The Lving Post, Complete

This morning (Friday) the fist song I heard on the radio was Soul Asylum's "Misery". I ain't heard it in a while, even if I have the CD. Monday I heard Jimmy Hendrix's "Purple Haze" twice, right after I got up and while I waited for the Dr. in the ER that night. It's not every day you hear Purple Haze twice in the same day. Tuesday morning my eye was all swollen and matted, looked like I had been in a fight, and it has gone down gradually through the week.



Today, as I begin writing this, is the 17th. Dog Days are done. Most everything now says they are between the 3rd of July and the 11th of August. The"old" Dog Days according to the Book of Common Prayers (which is not the Gospel, by the way) they are between the 6th of July to the 17th of August. Why it mentions Dog day's, I'm not sure. Beyond being hot, it's a period of stagnation. Dog day Storms often sit in one place. Haze hangs in the air (Purple Haze is in my brain). Heck, it's often hard to get along with folks during those 40 days...40 days and 40 nights...So, when we go into them, I see it as a stagnant time to be made the best of, and when they are over, I'm like, "Hot Diggedy Dog!!"...Get it? We can be out of our Summer Time Misery now..."I'd do it for you, would you do it for me?"



Time for work, to be resumed later....

I'm going to do something different here, this is a living post, I am going to post it and add to it as I see fit through the weekend. It just strikes me...

Back, the thing about a living post is, well, I hit energy...Then I had to put it off...and, it changed with my thoughts. I want a break from being the rebel me...

It's mid August, time for the "shift" when you feel that little twinge in the night air. Katydids making their sweet racket...And that little hint in the night air of the change to come.

Last year I did not hear that sweet racket, the night was filled with distant gun shots and explosions. As well as the constant buzz of helicopters and UAV's. I stood in 130 degree heat this time last year. All together my tour, even as much as it sucks over there, was not a "bad" tour. When you get over there, it sucks to be you, and, sometimes it sucks a little more. I, along with my comrades, was handed lemons...We made lemon aide. No, by no means was it all rosy, but, by holding our heads up and (from the old song) "keep it on the sunny side", the tour came out better. I believe that.

We were handed a complicated mission. Not all of my guys hearts were in it. I can't honestly say my heart was in it, I just said to myself that I would do what was right and and strive for what was best. I believe what attributed to our degree of success was we did not strive for perfection, but improvement.

It's Sunday evening. The last of the living post, not nearly as fun as I thought it was going to be. Uum, yogurt. I like yogurt with granola in it, it's darn good. The smooth yogurt and the crunchy granola, it's like p-nut butter and jelly.

I suppose you heathens ( I call you that affectionately) have noticed my ads. Well, Google and myself ought to get something out of this, no such thing as a free lunch. Besides, it contributes to the Daniel Wilson Fund. By clicking on Plott Dog, you help feed mine. Which, Squeaky struck a Bear this weekend. Which speaking of I'm supposed to check on the Dupont Hunt. I don't know if we will do it or not.

When I came home from Iraq I saw the Hemlocks were a hurting much more than before I had left. I've noticed something else. Locusts are looking good. For a few years at the end of summer they all looked brown, a bug was eating on their leaves, killing the leaves. I'm not sure what happened to the bug, I know a Forester I could ask the next time I see him. So, when I look at the Locust now, I do have hope for the Hemlock. There are insects that will eat the Aldeged that eats at the Hemlocks needles. The Hemlocks have a chance.

So when I look around at dysfunctional, codependent (I use Robert Burney's definition), eroding Appalachia, I still see hope. Our ancestors came here because they were independent, now folks are ashamed of their Mountain Heritage. They use silly stereotypes to haul in tourist. The open spaces that were...still are, our trademark are turning to suburbia. There is nothing wrong with us, other than we keep shooting ourselves in the foot. What's the big deal? When are we going to wake up and stop giving away our power?"God gave you life. So get out of mine, and take your sorry ass back to Florida"

So, I figure I'm back to being the rebel. I don't beat my chest over it, I just am. You've got to stand for something, or your going to fall for anything, particularly, when it comes to yourself.

Now, I'm not damning anyone from Florida. I'm damning those that's "only delight is others demise". But, truthfully when Cracker does that song here in Appalachia, it gets a big cheer.

Heck, Squeaky is hollering his head off, he done winded a Bear. He did one night just over a month back. When that happens I go and praise him. So, Squeaky done broke my Hill Billy Rave.

I ought to write a Manifesto...
The Appalachianist