Mood:  celebratory

The telephone call comes every year, and it always begins the same way.  By now, Frodo actually believes that he has some memory of that Wednesday morning at 10:55 AM, when Bilbo birthed a baby.  Frodo is able to respond with understanding when Bilbo remembers exactly every excruciating detail.  Were Frodo Jewish, there is no doubt that this would enable the commencement of a lifetime of guilt.  For the hobbit however, it is a good moment, one which he will truly miss the first time that that damned telephone fails to ring.

Bilbo was determined that opportunity would be there for Frodo, and that only he could put limits on his potential.  There were frequent discussions between Frodo's parents about moving to a place with better schools, and greater diversity in those with whom he would associate as he grew.  Bilbo was determined not to accept "second-best" for any of her children, regardless of sacrifice or cost.  The goals were set very high, and Frodo knew early on that he would always be just below that which was expected.

Frodo's closest friends were always thrown up at him as examples.  Legolas was the athlete, and Gimli received no grade that fell below the highest; and Frodo's best days were merely routine for his friends.  Frodo tried harder and harder, and in the years that followed he could truly say that his limitations were his own, reflecting not at all upon a lack of resources or on luck itself.  Still, he felt removed from Bilbo and his father, and he was never sure when to seek assistance.

Bilbo has been alone for many years now, and just recently was forced to leave her home in the warmth of the Arizona sun.  Frodo is selling the house for Bilbo, and Bilbo knows depression beyond her wildest imagination.  Age has colored many of her relationships, and many avoid contact because of a tendency to become argumentative, or insulting.  It is a set of experiences Frodo wishes on no other, including even Dick Cheney.

Today, when the telephone rang, it was a conversation of times past, and it was good.  There were neither words in anger, nor discussions of grievance.  Rather, it was a dialogue about the cold hands of Doctor Porterfield and the blue blanket used to wrap her first-born.  Frodo looked at the clock in his office, noting that it was exactly 10:55 AM.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:26 PM EDT

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Mood:  special

Frodo has never been to the State of Washington, most probably because he never really knew anybody there and it seems to be a little out-of-his-way.  That will change.

Michael Dahl is one of the eight young men laid to rest in the cemetery in Fort Lewis this day.  He is one of the twenty six members of the Fifth Striker Brigade who have fallen in combat since July.  Speaking on his behalf was his Grandfather, Mr. Buddy Dahl, a former Marine and Vietnam-Era Veteran, who slumped slightly as he stared into the camera.  It could have been a mirror for Frodo.

"I swore when I left Laos that I would never cry for a dead soldier again.  It doesn't work."

Sam reached for Frodo's hand, as he sobbed openly for a boy he will never know, and a contemporary who thought that all the horror was behind him.  What could be worse than those damn bagpipes playing a dirge for the little boy you once bounced on your knee?  What else could make you question the very existence of a just and noble Maker?  What will every night for the rest of your life be like, when all you can do is lie abed, with his face staring back at you?  Damn it, damn it to Hell.

Buddy Dahl, once a Marine in Laos, amid the 56,000 who lie now with his Grandson, thought that Heaven was his due because of his time served in Hell.  Frodo thinks he knows what is in that warrior's heart this night, and he weeps for he who suffers so.

Mr. President, then-Senator John Fitzgerald Kennedy, in response to a question, once said that "the islands of Quemoy and Matsu are not worth the bleached bones of a single American soldier."  Mr. President, eight boys were buried at Fort Lewis today, eight. 

Mr. President, Frodo believes with every fiber of his being that you understand the depth of his heartbreak.  Frodo believes that you will, too, look into the mirror that is the eyes of Mr. Buddy Dahl, once a Marine in Laos, and bring an end, by any available means, to this torment. 

When Frodo visits the grave stone marked "Dahl," he imagines that a former Marine in Laos will probably be there on that day, like he will be on each and every day remaining to him.  Damn it Sir, damn it.      

