I disagreed with most things John McCain stood for as a politician, but although I consider myself socially progressive I was also a career military officer and that informs a lot of my thinking. If I held public office half my socially progressive brothers and sisters, probably more, would hate my guts. So I try to be understanding.*
John McCain was a fighter pilot, moreover one who was brutally tested in the service of his country. I admire and respect everything about that. His Navy aviator brothers may have a different tradition, but I’m Air Force, so I pay him honor across the aisle by throwing a nickel on the grass at news of his passing.
Hallelujah, hallelujah,
Throw a nickel on the grass, save a fighter pilot’s ass.
Hallelujah, hallelujah,
Throw a nickel on the grass and you’ll be saved.
This morning went by quickly. I was up a little after six. By seven I’d walked the dog and poop-patrolled the back yard. I spent the next 20 minutes catching up with email and news, a heating pad on my right leg and knee to loosen it up for the gym. By nine I was home from Anytime Fitness and hungry. Donna and I rode the motorcycle to Franks & Franciscos (don’t blame me, that’s how they punctuate it), a little breakfast place with a degree of local fame, one we unaccountably had never been to before. The photo will give you an indication of F&F’s ambience:
Another indication is the signboard out front: “Elegant Dining Elsewhere.” Breakfast was very good. They do lunch as well, but breakfast is the main thing. We both liked it and will certainly be back.
The photo’s shit, and I apologize for that. Don’t know about you, but whipping out a camera and taking pictures of strangers in crowded places seems rude to me and I don’t like doing it. So I took this shot furtively while pretending to look something up on my iPhone. In the age of selfies and social media my notions of right and wrong might strike others as hangups (another area of understanding re McCain).
Donald Trump and I are about the same age. He doesn’t have any hangups. So what’s wrong with me?
I wore an older Knuckledraggers shirt for this morning’s breakfast run. The old shirt has the dreaded words “motorcycle club” under the Knuckledraggers logo and is thus no longer to be worn in public; a new shirt, I’m told, is on its way. Meanwhile, Donna’s embroidering a Goldwing emblem on another shirt. It wasn’t ready in time for today’s ride or I would have worn it instead. Here’s a short video of a test patch coming together on her embroidery machine:
Later today I’m grilling ribs to go with Donna’s coleslaw. It looks to be a good Sunday, followed by a full shift at the air museum Monday. Later in the week Donna’s going to Phoenix with a friend and I’ll be in charge at home. Which means squat, pretty much, but at least I’ll be able to catch up with some of the streaming TV shows Donna doesn’t like to watch with me.
In change of the TV … that’s me these days.
*An understanding which emphatically does not extend to politicians who avoided military service.