WAR GAMES

Yes,  children dying from cancer is always a popular ending subject for posts - not exactly a cliffhanger. I haven't been able to write the last few days. We were in a cabin high up on the peaceful mountains in Santa Barbara, almost into the Los Padres forest where the single-lane road ends and the forest of fathers begins. 

I don't remember taking any pictures from high up there. If I did, I am too lazy now to get them off of the camera's memory card. Instead, you will get one from our first evening there, while we were still at the Hilton. 

Being at a hotel seemed novel, again. The pool was closed. This dried our expectations of fun a bit, rendered the underwater camera less useful. I refuse to use it in ocean water - or rather, under the ocean water - because I am unwilling to buy another once the sea water destroys the current one, which is also the new one. I've heard that's the case with underwater cameras.

There is a process to letting a camera soak in fresh water for hours after taking them in sea water. I am not that sort of person. I sleep on fresh hotel sheets after being in sea water.

It guarantees male orgasm. 

I like the picture of Raquel. It is entirely unrelated to this post, and if I had any sense of continuity in purpose then I'd find a different image to lead these words, or follow. 

When we arrived home we watched War Games with the boy, mostly because Mom remembered it fondly from her late adolescence. It is a relic of the nuclear age of terror, teen romance. I was amazed that she let the film play through some of its darker themes. The boy is, after all, only eight years old. And we are, finally, enduring a deadly global pandemic.

But, you know how that goes: mother knows best and all. Her memories are as Easter eggs: creamy with deathy redemption. 

I'm trying to be coolvid-19 in the time of terror: Is that what others are doing, also? 

Sorry, I've been scolded all day for doing things that would seem acceptable if anybody other than me did them. So, one grows so tired of the occasionally strict didacticism of being a family member. 

Cato told me not to reveal any dissatisfaction in love. He is, of course, right. It is not the thing to do. Anybody can do it. There is always one who can do it better than I.

See above.


Let me find a different note to end on.

Forgotten Jedis of the Resistance: Obi Ben-Wa Ken Doll Balls

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