July 11, 2023

Yesteryear
One year ago today: July 11, 2022, that speed was impressive.
Five years ago today: July 11, 2018, driving to Clearwater.
Nine years ago today: July 11, 2014, we finally got it.
Random years ago today: July 11, 2016, plenty got done.

           Looks like I needed a day to decompress. Chasing around paying bills was also not as much fun as it used to be. The best news was I replaced the coin battery and reseated all the memory cards on this computer and it appears to be working sort of fine. It’s a MicroSoft OS so no matter how many times you make a setting, it will change by itself. I skipped breakfast and went downtown to the bank, stopping to visit my real estate lady and the gals at the Thrift. I can only hope your day was equally exciting.

           Blog says, quiet day or not, I must let you know of the most significant events. There is a rumor out there that writing is a lonely pursuit. Wrong. It is what you make it. I’ll agree it is a solitary activity but the concept of authors being shut-ins or hermits must, I think, have originated in England. The audio-book is now at the stage where they’ve shot up Rommel’s camp and escaped. Very accurate in detail. The Brits got mixed with a German convoy undetected, as both sides made extensive use of captured enemy equipment.

           The book reveals a solid influence of wartime propaganda. The Germans are often called “nazi” and the English are careful to report every instance where they observe the enemy taking a dump. Even one instance where a pilot lands to take a crap. They wisely don’t shoot him as by 1942 they’d learned the Germans sent search parties when pilots did not return.
           It was such a quiet day, you get a picture of this tray of old and rusty paper clips out on JZ’s balcony. And I’ll be strained to find anything equally as interesting for this afternoon.

Picture of the day.
Hat primer.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           By mid-afternoon I’m still zoned, so I went downtown, got a coffee and worked several crossword puzzles. Then I stopped for a couple beers. Nothing worked, I’m a little off balance. I ran into Charlene, the barmaid who married the near-millionaire guy. He bought her a mansion and let her mother move in. That makes him a nicer guy than me by a long shot. My days of living in a two-story house are over, plus taking care of all that hardwood is not for me.
We got to chatting about locals and it seems they do put people in jail for bad driving. No, not moving vehicle violations. I was aware of fines but not jail time for things like reckless driving. I could not place the person she’s talking about but he got 30 days. No mercy from me, when it gets to the point they put you in jail for the way you drive, I figure you are not getting the message.

           Here, make yourself useful. Think of something we can build out of these wooden blocks. This is a model of the raised roadway replacing Tamiami trail west of Miami. The old roadbed disrupted the flow of water, the Sea of Grass you can read about. It made the area south of the highway a kind of lunarscape. There is still plenty of water but without the supply from the Everglades, it was terrain that got terribly dried out between storms.
           Still half-way off balance, I stopped at the old club and ran into Bradford. Some construction outfit hired him as an appraiser or something related to his architecture training. Better a late start than never, he’s now around the age where I retired. Did I mention Mary, the granny-singer, got on my mailing list? I think she lives next to her e-mail screen. This is handy because besides having been everywhere and done everything, she’s an expert on all matters. There has been nobody in the picture like this since the Hippie. These are people who, upon experiencing the identical circumstances as others, come away with the opposite take on the matter. Well, opposite in the sense that you are wrong and they are right.

Last Laugh