I wanna know, have you ever ....

Will the real Fram please stand up. You probably can guess I was struggling to find something to use as an illustration for this post. This was the second idea, and I am not going to try for a third. Actually, it sort of reminds me of some of the posts I was creating when I first arrived on the sea of blogs in 2009. I think I must have been looser back then, although I always have been accused of being overly serious. Anyway .... you will note the common theme to the gentlemen situated at the four corners of the illustration: They all are smoking. It is unclear whether or not the gentleman in the center is also puffing away on a cigarette or a cigar. Getting straight to the point (finally), it was on this date -- December 10, 1997 -- that I lit up and smoked my last cigarette, which is sort of the subject of this post.

With or without us

I once was pretty proud of myself for being able to stop smoking. It was three to four packs of cigarettes a day for me -- Salems and Camel straights. Most days, a cigar or two entered the mix and what would life be without a pipe and the scent of aromatic smoke drifting in the den? I once figured out that I was smoking about fifty minutes out of every hour I was awake during an average twenty-four hour period. As you might suspect with an attitude like mine, I pretty much decided when and where I would smoke and, for whatever reason, got away with it. (My smile, no doubt.)

Today marks seventeen years since I stopped. I did it "cold turkey." It was mind over matter; nothing more, nothing less. (To be honest, I actually was amazed that I made it, but I am hesitant to admit that part of the story.)

Anyway, it no longer seems like a big deal; does not even seem especially important. Life is change. Constant change, perpetual change, never-ending change. A few weeks ago, I wrote in a post or in a comment or somewhere that I cannot understand how anyone can live in the same town or work at the same job for an entire adult lifetime. The same, I came to realize at some point, is true of smoking. I did it. I enjoyed it -- especially some cigars -- then, I quit. Smoking came and went, and that is what life is -- people and places and things coming and going. Probably more so for me than for most. (At least, I admit it.)

Tell me why I would want to read the same book over and over ad infinitum or watch the same film over and over or listen to the same song over and over year after year? So, why would I want to stare at the same four walls in the same house forever and ever -- or, smoke cigarettes day-in and day-out for as long as I am alive?

Some things are easier to let go of than other things. Some things we have no choice whether we let go or not. Life goes on, with us or without us; with or without people, places and things which once were central in our lives.

Well, it might not make sense to everyone, but it makes sense to me. Cigarettes? They were fun while they lasted. Seventeen years ago today it became time to move along without them ....

Now, for the music, baby

A young lady known as Smareis has introduced me to a few Brazilian singers and bands. A few days ago, she gave me a link to a Def Leppard song named, "Love Bites," as performed by a Brazilian band which calls itself Yahoo. I think it is a fantastic rendition, especially when considering it is a live performance and not a studio cut.

I think this cover is superior to the original Def Leppard version, and I am posting it today along with Yahoo's rendition of a Queen song entitled, "Love of My Life," and a real old piece, "Love Hurts," originally recorded by the Everly Brothers (ex-Marines, incidentally) in 1960, but made "big time" by Nazareth in 1975.

One of the three pieces here by Yahoo is sung in the national language of Brazil, Portuguese, and the other two in English. I assume most of you can recognize the difference. (Yes-s-s-s, I am being sarcastic .... I cannot help myself, he says with a shy grin.)

So, here is some cool music, by my definition, to help me observe seventeen years of still hanging out, but without that cool-guy-cigarette-guy look .... you know .... like Humphrey Bogart in "Casablanca."

By the way, barring the unforeseen, I plan to post next during the mystical, magical, mysterious week between Christmas and New Year's Day. Due to the capricious nature of life -- which sometimes sends you where it will rather than where you would wish to be -- I will be gone much of the time between now and then .... in the meanwhile, Merry Christmas and ho/ho/ho ....

View from a passenger window at 82 mph

Not great, but not bad for shooting with a Blackberry through the passenger side window at 82 miles-per-hour and still climbing. Agree? The photograph, I mean. This ski area is known as Buck Hill and has existed as long as I can remember. The shot was taken at 10:04 a.m. last Tuesday as I was "headin' out" on an interstate highway. It was a cold/cold/cold day, which might explain why there was only one, lone skier on the slope. Do you see him? The last "rugged individualist," possibly, in what once was a nation created and built by this manner of character. Sarcasm aside and moving right along, I returned home Friday evening after being absent four days, and realized I have been gone from home eleven days during the past thirty-three. I do believe I am getting restless again.

Just a reminder

It was seventy-three years ago today that Japan launched surprise attacks against the United States at its naval base at Pearl Harbor, Oahu, Hawaii, and at other outposts in the Far East. It seems to me the U.S. has been under attack a great deal of the time since Sunday, December 7, 1941 -- the most notable, perhaps, the one by Islamic extremists at the World Trade Center complex on September 11, 2001.

