6.10.2020 – Iced tea? Sweet Tea!

Iced tea? Sweet Tea!
Drinking Champagne of the South
Glass of Summertime

I hit the big time today.

Well, for the Atlanta area anyway.

My friends at Atlanta & Company, seen on 11Alive in Atlanta, asked me about writing a haiku for National Iced Tea Day.

Happy to help, I composed and sent off two possibilities.

The one that was not chosen read:

glass of tea on ice
summertime to sip slowly
the taste of sunshine

The other was today’s haiku.

It was read ON AIR today so hopefully nearly six million people heard my haiku.

At least the potential was there to be heard by six million people.

Back in the day old Braniff Airlines launched their The Flying Colors of the United States’ and had three planes painted by Alexander Calder.

At one time it was decided that these planes were the most viewed works of art in the history of the world.

That included anyone who happened to be in New York City when one of these jets flew overheard, I guess.

They might not have noticed the paint job, BUT the potential was there.

Neither here nor there but I understand the plane painted red, white and blue and dedicated by Betty Ford as a bicentennial event back in 1975 was blown up in making the movie, Bad Boys.

So much for flying art.

So the 6 million people of Atlanta had the chance to hear one of my haikus.

How cool is that?

Was I disappointed that my friend Christine did not recite the poem?

To be honest?

Well ….

YES!

I love Trent, don’t get me wrong.

But to have Christine reading my Haiku over the airways?

I already have her penciled in for the audio version of, “Live Happy! Go for the Bronze: The collected Haiku’s of James Aaaron.” (My pen name).

But that’s down the road a bit.

Though the hard copy version of the book is #3 in Germany right now.

Thank you all at Atlanta & Company for the moment.

I hope I did not disappoint.

4-22-2020 – control alt delete

control alt delete
where are the keyboard shortcuts
to reboot my day
?

I love United States Space History.

The Right Stuff.

Project Mercury.

Balloon trip to the edge of the world.

Apollo.

One of the young technicians wrote of those days something along the line of, “We drank the wine at the rate they poured it.”

In my own small way, this was what it was like at the dawn of the WWW era.

Some folks refer to it as the wild wild west.

It was GREAT and I miss it, but I digress.

Back to the space race.

I love those stories of Neil Armstrong’s first words getting messed up by intereference.

I love how Gus Grissom wanted to name his second spacecraft, ‘[The Unsinkable] Molly Brown.

This after his first space craft sank after splash down.

NASA tried to hold the line and told Grissom that Molly Brown wasn’t appropriate.

Grissom said fine and that he would paint TITANIC on the side of his spacecraft.

NASA gave in but afterwards changed the policy of naming the capsules.

Possibly my favorite story is the one about 24 year old John Aaron and Apollo 12.

The gist of the story is that when launched, Apollo 12 was struck by lightning.

The power surge knocked out most of the data being sent back from Apollo to Mission Control in Houston as well as the data systems on the Apollo 12 spacecraft.

Mission Control watched the rocket go up and the data numbers go wacky.

What NASA saw on their screens.

They were about to abort the mission when John Aaron says over the communications circuit, “Try SCE to Aux and back.”

According both to legend and to the records (written and audio recording), just about everyone in Mission Control and on Apollo 12 said, “What is that?” or words to that effect.

Except for Lunar Module Pilot, Alan Bean.

Alan Bean had taken part in a simulation a year before with the self same John Aaron.

Bean reached out to the spacecraft control panel, located the SCE switch and set it to AUX and back.

The numbers being sent to Houston and the systems on the spacecraft came back online.

The mission continued.

John Aaron, age 24, was described as a steelyeyed missile man.

He had witnessed this problem on that simulation with Alan Bean one year before.

As he himself described it, by chance he was one the simulation at the time.

By chance he saw the error.

By chance he puzzled out why it happened.

And by chance his shift was in Mission Control during the Apollo 12 launch.

John Aaron was at a communications station when the lighting hit and he opened up his mic and said, “reboot”.

Of course he said it the language of the day and for his equipment.

“Set SCE to AUX”

Today he might say, “Hit CTRL ALT DELETE and reboot.”

Looked death in the eye.

Steely Eyed Missile Man.

It could be done back then in 1969.

I can hit all those keys on my computer today.

I can turn any of my so-called devices off and on.

Why can’t I reboot my day?

Where are those buttons located?

John Aaron – Steely Eyed Missile Man (circled)

4.16.2020 -tired spot within

tired spot within
tired spot
nothing touches
the spot sleep can’t reach

With the anniversary of his death, I must be thinking about Mr. Lincoln.

Many personal accounts of Mr. Lincoln quote him talking about how tired he was.

