It is Christmas Eve afternoon on the mountain.

i sit on the porch hanging off of the mountain overlooking Shoal Creek Road (when the thousands of trees on the steep slope are bare in the winter). I am sitting on the porch because it is unseasonably warm for this time of year. A storm producing tornado conditions swept through last night with the warmth following in its wake.

i finally got into the Christmas mood this morning. I had been faking it until then. My sister’s grandchildren had kept me merry, but i was faking it for the Christmas thing.

You did not receive a Christmas card from me this year. This is it. Maureen has never been a Christmas card person. i don’t know why, but i am okay with that. Years ago, i decided i would take on that task but vowed to be personal. Even if i succumbed to the Southwest corner Jewell newsletter catch-up thing, i wanted to write a personal note. The first year, i began with “A” in my contacts list and got through “M.” The next year, i started at “Z” and made it all the way back through “L.” This became standard in one direction or the other every year.

i quit altogether, quite frustrated, about five years ago.

With my help, my sister Martha, put the turkey in the oven. We will have a late family dinner tonight: our Christmas dinner. Tomorrow, we are planning on leftovers and lots of sweets. Of course, the Prichard boiled custard will be included anywhere we can fit it in.

All of the other Signal Mountain Duff family will be here tonight. i may be the only one to go to the Signal Crest Methodist Church midnight service. That’s okay.

i’m not sure about tomorrow. Wisely, Tommy and Abby decided it would not be practical to bring 15-year old Hannah, 11-year old Olivia, three-year old Allie, and Max and Culley, the two four-month old identical twins over to spend the night here. Christmas morning for the children will be at the Tommy and Abby Duff farm.

So Christmas gifts tomorrow morning will be a bit later than usual. That’s fine. For some reason, i am sleeping longer at night than i do in most places.

But as i sit on the couch, i am missing my daughter. We were in Austin last year, but circumstances dictated we not be there this year. Because of situations i wish to remain private, i have not had Christmas with my older daughter, and now, my grandson Sam, since 1980. As a consequence, all of my Christmases since have had a hole of sadness.

But knowing Sam nor his mother and father won’t miss a step and have a wonderful Christmas makes it okay.

Besides, even though its warm enough to be April rather than December and i am sitting out on the porch rather than by a roaring fire, there are some children here reminding me it’s beginning, if not look like it, be a lot like Christmas.

i hope all of you have a merry one.

Last night, Norm O’Neal, my friend and shipmate from the USS Hollister (DD 873), my first tour in 1968-1969, forwarded this poem, sent to him by another shipmate Robin (somewhere i have Robin’s last name, but i’m too lazy to look it up now).

Yesterday, after our usual Friday morning golf, Rod Stark, Marty Linville, and i regaled Jeff Middlebrook with military tales, mostly Rod and i recalling old times in Thailand; Sasebo, Japan; Pusan, Korea, and the majority about ribald and raucous Subic Bay within the towns of Subic City and Olongapo, Philippines.

i have been writing my Democrat Tuesday column about storms at sea for the past several days, thinking about my times aboard Navy ships.

The timing for this poem was perfect. Besides, i like it a lot. 

{Copied and posted without edit; i was tempted to edit and used proper capitalization, but for some reason, it seems more like a sailor’s poem this way. Perhaps  this is because it looks more like the Navy messages we used to get at sea}

Yesterday, i asked Maureen if she would like to just go somewhere nice today.

We had been going in different directions for seemingly forever and spending a lot of time at home in different rooms doing different tasks and other pursuits.

She thought it was a good idea. We talked of going walking on the beach.

But as the morning wound down with my weight training and her yoga, we thought about going to Balboa Park instead. On the ride toward town, Maureen mentioned she would like to have seafood for lunch.

i suggested Blue Water. It’s a fish market and seafood grill where we seldom dine. We just forget about it. But not today. It was wonderful. Maureen had a halibut taco, and i had the special mussels with the surprise addition of clams in an incredible tomato, lime, and jalapeno sauce.

After lunch, we walked about half a block to Gelato Vero Caffe, one of Maureen’s frequent stops; me not so much. But today, they had maple walnut gelato, which makes a good run on my favorite ice cream, black walnut.

It was on our walk, i realized this is a wonderful little corner of the world. The corner is the intersection of India and Washington Streets just inland from I-5 just north of the city proper. Blue Water is the first restaurant up the one-way India Street. Then come the others:

El Indio is one of the best known Mexican restaurants in the city. They serve border-Mexican and many people go across the street to eat on picnic tables in the small park.

The next spot for gastronomy is Shakespeare Pub. It’s all British, and it gives off the feeling we just crossed the Atlantic when we go upstairs.

Next to Shakespeare’s is the Rubicon Deli. It is fantastic.

Next is the Wine Vault and Bistro. It is quite possibly our favorite restaurant of all time. The decor is simple, elegant, and white. They serve a three-course pre fixe on Thursday and five-course pre fixe on Saturdays, both with paired wines. It is very affordable. They also have numerous vintner dinners where the owner of a winery describes each wine while we dine on the different courses. Owners Chris and Mary are the best.

Then, there is Saffron Chicken. Maureen claims it’s the best Thai in the city. She often brings dishes home. i must agree.

The last stop actually on the corner is Gelato Vero. But that’s not all.