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:01 PM EDT

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Mood:  not sure

The World Series starts tomorrow.  The National Football League just completed the 7th of its 16 game regular season, and the New Orleans Saints are undefeated.  The Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets lead the Atlantic Coast Conference in football, with weakling Wake Forest next on the dinner plate.  The College Basketball season will be starting in a few weeks, with the top Freshman in all the land to grace the court at the "Thriller Dome."  Frodo has had a number of distractions, and he, quite frankly, wrapped himself up in the web of Shelob and "vegged out" for a few days.  Every once in a while, even a Hobbit needs to shut his mouth and listen to the utterances of others, and if he does so while watching Jonathan Dwyer make touchdowns, then all the better.

Frodo learned that Jean Sasson has completed her latest book on being feminine in the Middle East.  This gutsy author, who physically reminds Frodo of Dolly Parton, is not the world's greatest writer, but she exhibits unbelievable courage and creativity in her subject matter.  Her new book is written from the actual perspective of the first wife of a man named Osama bin Laden.  Frodo is sure he will read the book when opportunity avails itself, but he has already asorbed a great deal from the press releases and Jay Leno.  For example, Mrs. bin Laden, who has not seen her husband in almost forty years, is also the first cousin of her husband.

Frodo did not know that they were from Texas (which explains the first cousin relationship for all those dear readers still on drugs or missing that first cup of coffee).

Frodo also learned that the sister of Fidel Castro had been on the payroll of the CIA ever since the first weeks after the overthrow of Cuban Dictator Fulgencio Batista.  She alleges that the deal was for information, by one who opposed Communism, and that the CIA promised not to seek to harm either Fidel or Raul on information she shared with them.

Frodo had not been previously aware of a single agreement honored by George H. W. Bush, Stansfield Turner, George Tenet, or any other former Director of the CIA.  Frodo vaguely remembers something about an explosive cigar, or was that Monica Lewinsky?

Legolas came to visit Frodo and Sam, accompanied by his companion Elf, and the two ancient warriors plotted their next assault on Mount Doom.  That is, until Legolas reverted to childhood and ordered a bowl of chili at a nearby Krystal Drive-in.   Frodo supposed that the end was near for his storied friend, and Legolas certainly wished that it were so.  Legolas survived however, and has subsequently canceled his scheduled colonoscopy until such time as any remnant settles within his gastrointestinal infrastructure.  Stimulus funds will not be required.

Mick, the Wonder Dog, for all those who have asked, awaits the results of tests.  He seems to bark more often now, as if he is trying to check his own hearing.  He wonders, surely, why Frodo leaves the leash on so much longer when they go afoot beyond the Shire.  Like all dogs, he loves the Fall, and watching Frodo rake is one of the greatest of pleasures.  Best of all is the game "Drop the Poop," which always takes place in the spot most recently-raked. 

Speaking of "Drop the Poop," has anyone noticed that Sarah Palin failed to endorse the Republican Party candidate in the 23rd District of New York?  She opted instead for the "Conservative" candidate.  Frodo wonders if this is the revival of the Bull Moose Party?

Frodo missed you, too.  Tomorrow will be a little more on point.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:40 PM EDT

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Mood:  hug me

The veterinarian of the Shire, who owns two Porsches predominantly due to his professional relationship with Frodo and Sam, first told Frodo that his new dog, named Mick, would be a Wonder Dog.  He who is mostly Australian Shepherd, and partially Border Collie, will "leap like Michael Jordan, and run like Michael Johnson" said the purveyor of Porsches.  Frodo noted his words, and his envy, but it is the loving eyes and the toothy grin that make Frodo's fingers linger behind both ears for as long as both can stand the attention.

Frodo began to notice breaks in routine when Mick, the Wonder Dog, had his back to Frodo.  No matter how loudly Frodo would call, his friend would seemingly ignore him unless they made eye contact.  Soon, Sam noted the same, and when the next scheduled visit to Dr. Porsches took place, inquired about testing to see if Mick, the Wonder Dog, was losing his hearing.  "Well, we can send him off to Auburn University, pay them $1000, and have them tell us they think he's going deaf," is what the good doctor advised.  Unfortunately, he seemed to also have other things on his mind. 

