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blueWhether the weather or the wither, whatever.
The day never dawned at all, and Frodo had an opportunity to put serious thought together. He found himself unable to separate from the grief that dominated, so his words were simply nothing new, or particularly profound. Perhaps it was merely the weather, but more likely it was something else.
Whatever.
surprised"It's DeLightful, It's DeLovely. . ." so went the commercial familiar to those whose formative years were spent staring into the black-and-white. Color brought "DePlane, DePlane" to the observer. Now it seems proper to add the word "DeLighted" to the mix.
Frodo finds himself enjoying a scatological application to the Orc known as DeMint, who suddenly resigned after serving but two years in his second term as a United States Senator (R-SC). Frodo's initial thought was to merely express the hope that "DeDoor" not hit him in "DeBut" on his way to "DeTroit" or whatever location sought to which Frodo has no interest in ever visiting. In truth Frodo would really like to see the cretin "DePorted"(know anybody who's ever seen his birth certificate, do ya?).
Frodo was not surprised to hear Stephen Colbert declare his interest replacing Jim without "DeLay", after all, he would merely be following the political footsteps of Jesse Ventura, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Al Franken, and possibly precede those of Ashley Judd into "De Briar Patch."
Let us hope that whoever may be named to fill the vacancy by the Governor not be overly familiar with "De Appalachian Trail." Maybe the first Mrs. Sandford?
Wasn't her name "DeDe"?
spaceyThe word "lunatic" is derived from the Latin word for "moon" and the ancient belief that an individual could be "moonstruck" by lunar movements. The relevancy of this little factoid is that the word has now been stricken from federal law, by act of Congress. This bipartisan action results from a concerted effort to remove language from the US Code that is outmoded or demeaning. So "lunatic" joins "retard," at least in its usage, and similar terminology.
Frodo's attention was caught by the almost universal support from the professional community for said action, and, in fact, by the vote in Congress. By a margin of 397 votes (398 to 1), the House of Representatives passed the legislation and directed it to the President for signature.
398 to 1 you say?
The answer to your question, dear reader, is exactly what you might expect. Representative Louis Gomert (R-TX), who represents the area around the town Frodo calls "Wacko," was the lone dissenter. The "reasoning" for his forthright position he declared was that that there is lunacy in the Nation's Capitol.
Frodo will not dispute the Congressman's assertion. Gomert's presence proves its own point.
don't askFiona Apple is a performer who won the admiration of a Hobbit because she canceled her business arrangements in order to become the care provider for her friend, Janet. Janet is a 14 year-old pit bull, suffering from Addison's Disease. Don't let the tears well up inside however, since Frodo's purpose in his words this evening are because of Fiona Apple, not in spite of her.
Frodo today met Simba, who could well pass for the wire-haired one known as Asta, to those who would remember Nick & Nora, cast upon the big screen as "The Thin Man." Simba is, not unlike Janet, 14 years old, and her future is equally challenged. She is however, not quite so well served since she now resides in the confines of the "kill shelter" where Frodo volunteers. For whatever reason, those who shared life with Simba gave her up to others in order to handle the inevitable outcome. Frodo rarely speaks ill without a simple attempt to at least understand the hapless motivations of those who act so crudely. Today however, he watched as the little dog didn't bother to even evacuate, but to circle the cage, endlessly, looking for a familiar face to the rescue. Sure she was that the family motor car would soon arrive, even without a bugle identifying the Seventh Cavalry.
For all the good done by one person like Fiona Apple, Frodo recognizes how little he shares with those who would surrender a family member, and not look back.
Frodo hopes that the mindless cretins, sure he is at what they must be, share not in the Power Ball riches at hand, but that the person, or Hobbit, who does win, does so to rescue and care for a little dog, named Simba.
If you, dear reader, know of someone so inclined. . . If not, a simple prayer will do.
smellyWhether 'tis nobler in the mind to contemplate falling leaves, to rake them into adjustable launching pads, or to merely acknowledge their existence is what plagues Frodo this afternoon. As one might expect, it is cool and dreary in the Shire, and considerable levels of clothing require association with a strong backswing in order to maintain one's presence out of doors. Frodo is however sick of television, and of no mood to read books while Newest Friend naps impatiently in the chair next.
