What to say - - when one is always trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to see the big picture, geographically, cosmically, theologically; when nothing speaks adequately to, for, about a society that regards itself as the Center of All that Is, but cosmically is the equivalent of a grain of sand on the beach; a nest of ants in a field fighting the adjacent anthill for dominion. Dominion is lordship and there is nothing to say. Nothing to be said that does not breathe contempt. In the beginning, God ... and God SAID, "YEH-HI" - - "Let there be ...," and it was so. In the beginning was the Word ... all that is came into being through the Word. An outsider, I have an alien view of who owns all this.  No matter, eh? In cosmic Time, we are one incoming meteorite from never having been in the first place.  Or one nuclear burst. +++++++++ Blessedly, a free calendar, having begun the day with a magic mug of club coffee that no grocery store coffee matches, first post a blog, th...

For supper these winter evenings we are working on an enormous pot of turkey soup with wide,  soft and luscious  German egg noodles.  Yea, Miami, but the Alabama game is not going well as I start writing this early evening of New Years Day 2026. And now after supper the game is a disappointing 3-38 final, with Bubba having hoped for an upset like Miami v OSU. But after having been the 1950s era New York Yankees of football for years, Alabama is back to normal. How did Saban do that for so long?   interesting sunset and we're having a warm winter, with temperature tomorrow supposed to be 70°F.  There wasn't a +Time blogpost for three or four days, no particular reason or excuse but that we worked some here in 7H, and I loafed a lot.  Plus attitude and inspiration are slipping, I'm experiencing a lot of life changes these days. Life truly is becoming different for me now, shifting personal expectations with the ongoing emotional jolt of turning ninety - - I'v...

This is a good piece from Sean Dietrich. Pretty much all of his writing is good, though some of his essays hit me more than others. Because some of it is more about me than it is about him. It's not the kind of thing a male talks about. Some of us are not as great as others. Some of us remember painful shyness and searingly self-conscious athletic awkwardness. Every Time Sean of the South talks about how unsatisfactory he was and how he felt about himself, I remember.  Over the years he's been writing, Sean has long admitted himself. I know too, but I'll never go public with it, over my years the personna has worked too well for me to mess it up. You can say too much, and once it's said it's too late to reconsider, because nothing can be unsaid. I was always smart enough for life, but, except for my crushing love for my children and constant anxiety about their wellbeing, I was never up to what I thought I should be. Sean has been writing about it for years, I never...

What? I can't figure it out: defiance? loss of imagination and/or interest? Up at 2:40 AM, a magic mug of decaf with half & half and a sliver of Danish, a quick check of News (nope) and scan new emails.  In my prenonogenarian life I'd likely move quickly to writing a +Time blogpost, but the motivation fails to stir, so I play a few games of solitaire, lose three, win one, and quit. What's the deal, tell me what's happening, what's the deal, tell me what's happening ...  I'll tell you one thing: AI is alphabet stupid, showing cars online as "classics" and they're all imaginary cars that AI has designed, drawn, and posted online. So far I've seen a fake Packard, two or three different fake Chryslers, a fake Studebaker, a fake Ford. If you're a car person, it isn't funny. It's annoying, and it rings the alarm for me, that AI is becoming Big Brother of 1984, with all new truths for the gullible. They got me with the first one, s...

Fog, it's fog season again. Sandburg, right? Carl Sandburg. "The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on."  He must have been thinking of Chicago fog, eh?, not ours. Our fog doesn't move on, it stays for the season it defines for itself about this Time every year. So, it's good, fog season, I like it. I'm not at sea, nor going up in the air Junior Birdmen, and trying to avoid driving in it.  Lost, I've lost my train of thought for this blogpost, haven't I. Yes, I have, it's rhetorical, so on my own I reckon a question mark is not essential. And not only has my thought evaporated, the large chunk of panettone I ate with my mug of hot & black has caused my bp to plummet, shutting my brain down, so back to bed for a short winter's nap this early morning 2025, on Christmas Day, on Christmas Day.  ... and may all your Christmases be white fog on Christmas Day in the morning. For lif...

O holy night: happy Christmas to all. Not getting out into anything that lasts until we have to drive home after dark, we are at home here in 7H watching online our parish church's Christmas Eve spectacular long titled "Holy Commotion" and living up to its name. They are all good, but in my memories, the absolute worst most pathetic have been the sweetest, dearest and best.  There was a Time, Christmas 1984 to Christmas 1997, when I was very sure that Christmas did not happen anywhere in the world but Trinity Episcopal Church, Apalachicola, the worship, liturgy, spirit, music, choir, musicians were that perfect. That feeling held on in me for many years after my October 1998 retirement. But watching and loving the little characters on show at my old home parish, Holy Nativity Episcopal Church, Panama City, stole my heart away. We have a beautifully decorated Christmas tree here at home and loved ones are coming tomorrow to open presents and for Christmas dinner, and it me...