It’s been a remarkable day. I dusted. I had to move and clean mementos, objet d’amour and stuff. I was close to shedding a tear. A long and eventful life is a heavy load.

I don’t eat Brazil nuts. I guess they’re alright, but I just don’t favor them much. They’re meaty or oily or something. So what do I do? Send them to some eleemosynary organization dedicated to feeding hungry children? No. Can’t afford shipping. I throw them on the deck for the chipmunks. Just now, one put three Brazil nuts in it’s cheeks and took off like a bat out of hell. I’m not that sure what that’s like but there you go.
JH

Origin – iPhone

It’s fitting that on this longest daylight day I will have some eye surgery that hopefully will let me see more light. Ironic, though that most of the rest of the day will be spent nursing cold packs to reduce the possibility of swelling. If it’s not one exciting thing it’s another.

I suppose the Druids among us will party all day, roast the fatted pig, dance into the distant sunset and tap the ready keg. Wait! Is that for Druids only? I mentioned the “longest day” to Ruth, our 91 year old house mate. She moaned her sadness that now the days will be getting shorter and shorter. She is a sun worshipper. If the sun is shining everything is better. We were sitting on the deck in the sun. I told her to enjoy the moment and watch the radiant orioles eating grape jelly on the banister only a few feet away. She doesn’t think she’ll be here for the longest night. I love the cycle of the seasons. It’s what makes living at this latitude interesting. Well, it is one of the things.

I woke up way early. Four o’clock and there was light in the sky. Nervous I suppose. I made coffee. Only need six hours between food and drink and the event later today. I got a call from the doctor’s office on Friday to remind me and give me some last minute instructions. They were: “Wash your face and don’t eat breakfast. Have a nice weekend.” Been trying to figure out why that didn’t do much to boost my confidence. Did I mention that I am a bit nervous?

Be well, and stay tuned.

I woke up this morning at the end of a dream in which I was campaigning for high office. (President?).  John McCain was in the audience.  He seemed pleased.  Maybe he was just laughing at me.  I seemed to be quite eloquent.  Well, hey, it was my dream.  Yesterday was election day here.  I guess that’s the connection.  You know you’re old when your dreams are about politics.

Somewhere in my speech I said, “I love my country.  I’d die for my country!”  I wondered about that.  It is so easy to say.  Sounds good, specially at a political rally.  But what I actually know about the armed conflicts to which we have sent young men and women to die is this: It was seldom to protect the American homeland or way of life.  It was for politics as usual.  It was to defend our right to be right.  Oh we wrapped it all in flags and blew the bugle.  That has to be done to keep impressing the children so they will continue to die for the American Way. Every war time death is a tragic death.  It is a symbol of human failure.  

Now we are in another war half way around the world fighting a people who for millennia have battened down in a tribal mentality and have hated anyone who does not believe as they do.  Now they have modern weapons, a will to use them and a unified goal: annihilate the west. (I wonder if they think we want to do the same to them?)

Is it really true that if we kill enough of them we will win?  Then how does that distinguish us from them.  They say their god is great and is on their side.  We ask our god to go with us into battle to preserve the American Way which, of course is godly.  I’m not sure I see much difference there except for a cultural twist or two.  They kill in their god’s name and we kill in our god’s name.  They do have that virgin thing in Paradise.  That does have it’s possibilities.  Singing hymns at the feet of Jesus never did inspire much courage in me.

I don’t know.  There has to be a better way to do this.  Killing each other does not solve a thing.  The problems persist.  Even when bona fide tyrants have to be put down, and this is the justification for our present endeavor, one must continue to live by the sword.  We will not be able to just leave them in peace, planting black eyed peas in stead of poppies and constructing an American style free and democratic way of life.

We have become proficient in the art of building war machines.  That’s the history, and unless something changes in our method, unless we find a way to talk to each other, that is to be the future as well.

I just got a call from my son who is in Chattanooga TN. He and his wife and another couple are on a road trip on their Harleys. They are 800+ miles from home and from his tone of voice, they were tiring miles. They are having fun, however, and will do some sightseeing and then return to New Orleans and then to Texas.

I was invited. Here’s how that was supposed to work out. I fly to Houston and get on the back of his Harley in what is described as the best seat in the house. This is pure rumor. I ride the 800+ miles to Chattanooga with him and then get on another airplane and fly home to Portland ME. This is what he wants me to do and he says he loves me!

I begin to ask myself questions like: “Am I the only adult in the room?” I don’t know what two days on the back of a high end motorcycle is like but I do know what several hours on an airliner is like these days. I can concede the potential joy of the motorcycle thing – wind in my hair, vibration in my crotch – but air travel is a joke these days unless you are first class and someone else is paying the way. The last time I did that I felt as though I was in a giant animal trap. Just enough room to allow for normal breathing and praying that I don’t have to use the lavatory. I could feel like a human on a motorcycle but not on an airplane.

He said it looked like rain. It’s clear and warm here. I think both of us will have a good day.