The rains came.

This was a blessing in the Southwest corner. North of our wonderful barrier of the Marines’ Camp Pendleton. The weather guessers are screaming about the dangers of mudslides and toxic ash up in Los Angeles.

But down here, the rains and high humidity are a blessing.

Thanks to all my family and good friends who have expressed their concerns for our safety.

We are safe. We even had a fire tonight.

i wrote this last year. it holds true. i am so happy Mrs. Brooks has such a great husband and we all are friends. i just wish we could get together more often, a difficult thing to accomplish when one couple lives in Hotlanta and the other lives in the Southwest corner.

i first saw her in autumn during her freshman year at Vanderbilt. She was walking back to the women’s quadrangle with several other freshman women. She wore a knee-length skirt, knee high socks and a blouse on a beautiful Nashville sunny day.

i was standing with Charlie Hon, a freshman from Chattanooga (who became a legend in our fraternity) on the porch of the Kappa Sigma fraternity house across the street from the quadrangle. i asked Charlie if he knew her. He replied she was Susan Butterfield, also from Chattanooga. i was infatuated. i thought she was attractive and had beautiful legs.

Then, we had a party. Charlie had a date with his future wife, Ann Hon. Ann was Susan’s roommate in the quad. Butter, by which she was known, was double dating with Jeff Redmile.

i had a date with Jack Daniels. A group of us without dates had been watching the Porter Waggoner show on WSM while waiting for the Flatt and Scruggs show, which followed. It had become a weekly mainstay for about four or five of my brothers and me. Unfortunately, this night, i had stuck a fifth of Mr. Daniels’ fine fare into the refrigerator and began sipping with no governor. My date was having a not-good effect on me about the time the party started.

i took a header on the couch and went to sleep (my version), or passed out (everyone else’s version). When she saw me in my sad condition, she asked Jeff to take her back to the dorm and return to take care of me. He did.

From then on, we have had a relationship. Most of the time, including now, it has been as friends. There were some times when it was much more than that. There was one time when i lost track of her. The Navy has a habit of doing that to folks. But by chance, i found her again. She finally married Mike Brooks, also from Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga. They live in Atlanta and are a great fit.

Susan (Butter) Butterfield Brooks is one of my dearest friends. She and Maureen are also close friends, or as close as you can be with one in Atlanta and one in the Southwest corner. i shall save future birthdays to relate other special moments with Susan here.

Butter remains beautiful in so many ways.

Happy 80th Birthday, Butter.

It is eery here.

i walked to the top of our hill this morning to see what i could see. In 2007, i watched flames and judged we were going to be all right. Today’s climb did not reveal any flames and by noon, all of the ugly dark gray and black smoke had given to light gray and white smoke, almost like clouds, but they weren’t.

For those unfamiliar with our terrain, we have had three wildfires this time around, relatively close. The “Otay Mountain” fire is better known as the “Border 2” fire. The “Otay Mesa” fire is apparently out. Those fires at their closest were about a dozen miles east of us with winds carrying them north, not likely to affect us.

But the skies are surreal. i cannot discern fire smoke from haze, and we do have some weather relief moving in. There is even hope for some rain by the end of Saturday. Our humidity, which has hovered around 5% for the past several days, you know, spark causes wild fire weather, up to a whopping 13% as i write (my nose is dry).

So we are lucky. Many are not.

oh, take me to the fields of Armageddon
where i can fight destruction of the world;
take me to Culloden
where i can learn to sacrifice my life
to a doomed cause of false hope;
take me to Gettysburg
where i and my comrades
scream the rebel yell
in a cause for blighted rationale;
take me to the sea battles
between majestic ships of war,
where men were men, often foolishly
giving their lives to Davy Jones
for a preordained lost cause;
let me live by dying valiantly
to lost causes, ill-fated hopes
because i find my aged self impotent
to take up my saber
against causes that subtly plan
to destroy caring.