Mood:  happy

Visualize Laurel and Hardy.  The setting is the Shire, and the protagonists are Sam, and friend Vonda, who periodically visits in order to assist Sam with the toils of housemaidery.  The antagonist is feline Beau Neau McKitty, who has frequented the Shire ever since the passing of the gallant Howard.  The impetus is the "dog door" which allows the uncontrolled comings and goings of Shire residents who are not tall enough to turn a doorknob.  That, of course, applies to cats as well as dogs.  Scene one,  Act onebegins as Beau Neau McKitty exits the dog door in order to patrol the fenced outdoors in lionesque fashion.

Beau Neau McKitty is obviously grateful for his admission into the Shire.  So grateful in fact that from time-to-time he finds it appropriate to bring Sam a token of his esteem.  Scene two begins with Sam and Vonda working in the food preparation area as Beau Neau McKitty announces his arrival from the outdoors and promptly spits a live chipmonkey at Sam's feet.  This is where the visualization of Stan Laurel & Oliver Hardy becomes relevant.

Scene three is the harried discussion between Stan and Ollie about how best to retrieve the present, and to return him, or her, to the great outdoors, without hurting the feelings of Beau Neau McKitty.  The first plan is to herd the visitor out the door.  The second plan is to drive the visitor out from under the stereo.  Plan number three is to corner the visitor into the downstairs bathroom, and to turn out the lights and barricade the door until Frodo comes home.  Beau Neau McKitty, it may be added, now slinks off into the loge and naps until dinnertime or thereabouts.

Act two begins when Frodo does indeed return from his labors upon Mount Doom.  Vonda has long since departed to her province beyond the Shire so Frodo is forced to call upon Sam to assist him in his interpretation of the great Frank Buck, whose motto was, of course, "Bring 'em Back Alive."  Frodo was quite hesitant to engage the assistance of this Stan Laurel wannabe in such a daunting endeavor.  He had no idea how Sam would react solo, without Ollie to assist.

Scene two begins with an argument about top-billing in the drama.  Frodo orders Sam to stand in the doorway of the bathroom and to throw a blanket over the visitor as he/she dashes from cover behind the bidet.  Sam, or Stan, refuses that role, preferring to do the chase initiation, thereby requiring that Frodo trip the snare and gather up the guest/visitor/present (select one).

Scene three begins with Frodo's smile, from ear-to-ear, as he imagines what is to follow, and how it will be recorded for posterity.  In a matter of moments the chipmonkey made a dash for the door, in order to disappear between Frodo's legs and obtain more suitable surroundings.  Frodo reacted as planned, and managed to cover the chipmonkey with the blanket and to neatly sccop his quarry therein.  With Sam dancing from toe-to-toe, Frodo carried the prize out-of-doors, and shook him into the freedom afforded by the flora of the backyard Shire.  All parties were satisfied with the result.

Sam turned to the conquering hero Hobbit, and told him that Vonda had been promised a report on what had just transpired, as Act three commenced.  Frodo suggested that Sam call Vonda and tell her that Frodo had found bloody little footprints running from the bathroom and out into the driveway to where Vonda's motorcar had been parked.  Strangely, he contrived, the footprints ended there, suggesting that the chipmonkey had made his escape by hitching a ride with Vonda.  Frodo imagined the sound thus transmitted across telephone lines as a shriek, and the commencement of another comedy now involving Vonda's husband Daryl.  The play comes to a conclusion as Sam impugns Frodo's sensse of humor while noting his prowess as protector of the Shire.

Exit, stage left.      

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:28 AM EDT

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Mood:  not sure

Tom Bombadil has been a good neighbor, for twenty-two years.  It was not supposed to end this way.  Tom is gone, and his house, once the most attractive bungalow in all the land, stands empty and forlorn.  It is as if the house is lamenting the little girls Katie and Jennie who once lived there, and who played with the noble Lovey in the house next door.  The house seems to be calling for someone new to mow the lawn, and to plant flowers along the sidewalk.  The one thing that is for sure is that Tom Bombadil will view progress from afar.

Tom and his new wife, and her son from a prior marriage, moved to the house next door from Michigan, a land far beyond the temperant shores of the Shire.  The marriage did not last long beyond a year, and Tom found himself all alone, a bachelor in a land of married couples and simple Hobbits.  Several years passed and then the opportunity which breought him to the new land was no more, and Tom struggled with the advent of the twenty-first century.  Things went from bad to worse for the conscientious young man, and debts began to build faster than resources could provide.  He tried every mechanism. but the inevitable grew increasingly apparent, and then the house found its way to the courthouse steps, where Tom Bombadils' twenty-two years of investment disappeared.