Frodo's thirteen year old accomplice seems to have a chemical imbalance which requires greater analysis.  Cushing's Disease is a pretty serious kidney problem no matter the placement on the mammalian wing of the evolutionary tree.  In order to determine the reason for the chemical imbalance, and to determine treatment for any potential problems, the collection of a sample from the very first daily urination by the subject under study is required.  That requires, of course, that Frodo, in the pre-dawn darkness, must place a plastic container under the tweeter of a deaf dog who enjoys spreading his morning relief over six or seven separate locations, but most often on the wild holly bushes in the darkness of the Shire.

Amusing as the mental picture may be, it is serious stuff, and Frodo will stay especially close to his friend on the morrow.  It is hard not to dwell on the inevitable, so Mick, the Wonder Dog, looks plaintively at his best friend in the whole world, and is grateful for a few extra minutes of ear scratching.

There is a picture of Frodo and Mick, the Wonder Dog, which is Frodo's favorite picture.  It is the one he will some day use to silently mark the passing of his friend in this location on the worldwide marvel.  May said picture be a long time comin', for there are holly bushes still unchristened and at least one more spot behind those ears to need  a scratchin'.   

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:18 PM EDT

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Mood:  celebratory

Nine years ago this very month Frodo and Sam were traveling the Romantic Road.  Included in this festive "fahrt" (which is the German word for "trip") was an excursion into Oktoberfest in Munich.  With several Mardi Gras' under their belts, this would leave the Hobbits with only "Carnival" in Rio to ensure their attendance at each of the greatest parties in all the world (and make the planned Olympiad in Brazil even more potentially exciting).  Unfortunately for the Hobbits, it appeared that Oktoberfest would be a wash-out, since it had been raining for a day or two before their arrival and it was raining to beat the band as they entered the fairgrounds in Munich.

What the Hobbits didn't know was that there were dozens of warehouse-like buildings, each sponsored by a different maker of beverages, and the real party was inside each and every one of these structures.  By chance, the Hobbits, with traveling companions behind, wandered door-to-door until they found one with enough free space to admit them, and they were welcomed under the banner which read "Lowenbrau."  Inside, more than 5,000 young people, from all over the world, were squished together like sardines, as they drank from huge mugs of beer, and individually marveled at the goings-on about them.  In the middle of the building stood a stage, and Frodo pointed Sam in that direction as musicians gathered in order to commence a performance which Frodo rationally assumed was going to be a whole lot of "oompahpahing."  Boy, was Frodo ever wrong on this one.

Within seconds the Hobbits recognized the tune to one of the classic soul songs of all time, and as they began to sing they were accompanied by the whole crowd, in English, singing "Hey Baby, I Wanna Know-Oh, If You'll Be My Girl."  Not a single oom-pah was heard that entire night, and Frodo became convinced that world peace was at hand.

One year later the War in Afghanistan was underway.  Unfortunately, the Hobbit had neglected to observe any Islamic Jihadists amongst the crowd in Munich that night.  Oh well, Frodo supposes, they probably wouldn't have known the words anyway.

In keeping with his predisposition to pass along a few partisan facoids with his personal narratives, Frodo notes, dear reader, that in October of 1990, before the horror that was the incompetent Administration of the Incomparable Moron, one could purchase $1 worth of goods and services in Europe for exactly 85 cents, American.  Today, had Frodo and Sam repeated their journey, the rate of exchange would be a bit different.  The same $1 worth of goods and services, today, would cost the Hobbits $1.36, American. 

The math behind this simple statistic carries the entire future of the civilized world.  Suddenly, Frodo does not feel like singing.  If things fail to change and the decline in the value of the dollar continues as it has over the past nine years, there will be no young people from all over the world drinking beer and singing in Munich.  And that will not be the only change to affect us all, every one. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:30 PM EDT

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Mood:  chillin'

In pubescent days, the "put down" (or PD) was something one avoided, as if it were a weapon of libido destruction, or, alternatively, one used it in order to determine social dominance.  Many times did the Hobbit feel the sting of rebuke from well-rounded sex kittens, and for countless hours thereafter the echo would rebound off the unmerciful lips of his traveling companions.  Frodo learned at an early age that he was gifted in his ability to transfer the social nuance into the argumentative, but the mature application thereof has been a constant challenge.  Frodo was reminded this evening of one particular incident that demonstratively illustrates the effective use thereof.

