Their Words Had Forked No Lightning

I grew up hours from where I now live which is only fair because I came of age and spent great portions of my life for even longer and much farther from here than I am now, as I enter my senior years (still don't have a varsity letter on my jacket) and undertake Dylan Thomas' most railed against journey.

I've been one of those "wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight" and have the bruises and beatings, inside where only I can see them, to show for all of that. I'll be sixty-two years old later this month which surprises me because I don't feel like an old man but I know I am because when I was young (and trust me, I once was) when I ran into those then my age now, they were old. QED.

Where I live now, I'd never heard of until I got here. Based on the reactions of so many of the people with whom I live, that surprise was mutual. I must admit most of them have been very good sports about it. This is not my hometown but will, in all likelihood, be where I am when I'm finally caught short for the last time.

We do some things around here that make my hair hurt, what little of it I still have and even under the greatest of light, the only color I can see of that which remains is grey, like the remains of the day. If we're being candid with one another, there are things that go on where you live that put you around the twist as well.

We both have movies in our heads about other places we might yet live where everything is vastly improved over where we currently are though if we were to encounter residents of these magical locales, we might be crestfallen to learn of their disappointments and unhappiness. It turns out it's pretty much the same movie with a different cast.

Here's why I think I like my movie over yours. It's three minutes from my house.
Yeah. I figured your walk might be a little longer. I'll give you a head start. Go.
-bill kenny

Getting Antsy

Winter bothers me really for only one reason, the shortened days. I'm pretty sure if we didn't do all that fall back and spring forward stuff and just left the clocks alone, I'd be less SAD (seasonal affected disorder) though just as pathetic.

Back in January when it's dark shortly after four in the afternoon are the worst of the winter days. I get up around oh-bright-early so most days of the week I get to see the dawn break, and even help repair it but there's not much I can do about the coming of night in the late afternoon.

It's still early Spring, so much so that in April in New England, it can look like a great day outside until you get there and realize that brisk breeze is actually a lot more chill and shrill than you realized through your double-pane glass in the living room watching the day go by

Yesterday was like that with mostly overcast skies that made the day feel darker than than it really was but also with enough of a breeze to make you happy you had a jacket on and not too warm that you were tempted to not fasten it.

It's changeable enough, the weather I mean, right now, that my monster walks of two to four hours are still a ways off, especially since getting caught in the cold spring rain far from home can cool far more than my ardor for the great outdoors.

I went for a short walk, because I try to do that every day (anyway) carrying with me the third and final Android phone I used to use for everything but that broke my heart once too often because of its flakiness so I went to Yapple which works well but whose camera in their phones is just awful

I think my walks would be more walks and I'd cover more distance if I didn't take the cellphone/camera with me and grab happy snaps but I do and I will at least until I drop it and break it or lose it. And that hasn't happened, at least yet. I think of this as a tune-up.

-bill kenny

If You're Waiting for the Funny, Keep Waiting

The occupational hazard to being a wisenheimer (and boy do I know how much my German wife will hate my deutschification of a word to sidestep a point), is when I try to offer something serious and in a straight-forward manner, you wait for other shoe to drop. Except today, there's no other shoe and no toe tags (and both are, with apologies to Martha Stewart, 'good things').

When the war in Afghanistan moved off the front page of our local newspaper and into the 300 block of our TV newscasts, it also vacated the front lobe of a lot of people's brains. Except we're still there, if by "we" you allow me the conceit to take credit for the talented people in US military uniforms, and others, who are part of the International Security Assistance Force, ISAF, who've been doing the bulk of the heavy lifting and getting wounded and killed for over a decade.

Yeah, the current Thief In Charge, is a just another warlord who correctly filled out the questionnaire on how much he hates the Taliban-and should never be confused with a George Washington or an Abraham Lincoln. His days are drawing down as the Afghan people struggle with a form of government imposed on them from without, representative democracy, and no one seems sure, much less sanguine, as to how much future any of it may have.

All of this has happened almost accidentally and coincidentally in the decade plus of the Endless War on Terror that has maimed and wounded tens of thousands of troops and hundreds of thousands of civilians. For those military who return home "intact," that word, in light of economic and emotional challenges, can only be used advisedly.

So many dark thoughts on what I had hoped going to bed last night would be a genuine spring weekend, and my apologies if I am harshing your buzz (unless you are already buzzed; yeah, I'm talking about you, Washington State and you, Colorado) but I make it a point to check in with a site that LH shared with me, though the good Captain is a little behind right now in his posting, and I tell myself that I can almost see the silver lining. Feel free to feel the same.

And part of that silverness (silverosity?) might be for the month that just ended, there was this bright spot. I don't have a quip-if I still believed, maybe I'd have a prayer of thankfulness-but in its place I have a hope that I know will be bruised, battered and beaten, that this trend continues and that when we've brought the last American service member home and accounted for everyone, that we expend both the effort and the money needed and necessary to make each one of them, and ourselves, whole again.

There's a break in the fog of war and it behooves us all to see our way to the far shore and become the country we tell ourselves we are. Not just for today, but for everyday that remains.
 -bill kenny

Hide those Packets of Tartar Sauce

When I saw a particular news item earlier in the week and laughed, I realized as I did if there were any doubt, post-Earth life, as to my disposition it was now overtaken by events.

Be warned from one traveler to another: if you laugh or even wanly smile at any of what follows, but most especially the link at the start of the next paragraph, we are in the same hand basket and it'll be a lot warmer when we get out than when we stepped in.

