Stand by to stand by ....

Another time / another place / another incarnation or, more simply, whatever ....

"Once upon a time" does exist for each of us in our minds, in our memories. This photograph, taken from a video, is emblematic for one of my own "once upon a times." It shows two Marines walking down an empty street somewhere and sometime in the past carrying a United States flag between them -- which, to me, explains the quintessence of the Corps. The who, what, where, when, why and how of the scene is in a sense timeless because war has been going on forever and probably will continue to be that way. War is one of constants in this world because, I believe, it is inbred in us. 

Today is my anniversary for joining the Corps. I consider the episode to be one of my "incarnations" in this life -- an interlude of learning experiences and of what now exists only as memories, both bad and good.

One song accompanies this post. It is "Goodbye Horses," a 1987 song written by William Garvey and sung by Q Lazzarus. Garvey, who died at age 51 in 2009, wrote these words about his song: "The song is about transcendence over those who see the world as only earthly and finite. The horses represent the five senses discussed in the Bhagavad Gita and the ability to lift one's perception above these physical limitations and to see beyond this limited Earthly perspective." 

Makes sense to me ....

As for the singer, Q Lazzarus, she simply vanished. There were rumors that Q Lazzarus was a drug addict, involved in toxic, abusive relationships, had moved to London or even was dead. After decades of speculation, she "supposedly" turned up as a bus driver, Diane Luckey, age 55, on Staten Island. She said she was happy and content and wanted nothing more to do with the music business -- which I can appreciate -- and, I suppose, that the "Goodbye Horses" era simply was one among her "incarnations."

The song has been performed and recorded a number of times. In addition to the original version, I have included another by The Airborne Toxic Event.

The song sort of represents my present-day perspective about the Marine Corps.

Stand by to stand by, baby ....

"Reincarnating" a piece of 2009 .... No. 2

Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, a French playwright and actor and poet and writer known by his stage name, Molière, wrote these words in "Le Sicilien ou L'Amour peintre" (The Sicilian, or Love the Painter), a play which opened on Valentine's Day in 1667: "To inspire love is a woman's greatest ambition, believe me. It's the one thing woman care about and there's no woman so proud that she does not rejoice at heart in her conquests."

(Editor's Note: Being naturally lazy and preferring many of my early posts over many of my recent posts, I have pulled two from 2009 and running them once again. Incidentally, this is not my photograph. I obtained it from a guy named Carl .... and, I will warn you that this post, which appeared shortly after Easter Sunday back then, is not exactly what it would seem to be. If you are in the mood, see if you can figure out what is specious about it. To this end, I pose the question: How much truth is behind the cliché that one person's fantasy is another person's reality? As comedian and actor and writer Fred Willard said on at least one occasion: "I'm having fun with you now.")

I think I am in love, but where did she go?

Have you seen this woman? I was out for a bite to eat earlier today and she walked into the restaurant. All the tables were full, mostly with the Easter Sunday after-church crowd. She walked over to my table and asked if I would mind her company.

You actually think I would say no?

We ordered, we ate, we talked for maybe an hour after finishing the meal. She said she was going to a movie, and asked me if I wanted to come with her.

You actually think I would say no?

As we walked from the restaurant, I dropped my newspaper and bent to pick it up. When I looked back, she was gone. I mean gone, as in vanished. I looked for her outside, went back inside, then outside again, and waited for 17 or 23 minutes. She was gone.

She said her name was Norma Jeane. I did not catch her last name. If you see her, give me a call and let me know where she is, will you? I am in the mood for an afternoon at the movies.

"Reincarnating" a piece of 2009 .... No. 1

To glimpse Michelangelo's "Pieta" is reason enough to travel.

(Editor's Note: Being lazy and preferring many of my early posts over many of my recent posts, I have pulled two from 2009 and running them once again. This photograph is from 2004 when I was younger and taking my own advice seriously .... and which, if you continue to read, is the message I continue "to preach" verbatim to what it was when published in March 2009.)

Roam the earth & see the beauty ....

It seems to me that a primary advantage to residency on the European side of the Atlantic Ocean is being much nearer to centuries of art and architecture. So much is there to appreciate. Spending a few moments within St. Peter's Basilica standing before Michelangelo's 15th Century marble "Pieta" is a reminder that while years pass by, there is some beauty which may resist change until the end of time.

