Happy talkin', talkin', happy talk
Talk about things you'd like to do
You've got to have a dream
If you don't have a dream
How you gonna have a dream come true
-Rodgers and Hammerstein
ὁ κόσμος ἀλλοίωσις, ὁ βίος ὑπόληψις.
-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, IV, 3
"I feel sorry for anyone coming into the world right now. It's all falling apart."
Katie called to let me know Mom was back in the hospital after falling and perhaps breaking her ankle (and maybe not in that order, given her severe osteoarthritis), but soon her thoughts strayed to our political and social unraveling as a country.
"Oh, Katie, it's not that bad. There's plenty of good out there. How much do politics really matter in your life, when you think about it. The Roman Empire was 'falling' for a two or three centuries before the end came, and during those days folks got married, had babies, went to dinner parties, and lived their lives. Life is pretty good, if you're paying attention."
Doctor, heal thyself.
It has been observed by someone close to me that perhaps these blog posts could be a little sunnier, that I needed to spend a little less time pondering the challenges and disappointments we've faced as a household and a country. Who wants to read a daily negative ramble?
Somewhere between thirteen and nineteen folks, as I review how many visit this site every day.
So this morning I won't engage in a jeremiad about how the neo-Confederate states are ordering their National Guard units to defy the federal government, a development that was tried once before in 1860. What could possibly go wrong?
Nope, none of that. It's gorgeous outside! No kidding. I walked out this morning to lug a thirty-pound crockpot filled with Peg's famous grits to the truck, pondering why when she cooks these batches for the hospital crew she never holds back a serving or two for the old bald guy in the pajama bottoms and sweatshirt, and to my pleasant surprise it was 52 degrees outside. Sure, it's supposed to snow tonight, but for now I need to savor this. You don't often get days this temperate in the Southern Tier in the second half of November.
Not sure why when I line up the column on the right of the photo, everything down the hill appears to lean left.
Tonight Peg and I will attend a beer-tasting dinner, and she doesn't even like beer. That's true love right there. The truth is that I don't drink much beer myself these days--it gives me the winds--but it'll be nice to socialize a little, and P will just have to live with the consequences at 2 a.m.
And somehow, with all the disruptions of Category 5 hurricanes and pandemics, leaving us both sojourners, we still have plenty of paying work to do, and people continue to pay their bills generally. We both like Florida more, now that we aren't trapped there all the time and are able to work from wherever fits us. And this place fits us, even if they can't cook up here.
Turning to sports, the success of my beloved Braves and Bulldogs is beyond anything I could've imagined six months ago. Did you see how badly the Bravos were playing in the spring, only to sprint through the last two months of the season and tear through the postseason? And P and I not only were able to go see them play in Philly, we actually met several in the hotel bar after the game. My inner eight-year-old was giddy.
As for the Dawgs, well that season's not over and I don't want to jinx them. This is a very special team, loaded with talent, confident, and driven. They are so much fun to watch. You have to figure that Kirby Smart's energy is a big part of that. His rather salty pregame speech before the Florida game is making the rounds on the internet these days.
I have to admit that I don't have that sort of visceral hatred of the Gators anymore. Too many friends wear that garish orange and blue. Besides, it's just a game, kids.
And why above all else should I be a little more cheerful? This one.
It's been an amazing ride these last three years, with some crazy ups and downs. But we got to do it all together, and from picking through the wreckage of our homes, to attempting to fit in with the beautiful people on 30A, to riding tractors and drinking wine in the truck bed pool at Wyldswood, to spending time up here in the frozen north, we've endured and grown together as friends in this great, late season of our lives. What a blessing.
So, to quote my inner drill sergeant who sounds a lot like Warren Oates (Sgt. Hulka) in Stripes, I need to remind myself every now and then to "lighten up, Francis." It's all pretty damn good.
Time for my first call of the day. Can you believe someone is willing to pay me several hundred dollars an hour to talk on the phone?
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