In medias res 2009

Tomorrow is July
With all the heat lightning
And gunpowder and collecting lightning bugs
In a clear Mason jar container,
A lazy flip through the sweetness of the season
Into the cool, crisp waters of a swimming pool,
Sweet like the juice of a ripe watermelon
Running down my forearms
Or the warm taste of a blackberry cobbler
Loaded with lots of butter and sugar
And all the good things that life
Is ready to offer despite our common failure
To fully recognize that in the ripeness of Summer
About this time
There will be hotdogs on the grill
And potato salad and baked beans
And the crack of a watermelon
Like a wooden bat on ball
As the knife splits it into manageable slices
And lays its pink fruit on the tray
Before us, so cold and so sweet,
Day ending with a clap of gunpowder, flash,
In the star-bedazzled night
A midnight blue background
To the dreams and the celebrations
Before Autumn drifts in and
Spirits the kids off to school
And life returns to its dull, plodding pace
And the dying of the leaves and chill Canadian winds
And the reminders of life's tenuous drift
Tracking us downward, gravity pulling,
Far from the taste of the watermelon
And the sweetness of the peaches,
The smell of new-mown grass
And the drift of charcoal smoke.

On with it

This is the last day of the month. I am still tired. I have worked on getting things accomplished, but still feel like everything is in the works. I read the comments on facebook and it seems like everyone is on vacation. Of course, it wasn't that long ago when we were enjoying the sunset at St. Pete Beach. And last week, Cindy and Kate were in Knoxville, while I was driving all over Central Georgia attempting to assist people in refinancing their houses.

But the stress of the everyday is bringing me down a bit. I wish I had the time and the wherewithal to enjoy some time away. Again. I really would like to have some time with Cindy, just the two of us, away from everybody and everything. The phone calls. The demands. The tasks.

"The world is too much with us. Late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers...."

Wordsworth indeed.

Promises of rain

Just a few minutes ago, the western sky was dark as gun metal and there were rumblings all around. I went to Kate's car and procured my umbrella on the chance that I might need it when I got in the car later. That apparently was the turning point on this shower, because now the western sky is bright again, the sun has reappeared from behind the clouds and there is no more thunder rumbling in the distance. Now it is sunny and hot and I am still inside wondering when the rain will reappear and wet us down soundly like a soggy doggy.

Apparently, they have had the same experience in Barnesville, just south of Griffin. What is the deal?

Cumberland Sunday morning, just a little east of there

I got up relatively early, while most of the house seemed to be still resting in the arms of Lethe, and I read for awhile, tried to get the television to operate, then pulled the computer out and went downstairs to partake in a tradition which is more honored in the breach than in the observance.

Knoxville has a radio station which broadcasts traditional music and sponsors a lot of concerts in Knoxville. On Sundays, they have a program called Cumberland Sunday Morning. The religious music is all traditional and I really enjoy the programming.

But for some reason, I couldn't make the radio pick up the station in order to listen. You must understand that I have a narrow window in which to listen to this station, because the music they ordinarily play is so traditional that most of the occupants of this house haven't developed a taste for music this raw and traditional.

So basically, I had a short time where I could pick up the station and listen to the music before the other denizens came down and frowned until I changed the channel on the radio. Taste, unfortunately, is such an individual matter.

But, as I said, I couldn't pick up the channel and I know it will be this evening when I am back in Kate's car, all alone, and will be able to listen to the music on that channel again.

It is now time to put the computer down and drink some orange juice.

Cheers from East Tennessee

Yesterday afternoon, I arrived in Knox-town with a car which was providing transportation, but nothing else. I came inside to escape the heat of late June and found my father in law with new facial hair. The house was cool, thanks to air conditioning, but Cindy and I went out on the screened porch and read books while the dog found the coolness of the floor.

Today, it was hot and all the plans we had discussed got preempted by a trip to the pool at Missy's condo. I found that there was a Moe's nearby, so Kate and I travelled to it and purchased the burritos for which I had had a taste for several days. Afterward, it just seemed too hot in the shining pan of the day to lay out in the sun and wait for the sunscreen to stop doing its duty, at which point my poor Celtic flesh would turn red like a lobster in a pot.

So, I excused myself and drove to the folks' house, showered, changed and then napped for an hour. At this point, I decided that I was being rude to my inlaws, so I came downstairs, only to find them both asleep on the couches in the living room. So, apparently it was the nap hour in the Sicard house, and I was just complying with the structure.

