“ I was wondering if someday I’d be seen as a blustery old man, the deeds of my youth ignored or forgotten by the yet unborn.”
Benn, James R.. The Red Horse (A Billy Boyle WWII Mystery) (p. 137). Soho Press.
Oh, in my case, I would hope that the deeds of my youth were forgotten by now. They were certainly ignored. Now, at the grand old age of 83, I try to remember those same youthful deeds that I hope others have forgotten. Why? Perhaps because our past defines us. Even our present becomes the past in mere moments as our minds become aware of it. When we’re young, we eagerly pursue the future, unaware or unconcerned that once we grasp it, it’s already behind us. Maybe that’s why we often cling desperately to things. When we’re old, we are our past, and if we’re wise, we’ll overlook it and welcome the surprises of the future that keep shaping who we are.
On Wednesday, I had my weekly lunch with Hayden. Each time I see him, he appears more settled in himself. He seems to have moved beyond seeing college as an extension of high school and views it as something to be managed in order to enhance his goals. That’s a significant step.
My daughter Jessica had that awareness while still in high school, and it seems my granddaughter Amanda does too. Of course, that doesn’t mean those goals were or are wise, or that they’ll even be achieved. However, they usually provide a solid foundation for taking the first steps into the rest of their lives.
In the evening, the dog barked incessantly, and Naida worked on her memoir while intermittently checking the backyard to see what the dog was barking at. I didn’t take a nap but instead read a bit more of Charlie Stross’ latest Laundry Files novel. It’s clever, though not as enjoyable as the earlier books in the series. Speaking of series, while writing this, I remembered the Beware of Chicken series that I’m quite taken with (though I don’t recommend it as it’s an acquired taste, much like grappa). It’s written by someone who goes by the pen-name “Casualfarmer.” I had saved an excerpt from the first novel in the series that I wanted to share a while ago but had forgotten. So, for no particular reason, I have posted it here instead of deleting it. The excerpt vividly describes the battle between the rooster (Bi De) and the relentless and undefeated leader of mercenaries for hire (Sun Ken).
“The half-moon. It had its own lessons. Like the Taijitu, it was half-dark and half-light, but the separation was perfect unlike that symbol. No light stained the dark, and no dark stained the light.
His feathers drank in the holy
light, armouring his body in the purest argent.
Yet Sun Ken struck first.
[Spiraling Demonic Whirlwind!]
Red roared out, forming a ravening twister of destruction. Like demonic teeth, it consumed everything in its path.
Bi De charged to meet it, racing into the jaws of death. The red, ravening energy slammed into his chest, and he howled in pain, but it was nothing compared to the pain Chow Ji had inflicted upon him.
He drove through it as Sun Ken spat blood, the mist flowing out and into the red wave, burning his vital energy in his last attack. The luminescent feathers faltered.
His pure armour began to fail. Little red cracks formed.
Like the fangs of a demon, the whirlwind bit deep, offering no mercy. It ripped into silvery flesh and tore it to pieces.
Bi De screamed.
The silver light guttered out.
Casualfarmer. Beware of Chicken: A Xianxia Cultivation Novel (p. 252). Podium Publishing.
On Thursday morning, I wasn’t feeling well. Naida’s daughter, Jenifer, came by and we loaded the car with boxes of Naida’s novels. They were to be taken to the State Fairgrounds and stored at the California Author’s booth for sale when the State Fair opens next week. After they drove off, I went upstairs and slept until early afternoon when Naida returned from her trip to the fairgrounds.
Still not feeling great, I went downstairs, ate a light lunch, and settled into the recliner to read my most recent Billy Boyle novel, “Road of Bones,” which was either the 15th or 16th in the series. In the novel, Billy finds himself on the eastern front of the war during the latter part of 1944. He was tasked with finding the murderer of an American and a Russian soldier. There was a tense political situation between the Russians and the American military stationed on the eastern front. The airfields were there to service the allied bombers that flew over Germany, dropped their bombs and continued on into the Soviet Union where they would refuel and rearm, and fly back to drop more bombs on Germany before returning to their bases in Italy or England.