But, from my point of view, the most disturbing and troublesome attacks are coming not from outside U.S. borders, rather, they are originating from dedicated leftists (i.e. socialists and communists or sympathizers, and anarchists) and immature students who simply do not realize what an easy and beneficial existence they have, especially when compared to the generations of their parents and their grandparents.

I think I was fortunate to live as a child in the presence of grandparents who had experienced The Great Depression. I think I have been fortunate to have known Marines and "soldats" from the World War II era, to the Korean War, to the Vietnam War and through the Iraq and Afghanistan operations. People such as these have given me two things in particular: A sense of self-confident, independence and the understanding than no one and no government owes me a thing.

Loving and studying history is another ingredient to form my philosophy, and I believe that is the "missing link" in the formulation of beliefs among many (too many) people: They have no real sense of what came before them. To paraphrase a well-worn cliché: Countless people in generations before our time here on Earth have suffered and died so we, who live today, can utter our petty grievances and live in relative peace and harmony among family and friends.

No individual, no government or system of government can ever be perfect, and when systemic failures are found, change and reform are accomplished by dedication and hard, honest work, not by shouting down those who disagree or by looting or by burning. Those who shout down and loot and burn are the cowards among us, the weakest among us, the most selfish among us, the destroyers among us, the haters among us, the delusional among us.

So, look in the mirror .... who are you, which are you, what are you ??

For whatever reason

I recently mentioned to someone that I have been on a Def Leppard kick .... just as I was on a Guns 'n' Roses kick not long ago .... and, undoubtedly, just as I will move along to another band in a few weeks. I do not like the Def Leppard lead singer's voice (and, do not even know his name), but I love the overall sound of the band. Much of the time, "the voice" is overpowered by the music, which suits me just fine. I also am sort of simpatico with the lyrics in this piece. Sound + words = neat song .... for me, for whatever reason ....

Gotta photograph, picture of ....

This photograph is not one I took. But, possibly, I will take one from the same location someday in the not too distant future. Winter was too long last year; it still was winter in May in this neck of the woods. Winter began too soon this year. It has seemed like January here in recent days. Frankly, I am beginning to think I will never find a satisfactory location at which I wish to live and which could serve as a "base camp" for a few years while I wander about, so, instead, I have been thinking about a site in which to "hang out" for a few months. I like the looks of the place in the photo. Read on, if you care to learn more about this location and about the musical selection today.

Another "hilltop" with a view

I have decided on the type of place, if not the actual place, where I would like to set up shop for a while. Have you seen the James Bond film, "Quantum of Solace," from 2008? I watched it again a few days ago and replayed a particular segment a number of times.

During the film, the ageless Bond (played by Daniel Craig) enlists an old friend and associate, Rene Mathis (portrayed by Giancarlo Giannini), to assist him accomplish a "small task" in Bolivia. Mathis is "retired" and living with his companion in a magnificent house on a magnificent promontory with a magnificent view of an endless, blue sea. (Tell me, is it the Ligurian or the Tyrrhenian?) Mathis idles away his days drinking wine while his companion sunbathes. As the story goes, this dwelling was a gift to Mathis from the British government for imprisoning and torturing him when he was mistakenly thought to be a turncoat and one of the bad guys.

I wonder if I can find someone to torture me and then to pay me off.

Well, if not, the house in the film and in the photograph accompanying this post is the Villa Le Torre near Talamone in southern Tuscany in Italy, about one hundred miles south of Florence. And, it is available to rent from time to time. I have not learned any details yet, but, if one cannot live like a king, one can at least vacation like a king now and again.

After drinking wine for a few weeks at the villa while looking out over the endless, blue sea, possibly going north to Florence ?? Then, possibly, detouring a short distance out of the way for a day or two at Lajatico and the Teatro del Silenzio for a concert ?? There, probably, you already know who would be performing ?? In case you do not, a musical hint is provided forthwith ....

Ordinarily, I consider myself a realist and not an optimist, but I am trying to envision a couple of personal situations resolving themselves soon and .... maybe .... once again .... finally .... becoming a free bird in every sense .... once again .... anyway .... something to think about ....

Ending with a side note: Do you remember my Sanctuary/Refuge? It was high atop a hill and, from there, I could see for miles and miles and miles .... I am not a city boy; I very much miss not living in a house with a view ....

 

Goodbye, November .... Greetings, December

 

November -- the first month of five-month-long FramWinter -- ends today. November was a very cold/cold/cold month and a very expensive/expensive/expensive month for me. It had begun as a month in which I thought a view into my future would be revealed. It did not happen. So now I wait, expecting December to open this visual tunnel into the months ahead. Decisions made and actions taken in the distant past often come back, if not to actually haunt, to in their own way control today and influence tomorrow.

Here are some words, none of them mine

He: "You go around looking for something until you find it. Then you go around worrying about losing it."

She: "Nothing lasts forever, and some things are worth having even if it's just for a little while."

