A crabby commentary...

Summertime and the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin', and cotton is high.
Oh your daddy's rich, and your ma is good lookin'
So hush, little baby, don' yo' cry.

One of these mornin's you're goin' to rise up singin',
Then you'll spread you're wings an you'll take the sky.
But till that mornin, there's a-nothin' can harm you
With Daddy and Mammy standin' by.

From "Porgy and Bess" - by George Gershwin

Okay, I’m back and I apologize to anyone who expended energy by clicking on over here while I wasn’t. Here, I mean… Well, I was here but not in any meaningful sort of way. I can’t say that I took a vacation…although it’s true that my brain sort of takes off on its own little excursions occasionally, but the rest of me was here subsisting like a bowl of half gelled Jello. It’s summer, you see, and the living is easy (no it’s not, it’s excrutiating). There are no fish jumping in this pond and the cotton will get a whole lot higher before anyone gets around to picking it. (My apologies to George Gershwin.) While it’s true that my ma is fairly good looking, for a woman her age, my daddy could hardly be called rich and of what use could that be anyway? And we’re certainly not rich either...not even in the same ballpark.

As for the wings in the sky part, younger sonny got back from San Francisco full of bonhomie and in one piece and while it didn’t make me break out into song, it did make me sigh with relief. We were definitely standing by but then, that’s what we always seem to be doing most of these days anymore, just standing by…

Well…it’s now many, many, many, many hours since I started this danged post, before I was intermittently and finally terminally interrupted, so I’m going to quit right here, post it and try again tomorrow for something a little more coherent. Absolutely NOTHING about this day went according to plan. This day went astray in the most officious fashion, none of it expected and all of it designed to keep me from writing. I do hope that at some point soon I might again be in charge of my life again and fate, nasty harlot that she is, will step aside briskly so that may be accomplished. I’m toddling off to bed now…

"To Sleep, Perchance to Dream; ay, There's the Rub." -Shakespeare's "Hamlet" - act III, i, 65-68.