i used to love to run in the rain. i used to love to walk on the beach in the rain. Yesterday, i walked down a pier in the rain. i think i still would like to run in the rain and walk on a beach in the rain. But rain is also productive in my head, or at least, productive for me. i thought of about ten things to write about between yesterday morning’s rain and right now. There is supposed to be a gully washer this afternoon. My head might explode with ideas about what to write. Maybe, just maybe, i might go out and run in the rain. i know i won’t go down to the beach to walk in the rain: too much traffic. i suspect i will sit here and keep the fire going in the hearth and write. Maybe i’ll read some, or listen to music.

On New Year’s Day as we were leaving the golf course, Mary Ann Schoultz indicated she enjoyed my posts and encouraged me to keep on writing. i responded, “I don’ t think i could stop (writing). That is true, especially when it’s raining.

skin color

black
white
red
yellow
brown

what?
no green?
no purple?
no chartreus?
quite a while ago,
we had a close family friend
who was purple,
actually an ashy white
like a ghost
with purple overtones
and
white hair:
not white like they say my skin is white
but
white, real white.

she had some sickness,
a condition we called it,
solved with an old chemical remedy
which turned her ash white and purple:
scared the beejeezus out of me
when i was too young to say “hell” or “shit”
but
did so with my pals
but
never so my parents could hear.

she was a very nice old lady
and
i learned not to be scared.

now, i keep wondering
why we call me white,
those brown,
them yellow,
some red,
some black;

“people of color,” they say;
“we all is of color,” i say.
we all are different;
we all are the same;
we all have good folks;
and
we all have some bad apples:
apples are red,
violets are blue,
so is the sky,
so why do we do
the things we do
like label people
by color
by damn.

There are about 200,000 things i should get done today. It’s the new year, and i have resolved to tackle them all and finish the job…But what the heck? Except for writing, i have quit formal work; it’s the new year; and as Rhett Butler once so succinctly put it, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

And yesterday, i contacted my friend Steve Frailey, informed him i had not seen him in over three months, asked him if he would be at work today to which he replied in the affirmative, and woke early to go see him.

i left home before six. It was dark. It was cool. It was raining. It all seemed spookily familiar. Surprisingly, the traffic was not bad. Perhaps all the Navy ships in the yards were not up to full gear yet. i pulled up to the security box for the gate. After one aborted try, i remembered the code, and the gate rolled back. i pulled into the parking lot and took a space dedicated to a deckhand.

I was once again at the San Diego base for Pacific Tugboat Service.

For an old mariner, it was a beautiful sight. This photograph was taken as i left. When i arrived, first light had not come yet. Even so, there were a couple of boats already with “crew on,” and a couple of deckhands strolling down the pier.

The old creosote wood pier, glistening in the rain and pier lights, was still the same. It first captured my imagination about five years ago, reminding me of my early days in the Navy. i never tired of walking up and down this old pier in the two years i worked there. The boats, barges, and cranes were moored differently with a number of additions, but it felt the same.

i opened the office door, walked around the counter, poured myself a cup of coffee, and walked up the stairs to Steve’s small but always busy office. We talked for about forty-five minutes, catching up.

Steve and Grant Westmorland, the owners, have grown the business significantly since i left two and a half years ago. They continue to do it the right way. They care about the business, their customers, and their employees, not necessarily in that order. It works.

And i got to walk up and down that pier again; saying hello to folks i consider my friends; feeling working men at work, a connection to the past, a part of the waterfront.

i will come again, and i will do so in the early morning just before first light so i can see and feel the pier, the machines, the men working in the backdrop of San Diego Bay and the lighted, graceful arc of the Coronado Bridge as light slowly infuses the waterfront.

It was good to start the new year this way: good for my soul.

The new year has started well.

i went to Sea ‘n Air for early Friday Morning Golf. The other two friends from our last our last military tours at the Naval Amphibious School Coronado and who are the original FMG participants along with me were occupied with family events. But Bob Schoultz and Mark Shults joined me. Bob, a retired SEAL captain, has been playing with us for about five years. Mark, who is one of the civilian regulars for at least that long, is a good golfer and even better guy. The threesome was fun.

