Frodo, Keeper of the Ring

Saturday, August 13, 2011

You're Under The Gun So You Take It On The Run
Mood:

hug me
Topic: "Barely Bearble"(7)

There are some very strange goings on, going on, about which, quite unsurprisingly, Frodo has a theory. It all seemed to start with our commentator out on the left coast, whom we shall, for defensive purposes, identify only as Mr. Behr. It seemed there for a while as if some hitcher was coming in between every Brown or Grizzly Bear and her cub no matter the location within the confines of the Park known as Yellowstone. Then we heard from our commentator in Scandinavia, affectionately referred to as Mr. Bayer, about the kid from Scotland who got mauled in Norway by a Polar Bear. Now comes the latest, filed by our commentator in the wilds of the Carolinas, whom we all know as USA TODAY, which should give the reader fair-warning about the wisdom of further progress herein.

The US Forest Service has closed the Commissary Ridge Campground at Mount Mitchell in North Carolina, the tallest peak in North Carolina, and the State Division of Parks and Recreation has closed all trails leading to the campgrounds. The reason? Simple enough, black bears.

Frodo notes the egalitarian nature of the threat to continued dominance of our small blue planet by mammals walking upright.. Perhaps it is the re-make of "Planet of the Apes" that has pissed off our friends who were once content to grub about for berries and wildflowers. Or maybe it was merely the picking of wildflowers by those who venture into the hinterland in search of a lonely spot to spread a blanket and down a quart of "Sly Fox."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 10:29 PM EDT

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Sunday, August 7, 2011

Another One Bites The Dust
Mood:

chillin'
Topic: "Livin' is Easy?"(7)

August in the Shire is past-prime time, but every growing thing remains lush, if not laden. The butterfly garden, which Frodo enjoys but Sam abhors, awaits the arrival of the caterpillars that devour the passion flowers then, in turn, produce the butterflies that lay the eggs for next year's caterpillars. Young squirrels, seeking their first sexual encounters, frolic before the advent of parenthood. Tomatoes hang heavier and heavier on four different levels upon Frodo's vegetable successes of the current season. Noted it is however that so much activity takes place only in the early morn and after darkness draws a sheet over the landscape. The heat is intense, and the aging warrior is susceptible too, to the inherent danger therein.

Beau Neau McKitty has not been immune to the activity, but he finds a cool place to sleep for at least 22 out of every 24 hour cycle. Frodo and Sam recognize that he, too, may miss Fiona, and has not found it necessary to bring in quite so many "presents" since his canine friend moved into the shadows which corral the spirits of the Shire. Last evening however, was an exception, and the result brought a certain amount of joy to the doldrums of recent loss and severe temperatures.

Frodo was watching something, reading something, or perhaps removing belly button lint from the designated storage spot. Suddenly Sam shrieked, "Oh my God, he's got a snake." Since the description meant that the object had been carried in through the "dog door" and was now in the kitchen, Frodo felt compelled to spring into some level of action. Immediately he noted the multi-colored object flopping furiously and the flapping ferocity of the feline paws. The colors quickly identified the creature to be non-venomous, and careful attention, perhaps learned from Rudyard Kipling's pleading to his son to retain his composure, allowed Frodo to identify the object of so much attention as non-serpentine.

It was a butterfly. A beautiful yellow and black swallowtail to be sure, whose wings were still functioning, although a bit worse for wear. Frodo managed to gently capture the misidentified miscreant, and launch him toward another section of the gardens, not presently assigned to patrol by his feline associate.

Sam looked at Frodo and, in the best impersonation of Roseanne Roseannadana he had seen in quite some years, simply said "Never mind."

Frodo loves Sam.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:52 PM EDT

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Saturday, August 6, 2011

Put It In The Pantry With Your Cupcakes
Mood:

don't ask
Topic: "Just Say 'Nyet'"(7)

The outgoing Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Admiral Michael Mullen, is an honorary member of the Fellowship of the Ring. Frodo admires his public persona, especially the heartfelt manner in which he addresses the personal issues of those under his command. Frodo will long remember his testimony in the debate about the ending of DADT in which he expressed chagrin that patriotic brave soldiers had to lie about their sexual preference in order to serve our nation. Similarly, Frodo will long remember the shock and dismay in Mullen's voice as he listened to the questions from troops in harm's way about the financial disarrary in Washington, and how that might impact their families. Not unlike Mullen, Frodo was stunned that these soldiers, as if they didn't have enough to worry about, were worried that they might not get paid, or that their families back home might suffer, or that their wounded comrades might not receive the best treatment money could buy.

