Stand and Salute

I did. This morning to two navy officers on their way to a memorial at Chelsea Piers. It's Veteran's Day, but you wouldn't know it at this place. We've never had this day off, which I find particularly disrespectful given this fake lie of a war we're in courtesy of the Smirking Monkey Boy Retard president (emphasizing small 'p'.)

The ranks of those from WWI and II grows thinner and thinner, and those from Vietnam might feel incredible resentment at showing their face, but those from the Gulf War and this current fuck up show their faces in true defiance. I'm proud of them.

I've never had the urge to understand the thought of voluntary enlistment and what that entails, but I understand the principle of standing up for one's beliefs even if means putting one's life on the line. Hell, that's me every day! Although you won't find me in uniform. (12 years of Catholic school is enough. No more hospital corners or starched collars for me.)

And France is blowing itself up. How quaint. I honestly wonder how long it will be before their lovely prime minister asks the USA for help. Again. If we didn't help them 60 sum-odd years ago, they'd be speaking German now. Qu'elle surprise.

In other news, it's cold out. I'm damn thrilled about it. There's nothing better than hearing the clanging hiss of heat coming up through the radiators. This sound is more comforting than anything I know, given my Dickensian childhood of cold winters and a broken boiler. Hot water is a blessing, too. One I never take for granted. That and my cats purring near me. Heaven, sweet heaven, that I can even hear that sound--so quiet and still my life has become.

It's a wonderful thing when you've taken great pains to rid one's life of chaos. No fighting, no phones ringing, no TVs blaring, no teenagers jumping and screaming, no sirens, fire trucks, or babies screeching. I live on the greatest block anywhere. Despite Mr. Puppy and the Drunk upstairs with all their footsteps and Metallica in the afternoons on weekends, this is my only complaint and how lucky I am.

The noise and insanity has folded itself up like pocket handkerchiefs and slid away. Can I be addicted to quiet? I think so. Over the last year, I've found myself at the calm mercy of libraries, churches, cemeteries. I can hear my own footsteps as well as my own voice. Knowing what I want and what I don't might have very well been the key to my current job hunt, which will be put on hold for the holidays, but hell, I can wait. I've got the spirit now--baking and knitting and counting the days to cured ham and turkey, champagne and chocolate, cookies and stockings. The seasons change and move forward. So do I.

I definitely salute that, too.