all is well

Okay for a Friday morning, cuppa black early, check the weather on TV, looking more than less hopeful for giving it a miss. Rattling, it's inevitable and part of the price of being home where half every year is Hurricane Season. 

Suck it up or move - - to Tornado Alley - - or California where the wildfires rage: well do I remember watching fire race down the near side of the mountain closest to our San Diego neighborhood as ash and sparks and cinders drifted over, settling on our wood shake roof and we loaded both cars with valuables prepping to leave on a moment's notice.

Maybe the hurricanes, eh?

Nice morning, breakfast outside on the porch, maybe first time since October 2018. Raspberries, blueberries and another cup of black. Plan for supper tonight at Alice's, salad and fried oysters.

What with slowly deliberate reading so as not to miss a bit of it, finished Churchill and the Boer War, which inevitably brings back Major Hoople, wife Martha, and the residents of their boarding house, a daily single-panel comic I grew up with. Churchill still and all a hero, a product of his age, as indeed am I, which necessitates unending fightingness, an ongoing level of self-awareness to cut myself down to size, attitude, outlook, viewpoint. One of the best, painless things I read, that comes periodically, "The Bitter Southerner".

Five months ago season opener: March 29, 2019, female and male osprey back from southern migration, he has brought her a fish, and someone tries to drop in for a visit but is shooed off without being allowed to land.

Not seen by me, the father osprey was reported there yesterday. I reckon all is well and all shall be well.

National Hurricane Center plot looking well as well.

RSF&PTL

T