Leaves, it seems, first appear as a single strand of maple floating and twisting not unlike any diver at an Olympic event in warmer climes. The pace quickens in the weeks that follow as first the dogwoods, then fruit trees denude themselves shamelessly. Suddenly the chestnuts, long since stripped of their fruit, carpet bomb the Shire much in the manner of those who once spread another orange agent on the small blue planet. At this point, activity becomes critical lest the Hobbit alienate every neigbor within a fortnights barefoot travel. Even after that effort is concluded the residue appears, perhaps in return from the irritated neighbor. We are at such a point, and Frodo knows that an uncomfortable effort out of doors will only yield another requirement a few days hence.
Sam is gone for the afternoon, and a nap would seem the wisest course of action. Perhaps Frodo will look back several hours from now and wish that he had taken the path least travelled by. It would certainly be different. He decides to wake the Dandy and tie him to the source of the greatest fall, allowing him to look over the Hobbit and to protect him while he works. It is, after all, his job, and soon to be merely a memory on some other day even less inviting.
Heigh ho.
spaceyReynolds Plantation was designed not unlike the Del Webb monstrosities of Arizona; only those with lots of money need apply. The area in Eastern Georgia is, as one might expect, full of lakes, golf courses, and people who only vote for low taxes. The result being that the schools are the worst imaginable, and the inmates (sorry, Freudian slip) rarely experience either matriculation or parole. The official representative of the people, Congressman Paul Broun (R-GA) is proud of his "record" and sees little need to change things since all his "chillun" go to church on Sunday.
Speaking of church, Congressman Broun, who is a licensed physician (and if that doesn't say a mouthful about the status of healthcare in America?) was recently videotaped speaking to religious nuts in his own district stating that he had forsaken all of his medical training since Jesus and the Bible produced everything that medical science could provide. Frodo notes that said comments were made in a church in "his" district, and that references thereto in official public records are not otherwise available. Congressman Broun it seems is not willing to speak to the greater public in this regard.
Congressman Broun first came to Frodo's attention when he brought his "trophies" with him to Washington, and had each head, be it that of a deer, a mountain goat, a polar bear, a grey wolf, a grizzly bear, a lion, and you certainly get the message ad infinitum, all placed on the walls of "his" office on Capitol Hill. Death, seemingly, is something that this firebrand opponent of "Obamacare" seems to accept, at any cost to the taxpayers who ingloriously support his New Testament utterances and his rejection of science.
Hope, and change, are words that are sometimes merely words. Frodo notes that there were 4,000 votes cast in the congressional district of Representative Broun, who ran unopposed, for Charles Darwin (of HMS Beagle), as a write-in.
Perhaps there is hope after all, and just maybe it resides in the hearts and minds of people in Greene County, Georgia, who don't mind telling one fat, old man that he is no spokesman for his Lord and Savior, or for anyone with an IQ score above that of their birth weight.
crushed outAt the dawn of that first day when Frodo did not "have to" get up, he sipped a cup of coffee and considered what came next. He decided that he would take on a number of "to do" projects around the Shire, but make no committments of time or resources, just yet. Frodo opined that many events would be at hand, and that the capacity to deal with the unforseen would be critical. Looking back, Frodo seems prescient.
Now there seems to be an opportunity or two into which the Hobbit can throw himself.
With the passing of Mick, the Wonder Dog, and the subsequent entry into the Shire of his able-bodied replacement, courtesy of the local animal shelter, Frodo was particularly appreciative of the young volunteer who helped him obtain his Newest Friend. Frodo then found himself as the recipient of the question he could not answer.
Frodo applied to be an unpaid volunteer. After a background check, he was called in to attend an orientation session, assigned a "mentor," and spent this Sunday afternoon past as a "dog walker." In cage number order, each canine is leashed and accompanies one such as Frodo into the open lands beyond their immediate captivity. The time period for each trek is 15 minutes or so, for some merely the opportunity to evacuate outside the sleeping area, and for others, a fleeting moment to whistle the wind and dream of chasing squirrels endlessly.
