November 05, 2017
Herbert is sitting quietly primed, adrenaline running, waiting for take off, and MOI. To get a moment to pet him. Sitting on the chest behind me, plugged inn, raring to go, to take flight, all powered up. Me not so much.
Adding to my discombobulation, is the time changed again, as per standard operating procedures, of which I have not one bit of control. If I could I would turn back the clock WAY back, to when I was 20 and do it all over again, with the knowledge, limited as it is, I have now. I knew what get-up-and-go was then, let me tell you.
For this puddle jumping of one hour, to lessen the jet lag, the clocks of which there is one or two or maybe three like in the kitchen, and then a clock in every room, ahead of when I go to bed. As it is only my second cup of tea, we fell behind. Confusion, my middle name rears its scrofulous head.
Now laptops have their own carrying case. I was in what used to be a paper supply store, now it carries the modern equivalent of briefcase, costing more than the price of rooms I rent. Back packs, which when I was starting out, post university did not exist except for the army. I was in my father’s army, but not the green uniformed marching to the beat of a different kind of drummer.
The briefcase I used when being important, can you all remember life without a cell phone? in my youth. It was designed to and did carry papers, ( which we were assured the computer was going to replace) was designed to protect them. Now, my briefcase, sits in the corner stuffed full to the brim with photos, from the age when I was on the other side of the country. The bed and breakfast ahead of me. Just a whisper of an aspiration. My get up and go, not so much now, relying heavily on experience. The cases in the store, designed to protect the computer, not the contents.
OFF Lucy and I went to the riverfront, to stand in the wind. The weather powering up for winter. Snow for the first time in the form of showers forecast for the next week. Riverside, there were three layers of birds. On the dry land, the big battalion of Patriot geese. The newly minted inexperienced, littler, stood at ease, waiting beside the veterans of flight. In the next baseball diamond over, the jet fighters, White Gulls, looking like the snow to come, resting. All, three layers, noisy, chattering, shouting to each other sending vital pre-flight information,including the missile Starlings. One had to look up as they hide in the high powered lights that antebellum the boys of summer play in.
Out of the lampposts, high above the ground, came the starlings. Screaming potential disaster to all. The DEW line of birds. Darting in cloud like formation, relaying watchful information to the troops on the ground. Into two groups they swarmed off, sending the first line of gulls in the air. The Geese never moved, the inexperienced, waiting along side for the command that never came. A false alarm it seems, as the ancient hound wandered beside them, more interested now, on what was in front of her, hunting goose poop. “Old age and treachery will always beat youth and exuberance.” – David Mamet , Moi and Miss LP