another Sunday morning!

It's awkward and uncomfortable for a few days, getting sleepy and going to bed at the right Time by body but wrong Time by clock, then arising at the right Time by clock but wrong Time by body, too early and drowsy. This stupid Daylight Savings Time that only seems to fool imbecilic politicians who are such asses at each others throats as to argue about it. Jiminy Christmas, let it go, for Kyrie's sake, we don't need this.

Although there is that: it does give fools something to argue about twice a year whereas they only get to argue about the Electoral College once every four years.

In this morning's early dawning, out on StAndrewsBay, a strange craft glided by just off 7H. I should have gone out to snap an image of it, but the wind is a bit stiff for going out into, SSE at 11 mph, which is in the face. Actually if I remember boxing the compass it's more like E by SSE.

But instead of a seascape my picture is this morning's extraordinary breakfast: three eggs over medium on a couple thin slices of Black Forest ham, and, on the side, a pinch of that unusual $2.46 a pound bacon from Bill's. A pinch because it doesn't resolve into slices, but into bits and pieces; but it's tasty, salty and juicy. And, yes, I realize the juicy is pork fat, but it's not even once a week, maybe twice or thrice every couple months that we have bacon.

From this bacon Linda has accumulated another pint of pork fat for Southern seasoning. If I fix a Martini after church today, I may improvise one such as those pictured in a recent cartoon in The New Yorker featuring with an ounce of gin, an ounce of vodka, a tablespoon of dry vermouth, a teaspoon of pork fat, and instead of an olive, a dust bunny for a garnish.

A decent Sunday morning in store, then my weather app indicates it all falling apart by late afternoon and into Sunday evening. At least it's not Southern California with their astonishing snow and cold, rain and flooding. There's a film out there from some years ago, in which Earth's axis shifts such that the North Pole is now Nebraska or Arkansas or some such place, with horrific tsunamis and all: I think it's finally happened and the North Pole is now San Diego where we lived for two years in the late sixties/early seventies when the Navy last had me on sea duty. I remember my great sadness the early summer day in 1971 when I drove out of California knowing we'd never live there again. Thank God, eh?

Tassy's birthday! She was born in the wee hours of another Sunday morning, March 12, 1972. Linda's water broke Saturday evening just as we were heading out the door to a party at the home of another officer, I think an Army lieutenant colonel whom we worked with, and I phoned them to say we were headed to the hospital instead. We knew it was to be a footling breech birth, and by the Time we got to the hospital, one foot was already sticking out. The baby's umbilical cord was wrapped around, and the doctor had her heartbeat hooked up to a monitor with me assigned to watch the ticker tape closely while he napped in the adjoining room, and me to get him instantly if the ticker tape indicated any slowing of the heartbeat such that he would need to do an immediate caesarean section. Hours ticked by. She was born at early dark thirty the Sunday morning. It was The Old Days "Time Before" and I was not allowed to hold her until we got home, whereupon I found myself totally smitten, overwhelmed with love. In our mid-thirties, we hadn't expected another baby! The doctor gave me the ticker tape, and it's around here somewhere in 7H in an envelope marked "Cathy's Heartbeat"

We named her Cathlyn and called her Cathy until when, she was two and a half or maybe three years old, she couldn't say the "th" so called herself Tassy and it stuck.

Happy birthday, My Love!

RSF&PTL