Rep. Phillip Gingrey (R-GA) is an OB-GYN medical practitioner who represents the 11th Congressional District.  Gingrey, who has delivered more than 5200 babies, has worked his way up into the seat once held by Newt Gingrich, after several terms in the Georgia State House of Representatives.  Gingrey appears on the black-and-white as an avowed opponent of anything detracting from the "best healthcare system in the world."  His demeanor has evolved from the literate into the homespun, and he believes firmly that he represents the majority populace in his district.  Frodo's assessment of style and presentation is based on personal experience.

Several years ago, in Georgia, there was a great debate about the State Flag.  Whether or not any rememberance of the treasonous period, when Georgia decided that it no longer wanted to be part of the United States of America and went to War to prove it, was to be included on the State Flag was at issue.  Frodo knew that the pending Olympics to be held in Atlanta were a boon to business opportunity, and that the potential for good growth was at hand for the local community.  Many disagreed with Frodo, and tried their best to make sure that symbols which were hurtful to many people were to be a part of that flag.  Frodo decided that he had to make sure that his designated representative should be alerted to Frodo's opinion.  That turned out to be this guy Gingrey, then unknown to Frodo.

Frodo found him to be eager and helpful, and he indicated a clear understanding of the importance that the issue held for local businessmen, like Frodo.  Despite that, Gingrey indicated to Frodo that he intended to vote to include the offensive symbolism on the State Flag.  He said to Frodo that although he personally agreed with Frodo, that "a majority of my district believes I should vote otherwise."  Frodo was stunned.

Frodo appealed to Gingrey's reason.  He said, "Mr. Gingrey, as a Republicant (sic), you know that Abraham Lincoln was the Father of the GOP.  Lincoln stood against those who wanted to 'punish the South' for the conduct of the Civil War.  It is undoubtedly true that nearly all of those on the victorious side urged him to act accordingly.  You know also that Lincoln acted in the best interests of his country, regardless of what the majority recommended.  Now here you stand, with the same sort of decision, and you take action exactly 180 degrees opposite of that taken by what was surely our greatest President."

"Can't you vote your conscience?"

Gingrey attempted to appease Frodo, but he could not comprehend the disgust Frodo felt for someone who placed political expediency above an issue of right-vs-wrong.

Before they parted, Frodo turned back to Gingrey and said, "Mr. Gingrey, I believe I know Abraham Lincoln, and I believe that Abraham Lincoln would have been a friend of mine.  I can tell you Mr. Gingrey, you are no Abraham Lincoln."

With apologies to former Senator Lloyd Bentsen (D-TX), who would also have recognized that Gingrey was, is, and will probably always be a political hack.  Frodo wishes he'd have stayed in his day job, full-time. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:18 PM EDT

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Mood:  crushed out

Joe Willie Namath in an interview for PLAYBOY was once asked for his feminine preferences.  He answered "Southern girls," thereby ensuring the undying enmity of the Beach Boys and Farrah Fawcett ("See Joe Namath get creamed").  Frodo, on the other hand, has always been entranced by feminine warriors, and Rheta Grimsley Johnson is very high on his wish list.

Frodo first encountered her words in the ATLANTA JOURNAL-CONSTITUTION when he found himself reading everything she wrote.  He grew personally empathic with her tales of a young marriage on St. Simons Island that fostered through the struggles of the first years together, then collapsed as success took the partners further apart.  Her return to the city too busy to hate, and her continuing presence on the newspaper built by Ralph McGill only whetted her appetite for the life she really desired.  Eventually, she bought a cabin in the woods of Mississippi and started walking trails that had always been there, if only to wait for the prodigal to return.  Words would follow.

Frodo remembers most a column she wrote about a young naturalist who had been stricken with terminal cancer.  She captured his words and his gentle nature as he took every possible remaining moment and hiked along muddy streams and quiet forests.  In such great pain that he was often unable to put one foot in front of another, he would stop long enough to admire one more flower.  Frodo never knew the boy, but he cried that day, and later on when the young man's spirit carried him on to a high road.