Our tee off was delayed by a forty-five minute frost delay. Yes folks, San Diego can have frost. Even though it never got below forty degrees, the sunrise cold snap generated frost bad enough to cause serious damage to fairways and greens if carts had driven on them or walkers had trodded there. But the wait wasn’t bad and gave us time to hit a few more balls on the range, needed for my two-week layoff.

The sun quickly eliminated the frost and by the seventh hole, i had shed my sweater and was back in shirtsleeves for the rest of the round.

Maureen and Bob’s wife Mary Ann joined us on the back nine, my favorite part of the course. The group of five was delightful to play with on a perfect Southwest corner day. After the photo, Maureen bogied the tough par four.

i had a terrific round (for me). All was right in my golfing world.

Maureen and i went for a late lunch at Tartine’s, a small Coronado restaurant with outdoor seating close to the Bay, one of our favorite lunch locations.

A nap, some work in organizing, and a bit of college bowl football followed. Then it was tradition time: my black-eyed peas and cornbread and Maureen’s yellow tomatoes by a good blaze in the fireplace.

There are many family and friends i wish to either respond to year beginning well wishes or send to others, but it is late. So i will attack that tomorrow. My lateness does not mean i don’t care. That, i’m afraid is me just being me.

Yesterday, i posted a photo of me and one of my three all-time heartthrobs on Facebook. The photo above is of one of the other two. Below not only shows my third all-time heartthrob but also the two people who loved all of us…and many more.

And so this new year begins. i hope all of you have a wonderful year with minimal tragedy, but more so, i wish you to have and to give the love shown in this last photo.

Happy New Year, as they say.

Watching the Music City Bowl while recording the second half of Vandy’s basketball game. With two minutes left, it is a cliff hanger with the Aggies trying to rally (they didn’t pull it off and Louisville wins, 27-21.

The game was exciting, but as usual, i am frustrated the talking heads and commercials didn’t allow me to watch the Texas Aggie Military Marching Band. They are inspirational. Kelly Winkler Adams, who was there, was impressed. She should know. She and her husband Jay Winkler have two sons that are marvelous, successful musicians with about ten years in marching band experience.

But with all of that, the most striking thing about the game was the head referee. He looked scarily like Doug Neidermeyer, the villainous and downright dumb egotist who was the BMOC and ROTC commander in “Animal House.”

The ref was the highlight of my evening. Every time they zoomed on him making a call, i thought of Neidemeyer and started laughing.

But only because, the sports media wouldn’t let me watch the Aggie Marching Band..

The amount of crazy, one-sided crap on social media posted by folks with blinders on is reaching frenzied proportions, and the flow will only increase for the next ten months.

It reminds me of a story i ran across years ago when, as the Senior Naval Officer at the Texas A&M NROTC Program, i was interim nuclear program recruiting officer for about six months and consequentially learned a lot about Admiral Hiram Rickover, the eccentric father of the Navy Nuclear program. i no longer know the source of the story.

As the tale went, Admiral Rickover was sitting before the House Armed Services Committee on some matter relating to his job when a committee member asked him if he had the power, what would he do to make the military establishment more effective.

Rickover said he would take half of the flag officers in the Pentagon and give them all an individual office in the “D Ring” (the next to outside ring of the Pentagon) and supply them with pens and a notepad. Then he would direct them to write notes and other papers and send them to the other flag officers in that ring. The generated writings and the flag officers who wrote them would never leave that ring. Then, he said, the other half of the flags would go about taking care of business.

i think we should divide up the conservative and liberal contributors to social media and put all of them in two separate social media programs. There, they could send all of their views to the others in their group: conservative to conservative, liberal to liberal (since they never read or listen to the other side) and the rest of us wouldn’t have to deal with it on our social media.