The President stood to assure these men and women that nothing would stand in his way in the provision of all the goods and services promised. Frodo has been waiting for Grover Norquist to issue a statement in support of the President and the troops. In fact, Frodo has been waiting for any member of the so-called "Tea Party" (see American Independent Party, George Wallace, 1968) to stand and deliver whatever it takes to assure the American People that our government (see "of the people, by the people, for the people. . .") will keep any of the promises made. The motivations of this part of the American electorate is stated, time and again, to be merely for fiscal responsibility. Frodo, politely, questions the veracity thereof.

The former First Lady, Nancy Reagan, mouthed the words written for her some 25 years ago that are now the cornerstone of the philosophical position of America's "loyal opposition." As noted above, Frodo has changed the words slightly in order to reflect the complete absence of non-partisan effort to make our country a better place. To Frodo, it is self-serving ideology for someone, anyone, to compose such a threat to the economic stability of our nation that our troops fear they will not be supported, and that the "rating agencies" question the truth of "full faith and credit."

These are, at best, ignorant people. At worst, they are a threat to our national stability. Their collective effort to embarrass a President, probably because he is black (so says Frodo), and the danger added to the service of our fighting men and women brings back the aptly used words "collective" and "Nyet."

Don't think Putin isn't just about to wet his pants. The Tea Party might make Nikita Khrushchev truthful, after all.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 4:47 PM EDT

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Saturday, July 23, 2011

Hold On, Just a Little Bit Tighter Now Baby
Mood:

energetic
Topic: "MidSummer Nights Dream"(7)

There was a time in the life of the Hobbit when it seemed as if there was a new "best friend" almost each and every day. These days, that just doesn't seem to be the case. The telephone does not ring as once it did, and conversations once filled with joyous news are now the source of information that fills graveyards and breaks the hearts of those who watch, and wait. It is moments like these when Frodo remembers the wisdom of words, and searches for something creative to occupy his electrical synapses.

John Frierson, once interviewing for a position, responded to the query of the Hobbit by telling him that he had learned to cope with repetition while on duty in the North Sea. "Mr. Frodo," he said, "after I awoke, and before I began my assigned duties, I would stand by the rail until I saw a dolphin, or a frigate bird, or something I had never seen before, in order to start each day afresh, and appreciative of all the wonder that life laid before me."

"When can you start?", said the Hobbit.

Frodo thinks often of the wisdom of that young man, wounded while serving his nation, at war in jungles half-a-world-away, from his assignment in the North Atlantic, which almost ended his life without a single bullet being fired at him. Fate is the Creator of many of the great moments in life, and Frodo laments that he has allowed so much wisdom and witness to slip through his fingers, as if it were some by-product of silicon under glass. How could Frodo have allowed this fine young man to have become a mere memory?

John Frierson, and John Richardson, the white guy who became his alter ego, had both been wounded while serving in the Armed Forces. Frodo recognized both the attitude and the maturity of these young men, and, by virtue of the employment law at the time, was able to hire both for permanent employment as civilian employees of the US of A, non-competitively. Yes, dear reader, the Government did create jobs for veterans who were able to translate the complexities of tax law into speakable English.

The Tea Party lies. Government does create jobs, and it does good stuff for those who serve our country. Makes you wonder though, just whose interests they serve, and how long any one of those morons would stand alongside a ship's rail in order to find something good about our country?

