Once again I must begin with this:
PLEASE click on the tiny “Read on blog” link or the post title itself in the email notifying you of a new post. Thanks.
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Today’s post is not about the song written by Steve Winwood and first released by the group Blind Faith on their 1969 eponymously named album. Instead, the post is about yet another in the decades-long line of dreams I have had that I was somewhere from which I could seemingly not find my way home.
Two nights ago, I dreamt I was in Washington, DC for some type of meeting in a five-star hotel. I think the purpose of the meeting was political. (WTF?!) As the meeting was ending the people who had brought me there informed me, at the last minute, that they would not be able to take me home.
In the dream, home was not Arizona but a suburb of Baltimore where I once lived. In desperation I asked two people I had met at the meeting if they could take me home. Both refused saying it was too far out of the way for them.
I decided that I would simply stay at the hotel and try to find my way home the next day. Again, the fact that services like Uber exist in the present was of no relevance in this dream. I woke up as I was walking to the hotel’s front desk to see if I could get a room for the night.
It is common for me to dream about “home” and that home is somewhere near where I was born and raised and not where I actually live. In my conscious so-called life I am a homebody. With very few exceptions I have very much wanted to return from vacations 1-2 days before they were supposed to end.
On at least one occasion I did actually return home before I was “supposed” to. However, as I was by myself it was much easier to change my plans. For not the first time I will write it is at times like these that I really miss my friend, Richard Segal.
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This year, Thanksgiving will mark the 27th anniversary of my first date with the wonderful woman to whom I have been married for more than 25 years. In that year, the date actually fell on the day after Thanksgiving and, not surprisingly for that time in our lives, we both worked on that day. Seems very fitting for that anniversary to fall on Thanksgiving because I have no greater thanks to offer than those to my wonderful wife.
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Speaking of Thanksgiving (sort of), I wanted to share excerpts from letters written to Winston Churchill by two of his children. In August of 1955, four months after the end of his second tenure as British Prime Minister, his son Randolph wrote, “Power must pass and vanish. Glory, which is achieved through a just exercise of power–which itself is accumulated by genius, toil, courage and self-sacrifice–remains”
In 1964, not long before Churchill’s death, his daughter Mary wrote, “In addition to all the feelings a daughter has for a loving, generous father I owe you what every Englishman, woman and child does–Liberty itself.” In this world of “social media” with its brief expositions and over-emphasis on images of no real significance, the power of writing itself has been lost, for which we are all poorer.
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Some humor via this Archon’s Den post:
Bacon is actually the second reason I’m not a vegan….
….I’m not a moron being the first.
Last night I dreamed I was an automobile muffler….
….I woke up exhausted.
I’m beginning think that, for some people….
….the wheels on their bus do not go ‘round and ‘round.
Vodka mixes well with everything….
….except decisions.
I’m really getting older….
….My doctor just referred me to an archeologist.
#Can’tFindMyWayHome