It was a pleasant moment when Frodo noted the name of Rheta Grimsley Johnson in the Opinion Section of today's AJC.  Entitled "Nobel Critics Are Far From Noble," she wrote ". . . Maybe there is at least some hope for world peace now that the United States of America has managed to elect a president with an IQ larger than his hat size who is willing to engage in open-minded discussion before rattling sabers, a man who will work with the United Nations instead of undermining it, a fellow whose eloquence and idealism could be used to work for good . . . Perhaps the Nobel Prize people were saying that this is the time and the opportunity and personality to aim for a better way in a nuclear age.  And if that's not what a Peace Prize is all about, it ought to be."

Frodo has some very impressive friends in Mississippi (nearly all of whom, strangely enough, happen to be women), and many of them follow his words.  He asks that if any of them should be out, mint julep in hand, taking in the final blossoms on this year's magnolia, and they happen upon the talented Ms. Grimsley Johnson, please ask her to sit a spell, and let her know that she has a fan who just happens to be a Hobbit.

In the future, Frodo will chronicle his on-going admiration for Cynthia Tucker, from the hometown of Harper Lee (and the location of the only monument ever dedicated to the boll weevil). 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:56 PM EDT

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Mood:  chatty

Alfred Hitchcock used to begin his television stories with a visual teaser.  Coupled with Hitchcock's surreptitious presence for a passing cameo in every show, Frodo often found himself concentrating on the subtle as opposed to the substance.  In a way, the Hobbit does much the same.

The Men of Gondor come together on the second Friday of every month.  The concept began with an entrepreneur who noticed that a lot of men devoted more and more of their time to work, family, church, more work, more family, and more church.  The things that guys shared, in the locker room for example, disappeared from their lives with age and responsibility.  What this gentleman devised was a business whereby he would gather groups of men together, and set them on a course of meetings and activities.  He charged them each a fee at the first meeting, set the organizational ground rules, then he disappeared in favor of finding another grouping.

The activities generally began with discussions about life experiences and interests.  Over time the meetings became field trips to museums, homeless shelters, wastewater treatment plants, or whitewater rafting, horseback riding, or an occasional afternoon hike.  Nearly all of the groups would dissolve after two or three years, but not so the Men of Gondor.  There have been instances when things almost came unglued however, and Frodo was deeply involved in the most serious.

Frodo once promised himself that he would read at least one book by everybody.  This was not the brightest of the goals he ever set for himself.  It not only required him to go back and track down Victor Hugo (Frodo argued that having seen "The Hunchback of Notre Dame" on the black-and-white was enough), but it meant that he could not read six or seven books by a particularly prolific author that he happened to like a whole lot.  Frodo suggested to the Men of Gondor that having one meeting a year dedicated to reading a book in common would be both a mental exercise, and a good way to politely argue over something less volatile than abortion rights or gun control.  One, now former, member took particular exception to Frodo's suggestion, and it became clear that one, or both, would have to go in a different direction.

One book reading turned out to be enough.  This past week however, something happened that rekindled the spirits of all the Men of Gondor, even moreso than the annual bell-ringing for the Salvation Army at Christmas.  While lunching before touring the Carter Center, and actually seeing a Nobel Peace Prize, the discussion came to travel, and neat places visited.  Frodo got around to one of his favorites, "Travels with Charly," the delightful tale by John Steinbeck about his drive encircling the United States with a blue-dog poodle, who went "Pffft" rather than "Bark."  The places, and the times they had, caught the boy in all the Men of Gondor.

Before lunch ended, and before the tour commenced, they agreed to read the John Grisham book, "Playing for Pizza."  The story of a former college football star, whose NFL career was jeopardized by extracurricular activities, and who found himself in a small-town club footbal league in Italy.  Unable to drive a stick-shift for example, learning to parallel park all over again was almost as funny as the offensive lineman who was actually a mob enforcer.  Small crowds, who understood very little about the game of American football, and ever-present "groupies" added immensely to the adventures of the protagonist.

Sometimes old dogs just need to talk about how they got to be old dogs.