Things were not supposed to happen this way.  Tom was going to find happiness in the land next to the Shire, his fortunes would grow, and he would produce and multiply.  Now however, more than one-fifth of a century has passed, and that which was new is now old, and that which was hopeful, now seems hopeless.  Frodo stands before the empty house, and the approaching eve casts shadows where happy neighbors toasted new years and new presidencies.  Easy it would be for the Hobbit to turn back to his own, and to forget that which Tom Bombadil has contributed to all whom he has ever known.

Tom Bombadil said to Frodo as he turned off the path to the Shire for the final time that Frodo should not feel sorry.  Tom was initiating a new adventure, not so terribly far afield, where there are others without spouses, and opportunities to blaze new trails.  He was, to Frodo's amazement and delight, glad that the ordeal was over, and that he could start again, to make his mark.

Frodo is happy for his friend.  He will miss him.  Perhaps the house will not be vacant long, and it will again fill with the voices of good hearts, and gentle people.  Perhaps this is how things are supposed to end, and something else to begin. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:34 PM EDT

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Mood:  happy

Hourly, May 21st disappears around the small blue planet.  With the exception of a volcanic eruption on Iceland, it does not appear as if the world will end with the arrival of 6 PM anywhere in this particular solar system.  Perhaps that is the error which terminates this particular prediction, just maybe there is a planet out there, somewhere beyond Andromeda, that has just blown itself into microcosmic dust.  It wil take minds like Mulder and Scully to document that the books of Joshua, Leviticus, or Revelations have ever predicted anything, or ever will.  This eve, we know only that there is another 89-year-old kook out there with lots of excuses.

Mick, the Wonder Dog, has cancer.  A telltale lump on his hip was diagnosed by needle biopsy to be malignant.  He will be operated on come Monday, in the early morn.  Frodo and Sam will be with him.

Fiona, while having her teeth cleaned, was noted to have an irregular lump in her throat.  It was small, and it was removed.  It, too, was malignant. 

They both seem concerned, but about each other, and perhaps, about Frodo. 

This day they followed Frodo as he diligently went about his tasks in the front section of the Shire.  The curbs were trimmed.  Weeds were pulled.  Fallen tree limbs and other flotsam were assembled and discarded.  Lawn was mowed.  All the while, Frodo's Company took cover in the soft and cool dirt under bushes in the Shire, and all of the time, standing guard over their compatriot.  Reassuring it is to know that one's back is under such watchful scrutiny.  Sad it is to know that such days cannot last forever.

Recently Frodo said to one of life's longest friends that if there were no dogs in Heaven, then Frodo would choose not to go.  Frodo's friend was shocked, and wielded a philosophied response that only those with souls enter Heaven.  Frodo made a mental note to never again discuss issues like this with his friend, for it is obvious that cross words could enter the conversation at light speed, and that Frodo has no appetite to pick fights with anyone on matters of faith, even Osama bin Laden.

The world will truly come to an end someday, but it will end for Frodo and his companions far sooner.  There just won't be any 89-year-old-fruitcakes out there directing traffic when such truly does occur.  Nor will Sarah Palin ascend to the Presidency.  Should such ever take place, change the title word from "Rapture" to "Rupture."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:36 PM EDT

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Mood:  special

Open any map of West Virgina and look for a town called Fairmont.  Got it?  Good, now you're in the general vicinity.  In the town there is but a single school, and only one single school-teacher, for all grades, one-through-eighth.  In the farmhouse where he was borne and then grew up, the floor was unfinished wood, except in the kitchen, where linoleum was used to make cleaning easier.  This was his world when the news eventually reached the little town that our country was under attack.

When he joined the United States Marine Corps, he did not know for sure that there was a Pacific Ocean.  He truly believed that "in defense of America," he would be standing arm-in-arm with others just like him encircling our country at our national borders, keeping our enemies from getting into our backyards and our chicken coops.  Imagine, if you will, what it must have been like when he arrived in California for basic training.

Less than two years later, he was lying face-down in the sands of the island now known to us all, every one.  He heard cheering all around him, and noticed a whole bunch of crazy soldiers exposing themselves, in celebration.  He looked up to see the "second" raising of the first American flag to fly over Japanese soil, less than a thousand feet from his shallow cover on Mount Suribachi.

Earlier, he was "selected" to carry a 70-pound flamethrower, filled with what was baically diesel fuel, in order to help his fellow Marines penetrate the tunnels and the pillboxes that held even the American tanks from entry.  For five days, no progress had been made.  He sprayed one pillbox through the front slit, killing all the enemy inside, turned to face infantry with drawn bayonets, and felled them too.  He told Frodo that two brave Marines died, covering his back.  The fighting continued, but he survived, and the path was opened for his fellow Marines to get off the beaches and into the heartland of Iwo Jima.