Now it is past five, almost six, and a beer from Germany is calling my name from the refrigerator downstairs. It is quite interesting how I can remember the Deutsch I learned in high school and college about this time of day.

Adieu. Oder Auf Wiedersehen. Entschuldigen mir bitte. Prosit.

Saturday morning in Tennessee

I accomplished all of my major tasks on Friday and was driving Kate's car up I-75 from Atlanta, through Chattanooga toward Cleveland. I had the Kinks' "Low Budget" playing on my ipod and I was singing along with the music about as loud as I could manage, which was quite loud since I was all alone, the headphones were on my head, and there was no one to complain about my singing. At any rate, I had just passed into the area around Cleveland, Tennessee, when the airconditioning in Kate's car quit.

At this point, I could have got really mad and cursed Henry Ford, the inventors of airconditioning and any one else who sprang to mind. However, I was singing along with Ray Davies of the Kinks and I was not to be bothered with silly little details. So, I continued on my route, finished singing along with the music, and rolled the car window down enough to let a little additional air into the interior of the car.

That wasn't quite sufficient. I still began to sweat a bit in the near July heat. But I survived, completed my journey and now I am in the study upstairs writing this piece and thinking about breakfast and taking Tex out before he befouls the interior of the house.

Today's moment of irony

This story began this morning when the taste of a burrito from Moe's Southwestern Grill found its way to my tastebuds. Or at least to my brain. This was particularly odd since I had just finished eating Chinese food and a slice of key lime pie. Why the taste of a burrito sprang to mind or tongue is beyond me.

At any rate, I had a late appointment in Newborn, Georgia and I tried to figure some way in which I could follow this up with a trip to the nearest Moe's. So, I went on line and found that the nearest Moe's to Newborn, Georgia was in Conyers, Georgia. Newborn and Conyers are not that far from each other. Actually in adjoining counties. So it didn't seem out of the realm of possibility.

But when I discussed the possibility of driving from backwoods Georgia, somewhere near Newborn, the borrowers suggested that I forgo driving to Conyers and return to Griffin by the route which I utilitized to travel from Griffin to rural Newborn the first time.

So, after my closing, I drove back down Highway 11 to Jackson Lake Road to Ga 16 and on to Jackson, then westward toward Griffin. At this point, my brain took over. I realized, as I came upon the entrance to Interstate Highway 75 North, that I could travel to a Moe's in McDonough by way of the nearby interstate.

So, I altered my route and headed north on Interstate 75. Driving up 75, I came upon the exit for Locust Grove. At this point, my rational mind took over and convinced me that it wasn't worth driving the rest of the route to McDonough, when I could get off and make use of one of the restaurants in Locust Grove.

So, I exited off I-75 and headed east toward the center of town. I remembered a Shane's Rib Shack and decided that Moe's could wait. I turned off the main road and parked in front of the restaurant.

I entered the restaurant and walked to the front counter and looked at the menu on the wall. I knew from previous experience that the barbecue pork wasn't that good. I also knew that the barbecued chicken was going to be less than stellar. It seemed that my only option was the ribs.

The price of the full rack was too high, so I ordered a half slab of pork ribs, beans, potato salad and an iced tea. That accomplished, I left the front and found a table at which to sit.

Inside the dining room of every Shane's Rib Shack are at least two televisions. In this one, there were three. All three televisions were set on CNN, which was reporting on the apparent death of Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, in Los Angeles, California.

As I sat at my table, sipping iced tea and awaiting my supper, I listened to the commentators discussing the basic facts of the life of Michael Jackson. Fifty years old. Most talented brother of the Jackson Five. Brother of Janet Jackson. Singer of many gold records. Performer on the highest selling record of all time.

Now he was dead of a heart attack at the age of fifty. At this point, a meal of pork ribs, potatoes and mayonaise and syrupy baked beans was delivered to my table. As I contemplated the apparent death of a man who was two years younger than me and in probably better physical shape, this meal of pork and carbs and fat and sugar all of a sudden didn't seem quite appropriate. Or good for me.

I ate it, of course. It wasn't like I was going to forgo the meal for which I had just paid. But I did consider my habitual eating habits, particularly in connection to my potential life expectancy. And it gave me pause. To think.

And that was today's moment of irony.