Frodo is free to come and go as he pleases, as long as it is during business hours. Outside of business hours, the facility is closed, and no one services the inmates, if you will. In fact, since the facility is closed on Mondays, that means no one gets walked and "holding it" takes on a whole new level of feeling.
Frodo walked several dogs, including a thoroughbred Australian Cattle-Dog who is gentle to the human hand, but ferocious when brought into the presence of another canine. His time is short, and few would risk adopting what could be a major problem. Time, in such an instance, can be as little as somewhat more than two weeks. There are so many in similar circumstance.
There was a young female Labrador Retriever mix who was trembling whenever anyone neared her cage. Under Frodo's gentle rumblings, she raised her head and the structural lines took on a statuesque point into the wind. Noticing her matted coat, the Hobbit obtained a brush and spent several minutes gently removing tangled hair. As he bent down toward her muzzle, she licked his face, smiling gratefully.
Frodo will go back for a few hours tomorrow. Hoping he is, that some young Hobbit found this well-groomed and loving creature to his liking, and that she has found a good home.
Frodo has found something at which he is very good, and his gentle ways are needed. The Ring, he supposes, is present in many aspects of life, not just in the struggle up Mount Doom.
celebratoryTomorrow, the President of the United States will be re-elected. In all candor the actual results may fall into line over several days, but the result will be the same. The President will, quite rightfully, assume responsibility for the conduct of the national interest during the four years yet to come. Time it will be for Frodo, Keeper of the Ring, to devote much of his time upon the keyboard to things closer to home, and perhaps, more relevant.
It is not that the Hobbit has grown weary of the fray, rather it is that there are reflections which tint his hair and soften his tone. There are other battles to fight, and some still require the steady hand of one who acts when no one else seems to care. Take note, dear reader, in days to come the Hobbit will address more than the political when he follows the sequence which begins with "qwert."
There is much in the Shire to celebrate, yet the Hobbit wonders about the insoluble plaguing us all in the twilight. Read on, dear reader, and help your champion face different challenges, and the path of tears on rugged skin.
d'ohThe United States Navy lost 52 submarines and 3600 of the 16,000 sailors assigned to them during the Second World War.
55 percent of all the Japanese ships sunk suffered their end because of submariners.
Nearly all of those who served on German U-Boats died, in action.
These facts meant much more to Frodo after he saw the movie "The Boat," ("Das Boot," auf deutsch) on Public Television. Jurgen Prochnow was the actor who captured Frodo's imagination, but it was Sander Vanocur and Charlie Sydnor who brought the story home to him. On behalf of Public Televison the combined journalistic and historical presentation of an outstanding piece of cinematic artistry enveloped those who sacrificed their lives for political folderol.
Frodo can watch his old friend Dr. Sydnor, also once of the College of the Shire, authoritatively address the environment into which simple sailors found themselves. It was thusly painful to the Hobbit to learn that on the second day of November just past that only 31 veterans of the submarine service would reunite at Kings Bay, 14 fewer than their number just one year ago. The vote taken was to end the reunions that had once drawn as many as 800, from as far away as California.
Frodo's pain is two-fold. First off, it is for those who served, and who are known only to God. There are so many. The debt is astronomical.
There is, also, a recognition of those who do their best to make sure that not all of those names are known only to the supernatural. Frodo's friend is among them, and Frodo hangs on every word he has to say, knowing that Dr. Sydnor, like "Big Bird," has a value which is far greater than Mitt Romney's 13 percent of adjusted gross income. Lest we forget.
a-ok"Ms. Crawdaddy, I have a complaint."
"What's the problem this time, Mr. Romney?"
"Well, even after he called me names and said I wasn't telling the truth, he said my numbers didn't add up."
"Now, now Mr. Romney, just put your head here on my shoulder and everything will be OK."
"How can I? You helped him. I'm a numbers expert and my numbers do add up."
"Here, blow your nose in my hankie and we'll get back for the next question once Mrs. Romney stops glaring at the President."
"Yeah Anne, kick him in the balls if he does something evil like answering a question again."
"Is there anything else Mr. Romney?"
"Well yes, I do have a question."
"And what might that be?"
"Just who is this guy Ben Gazzi that Obama keeps talking about?"