A Lincoln – USED WITH PERMISSION of the
SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION

How tired he was, but that he had a tired spot that sleep could’t reach.

A tired spot nothing touches.

One quotes him as saying, “nothing could touch the tired spot within, which was all tired.”

I am a tired man,” Mr. Lincon told one visitor. “Sometimes I think I am the tiredest man on earth.”

“It is a great relief to get away from Washington and the politicians,” Lincoln told his journalist friend Noah Brooks while reviewing troops before the battle of Chancellorsville, in May of 1863. “But nothing touches the tired spot.”

Another time Noah Brooks suggested to the President that he needed rest, Mr. Lincoln replied, “I suppose it is good for the body. But the tired part of me is inside and out of reach.”

IN NO WAY can I compare to myself to Mr. Lincoln.

All I want to do is latch on to his wording.

That tired spot sleep can’t reach.

That tired spot sleep can’t touch.

Right now I should be getting more sleep than I have in years.

My alarm clock is set to 6:45AM and not 5:15AM.

I am able to stay up a little later.

But that tired spot.

That tired spot sleep can’t reach.

That tired spot sleep can’t touch.

Even my old friend Mr. Coffee can’t get me on top of this.

It is the longest wait for the 2nd shoe to drop.

My old old pal anxiety is along for the Covid-19.

Again, I understand that this is stupid.

So I am anxious.

So what?

Who isn’t?

Why should I be anxious about things I can’t do anything about.

Why should I be anxious about things I can’t even understand?

But I also understand that not understanding why I am anxious is what makes anxiety anxiety.

4.3.2020 – Weary to my bed

Weary to my bed
Begin a journey in my head
I find no quiet

I am working from home and lucky to be working from home.

No driving.

Actually been days since I drove anywhere.

I am working.

I get tired, very tired.

With all that is going on, weary is such a perfect word.

Bedtime comes, I read in bed for a minute and the eyes start to close.

And off to the land of Nod.

At least for a bit.

At some point in the night, I wake up.

I am not moving but my brain is speeding at a bazillion miles an hour.

At that awful hour of 3AM.

Ray Bradbury has been there.

In Something Wicked This Way Comes, Mr. Bradbury writes, “Oh God, midnight’s not bad, you wake and go back to sleep, one or two’s not bad, you toss but sleep again. Five or six in the morning, there’s hope, for dawn’s just under the horizon. But three, now, Christ, three A.M.! Doctors say the body’s at low tide then. The soul is out. The blood moves slow. You’re the nearest to dead you’ll ever be save dying. Sleep is a patch of death, but three in the morn, full wide-eyed staring, is living death! You dream with your eyes open.”

Hemingway writes of his mind and being able to choke it so he could sleep.

Not that I dare put myself in the same boat with Mr. Hemingway or Mr. Bradury, but that they are in the boat with me where we say “To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired“, as Mr. Shakespear put it.

Because Big Bill is also in the boat with us.

Big Bill lived and worked 300 years ago and was plagued with the sleepless nights and the overactive mind.

In his Sonnet XXVII, he writes;
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul’s imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.

All of us in the boat together.

All of us asking where is sleep.

It would take someone as wise as Solomon to answer.

Lucky for me, Solomon did.

In Proverbs, Solomon writes, “When you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet.”

What is the secret to this sweet sleep?

“Do not let wisdom and understanding out of your sight, preserve sound judgment and discretion.” (Proverbs 3:19-21 NIV)

Wisdom.

Understanding.

Sound judgement.

Discretion.

Easy.

No problem.

And I thought toilet paper was in short supply.

3.27.2020 – what happened today

what happened today
happened yesterday and will
happen tomorrow

The sameness of everyday.

It is Friday.

The day I wear blue jeans and cowboy boots to work.

The day before the weekend.

The day before I get to sleep in.

At least, it used to be.

I got up.

I got coffee.

I got my morning reading in.

I got to work in our back room.

End of the 2nd week of working at home.

In the book, The Caine Mutiny, by Herman Wouk, the part that takes place in late 1944 comes to mind.

Wouk writes, “The ship’s life remained a static vexatious weariness.”

“August dragged and dragged and expired into September.”

I am stuck.

Don’t get me wrong.

I do appreciate that I do have a job and I am working and getting paid.

But to be stuck.

Stuck without an end in sight.

Stuck in a never ending of newscycle of wash your hands.

Stuck in an ever shrinking world of staying at home, mandatory curfews and quarantines.

Who has had the flu.

Who has the flu,

Who will get the flu.

Yeah yeah yeah, I know and I know and I get it.

Stuck in a static vexatious weariness.

Such perfect words.