Watching Submarine Races.

Over the last few days, I have been suffering from some malaise. I first thought it was because I was sick, but there is more to it. I have been suffering from being homesick. Ok, so far I haven't explained the title. I will. You'll see.

Now before you pooh pooh the idea, you have to realize there is more to being homesick than just missing your "home". I think the nostalgic post from last Wednesday was symptomatic. I miss a herd of things. I suspect it is a lot like what Sharon wrote about today. Read it here. I think that a lot of it is what she says at the end... in order to pick up something new, you have to let something go. My problem is that I am not always ready to let go of the things I already have. Maybe it's because it took so long for me to get them in the first place.

You know the Dylan Thomas poem, Do not go gently into that good night ? I intend to go kicking and screaming the whole way. Fight tooth and nail. If I live to be a hundred, I suppose it won't be long enough. Until I am a little more comfortable with my own mortality.

Which is probably why I tend to wax so philosophical about my younger years. I want to always remember where I came from, so I will know where I am going. That, and I want to be half the man my father was. If I can manage to fill his shoes that much, I will have acomplished much. (You really have to bear with me here, Pop was a bit larger than life.)

I remember how my time was used up then. I spent a fair amount of time looking at submarine races with ..... a female classmate. Never did anything to be ashamed of, but did a LOT to be enjoyable :) I tried real hard to play guitar with three other guys in the bandshell at the beach near the house. I have discovered, that no matter how badly your playing sucks, it ALWAYS sounds better in a band shell.

I used a fair amount of time fishing. Notice it is NOT called catching. We used to fish for redfish, sea trout, and sometimes sheepshead. Usually, we were rewarded with a lot of lost bait, and wonderful memories. Besides, sheepshead are ugly fish. The damn things have real teeth. I kid you not. But they are good eating I am told.

I always felt safe. In my younger years, that was not always the case, but after I moved in with Dad, I felt safe. Not really pressured... Dad just wanted me to do the best I could. He made sure I knew that my best was all he wanted. And that's what he got. Always. I always felt that's what I got from him too. Now, hopefully my children will say that of me in 25 years.

So, please bear with me on the philosophical stuff, and the nostalgia. I promise I'll be back in a bit, but the re-runs are nice :)

God Bless, and
Until our next..........