I am pecking away here at midday on Thursday at a spot on Wings's dining area table that I have cleared off. This evening I will return to the farm, pack, and sleep over. I will drive into the big city tomorrow afternoon and return the automobile to Spike and return to Wings's homestead in the country. Tomorrow evening I intend to sit by the fire with him outside and listen to the night noises into the wee hours until it is time for him to take me to the airport very early Saturday.
The Good Lord willing (that is what we say around here), the airplanes will all stay in the air until such time as human intentions bring them down. In that case late Saturday afternoon I will be standing in Mexico again wondering if my luggage accompanied me. It did not make it with me all the way up here, but it soon caught up. Of course the converse proposition, which nobody ever mentions, is that the Good Lord may not be willing. We will deal with that contingency if it occurs.
This is an amazing place, the United States of America. The Anglos who stole the eastern third from the Indians, the French whole stole the middle third, and the Spanish who stole the western third surely knew what the hell they were doing. It is a prime piece of real estate, perhaps the best real estate in the world.
I can understand why this real estate and the resources on it and in it appeared limitless to the Pilgrims and the Conquistadores. I can understand why they thought that no care whatsoever need be taken of those resources. There arises the heartbreak of having lived a life in the second half of the Twentieth Century and having been able to watch the accelerating desecration of this particular piece of earth first hand, desecration by a species out of control.
So I am going back to Mexico where the species is certainly out of control, too. However, the show down there still has the added benefit of some novelty for me in certain respects.
It is way too late in the game to do anything about all that, however. Way too late. My advice, for whatever it's worth, is to take in a ballgame or some other circus—perhaps start following Dancing with the Stars--occupy your mind with some vacuity like that and forget about it. Over geologic time the planet will cleanse itself, right itself one more time, and everything will be fine. . .until the sun burns out, that is.
I tried to persuade Wings to allow his lawn to return to natural prairie since it was well on the way anyway. He would have none of that, however.
Good spring for dandelions here. Big fat ones.
I can say this for him, though. He does not hasten peak oil or contribute more than his fair share of carbon emissions by mowing his lawn too often.