John Frierson, of Nashville, if you are out there, please "phone home."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:59 PM EDT

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Sunday, July 17, 2011

Just Look At Them And Sigh, And Know They Love You
Mood:

hug me
Topic: "Baby Fiona"(7)

Four o'clock is always "doggie dinner time." Exceptions occur to this rule twice a year when time itself is gerrymandered by listless leadership. This has never deterred Fiona from a lobbying effort that corresponds to a full half-hour before implementation. The event is followed by a leisurely stroll around the Shire so that Fiona and her faithful companion Mick, the Wonder Dog, can vacate the sewage system and begin planning for a long night's rest. All of this is relevant only because last evening, somewhere after the evening stroll, and while Frodo awaited the evening news on the black-and-white, Sam screamed for him with the rejoinder that "Fiona is dying.!"

It did not take long to surmise that Sam had uttered a valid prognosis. The beautiful little girl had wet herself, was foaming at the mouth, her head was swinging side-to-side, and her entire body was shaking and quivering uncontrollably. Frodo wrapped her in a blanket and held her tight trying to shush away that which was consuming her earthly presence. He sang, he talked baby talk, he hugged her tighter to his breast, but nothing indicated that she even knew that Frodo was there. Sam continued to pet her in Frodo's arms, while Mick, the Wonder Dog, laid down, and turned his head in another direction. Sam's eyes met Frodo's, and the telephone number for the Emergency Vet Clinic was connected and notice given that Frodo and Sam were on their way with Fiona.

Suburban Atlanta traffic on a Saturday evening is difficult to describe with terminology that would fail to embarass a clergyman. Frodo, holding Fiona in the back seat, yelled to Sam to pass that "asshole" on the right, to run that "fucking " red light, and to forget about some "cocksucker" with a flashing light. Fiona was suffering, and Frodo could not stand that. It took thirty minutes to get to the clinic, and Frodo was out of the car with his precious cargo before Sam could even bring it to a stop.

He was greeted by two young ladies, one of whom took Fiona from his arms and the other started to ask Frodo what services he wanted, and quoting the prices for each and every service. Somehow, as Sam entered the lobby, Frodo kept his cool and told the young lady that his beloved friend was dying, as best he could tell, and that if that were true, then the suffering had to stop--now.

In a minute or two the veterinarian on call heard the same from Sam, and she told Sam that Fiona had a temperature of 108 (normal being 101.1). She advised Sam that Fiona's cognitive awareness was gone. The decision was made.

Frodo realized that his shorts were soaking wet, and his shirt was covered with the salivary output of a little dog in her last half-hour of life. When Frodo and Sam were left alone with Fiona for the last time, he plucked some loose fur to package and seal alongside all the other precious possessions of a lifetime. Then he kissed Fiona, and Sam, and rubbed her tummy while the chemicals accomplished their task. The veterinarians took a paw print and gave the clay-like product to Frodo and Sam, with instructions to bake it in the oven as another rememberance. They had been through this before and they knew their job, and they did it well.

Death sucks, especially when the ordeal experienced by Frodo and Sam upon their great friend was so real and insensitive. If there is a purgatory, then surely the Hobbits experienced a few moments of what it must be like this past Saturday evening.

Frodo attacked the rock hard Georgia clay with the fervor of one seeking catharsis. The Hobbits placed their friend in her bed blankie which bears the emroidered phrase "Living the Good Life" and placed her next to the "Mr. Turtle Pool" that cooled her paws on hot summer days for year-upon-year.

Hand-in-hand, Frodo and Sam walked back inside in order to pay attention to Mick, the Wonder Dog, who had had no apparent interest in attending the services. As Frodo walked him out the front door, Mick turned and looked down the hallway, just to make sure that there wasn't another, meandering slowly behind.

Forgive, dear reader, the language. They are the components of a broken heart.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 7:43 PM EDT

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Saturday, July 16, 2011

Baby What a Big Surprise, Right Before My Very Eyes
Mood:

a-ok
Topic: "Ion Propulsion"(7)

Difficult it is to assimilate the differences in the "national mood" over a period of 42 years, or a generation-and-a-half in broader terms. In July of 1969 Frodo, nay not Frodo, the entire human race, watched as we all stepped across the galaxy in order to walk upon the moon. In just a few short days, the last of the space shuttles will park itself, permanently, ending manned spaceflight for American eyes to observe with pride and glory. In fact, the continuance of space exploration itself, as well as the scientific search for truth, will shift away from the promise of a national effort, all because of money. The accomplishments and the contributions of space exploration are almost impossible to chronicle as part of our now everyday world, ranging from laptop computers to television pictures of hurricanes building strength far out to sea. There is however, one more promise on our doorstep, and Frodo is amazed that he cannot find a single person who even had a clue about its existence.

