First Saturday in December 2006
Friday, December 1, 2006, I viewed the newly released Bobby. It was a family event. We took the "kids" to see it because they are as old now as we were then.
In June 1968, I arrived back in the US after being away for nearly four years. I had traveled in the Middle East , East Asia and South East Asia. It was during the hot years of Viet Nam. The country had been in an uproar. King was murdered. Watts, Detroit and other cities had exploded in violence. I watched from afar. In that first week of June of 1968, I was decompressing and readjusting to the new US tempo that was the late 60s. There were hot cars, hot pizza to go and Go-Go girls. It certainly was not the country I had left in 1964.
On the morning of June 5, 1968, I awoke in my parents home. My old room had been restructured and so I was in the large bedroom that had been where my sisters had slept before we flew the nest. The sheets were line dried and had been ironed by my mother. The house was open to the June morning breeze that came through the floor to ceiling windows that were opened top and bottom. There were familiar sounds coming in from the neighborhood. Kids were playing, mower were droning, birds were making their June noises. I heard the phone ringing. It is 1968. It was a large black Bakelite model with a rotary dial that sat in the foyer just outside of the bedroom. It was my mother. She was crying. She told me that Bobby Kennedy was dead. I was stunned. I went to the TV and turned it on. It was November 22, 1963 all over again.
I had traveled the world. I had seen world poverty. I had seen how the rest of the world lived its everyday life. I had been on the inside of the forces that were countering the communist menace. I had been in the third world where politicians were murdered on a whim, and where governments were subverted into proxies for one side or another. I had come home to a country that retained a third world consciousness.
Last evenings movie was one of those routine breakers. My wife had given us all instructions to be ready to sortie for a surprise event at 4:00p.m. We did as ordered. I thought we were going to go do the annual Holiday photo shoot at the mall photog-shop. No. We are going to the movie. Its too early for my meds so I figure that later will work. After the movie, we went to Mall Food Court. I had sipped a cola at the movie. I got sweet tea with my number 3 pseudo Asian meal. That was a big mistake. I rarely drink anything with caffeine in the late afternoon or evening. We made a couple of stops on the way home and at 10:00p.m. I am propped up in bed with the laptop catching up on the news and my favorite posting spots. I just let the antihistamine, the ibuprofen, and the Prozac slide. I was buzzed from the late caffeine. At midnight, I turned the lamp off and thought I could doze. The rest of the family is prepping the Tannenbaum. I turn on the white noise and have a fitful nap. I wake. It is 2:00a.m. It is too late for the usual sleep aids. I don't want to have a groggy Saturday morning. Over the next 8 hours, I am awake every 90 minutes or so. I don't panic - It's Saturday. I will be able to adjust. At 10:00a.m., I rise to make coffee. I take the dogs out and find that my yard is a bee garden. There are some small purple flowering weedy invasives down in the turf. I am not a rigid feed, seed and lawn futzer. The bees, a small variety, are collecting the minuscule drops of nectar for their honey. I get down on my knees and elbows to get a closer look. I can hear their micro droning. It is snowing in the Mid West and it is not quite officially winter and I am down on my hands and knees watching bees in my yard. I am 61 years, 10 months old. Bobby Kennedy would have been 81.
I made a trip to the grocery. I met Dave. He was a Marine communications NCO in Danang and Phu Bai. He had been billeted near an Agent Orange loading area. He lived in the dust and vapors of Agent Orange for 18 months. He is just getting along but poorly. I met Bill. He has a Harry S Truman, CVN 75 cap on. I have to ask . . . Did you come by that cap honest or did you see it blow out of a pickup truck. He adjusts his hearing aids and asks for a repeat. When he understands he chuckles. He came by it honest. He was career military, and a nuclear propulsion officer on subs and then on carriers. He was a guest of honor at the Truman launching. The new grocery set up guys are restocking my grocery to a new plan-o-gram. I asked Rad. Where the vinegar was now. He took me to it and of course, I had to know his story. His given name is Radavan. He has a delightful Slavic accent. He was run out of one city or another in the breakdown of Yugoslavia by one militia or another until he was able to slip into Germany and then quite legally into the US.
I have since had coffee, eggs and toast. I am munching on raisins and typing at the moment. My peeps have gone to tend the horses and I am still without medication. I can feel the demand for Neurontin coming on for my lingering shingles pain. I can feel the demand for Ibuprofen building in my lower running gear. I will have to feed the Prozac level or get an insufferable head ache. Before bed I will have to resort to a Xanax or face another restless night. For now, normal is not too bad, but any demands for action will have to be accompanied by medication.
Bobby would have been 81. W would be a second string oilman in Midland. There may have been a much smaller black granite wall in Washington, D.C.