Arf. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:55 PM EDT

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Mood:  irritated

Frodo had every intention of spending a few moments tonight lampooning the performance of Somali pirates who mistakenly assaulted a French warship ("Mr. Christian, Mr. Christian. . ."), or he was going to munch on a chewie in honor of that Australian Water Dog (whatever?) residing  at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue whose first birthday was today.  But NO, for here comes Lisa, the Howler Monkey, and her secret lover, Michael Steele, Nimrod of the Republicants, leading some sort of defense of the sanctity of Jimmy Carter's Nobel Prize.  Frodo almost corresponded directly with these simians in order to get some definition of their mental masturbation, but concluded that he had neither the patience nor the inclination to draw himself away from the ALDS game starting in a few moments (that's baseball acronym jargon which would take far too long to explain to either the uninitiated or to Lisa, the Howler Monkey).

Recent readers of Frodo's digital creations will note Frodo's commentaries on the Presidential performance of Barack Obama at the United Nations.  Frodo told all that they were present at the birth of the "Obama Doctrine," and that multilateral action would replace the unilateral scuffles which have seemingly brought all of Middle Earth to the brink of Mount Doom.  Given the very ground rules of the Noble Commission, which recognize the actions of those who bring contributions to all who inhabit our small, blue planet, how could any rational being object to a nomination in behalf of one who orchestrated an international ass-kicking of Iran and its imbecilic government?  

This is the same guy that, personally, accumulated a 15-0 vote of the Security Council to bring a halt to nuclear weapons proliferation.  When, Frodo asks, has there last been a vote of 15-0 by the Security Council on anything, including deciding on what time to break for lunch?  Who, Frodo asks, in their right mind, could legitimately argue that he hasn't done anything?  Need Frodo go further in order to expand upon his disdain for Lisa, the Howler Monkey, and her gang of refugees from Animal Farm (that's a book Lisa, you know one of those things with binding and words inside).

Barack Hussein Obama, President of the United States of America, is bringing the world together to deal with the issues of our time, and that, in and of itself, is a damn good reason for him to get a pretty keen award, and $1.4 Million to donate to charity.  It is what the Noble Peace Prize is all about.  You da man. 

Before Frodo seeks solace in the vestiges of Abner Doubleday, he felt it important to note that it is true that Obama was nominated for the award within 11 days of his Inauguration.  What we don't know is who nominated him.  Nominations can come from literally hundreds of individuals around the world, and the nominating process does not end on the date the nomination is received.  Those who voted the award to President Obama, in Frodo's opinion, did a good job.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:37 PM EDT

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Mood:  special

If there were truly an award known as an "Attaboy," Frodo would be pleased to stand at the podium of choice and award one to Ms. Katie Courick and the staff of the CBS EVENING NEWS.  The network used the entire broadcast of the evening news on both Monday and Tuesday, as well as nearly all of Wednesday, to analyze and explain the situational War in Afghanistan as it commences its ninth year.  That's right sports fans, the entire show was dedicated to one single, complex, story, and there was no mention of David Letterman, Tea Parties, or Max Baucus.  Frodo and Sam were riveted, in much the same way as they were a lifetime ago when Walter Cronkite held the public trust.

The appropriate web location of the CBS EVENING NEWS allows everyone to access the broadcast, and to draw their own conclusions from the brilliantly assembled presentation.  Frodo recommends that everyone who loves this country, and who wants to hear factual, professional reporting take advantage of the opportunity.

Frodo has cast many stones at Ms. Courick.  He felt that her appointment to the anchor chair was a debacle, and he laughed out loud as she sprawled all over the set in order to offer a more relaxed atmosphere to the serious news of the day.  She gained a measure of his respect by her dogged pursuit of the true Sarah Palin, but it has been in the days since the 2008 Election that she has blossomed, if you will, into "simply the best, better than all the rest."

Dear reader knows that Frodo is deeply concerned by the status of the Afghan War.  The in-depth strategic discussions by the Obama "War Council" are a necessary step in safe passage on the road that takes us out of that place.  Knowing the facts, and appreciating the depth of the dilemma, is something that we, as a nation, have not experienced for a long, long time.

Thank you Ms. Courick.  Attaboy! 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:55 PM EDT

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