A spacecraft named Dawn, launched more than four years ago, will slip into orbit this day around an asteroid named Vesta. In a few hours hence, Dawn will similarly manuver itself into orbit around an even more impressive asteroid, named Ceres. Not wishing to demean that which will be learned about the very beginnings of the universe, Frodo is watching closely the performance of Dawn in its use of ion propulsion engines. Dawn will be the first to orbit two asteroids because this futuristic power source allows gentle, yet constant, acceleration, and at a fraction of the energy expended by conventional rocket fuel. Dawn will be able to zip around in an asteroid belt and she represents a very big step toward energy conservation on Mother Earth, our small blue planet.

In times to come, the significance of this day's "Dawn" and what she represents may be appreciated as one more colossal contribution to the future of the civilizations that follow us. Today, few will notice.

Frodo is proud of those whose dreams brought us to this day, and to our Dawn.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 11:40 AM EDT

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Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Please Tell Me Who I Am?
Mood:

irritated
Topic: "Maynard G. Krebs" (7)

Being Frodo is fun, except when it's not. Sometimes doing things usually enjoyable just becomes work, at least that's what the streetwalker told Fropdo the first time he asked. Perhaps that will explain, dear reader, why the Hobbit failed to add to the cacophony during the recent past. He served better by not talking at all.

Every night, it seemed, the Hobbit found himself wavering somewhere between total anxiety and self-assurance. The value of his home in the Shire, the potential income losses mounting on the apparent horizon, the aging of Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, a representative form of government that seemed only responsive to those with intelligence quotients hovering just below sea level, and never enough hours in the day to get the things done that required completion prior to a nervous breakdown.

So Frodo just shut the hell up, and tuned out, enmeshing himself in somewhere between thirty and forty books. Not all were worth a tinker's damn, but some were. He hasn't discussed any of them with anybody, he was just pulling a mental beach-trip to absorb words and thoughts, experiences, wishes, and yes, a dream or two. After all, that is what the Hobbit originally said he would become, and truly, it is what he most enjoys. Expect no apologies those who search for the Hobbit, and those who honor his additions to their efforts. He is still here, and he is ready to be more than what recent days have shown.

For those who have wondered about the condition of the Shire in this the most aggressive of growing seasons, there are tiger mosquitos beneath every blade of grass, and weeds behind every trunk of tree. These plagues upon our existence, not unlike Newt Gingrich himself, keep Frodo from enjoying his time thereabouts.

After all is said and done, getting away from reality is why God invented "Round-Up." It is a shame that he didn't distribute it in the State of Texas before he put on a warning label.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:02 PM EDT

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Thursday, June 30, 2011

Everybody Has To Meet His Waterloo
Mood:

incredulous
Topic: "Frodo and Revere?"(7)

Frodo was pleased to learn from the replay of the "Jimmy Kimmel Show,"available to all who can Google, that he is a part of the segment on American History. According to Michelle Bachmann's revisions, Paul Revere rode through the countryside of New Hampshire, in order to warn Frodo so that he could escape beyond Mount Doom. At least that is what Frodo has been able to interpret before he breaks down amid peals of laughter.

American humor grows in subtlety. Napoleon is also present in a segment, since he would certainly have an interest in anybody from Waterloo and that would include an Accounting graduate of Oral Roberts University who has been trained to never acknowledge an error on her part. She later married a "Christiian Counselor" who has been identified as one who addresses those of the homosexual persuasion as "Barbarians." For those who may not not know, Mr. Michelle is the fat guy with the flat top who "dances" with MABELLE (now AT&T) in those countless re-runs of her recent speech in her hometown.