I need a nap.
In June 1968, I arrived back in the US after being away for nearly four years. I had traveled in the Middle East , East Asia and South East Asia. It was during the hot years of Viet Nam. The country had been in an uproar. King was murdered. Watts, Detroit and other cities had exploded in violence. I watched from afar. In that first week of June of 1968, I was decompressing and readjusting to the new US tempo that was the late 60s. There were hot cars, hot pizza to go and Go-Go girls. It certainly was not the country I had left in 1964.
On the morning of June 5, 1968, I awoke in my parents home. My old room had been restructured and so I was in the large bedroom that had been where my sisters had slept before we flew the nest. The sheets were line dried and had been ironed by my mother. The house was open to the June morning breeze that came through the floor to ceiling windows that were opened top and bottom. There were familiar sounds coming in from the neighborhood. Kids were playing, mower were droning, birds were making their June noises. I heard the phone ringing. It is 1968. It was a large black Bakelite model with a rotary dial that sat in the foyer just outside of the bedroom. It was my mother. She was crying. She told me that Bobby Kennedy was dead. I was stunned. I went to the TV and turned it on. It was November 22, 1963 all over again.
I had traveled the world. I had seen world poverty. I had seen how the rest of the world lived its everyday life. I had been on the inside of the forces that were countering the communist menace. I had been in the third world where politicians were murdered on a whim, and where governments were subverted into proxies for one side or another. I had come home to a country that retained a third world consciousness.
Last evenings movie was one of those routine breakers. My wife had given us all instructions to be ready to sortie for a surprise event at 4:00p.m. We did as ordered. I thought we were going to go do the annual Holiday photo shoot at the mall photog-shop. No. We are going to the movie. Its too early for my meds so I figure that later will work. After the movie, we went to Mall Food Court. I had sipped a cola at the movie. I got sweet tea with my number 3 pseudo Asian meal. That was a big mistake. I rarely drink anything with caffeine in the late afternoon or evening. We made a couple of stops on the way home and at 10:00p.m. I am propped up in bed with the laptop catching up on the news and my favorite posting spots. I just let the antihistamine, the ibuprofen, and the Prozac slide. I was buzzed from the late caffeine. At midnight, I turned the lamp off and thought I could doze. The rest of the family is prepping the Tannenbaum. I turn on the white noise and have a fitful nap. I wake. It is 2:00a.m. It is too late for the usual sleep aids. I don't want to have a groggy Saturday morning. Over the next 8 hours, I am awake every 90 minutes or so. I don't panic - It's Saturday. I will be able to adjust. At 10:00a.m., I rise to make coffee. I take the dogs out and find that my yard is a bee garden. There are some small purple flowering weedy invasives down in the turf. I am not a rigid feed, seed and lawn futzer. The bees, a small variety, are collecting the minuscule drops of nectar for their honey. I get down on my knees and elbows to get a closer look. I can hear their micro droning. It is snowing in the Mid West and it is not quite officially winter and I am down on my hands and knees watching bees in my yard. I am 61 years, 10 months old. Bobby Kennedy would have been 81.
I made a trip to the grocery. I met Dave. He was a Marine communications NCO in Danang and Phu Bai. He had been billeted near an Agent Orange loading area. He lived in the dust and vapors of Agent Orange for 18 months. He is just getting along but poorly. I met Bill. He has a Harry S Truman, CVN 75 cap on. I have to ask . . . Did you come by that cap honest or did you see it blow out of a pickup truck. He adjusts his hearing aids and asks for a repeat. When he understands he chuckles. He came by it honest. He was career military, and a nuclear propulsion officer on subs and then on carriers. He was a guest of honor at the Truman launching. The new grocery set up guys are restocking my grocery to a new plan-o-gram. I asked Rad. Where the vinegar was now. He took me to it and of course, I had to know his story. His given name is Radavan. He has a delightful Slavic accent. He was run out of one city or another in the breakdown of Yugoslavia by one militia or another until he was able to slip into Germany and then quite legally into the US.
I have since had coffee, eggs and toast. I am munching on raisins and typing at the moment. My peeps have gone to tend the horses and I am still without medication. I can feel the demand for Neurontin coming on for my lingering shingles pain. I can feel the demand for Ibuprofen building in my lower running gear. I will have to feed the Prozac level or get an insufferable head ache. Before bed I will have to resort to a Xanax or face another restless night. For now, normal is not too bad, but any demands for action will have to be accompanied by medication.
Bobby would have been 81. W would be a second string oilman in Midland. There may have been a much smaller black granite wall in Washington, D.C.
I need a nap.
posted by Lantern Bearer @ 11:38 AM
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