A Quiet Return

Memories Of Sept. 11's First Recorded Casualty Endure : NPRI stumbled across this little story just as I had a hankerin’ to type and compose.

Memories Of Sept. 11's First Recorded Casualty Endure : NPR

It has been too long of a time to edit and add to a blog. I think of it like one who forgets to call a sister who lives just a few hours away. You know they’ll always be there—you’ll get around to contacting them some day. However, well, days end up as weeks and soon, well, time marches on.

I don’t want that to happen to these blogs. I love writing. These blogs don’t deserve it.

And better, there’s an app for that.

It activated itself, I guess. Just showed up on my Explorer window after downloading Word 2010. Say what you will about Windows, but, aw, fuck, their word processing tool (yeah, I said word processor, fuckwads, it IS an old term and I’m an OLD grizzly) is the ursine’s wordsmithing delight.

And here we are.

This isn’t as scandalous as some other posts. Nor should it be. A kinda melancholy has hit the nation. Everyone seems to be in a lather-just ask any GOP and Tea Party member, you can find them sitting in the corner doing nothing—these days, yet as NineEleven approaches this weekend, the hiberNation seems to be giving out a collective sigh.

I suppose I could recollect where I was and what it means for this young country, but seriously, I’m not that skilled of an author. In fact, I was probably going to say nothing until this little nexus of commonalities (gay, NineEleven, and this Live Writer) occurred.

See, folks, I once thought about coming a minister.

What? A furry beauty like yourself, you ask? That collar would choked your double chin out and no one would have noticed!

When Desert Storm broke out and all the Boomers when ballistic, my Ma went crazy if there might be a draft. She was afraid I’d end up in the front infantry and showing with strange men.

No, she didn’t realize I was already doing one of those things.

But I am not the kind of man who carries a gun. I know I could be a chaplain. Not because I was any closer to God or anything. I was not a good Christian by any mean: I had no concept of how to oppress or twist others’ words so I could get a tax break. I did know about spirit, however, and comfort.

I would have done what this guy did. I have no doubt. I’m the man who plans on dying, trying. Bears are like that.

And I’ve neglected to mention something about this man.

He was gay. In a world where both priests and gays are targets for unresolved anguish, this is a double-whammy of good. Read the article. Watch the movie—here’s the trailer:

Have a peaceful Patriot Day everyone. My heart goes out to this enduring hiberNation.




Peace.