Several days later, he was informed that he was being removed from front-line duty in order to receive a "special award."  He did not argue, but he had no idea what the fuss was all about.  All he knew was that he would travel to Hawaii, and from there, take his first airplane flight ever, back to the States.  As he explains it now, the Navy "lost him for seven days on Hawaii."  Eventually, the logistics guys directed him to a B-29 which had one seat available.  He boarded the plane at night, lit up with all sorts of bright lights, and 47 other passengers.  When he found the seat available for him, he noticed the make-up of the others, all of whom had just been rescued from Japanese POW camps.  He realized that the "one seat available" for him was for one who had not survived.

"Mr. Frodo, I will never forget my mind's eye, showing me men that normally weighed 180 or 190 pounds, who now weighed 70 or 80 pounds, who had lost their freedom.  Now that freedom was restored, and the terrible cost of 6,212 dead Marines on Iwo Jima became understandable.  Those were the happiest, most celebratory people I have ever met.  I will never forget that moment."

He was one of eleven men who were the guests of Honor, if you will, at the White House on that day in 1945.  Hard to believe it is that he was nervous, if not scared, as he waited for all the citations to be read, and for all the presentations to be made.  Shivering as he stood before the President of the United States, he felt the gentle hand placed upon his shoulder, and he bowed his head as Harry S. Truman placed the Medal of Honor around his neck. 

The next day he stood before the Commandant of the United States Marine Corps in his office, on a rug.  Never before had he walked upon carpeting.  He was not sure exactly how deep it was, nor how far into it he might sink.  He remembered the message though; he was told to never bring shame to that medal, because it had been earned by many who would never wear it, nor whose names he would ever know.

Frodo has no doubt that Corporal Herschel Woodrow Williams had obeyed those orders to the fullest, every single day thereafter.

Frodo was a civilian on a military compound, with a very diverse audience in attendance, and Frodo watched as the military guys and gals asked for the honor of a salute to or from a member of the Medal of Honor Society.  Every request was met, with smiles, and autographs, and pictures.  In answer to a question, Corporal Williams said that he felt that the "war which remains should be ended, and the military forces rebuilt for the challenges that lie ahead."

That must have been some school teacher, in a one-room schoolhouse, near Fairmont, West Virginia.

NOTE:  Corporal Williams is now 88 years-old, and he is the only Medal of Honor survivor from the State of West Virginia.  He is one of two surviving decorated for action that occurred on Iwo Jima.  Frodo could not help but note, as the smallest and the weakest, that Corporal Williams is only 5' 6".  Perhaps heart deserves a measurement, too.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:17 PM EDT

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Mood:  lucky

At the school which Frodo attended, everyone looked just the same.  New friends came and went on a biennial schedule as they followed parents to faraway places with strange sounding names, which Frodo has explained before.  Perhaps Frodo's fertile imagination was shaped by his unwillingness to make friends, then watch them disappear as they discovered new horizons.  Like every rule, there were exceptions, not least of which was Legolas.

The ninth year of schooling meant that Frodo could try out for sports.  It was not out of the question for the Hobbit to make a team since the real athletes were housed in facilities, separate but equal, or so it was alleged, in those days not so very long ago.  The basketball gymnasium held potential opportunity for the smallest and the weakest, that is if he ran endlessly and performed the basics with unerring accuracy.  The ordeal began as the mighty midgets formed two lines facing an orange ring against an all-white backdrop.  Frodo looked at the taller, and obviously stronger, one whose position in line corresponded to that of the Hobbit in his.  He was unknown to the Hobbit, so it was only fitting that he would not be very good.

When the part-time gym teacher/boy's shop instructor passed Frodo the ball, it signaled him to bounce the ball three times while running, and then to pass the ball to the unknown one who ran toward the basket from the other line.  Frodo's performance was adequate until he passed the ball behind the unknown one, who, surprisingly, exhibited uncommon grace with the errant pass, and turned a disaster into as graceful a lay-up as the Hobbit had ever seen.  From beneath his head of coal black hair and his facial complexion dotted with spots of Clearasil, he smiled at Frodo as if the entire event had been planned by the two of them in hours of endless practice, together.  Frodo smiled back.