What I found most interesting and exciting were the sections of the book about the famous “Night Witches.” The “Night Witches” were an extraordinary group of female aviators who played a vital role in World War II. Formed in the Soviet Union in 1941, these brave women were part of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, the only all-female air regiment in history. Flying in obsolete biplanes, such as the Polikarpov Po-2, they conducted daring night bombing missions over German-occupied territories. The nickname “Night Witches” was given to them by the German soldiers due to their stealthy tactics and the eerie noise their wooden planes made during flight. Facing harsh weather conditions, scarcity of resources, and relentless enemy fire, the Night Witches displayed unwavering courage and determination, successfully completing over 23,000 combat missions and dropping around 23,000 tons of bombs on German positions.
The Night Witches were so despised and feared by the Germans that any airman who shot one down was automatically awarded the Iron Cross. Despite being the most highly decorated Soviet air force unit of the war, the Night Witches were disbanded six months after the end of hostilities and were not invited to participate in the victory parade held in Moscow.
In the novel, Billy Boyd accompanies one of the Night Witches on a night-time bombing run in Poland. To me, it was one of the most exciting episodes in all the novels.
The next morning was another lazy one. I woke up early (for me) at around 7:30 AM and laid in bed for the next hour or two, browsing through the usual sites on my phone: checking my mail, messages, the 49ers Webzone, local weather, Apple News, HuffPost, Daily Kos, and Facebook. Then I went downstairs, gave Naida a kiss on the head, glared at the dog, and made my way into the kitchen to prepare my usual breakfast, consisting of a bagel with cream cheese and gravlax, along with coffee. The dog followed me, begging for scraps. I returned to the studio, ate my breakfast, and read a bit in my latest Kindle book. After finishing breakfast and giving the dog my dish to lick, I played on my computer until around 12:30 or so. Then I went back upstairs, got dressed, and prepared for the rest of the day. Often, the “rest of the day” would begin with me crawling back into bed for a long nap.
The next day was Saturday. My son, Jason, arrived just before we were to leave for the Saturday Morning Coffee. He planned to spend the day playing golf, even though the temperature was expected to reach close to 110 degrees. His tee time was not until twelve noon, so he went upstairs to take a nap first.
We drove to the Nepenthe Clubhouse because even at 10 in the morning, it was too hot to walk. After the coffee gathering, we went to Raley’s for some food shopping. When we returned home, I went upstairs and found Jason still asleep. He had missed his tee time but was not too disappointed. “I would have probably died from the heat,” he said.
That evening, we all went to “Lemon Grass,” our favorite Vietnamese Restaurant, and had a good time. After returning home, we had a lengthy conversation about this and that and another thing or two until it was time for bed.
The following morning, Jason left to return to San Francisco. After breakfast, I went back to bed for a nap. The temperature outside is expected to reach close to 110 degrees again. In the evening, after sunset, we walked the dog, but it was still too hot, in the high 90s. For dinner, Naida prepared a nice meal using the leftovers we brought home from the restaurants we ate at in the past two days.
That night, we watched a couple of Pam Grier Blaxploitation films from the 70s, namely “Foxy Brown” and “Sheba Baby.” I love her acting and the fashions of that era.
Monday marked the beginning of a new week. I noticed that everything appeared blurry in the morning, and I seemed to be having trouble with my vision. Even as I type this, I can’t see the letters clearly as they appear on the screen. Maybe it’ll somehow improve my writing. The day was hot again, though not as much as yesterday. Yesterday’s temperature reached 110 degrees, while today’s is expected to be around 105. After breakfast, I wasn’t feeling well at all—dizzy, blurred vision, and serious irritation in my throat and mouth. I put myself to bed and slept until almost 4 PM. Upon waking up, I still didn’t feel much better. I had a late lunch downstairs and examined my mouth and throat, suspecting a return of thrush. I decided to increase my throat medications to address it.