During that speech, MABELLE noted that her hometown (so close to her heart we are sure) of Waterloo, Iowa, was also the hometown of John Wayne. Surprisingly, THE John Wayne is from another community a couple of hundred miles away. John Wayne GACY, however, one whose notoriety includes the title of "serial killer," lived right up the street from our presidential wannabee.

Methinks the segment should also have included Thomas Paine, in deference to Frodo's friends who once alleged to be Republicants ("These are the times that try men's souls. . ."). By the by, Frodo offers that he is unable to name a single Accountant who has ever been President of anything (except for groups of other Accountants). There is, of course, a reason for that.

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 9:12 PM EDT

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Sunday, June 26, 2011

See What Condition My Condition Is In
Mood:

quizzical
Topic: "UR Number Is Up" (7)

For reasons which will soon be fairly obvious, Frodo has been playing a mind game. What is the earliest date that can be historically confirmed which he can cite without anything other than the power of memory?

Frodo began with "In 1492, Columbus sailed the Ocean blue..." Surely he thought, he remembers, with specificity, earlier events in human, if not Hobbit, history. Quite obviously, he could include either the year NULL or the year 33 A.D. but there are few willing to stake reputations with precision upon either of these exact dates. To continue the exercise, without befouling his credibility, Frodo decided to bypass the ideologues and consider only those dates which are confirmed by the historical record. The B.C. dates leave him confusing mythology and Alexander, among others, so perhaps he'll confine himself to the entirety of the past 2011 years.

Let's see, Martin Luther, hmm? How about Joan of Arc? Yoicks, how about on the Field at Runnymede, in 1215, when John became signatory to the Magna Carta? Not bad, Frodo went back almost 270 years with no challenge whatsoever.

Attila the Hun? The Spanish Armada? Julius Caesar? Gosh, this is tougher than imagined. Even remembering the sequence of events gets difficult when one hasn't thought about such things for a long time. Then Frodo had an epiphany.

This is the one thousand and sixty-sixth posting by Frodo (there have been more, but technical eccentricities sent some brilliant commenatary to an undeserved and premature terminal visit to the ethernet). The Battle of Hastings ushered William the Conqueror and the Norman horde into the lands that had belonged to the Angles and the Saxons in, get this, 1066.

Getting almost another 200 years so easily spoils the Hobbit. The New York Times Crossword calls.

Maybe he oughta cut back on the caffeine, too?

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:18 PM EDT

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Saturday, June 25, 2011

If You Would Pardon Me, I'e Like To Say We're Doing All Right
Mood:

crushed out
Topic: "Radio and TV"(7)

The average is that on fifty-three occasions annually, the temperature at the Airport in Atlanta wil exceed ninety degrees. On an evening such as this, there are only two things that meet the justifiable criteria of life in the Deep South. The first is listening to the gallant Braves on the radio, this evening brought to you from the "June swoon" in San Diego, where the temperature is somehere below seventy. The magic of the Internet, and the visual perspective of God's truly great game, fall short of the breathless expressions of Don Sutton and Joe Simpson, as they create an audio wonderland for those with an imagination, and a true love for a game that separates generations with its' history. The alternative activity is to sip some bourbon, over ice, as one reacquaints onesself wth the "Pirate Latitudes" of Michael Crichton or "Ford County" as penned by John Grisham.

To read, or to listen to the radio. One might believe that Frodo has rejected the scientific marvels of the twenty-first century and has placed his faith in "apps" that were there when he was borne, and one might not be far from the truth. Despite his adherence to speed and quality in business, when it comes to leisure, Frodo still likes to "sit and thinks." Combining these activities slows life down even more, and that is what appeals most to the Hobbit these days. It taskes no great mind to note that the passage of days exceeds the prospect for those to come.

Through the window, from the back porch, Frodo can watch the dance of the magicians as they torment the hearts of our fellow citizens. When the picture changes to those who service our motorcars, primed is the Hobbit to flash through a page or two in consideration of legal misfortune in Mississippi. All of this, and two faithful dogs kicking as they chase rabbits of a bygone era. These are, despite what others may say, words that never leave the heart of the Hobbit, "the good old days."

Posted by loveysdaddyga at 8:27 PM EDT

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