The morning turned slowly to afternoon, and the two unknowns found themselves together in various drills on several occasions.  They scored baskets, ran lay-ups, and rebounded until the very lining of their respective lungs ached.  Frodo recognized that the "new guy" was good, but Frodo failed to realize that Frodo was not an integral part of that success.  That came to bear quickly enough when the "top 20" were picked, and Frodo fell out of contention.  Getting "cut" for the first time is not easy to explain, but it makes crying much too easy for the gender-sensitivities of early male adolesence.

Legolas, as he identified himself, put his arm on Frodo's and offered his hand to his new friend.  He stood straight and tall, and Frodo knew immediately that the broad smile was as true as an arrow aimed at the heart of an Orc.  Frodo no longer felt like crying.  He may not have made the team, but he had commenced one even better.  The Fellowship was under construction. 

Legolas will not remember the story as told by the Hobbit.  Frodo is surprised that the two, who rattle on, even when they rarely visit, as if they had never been apart, have yet to ever talk about their first day in each others presence, and how they met.  Frodo remembers that smile, and glad he is that it remains to this day, just as it was on that day. 

Frodo wonders often about friendship, and how it comes to be.  Why is it that one will be an acquaintance, while another becomes part of a link to either point of focus when a lifetime is under discussion?  It is one of the greatest of mysteries, and Frodo has no answer beyond the anecdotal smile of Legolas, a true champion, and Frodo's dearest friend, to this very day.

Travel safely, until our paths cross again.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:39 PM EDT

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Mood:  incredulous

The endless news cycle breathes support and energy into the use of polling.  When there is nothing else to report, take a poll, and find out if Herman Cain would win electoral districts anywhere in direct head-to-head competition with Harry Reid?  Frodo finds such data to be beyond the pale, and he ignores 99.4%.  There are however, exceptions.

This past week, 61% of Americans polled expressed the belief that Osama bin Laden was now in Hell.  Frodo took pause in order to comprehend the thoughts of the other 39%.  Where, exactly, did they think he might have gone?

Initially, Frodo thought that the most obvious answer would be Texas.  He realized immediately however, that many people would include Texas in the response about Hell, since the two terms are synonymous.  Other contenders, not disclosed in the poll, would logically include Alabama, Arizona, South Carolina, New Jersey, and selected non-Arab locations around the small blue planet which we all inhabit.  Those who happen to believe that bin Laden is still alive would probably opt for locations such as Somalia, Yemen, Detroit, or Gwinnett County.

Frodo has often wondered how many people believe in the idea of Heaven, but he'd never really drawn many conclusions about their feelings toward the opposition.  Obviously, if a huge percentage of people believed in Hell as a potential destination for their eternal recompense for the life they lived on Earth, then surely people would be better behaved during their terrestrial presence, don't you think?  If Frodo knew, for example, that he would be confined to the State of Texas for all of Eternity, unless he changed his behavior, then one could expect the Hobbit to start perusing the New Testament in much greater detail.

Lastly, Frodo recognizes that some in that original 39% may actually be of the mind that there is nothing beyond the River Styx, and that Osama bin Laden is just so much worm shit.  Frodo can accept that conclusion, too.  He hopes however that the worms are some of those grotesque creatures they find residing alongside the undersea chimneys that belch sulfurous gases from the deepest depths.  The offal will be soon seen on "Geographic Explorer."   Admittedly, one could confuse that scenario with New Jersey.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:27 AM EDT

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Mood:  celebratory

"Sighted Sub, Sank Same."--report from US destroyer in waters off the coast of Japan, 1944.

"Achtung, Schpitfeuer."--intercepted radio transmission between German aircraft off the coast of Great Britain, 1942.

"For God and Country, Geronimo, Geronimo, Geronimo, EKIA."--per Savannah Guthrie of MSNBC, the transmitted audio received in the White House Situation Room from Seal Team Six to signify the forced demise of Osama bin Laden, May 1, 2011.

Did Osama like Maypo?   May he have all of Eternity to give it a try, every damned day.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:12 PM EDT

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Mood:  celebratory

Change is good, usually, at least that is what Frodo keeps telling Proud Merry and other members of the Fellowship.  At one time, perhaps by tradition divined by Druids, the significance of the first day of May was a celebration, and participants danced around a May Pole.  Frodo believes that this also spawned the name for the now-silent breakfast product known as "Maypo" (oatmeal mixed with fodder).

About a century ago, another meaning for the day was associated with the Russian Revolution, and the birth of Communism.  Not unlike Maypo however, that form of government has sort of disappeared, and the only celebrations are in places where there are no street lights, and the only people with anything to eat are in the military.  Of course, that which they are consuming may answer the question, "What happened to Maypo?"

