I’m rushing off to Sunday number one, for some reason on Saturday. A rare double performance dictated by Sanskrit or some other written or unwritten source beyond my limited ability to comprehend anything much, and less,for certain, than I did when I was a teenager.
Counter Intelligence, double dose. I’ve not time to dawdle, or peck away here, as duty calls. I don’t have to drive even.
Saint MAHI is past go, and spring is here. Late and wet, with pale…Continue
I’m not obsessed with fish...well, maybe a little. Another bird got killed on my feeder yesterday. For seven years not one bird got hurt, and now two in two weeks have got their feet caught in the decorative copper leaves that are attached around the feed cylinder. It makes me want to cry. I have to replace it.
The rain keeps coming down. At least it’s not snow, and the house flipped. I’m fine, not driving, and, as always, fearlessly optimistic.
The saints come or go, but they march nonetheless. Weaponized humans, all of us, just waiting for the preprogrammed sequence that kicks us into operational mode, marching as to war, but not quite.
Who came first? Nixon to China or Kissinger to America, and what does all this have to do with my pecking away here today about saints marching?
MAHI is forty three pages from three hundred, ten and a half months into first drafting. The saints march. The…Continue
Have you read that I’m half out? I am. As I await my first social security check I am doing half of what I was until after the midterm results balanced my post SCOTUS pick depression, leading me to conclude that the time had come for me to pull the rip cord.
I’m doing better, thanks, and half as much. The kids are grown up, and in Congress, too. Who knows? I’ve been a fearless optimist for quite a few years now. Try playing that in the field every day, seven days a week.…Continue