That was some kind of eventful weekend, eh?
I spent my time in the damned cold mud playing at Royal Air Force circa 1940. A damn fine time. I slept under the wing of a Spitfire, clambered about on a Hurricane, drank entirely too much of a vast assortment of liquors, listened to some great tunes, played on a perfect thirty foot mudslide, helped push two aircraft out to the flight line, and won a raffle. Not bad for a couple of days and nights.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch:
Ronald Reagan died – Found out at about 630 or so on Saturday evening as we were all gathered in our finest for the Mess. I was thunderstruck, felt like I needed to sit down but fortunately the port was flowing so I was able to carry on.
I’ve never been able to properly sort out my feelings about Ronald Reagan; just as I suspect I’ll never be able to properly sort out my feelings about George W Bush. If you get the big thing right is it OK to get many of the little things wrong? In the grand scheme of things I think it is, but I am a very black and white kind of guy and doing the wrong thing for the right reason never sits well with me. It is much better when you can do the right thing for the right reason: building up our defenses during the Cold War to defeat the Soviets or invading Iraq to get a beachhead in that wicked hive of scum and villainy we call the Middle East.
Smarty Jones lost at Belmont – Found this out about 10 minutes before I found out about President Reagan. Talk about a one-two punch to the gut. Guess Bucks County ain’t so concerned that Smarty’s not a Philly horse now. Oh, he’s a Philly horse alright. Only a Philadelphia horse – or sports team – could rule the roost right up to the last game before the championship and botch it entirely. Flyers? Eagles? Anyone?
D-Day happened – While we were all enjoying the cold, rainy, March like atmosphere I remarked, “Fine English weather we’re having.” Then it struck me, God was just reminding us all of the day. I read an article today about the 50th anniversary commemoration of D-Day. In 1994 the weather was hell right up to the day itself, then things broke a little just in time for the ceremonies: same as it was in 1944, and 2004. Hurrah for the men of June 6 and for all the men on all the D-Days in that war and every other. As a nation we have been blessed beyond measure with generation after generation of men – and now women – who will go anywhere, anytime and at any price to defend our “national pasttime” of freedom.
I wonder if, in 60 years, the Iraqi people will be so settled in their freedom that they too will feel free to desecrate the graves of their liberators? It may be that the very acts of French vandalism and hubris are the greatest monument that could possibly be devised for the men who died to set them free. In 60 years will there be some little cafe in the Iraqi desert near the Kuwaiti border where the proprietors happily serve the local hooch for free to veterans of the Coalition forces on every March 20th? If so, the proof is in the pudding.