives are stretching too long our desolation can gardenia well trade places with any one of us, and welcome to it. Comes to mind Revelation 8:7 where a third of the earth is destroyed, except that this was our whole earth; more, our heaven. Maybe you had to be born and raised here and, if you careered away as I did, 1957 to 1998, forty biblical years of longing and waiting to return forever and it doesn't matter which heaven you retire to, though in fact PC is number one on your preference for duty card.

People are burned out by wildfires. Others also are destroyed by violent storms from the sea. Worst, worse than the wiles of Father Nature are those desolated by the hateful and hating incivilities of the human evil of war. But I, we, aren't there, we are here, and caught by surprise. Don't ever jump out and shout "SURPRISE!" at me and start singing "Happy birthday to you," or you will ignite, trigger my 2018!

So, what's good today? Life. That a brand new house is under construction in a PCB community to replace Malinda's house. That reportedly we won't necessarily be out of 7H until next summer as I expected but might possibly return sooner. But still dealing with feelings that must be like those of Americans of Japanese ancestry, many even native-born American citizens, who were rounded up and shipped away to internment camps during WorldWarTwo: devastated; not wanted, don't belong here after all. Who can't see it, who doesn't understand, surely wasn't born and raised here. Lorrie Morgan again

Can't you see it, don't you understand?
Well, I guess you had to be there
Yeah, you really had to be there
Some things you just can't explain
It's just not the same
I guess you had to be there

Pic: door to my first grade classroom where, as Whittier remembered, 

The charcoal frescos on its wall; 
   Its door’s worn sill, betraying 
The feet that, creeping slow to school, 
   Went storming out to playing! 

T

Pic: north end door to Cove School, now the Bill Lloyd Building, where I started first grade in September 1941

Song, Lorrie Morgan, "I guess you had to be there"

Poem, J G Whittier, "In School Days"