The last "World" War produced a number of new additions to the vocabulary of those who speak English.  Without a justifiable jab at those who attempted to describe why Frodo should get up at four AM any day this past week, it was the same source that devised a definition of the words "May" and "Day" to signify an emergency.  Again, the only emergency that Frodo can assume for a day that ends "showers" and brings on "flowers," would reflect upon a bowl of hot oatmeal which has been uncooked in a cupboard for the past 35 years.

"May Day Malone," was the protagonist in one of Frodo's all-time favorite sit-coms, that which was identified simply as "Cheers."  The moniker hung on "Sam Malone" because of his prior history as a relief pitcher called to duty by the embattled Red Stockings whenever an out was required in order to put out a rebellion stemming from Indians, Pirates, Tigers, or (shudder) Yankees.  One could readily assume that no one was too concerned about Communists, Druids, or other "May Day" references when they entered a saloon.  It was also unlikely that Maypo was served, discussed, or remembered by any of the customers who bellied up to the bar.

So why is Frodo spending so much time on a subject as innocuous as oatmeal?  Hey, didn't you see Trump last night?  Frodo thinks it will be a long time before he gets the Maypo off his face, or out of his hair. 

Ha! 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:31 PM EDT

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Mood:  smelly

Magnolia, Gardenia, Mimosa, Tea Olive, are the aromatic components of early memory in the southeastern United States of America.  Despite the warmness of the Shire, which characterizes the pleasantry of an evening darkened beyond the call of another morrow, there is nothing sweeet in the air.  It is as if the senses are truly limited to "accentuate the positive, and eliminate the negative".  The night swiftly comes, and it falls, silently, unannounced, and no one has anything elevant to report.  Frodo looks for the same things that catch the eye of his cat, who hunts, but does no more than Simba, raised for an eternity behind streel.

A deep and dark evening tide, without aroma, is like the brilliant commercial which references a "day without sunshine."  There is something missing when Frodo can stroll about the Shire, and feel no juxtaposition between that which is native, and that which impinges upon the vibrancy of life.  It grows upon days end, and yet there is no call from the whippoorwill.  Perhaps poor Frodo was meant to make his own music this night, and to learn that one cannot always rely on that which one discovers, as opposed to that which one creates.

There is violin music in the City of Orleans, and that was not alwaus so. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:35 PM EDT

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Mood:  vegas lucky

The numbers, so they say, are not all in, but inaccuracy fails the relevancy test this eve.  A few short hours ago, the Hobbit was captivated by the choreography of the trees.  He stood on the deck at Lake Lovey as the random nature of the dance was driven by the swirling forces of wind, and as lovely as one shore might be, that which held him to its breast dipped its dancers ever diving like spiny fingers in an ominous threat to his very existence.  The broken combinations of sky blue and rolling thunder were mixed with dark clouds, unleashed on a battlefield that knew no boundary.

The power went off somewhere after eight o'clock, and for the next several hours only the emergency weather radio could grind information about the whirling dervishes of weather that seemed to follow each other on a track that was laid by a plan drawn three thousand years ago on the Plains of Troy.  Nervously, the Hobbit scanned the horizon, and behind and all-about for the first sight of his foe.  Sure he was that a scimitar would slash a path which would end the days of the Hobbit and the words herein would be no more.

When the cavalry of the rain struck first, the Hobbit knew that he must retreat, but foolish it would be to assume that the first thrust would be meant for finality.  The Hobbit sought not the hiding place, nay, he proceeded to act as if it were but another nightfall calling him to gentle slumber.  Then came the artillery of the hailstones, and Frodo's gallant comrades were unsettled, and called for mercy.  Frodo and Sam led the gentle Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, out into the darkness once the barrage had slowed to irregularity.  There would be little rest for any that night, but all depended on Frodo for safety.

When the dawn came, and nature called, Frodo again sullied forth into the daylight not yet fully developed.  He found a fellow traveler who told him that more than 120 souls had been lost overnight, and there was no estimate of the toll paid in their viccinity, and little knowledge about the destruction visited upon their neighbors.  They had beaten back the foe, but the costs were untallied.

The power was restored a few hours later, and the flow of information was immediate, and painful.  Many died, on this night of swords, and the costs to those who would continue forward were akin to what befell those few souls who survived the charge with Pickett, or had been among those serving in the Light Brigade.  As Frodo and Sam marshlled their tactical retreat to the Shire they were confronted with the destruction of the less fortunate.

Their rendezvous, they knew, was merely delayed this day, but that did not alter the fact that they were grateful for this day, and for more to come.  The losses and the lost reminded them of just how sweet is victory, and that it is always shrouded in cost. 

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:48 PM EDT

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