I sort of like this photograph, even though the technical quality is rather dismal. The photo might also be a reminder for us to roam the earth while there still is earth to roam, and while we are fully alive to enjoy it. Our days are numbered, and neither god nor man will keep us young or safe forever.

" .... there was in me an invincible summer"

Undoubtedly, there is no way to know how many photographs have been taken of Split Rock Lighthouse overlooking Lake Superior along the lake's north shore in Minnesota. This shot was taken on a winter day a few years ago for the Minnesota Historical Society. It seems appropriate to run it here as sort of an audacious welcome to 2021. I use the word audacious because at the time of the creation of the lighthouse, there were no roads to the area and all building materials and supplies arrived via ship on the lake and had to be lifted to the top of the 133-foot cliffs by crane. Quite a task -- worthy of a bit of bluster by those who planned the lighthouse and especially by those who constructed it. Tourists with their cameras have flocked to the light since it became operational in July 1910.

January has a history of being a rather significant month for me: A few years ago prior to the 11th -- today -- I would have described myself as an aficionado of Benedictine and brandy and Amaretto and a few other liquors and liqueurs, but I had an epiphany of sorts and now exist as a teetotaler. My mother's birthday is the 13th; a son was stillborn on the 17th; I signed on the dotted line with the Marine Corps exactly a week later on the 24th. July is another significant month for me. Two marriages both began and ended in July. Something about months beginning with the letter "J" and ending with the letter "Y," I guess, chuckles the sort-of-superstitious, silly me.

Hmmmm .... almost forgot .... January 21, 2009, is the date of my first post on this blog. I had started a blog a few weeks earlier centering on outdoor activities, but decided that was too narrow and I could include anything and everything which entered my mind with a non-specific setup. I deleted the outdoor pieces and have used them here. If my finger count is correct, with this post the difference between now and January 21, 2009, is approaching twelve full, complete years. Hmmmm .... wonder what to do about that? 

There occasionally are giants among us

The figure in the photograph is clad in military fatigues, boots and helmet, lying on his back in peaceful repose, folded hands holding a military cap. Except for a thin trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, he could be asleep. But he is not asleep; he is dead. This is not just another fallen trooper; it is Ernie Pyle, a celebrated war correspondent of World War II. The description is of the top photograph. The one below is Pyle, left center with a cigarette in his mouth, in life, while on a Marine Corps patrol.

War & Remembrance ....

"It was a lovely day for strolling along the seashore. Men were sleeping on the sand, some of them sleeping forever. Men were floating in the water, but they didn't know they were in the water, for they were dead."

That was the way Ernest Taylor "Ernie" Pyle described the Normandy beachhead the day after Allied troops crossed the English Channel and invaded the European continent. It is said a photograph can portray a thousand words. Maybe it can, but those few words Pyle wrote certainly paint a vivid scene in my mind.

This is not a post per se about Pyle, but a few words and photographs to familiarize those who are not aware of him with him. He was a Pulitzer Prize-winning war correspondent and probably the most celebrated journalist of World War II.

Pyle covered the North Africa campaign, the invasions of Sicily and Italy, and on June 7, 1944, the day after the landings, he went ashore at Normandy.  In the Pacific, Pyle covered the assaults on Iwo Jima and Okinawa. He wrote about the experiences of enlisted men, rather than the battles they fought, until on April 18, 1945, he was killed by Japanese machine-gun fire on the island of Ie Shima off the northwest coast of Okinawa.

What popped Pyle into my head was recently watching the "Story of G.I. Joe," a 1945 film about Pyle and his coverage of the Italian campaign. Burgess Meredith played the role of Pyle admirably -- even sort of looked like Pyle. Every day, Pyle and guys like him are falling further and further behind us, so a reminder of their once-upon-a-time presence might keep memory of them alive .... at least for a while longer.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow ....

New Year’s Eve revelers began to assemble as the sun was setting on the last day of the final month of the indescribable year 2020. It was a gathering of kindred spirits who seem to abide by the rules of Nature and to enjoy roaming free from birth to death.

Dare I be so cliché to say it?

Why not?

Willie Shakespeare through the voice of Macbeth:

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,

To the last syllable of recorded time;

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more. It is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.