Across the street, there’s a taco shop, a basic bar. Up the hill a couple of lots is a really good sushi place. Turning the other way and going under the interstate, there are about three more places, the best being 57 Degrees,  a wine and boutique beer place with super appetizers and a mind boggling number of wines and craft beers.

That’s our corner. A great deal of the dining (except for Wine Vault) is outside. We were on the Blue Water’s patio today. Of course at midday, the temperature was hovering around 70 degrees, pretty much the same from October until June.

That makes that wonderful little corner even better.

i am not sure of the exact event that brought the Cub Scouts and the Boy Scouts together. But i do know both had a significant impact on me when growing up. The relationship did not last long enough…but that is another story.

It seems i may have posted this before, but i could not find it. That is not unusual. i lose a lot of stuff and can’t find it.

i believe this was taken in 1953, give or take a year or two.

The stamp on the back reads “Louis Perner, 218 Thomas Terrace, Lebanon, Tenn.” (zip codes had not yet become de riguer). From my mother’s documentation, also on the back: “Back Row – Vantrice, leader, 1- Harry Byars, 2 Unknown, 3-George Lowery, 4-Unknown, 5-Bobby Hesson / Front Row – 1-Gordon Bone, 2-Andy Berry, 3-Jim Jewell, 4-LeRoy Dowdy, 5-Frank Schlink”

My biggest question is where the hell is Henry Harding?

i debated on posting this one. It is a little personal, and i’m not sure just how much i want to put my very personal thoughts and feelings out there. But as i enter this month contemplating putting the website posts on a subscription basis, i have come to the conclusion i need to put more of me on the line. This is not because i think i’m something special, far from it. But i have long felt the older generation, my mother and father before me, and now me, have a great deal of thoughts generated by a ton of experience, others, especially younger others, might take to help them make better decisions along their road trip. So, with some trepidation, i decided to go ahead with this one.

My father dreamed a lot also, but he never discussed the dreams themselves. He would say he “dreamed a lot last night,” or “i had terrible dreams last night,” but he never told me what the dream was about.

i have horrible dreams too. Mine usually are about Maureen ignoring or rebuffing me for someone more handsome, more debonair, classier, and i am helpless to convince her otherwise. She is downright mean to me, and i wake up disconsolate, mad at her before i realize it was a dream.

i used to have dreams about some horrible threat chasing me, and i could only run in slow motion. i also used to dream about playing golf and not being able to tee the ball up while the other golfers played on without me or were disgusted with me for not being able to get to the point of swinging the club.

When i was facilitating the Navy seminar on leadership for senior officers, i would dream about some yahoo in the seminar, rejecting the principles of effective leadership and my being unable to articulate the real answer, feeling powerless.

And occasionally, i still will have some bad dreams about urinating, only to wake up and realize i have to go to the bathroom. i would prefer to just wake up.

Sometimes the really bad dreams will repeat themselves for a while.

I have good dreams. Rarely, i will dream of old girl friends and i talking, just talking, nothing unseemly.

When i was young, i occasionally dreamed of being able to fly and can distinctly remember one when i flew over our house and yard on Castle Heights Avenue. Except for that childhood dream, i never remember the particulars of the dream even immediately after i wake up.

But last night, i had a dream i remembered, at least the meat of it. It was a good dream. When i awoke from the dream in the middle of the night, i lay in the bed and tried to recall all i could about the dream in detail.

Unlike most of my dreams, this one was complex. It began with me out in a park with large beautiful buildings like Balboa Park. Balboa Park is the subject of my next Democrat column and a poem in progress. i can understand how that came into my subconscious mind.

i was writing a story and it turned into a newspaper story. Then, i became both myself and Clark Kent, the reporter for The Daily Planet, and i became aware of some tragic but unknown event beginning to occur. i was accompanied closely by some guy (Jimmy Olsen?) and had to run away from him through plazas and hallways in one of the buildings, finally cloistering myself in a closet, which turned out to be an empty tower. I changed (but never saw my outfit) and flew up inside the tower where a large vent covered the top. I broke the seal and pushed the vent out and over where it clanged to a stone floor far below, revealing my departure and possibly disclosing my identity to the guy following me.

Unperturbed, i flew and then floated into what appeared to be a political rally. In the bandstand with a number of people, Ronald Reagan was endorsing some candidate, and i disrupted the endorsement, although why or how i did that was vague.

Having accomplished my good deed (i think), i am not sure why, but my super powers were apparently drained, and suddenly, i was walking in a pretty land, although there was this sense of something evil after me.

i sought refuge in what turned out to be my castle where an elephant opened the gate to admit me and i was greeted by my old friend Cass, my Labrador whose ashes are under my flag at the top of our hill.

With Cass at my side, i went inside and found my way to the master bedroom suite. Maureen, in a beautiful gown, was there. We kissed and held each other. Then we went to bed for the night: she lying down on a massive and beautiful king bed and i lying in a single bed with a luxurious feather mattress. After i lay down, i began to worry about attackers entering the open door to the suite, but before i could close it. our daughter (the dream did not let me know if it was Blythe or Sarah) entered as a child of about three or four. She and Cass climbed into the bed with me. Both snuggled with me under a thick and comfortable cover, and we went to sleep.

And then, i woke up.

Who needs movies or television?