The next morning, I woke up early, and my throat and mouth still felt raw. The Nepenthe management had shut off the electricity for some repairs, and workers were scrambling about in the alley. Another hot day was expected, with temperatures hovering in the low 100s. It felt reminiscent of the COVID shutdowns, this time confined indoors due to the scorching heat instead of the pandemic. At about 11 AM, the electricity was turned back on, and we were able to have our morning coffee.
Wednesday was my usual lunch day with Hayden. I drove into the Golden Hills, and we had lunch at a good Mexican restaurant. We discussed the possibility of vacationing together in New York before he starts college.
Thursday, I mostly felt under the weather and stayed indoors, sleeping a lot. My throat was quite painful.
On Friday, I visited my primary care doctor about my throat. She said they would arrange a visit with a specialist. The temperature was close to 110 degrees again. In the evening, after sunset, we walked the dog. The temperature was still around 100 degrees and muggy. We rested on a bench for a while before returning home.
On Saturday morning, we walked to the Nepenthe Club House for the Saturday Morning Coffee. Our leader, Gerry, announced that there were no announcements for the day, so we spent the time sharing bad jokes. As usual, I missed the punchlines of most of them. Afterward, I went out to sit in the shade by the pool, waiting for Naida to finish socializing. I ended up falling asleep until Naida woke me up, and we walked home in the scorching 100+ degree heat. When we got home, we sat in the studio and discussed the conversation among the men at the Coffee about post-WWII Germany. Naida, who had spent over a year in Germany in the mid to late 1950s, explained to me how the Germans didn’t believe that the Allies had freed them from tyranny but rather blamed them for preventing them from receiving the benefits that Hitler had promised them. “There was,” she said, “a deep hatred of the Allied occupiers.”
After that rather sad discussion, for some reason, we decided to sing “Deep Purple.”
When the deep purple falls over sleepy garden walls
And the stars begin to flicker in the sky,
Thru the mist of a memory, you wander back to me
Breathing my name with a sigh.
In the still of the night once again I hold you tight.
Tho’ you’re gone your love lives on when moonlight beams.
And as long as my heart will beat,
Lover, we’ll always meet here in my deep purple dreams.
That night we watched the Great Gatsby, an expensively made film with a great cast. Unfortunately, most members of that cast were unfit for the roles they were asked to play. An interesting if uninspiring movie that we watched until 2AM before going to bed. The next day I got out of bed at about 11AM, ate breakfast played with my computer until after lunch after which I returned to bed and slept until 5PM. When I returned downstairs Naida was at her computer as usual working on her memoir. I said to her, “I am nothing but a slug. How can you love a slug?” She laughed and began singing one of Bing Crosby’s old tunes “Would you like to swing on a star” except she replaced “mule” in the original with “slug.” Since neither of us could come up with appropriate rhymes for “slug’ in the second stanza, I asked AI to help us out. This is what we came up with:
Would you like to swing on a star
Carry moonbeams home in a jar
And be better off than you are
Or would you rather be a slug
A slug is an animal without any legs
It slides through life, leaving silver dregs
No kicks to give, just a peaceful pace
Its brain is small, but it knows its place
And if you hate to rush around
You may grow up to be a slug.
And, yes I am a slug but my dregs are far from silver.
The next day, Monday I think. The temperature did not break 100 degrees (It did make it to 98), We had lunch at Ettore’s, then went grocery shopping after which I walked the dog and then we finished the day once again sitting slack jaw in front of TV.
Tomorrow I leave for SF for my periodic medical check ups. Hayden will be driving me. I look forward to the trip. Today on the other hand is just another day a day of ennui like most days.
Ennui
Watching blue mold on bread grow,
Spring rains, Summer’s glow,
Autumn leaves go floating by,
How many days before I die?
Some reap and others sow,
Some the whole world’s knowledge know,
I instead just sit and sigh.
How many days before I die?
I guess I am a committed cynic. A cynic knows that even on sunny days storms will eventually come; that all life ends in death. I am more amused than sad, more annoyed than despondent, more angry than desperate.
Papa Joe's Tales, Fables and Parables 