Bad Moon Rising

It was dusk and the end of another hot day. Suzie-Q and I settled on the back porch to listen to the quiet. After a few minutes, we began to notice the fireflies lifting off from the grass. Seems there were more than usual. It is a spectacle that still fascinates old kids like us. With their tails momentarily ablaze, they would fly off into the growing darkness. Soon, all there was to see was an occasional small streak of light zipping by. It is calming to observe and admire such a natural occurrence without having a single thought and no feeling except calm.

As the fireflies mostly burned out and went about doing whatever it is that fireflies do, a very bright full moon began to show itself through the tree tops further up the hill. That sight itself causes you to scoot a little closer to whomever you are sharing the view with. No words are required. But something ruined the moment’s serenity. From another time combined with the thoughts of the day, something popped into my mind. The words from a CCR tune, Bad Moon Rising.

I see the bad moon arising.
I see trouble on the way.
I see earthquakes and lightnin’.
I see bad times today.

Last week, I sat down to write about the state of our Armed Forces. It is a topic I have been writing about for a long time. In July 2011, I wrote, I Remember Carter’s Army. After talking about some of the Commanders in Chief I served under during my Army Time, I concluded that by the time the Obama administration ended we may be longing for Carter’s Army. Well, here we are. In March 2012, not quite a year later I wrote, Just Another Vietnam, concluding that liberals (and frankly I probably need to amend that to read Washington politicians) were going to turn military successes in Iraq and Afghanistan into just another Vietnam along with abandonment and the rise of forces willing to fill mass graves. Well, here we are. Over the years, I wrote much about the many social engineering projects that are negatively impacting the force and with it readiness. Now we have added women to combat arms and soon to follow, trans-genders. With the cuts to our Armed Forces leaving them at pre-WWII levels or worse, we are sitting ducks. I never thought I would see the day when I, as an American, would necessarily ponder whether I am prepared to defend my family and my homeland. But, here I am.

I did not write that essay, because I was a little angry with the Orlando attack and the response of the political hacks who call themselves our leaders. It is never a good idea for me to write when I am angry. Keyboards can be damaged and words sent out across the world wild net are there to stay. As time went on, the anger did not subside although my thought process may be a little more rational.

We are in a Presidential election cycle. Although it seems like I have heard the words every single time there was an election, this one is certainly the most important in my lifetime. I will decide the fate of our nation.

Sitting in the Whitehouse, we have a petulant little man who is also an Islam apologist. Just like all of the others, it was not a murdering Islamist that walked into the Orlando night club and killed 49 people. It was a rifle that did it. So instead of an all out war on ISIS, not a drone strike here and there that kills one cockroach that is replaced before the sun sets on the dead one, he declares war on semi-automatic rifles. We must get those “weapons of war” out of the hands of citizens. Do know what weapons of war are Mr. President? They are box cutters in the hands of Islamic terrorists intent on killing Americans and who succeeded in murdering 3000 non-combatants. All the terrorist murders were from Saudi Arabia to whose king you bowed. And there would have been more on that day if some Americans had not said “let’s roll.” And who is in the wings to replace you? Another wholly owned by the Muslim Brotherhood with millions of dollars paid into her foundation from at least 10 Islamic countries – where they execute homosexuals.

And what do we have on the other side? We have a candidate who is a racist and bigot because he suggests a pause in Muslim immigration until they can be properly vetted. Members of his party are working harder to defeat him than they ever did to defeat the petulant one – the Speaker of the House the worst among them. I despise these knee-jerk hacks as much as I despise the idiots on the other side. I do not like it when people play with my life and the lives of my grandchildren. It is time for the adults to assume control. Either they come together with an inoculation for terminal cranial rectal inversion syndrome or we get another wholly owned Islam apologist, military hating, Marxist in the Whitehouse. And this one wants all of the guns. And she will get them with a majority progressive Supreme Court. And America is done. Understand that Republicans. Done! Let’s roll?

Hope you got your things together.
Hope you are quite prepared to die.
Looks like we’re in for nasty weather.
One eye is taken for an eye.

©2016 J. D. Pendry All Rights Reserved

Out in the back yard

I do not know if there are any surgeons among you, but if so, have you ever tried surgery with a weed eater. It is not a precision tool. Some weeks ago up in the backyard, I buried some bleeding hearts. To my astonishment, many of the roots I stuck into the ground are actually growing. A couple of them have flowers. Cute little red, heart shaped flowers. I have used caution while mowing and trimming the lawn. Unfortunately, because weed eaters are so indiscriminant and imprecise, some of those burgeoning plants will need a second start. Sort of like some flaming out talk radio hosts and neo conservative magazine editors.

Several years ago, I planted a persimmon tree from root stock. Suzie-Q’s all time favorite fruit. Two actually, well four if you count the first attempt. In spite of my efforts, one has survived. For several years, it has been little more that a twig with a few oversized leafs on it. I learned through several minutes of intense study, that this tree is supposed to produce fruit in its fifth year. I told Suzie-Q she better have a chat with it, because if there is no fruit come summer time it may not warrant keeping and I would put a dogwood in the hole. Even I can grow a dogwood. I saw her taking a look. Her back was to me and her hands were on her hips. I cannot say for certain whether or not she was giving it a talking to. Maybe it was one of those Spock Vulcan mind things. While wreaking havoc on the bleeding hearts and also trimming around the tree, I noticed it now covered with tiny little persimmons. So if the tree rodents that you may call squirrels and the allied antlered rodents are kind, by fall Suzie-Q should have persimmons. For which I will take all of the credit. Sort of like the politician whose policies destroy three jobs while expecting praise for the creation of one when truthfully it was God and the cycle of nature that did all of the work.

From a distance, I noticed my rose bush looked a little sickly following its grand start this spring. Like the stock market, but not quite as sick. A closer investigation revealed a spider mite invasion – unwanted visitors sucking the life right out of a beautiful plant. Another familiar thought entered my mind just now. As I was about to unleash chemical warfare and prune the rose down to a few inches above ground and begin anew, I made another discovery. Right in the center of the thorny rose bush was a tiny bird’s nest with four little eggs in it. It made me wonder if mama bird might have smuggled these vermin into the roses aboard her nest makings. Suzie-Q and I discussed it and decided we would give mama bird and the eggs a chance. I have inspected the nest daily. It does not look like mama has returned to the nest seeing as dying rose petals partially cover the eggs. A friend of mine who knows such things tells me they should hatch in a week to a week and a half if the mama bird tends to her job. So they have another week before they go into the compost along with the spider mites and rose bush remnants.

As the day’s work ended, it was time to fire up the grill and stare out across the fruited plain of my back yard. It was rather pleasant. Sipping a cool drink while the aroma of barbequed baby back ribs and smoked sausage swirled around my head. I may not make the best barbeque you have ever eaten, but it will rank right up near the top. I would give you the sauce recipe, but it is a closely held secret. It is so secret in fact, I never committed to memory all of the ingredients. That is just in case I am ever water-boarded. Suffice it to say that when it is being concocted nothing in the kitchen from the horse-radish mustard to the dish washing soap is safe. You can be assured that when all of these varied ingredients are stirred together with a single focus in mind the results are amazing. Sort of like that American melting pot we once knew.

© 2016 All Rights Reserved J. D. Pendry