Five twenty-something and there’s that lightning again, brilliant in clouds off to the southeast beyond Tyndall, but no thunder from it, so beyond PSJ and Apalachicola, WTH do I know, maybe far as Apalachee Bay. Naanh. Strange dream last night, probably Father Nature nudging me, seldom do dreams stay with me on waking, but in this one I'm  an eagle, and Linda giving me squash casserole to eat. Delicious, but eagles don’t like squash, and later I was a donkey. Which is more the Bubba I know.  Dreams may come out of whoever or whatever was in one’s mind the day before. I’ve noticed that sometimes a cinder glows in a remote synapse during the day and arises in a dream that night, often someone or something deliberately suppressed, or a bothering undercurrent thought, nagging memory.   Sun’s coming up now and the lightning has vanished with the darkness. Smooth, flat Bay that I love. Thirty-two years ago this summer we relocated from Harrisburg to Apa...

And I was afraid it was over for the season, but no there it is, lightning in the background out of sight, thunder grumbling somewhat, but not much, louder than softly, welcoming the new workweek’s Monday. Warm lemon water first, next and now black and a shard of shattered dark. Light across the Bay that may be a ship offshore in the Gulf waiting to enter, or it may be on Shell Island, still too dark to tell.  Eighty-one + five days, still coming upon birthday greetings that slipped by me last week. Nevertheless, thank you. Thoughtful lovingkindnesses toward me, touched and grateful. As my HNES middle school students of a decade ago know, Lovingkindness is the heart of ἀγάπη, Greek, a feminine noun for love, benevolence, good will, esteem. Not maudlin, here I am an age many don’t reach, fortunate; some would say blest and so do I but quietly and humbly as I mind the gap between my life and the existence of most of God’s people. In due course Comes the Revolution, but which ...

Interesting football games all, one a can’t-put-it-down, don’t touch that dial, don’t change the channel horror flick. Not just a one-man show either, Cardinal defense all over FSU, whose last ten points were an outright gift after the Cardinal left for happy hour in the second half of the fourth quarter and Petrino spent the rest of the game accepting congratulations; otherwise 10 to 63 or worse. Prayer of the Day: Lamar Jackson won’t turn into as big a jerk as Jameis and Manziel.  After last, with three things on my retiree calendar every single day, once nap time sets upon me early afternoon, this could develop a comparatively calm week. Hiding out in 7H and flinging my iPhone into the sea, thus, if anyone phones and a fish answers -- DThos+ still loving +Time+ 

…   …   … a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees, The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, The road was a ribbon of moonlight …   …   …   … Alfred Noyes’ poem “The Highwayman” was a favorite growing up in Cove School, and someone, one of the girls in our class or in a class ahead of us, had memorized it and came round more than once and recited it movingly, to our class and likely in other classrooms. Robert may remember who the girl was, I do not, but she gave me the poem for a lifetime. Saturday morning, the sun is rising, moon setting, moisture hanging over the Bay such that, unusual, the Gulf is not clear beyond Shell Island, and even the downtown marina and shoreline stretching round to EBeachDrive and Cherry Street are hazy, unreal, maybe ethereal is the word. Not rain, not quite fog, not even mist, edging toward 7H. 75° 93%. HNEC Supper Club tonight, gathering for sushi that I first gagged then quickly learne...

Nice clouds on the Beck side yesterday, looking north. Park side of the condo is being painted, thus the crane on the left, reaching up over the gate. Working top down, painters may have finished the seventh floor, a relief, as it’s been going on awhile. For several weeks our furniture outside the front door was inside, stacked in the Beck bedroom, wrought-iron chairs and tea-cart that was in the — solarium they called it, sun room — family room at Linda’s house in the 1950s when we were dating as teenagers. Sentimental, we are fond of it. But while it was here in the bedroom by my bathroom I had to walk carefully by it lest I stub or even tear off a toe. Now the painting's done and the furniture’s back outside, my mind still takes care edging by where it was for weeks. Ghost chairs. Are all ghosts just as much in the mind?   RSF&PTL as always this morning, personal devotional liturgy that starts my day off inviting divine presence. Beyond that, and after the glass of ...

another day in +Time+  Moon is or was, seems or seemed full setting in the early predawn western sky. And clear, though photos turn out hazy.  Ship slipping through the Pass into StAndrewsBay red port side heading east, then  from 7H porch, slowing at hairpin turn, a sailboat anchored just off, her mast light burning, likely folks sleeping aboard o’night passing close now, green is starboard side, and aft of her, my green nav light winking at me oops, slip of the hand. Out of sight to the right, tug standing by to assist Some other pics I loved this week Women on Haj Pouring the last drop on Nick’s head at Trinity, Apalachicola Blowing out eight-and-one candles A birthday card,  Recognized the car from my 1954 Cadillac brochure.  Note with the card says “Happy 18th birthday, Fr. Tom”. As it happens, the all new 1954 Cadillac appeared in showrooms September 1953, the month of my 18th birthday. A frien...

It’s not here, so’s on the desktop of a different MacBook, what I’m looking for, the full script of “Our Town”. This morning for my 81st birthday I meant to re-read Emily Webb Gibbs’ visit on her first day in the grave, to the morning of her twelfth birthday. Strongly recommended against by her cemetery peers, even this experience, selected over memorable days as a most ordinary day of life, proves too much for Emily, who dashes back to eternity in tears.  When my time comes, I'm nevertheless going back to visit September 14, 1953 and watch my parents drive away. Some of Emily’s lines I halfway remember — "Mother Gibbs, the inheritance you left us, George used it to install a modern watering trough for the livestock." Apparently the modern watering trough keeps the water full and fresh for the animals. But mainly for me, Emily excitedly, "Mother Gibbs, we have a Ford, and it never gives any trouble." This is 1913, remember, in Thornton Wilder’s play, and ...