Here's what I'm talking about. I'll pause for effect and let you look around furtively to see who was watching you as you read that. Yep, so much for the no-smoking section of the Afterlife, rosebud. Is this perhaps karma and a simple twist of fate?

Makes me wonder who thought 'let's always eat fish on Friday during Lent' was a good idea, aside from the Gordon Fisherman and Mrs. Paul, whom, I have been told, are now living together (they broke up for awhile because he supposedly gave her crabs. Or lobster, I forget which). You don't suppose anyone told the fish, do you?

-bill kenny

Eye on the Prize

It has been suggested by the person with whom I share my life that I am somewhat distracted and less than capable of concentrating on the "important things." The German descriptive characterization for it is spaetzen hirn, or as we'd say in English, bird-brain and I have provided my loving wife of three and a half PLUS decades (far too) many examples to support her position.

But....if I may, today thirty-seven years ago was Palm Sunday. I know this by two methods: through the collected and collective wisdom of the interwebs and because it was on that day my wife and I became formally engaged to be married.

The third day of the fourth month of the seventy-seventh year. Another road side attraction on the way to forever. And proof that when it's important, it's important enough to remember.
Always.
-bill kenny

A Strange Fascination

If the disheartened and disaffected among us here in Norwich could fly, we'd have a major airport in Franklin Square, although with lack of space for a runway, we'd probably have to settle for a heliport.

I've been told the airplane was invented by an optimist while a pessimist invented the parachute. As someone who has a reputation for always seeking out the location of unobstructed exits even as I am entering a room or a building, I suspect in a moment of fight or flight, I'd be hitting the silk in short order.

You can't be surprised that I often (but not often enough) see us as a city of enthusiastic beginners or discouraged experts. The dysfunction of that conjunction is that we'd all be better off with and instead of or because sometimes shades of grey capture nuance better than just black and just white in describing color.

As much as many of us enjoy, if not secretly celebrate, living in the Rose of New England practically in the same breath as we are sharing our favorite things, we then hasten to list concerns "they need to work on."

The they in this case is always nameless, invariably faceless and consistently absent from whatever forum we are in at the time we make our complaint aloud. That's a rule for living here, and maybe not just here. Never, ever, voice your honest concern or suggest disagreement, especially in the presence of someone who might be able to offer an explanation or resolution.

I was at a not-especially well-attended public hearing on the Hampton Project Municipal Development Plan last Wednesday night. By 'not especially well-attended' I mean less than two dozen people in a city population of over 40,000, to include two reporters and two members of the Norwich Community Development Corporation, NCDC, one of whom was offering the presentation). There are as many reasons for the often sparse attendance at Norwich public meetings as there are people who are not attending the meetings. I try to never draw an inference about motivation from behavior.

Three residents spoke during the hearing and raised thoughtful and thought-provoking concerns which went to the core of the proposal though some of their issues were less directly connected. I was happy that four alderpersons were also present to take the temperature of the room, so to speak, and get a feel for the heart of the matter. Their decision awaits.

It was exactly the way 'small town government' and 'town hearings' are supposed to work, with the emphasis on hearing. All of the speakers and, I’m sure, attendees wanted to understand as best as possible the project itself, to include the involvement of the Norwich City Council and its engagement of NCDC in an effort that could, say the optimist and enthusiasts, add to the city's Grand List. Or not.

It's those two words, "or not," that constantly remind me that we live in the real world because in the land of make believe we would have a surfeit of happy endings and more than enough tax dollars to fix our streets, fund our world-class schools, provide for public safety, make sure we have enough ranch dressing so our kids can eat all the vegetables they want and still pay for all the goods and services we not only expect but have also come to rely on from our municipal government.

Our lives are risk and reward, parachutes and airplanes. Do we dare to jump or hope to safely land?
-bill kenny

Soft Landing on a Blue Planet

Having spent the last three months (or more) bleating piteously about the awfulness of our winter (I'm sure much to the simultaneous annoyance and bemusement of those who had real winters), I'm now whining about all the rain we have had in the space of the last four days.

Yes, I could calculate, assuming a lowered atmospheric and ground temperature, just how much snow the rain I am complaining about would have produced, which would have shut me up quite nicely thank you as I'd be outside even now probably with a snow blower and mukluks (the perfect name for a grunge band, imho).

Instead, I got up both yesterday and today with temperatures above freezing (a novelty of sorts) and rain. Poor me. In honor of April Fool's Day, perhaps a snowfall of mini-marshmallows might be a practical joke by Mother Nature or, in light of how many of us have yearned for Spring's arrival, real snowflakes that look like marshmallows.

We could stand outside and stick out our tongues and hold cups of cocoa, with peppermint swizzle-sticks. Except I dislike peppermint in cocoa nearly as much as I dislike mint in my chocolate ice cream. But enough about snow and cocoa (a terrific name for a follow-up TV show to "I Spy" for obvious reasons) without as much Jell-o as the original, I hope.

The first three months of 2014 are in the books, their passing marked by this day, a celebration of sorts for pranksters and practical jokers. And we turn to face the Spring, or what we hope will be spring soon enough. I have always found people and places slightly more attractive when the trees' buds are just about to burst and the birds' songs are louder because they are more numerous.

Unless, of course, I've parked my car under a tree and returned to find it covered in something that makes me wish wistfully for snowflakes and mini-marshallows.
-bill kenny