“Fifty Years Ago Today, Sergeant…”*

Fifty years ago

right now was ‘Taps:’ And one fool

tried to ‘Make-Springs-Squeal!’**


  • (Written 9:15 p.m. – or 2115 in Marine military time, saying Hours is redundant – just as Taps sounded and lights went off on our first night of actual training at Parris Isloand, South Carolina for Platoon 1047, 1044 Series, Company B, First Battalion, First Recruit Training Regiment, and some damn fool tried the Onan-game and his squeaking bunkbed springs alerted his squadleader and such help as required to pound some sense into the idjeet before the terror known as any Drill Instructor in Creation came down on us again after that first day’s demonstration of DI Ire.)

“I’m Wet, Worn Out But The Cat Loves Me*”

My second “Irma”

home de-branched by the road:

this one five acres!


  • (Brother and Sister-In-Law’s esate nearby, Turtle Crossings, has a brutal homeowners association ruling: Wednesday Must for its only yard debris pickup and I love my Brother Storm but I like my Sister Jeanne.  I awoke several pre-strained muscle groups, but all-in-all the yard in Sanford at The Office yielded more fall-down and heavy lifting.  I need to get some more aspirin, having eschewed Recon Candy – Tylenol – to easy my aches into bed.  And I still have one-half a back side-yard left to fine-tooth rake so as not to dent mower blades.  My what a fine fellow.  I must make balance de-meaner, no?)

“Girded Snaffurd*”

Sanford girds itself

for its leaf-n-branch abounds:

I must walk around!*


  • (As our city streets – and the rest of Central Florida I am sure – beging getting emptied of all the detritus of a hurricane’s indelicate brush with limbs, whole trees of varying sizes, twigs and leaves and much else besides, my favorite shorcut park towards my downtown trekking to a computer internet existence is foiled even more.  The weekend Cricket players, too, have been put off.  Not only has the huge monoliths of stormwater sewer improvements like a pair or so of linear Stonehenges lining the left-hand pitch gone under the gun of civic improvement, but now the park entire some six square blocks I guess have become a parking lot for dumped yard waste – yours, mine and ours and more importantly it seems The City’s – which comes first – so my oft daily treks towndownwardly have grown. Groan. Grin.)

“Now I Am Worried!”

Out East and South now

brews yet one more monster storm:

Weather Talk: ‘No Big!*


  • (The people who brought you Hurricane Andrew which went from Category None or just One to Four and then Five in the space of a Gulf Stream’s width, armed now with even more marvelous toys say to me don’t worry, Marie will take herself North just before The Bahamas when that High Pressure area about Bermuda goes away.  What if it wants to stay, say I?  I say!  Say, wouldn’t you like a nice Caribbean Punch?)

“In Reply To Buddy Bruce ‘Bout ‘Cane”

Yet again Traitor

typist touches (foul fingers!)

cause me the Cha-grins!*


  • (Not just today but since I taught myself touch typing circa sixth grade – or sooner – and even after a semester fine-tuning in business typing class which I switched to take Drivers’ Ed – I have been ham-fisted at the finger-end and thank deity or deliveryman I came to practice journalism where fat number two pencils and later blue pens when ‘lectronics and pagination prevailed – from lead hot-type to thermo-printing of whole pages set for the printers, wow! – I have maintained my need for speed before perfection.  Bad for driving; not so much for typing.  I do apologize for the mangled words and phrases which lead to quandary but enjoy the occasional whimsy as well. With only minor tweaking the above haiku came in the last line of a reply to Bruce Jewett advising me to be ‘ware the hurry cane before my home – and he tried to fob off my rant at his rigidness sitting atop several faults bigger than mine own three who fossilized await awakening on the western terminus of Lake Monroe as The Saint Johns River resumes its turgid stroll to Jacksonville and The northern half of The Atlantic Ocean.)