Armistice Day of Leave
Nov. 11th, 2018 10:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoYesterday really didn't merit blogging about. It should just be dumped in the compost heap like something unidentifiable found in the back of the refrigerator. It was a marathon all day mope, except for the part where I briefly exercised my so-called free will and put some actual clothes on so I could help the Sparrowhawk scrape off the car and driveway. It had snowed another two or three inches, and this time it stuck. At the end of the day, in spite of not having done anything to make a sane person tired, all I wanted was a good night's sleep, but I didn't manage that, either. It was another marathon of thrashing around, trying to fall asleep, waking up again, pain, discomfort, dragging myself out of bed just for a change of scene, etc.
I woke up feeling like crap, but decided to go to church anyway. If you want to have a community, you have to show up. We'll be missing the next two Sundays. Today seemed like a good chance to put some showing-up points in the bank. It was baby dedication day, and we got to enjoy a relatively upbeat service, with four darling children front and center. I seem to have ascended slightly from the nadir that was yesterday, so we roll onward toward the next week.
When Queenie was living on a distant island, she worked in a bar at one time to support herself and her daughters after her perfidious husband dumped them. That was the second time I went to visit her there--to provide protection for the girls so she could have some needed surgery and be in the hospital without fearing that Bad Ex would come and kidnap the kids in her absence. I don't think he really wanted to do that, because that would have involved some responsibility on his part, but she was worried about it and I was willing to fly 10,000 miles to ease her troubled mind. It was a very nice bar, the kind where there are good people who are regulars, not the kind where there's a lot of unseemly behavior, and the food was delicious. Anyway, I learned it was the custom at 9 pm every night to toast the founder. "Master Chief Wilburn C. Hamilton. Hail to the Chief!" Since Queenie came back to the continental U.S., she doesn't toast every night, but on Veterans Day, it is de rigueur. She texted me to remind me in the nick of time. We also toasted our father, who only made it to Staff Sergeant in the Signal Corps before the war ended and he made it home alive. Hail! And may all wars end and everyone make it home alive.
I woke up feeling like crap, but decided to go to church anyway. If you want to have a community, you have to show up. We'll be missing the next two Sundays. Today seemed like a good chance to put some showing-up points in the bank. It was baby dedication day, and we got to enjoy a relatively upbeat service, with four darling children front and center. I seem to have ascended slightly from the nadir that was yesterday, so we roll onward toward the next week.
When Queenie was living on a distant island, she worked in a bar at one time to support herself and her daughters after her perfidious husband dumped them. That was the second time I went to visit her there--to provide protection for the girls so she could have some needed surgery and be in the hospital without fearing that Bad Ex would come and kidnap the kids in her absence. I don't think he really wanted to do that, because that would have involved some responsibility on his part, but she was worried about it and I was willing to fly 10,000 miles to ease her troubled mind. It was a very nice bar, the kind where there are good people who are regulars, not the kind where there's a lot of unseemly behavior, and the food was delicious. Anyway, I learned it was the custom at 9 pm every night to toast the founder. "Master Chief Wilburn C. Hamilton. Hail to the Chief!" Since Queenie came back to the continental U.S., she doesn't toast every night, but on Veterans Day, it is de rigueur. She texted me to remind me in the nick of time. We also toasted our father, who only made it to Staff Sergeant in the Signal Corps before the war ended and he made it home alive. Hail! And may all wars end and everyone make it home alive.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-12 01:32 pm (UTC)