Golden years, gold, wop wop wop

It probably would be a safe wager that David Bowie had other thoughts than those present in this post today when he wrote the song, "Golden Years." But, who can say for certain and, besides, the concept of "golden years" means different things to different people, just as the definition of "success" has varied interpretations. This is a nonsensical post. (Perhaps, they all are.) It came to me the other night that I wondered what it would be like to sleep in a bed again. (That was, anyway, a portion of what I was thinking.) Then, my mind began to drift, and the words below emerged. When you have read them (I guess that is assuming a great deal), you might have a better idea of why I live alone. It is not just the concept of home decorations. To the contrary, my own belief is that a house, with the exception of one, lone room, is the domain of the woman (if/when there is one) who lives there. The lone room, of course, is for the man who lives there to hide within. The greater concept is finding a woman who either is willing to travel with me (and to sleep wherever we are when darkness falls .... I am laughing, are you ??) or who enjoys being alone much of the time when I am in a wandering mood. And, yes, I know the bottle in the photograph is Benedictine and not brandy. The brandy is in the kitchen where I pour my drinks and ice is at my finger tips.

Of what use are beds ??

Someone once looked me in the eye, smiled a soft smile and said: "You live in a house of books, brandy and bullets, but no beds."

I had to agree, and to compliment my smug attitude of the moment with words, I replied: "I am a practical man. I only buy what I use."

I have not slept in a bed since the winter of 2010. Reflecting on the subject of beds (to what ends, I do not know), I have spent much of my life sleeping on floors or couches or reclining chairs. In a more esoteric and descriptive sense, I have slept on sandy beaches, rocky deserts, on ships and in canoes, on aircraft, in trees, on snow on ground and on ice on frozen lakes, on piles of leaves in forests, in wheat fields and jungle grass, in cars and trucks, in battlefield gullies where men have died in recent wars or, sometimes, in old or even ancient wars.

I spent a night on a rocky, mountain foot trail with portions of my body going downhill in three different directions. The trail was going up-mountain, with half my body on one side of the trail at a sixty-degree, downhill angle and the other half of my body on the opposite side of the slope at a sixty-degree, downhill angle .... my rifle tied to me by the shoe lace of one boot and my remaining gear tied to the shoe lace of the other boot to ensure it would stay with me should I tumble off in my sleep. I slept well; I loved it.

There was another occasion when I fell asleep in utter darkness on a moonless, starless night with my upper body on a muddy riverbank and my legs still in the river. It seemed like a good idea at the time. No need to shower in the morning; just push backward and resume swimming/drifting with the current.

I have always been able to fall asleep anywhere within two or three minutes and to set my "internal alarm" to awaken me whenever I wish, unless I am in a state of virtual exhaustion; it comes in handy.

Well, there are a few more places where I think it might be interesting to sleep before I enter into "the endless slumber," but, I wonder: Of what use are beds?

Destinies collide: Kennedy, Oswald, Johnson

           John                             Lee                          Lyndon
           Fitzgerald                     Harvey                     Baines
           Kennedy                       Oswald                     Johnson

One more junction in the pathway of history

It occurred to me a few days ago that the assassination/murder/execution (call it what you will) of John Fitzgerald Kennedy has one more thing in common today with the murder of Abraham Lincoln than it did only a short time ago: Moving beyond the fifty-year mark (the fifty-first anniversary is today), it has passed from the realm of the contemporary into the annals of history. Therefore, there is less and less chance the answers to all the lingering questions about it will ever be known.

Was Lee Harvey Oswald the lone shooter?

I am inclined to think so. No matter who conducted what experiments to cast doubt on whether or not Oswald could have accomplished three shots in under six seconds and scored hits on two of them on a moving target at the distance involved, I, as a "seasoned" rifleman, know it is absolutely possible to have done so if one has devoted himself to practice, has an innate calmness and has a coolness created from trained self-discipline.

Were there other accomplices behind the scenes?

I believe he had assistance. With all the theories about CIA involvement; wealthy right-wing/military-industrial complex types providing assistance; payback from Fidel Castro for assassination plots on his life; payback from anti-Castro Cubans for Kennedy's Bay of Pigs invasion betrayal; payback from certain Mafia figures for brother Attorney General Robert Kennedy's criminal investigations; and other assorted areas of speculation, I think it is entirely possible others played a role.

I have my own ideas/theories in that regard, have mentioned them once or twice in previous posts, but will not go deeper into them again right now.

The currents of history twist and turn often on random events. It seems to me the assassination of Kennedy is a good example of this. For instance, I believe most of the nearly sixty thousand Americans -- and thousands more Vietnamese -- would not have died where and when they did had Kennedy lived.

United States involvement in Vietnam began with President Harry Truman in the 1950s, continued on to a degree with Dwight Eisenhower and increased measurably under Kennedy. But, it was Kennedy's successor, Lyndon Baines Johnson, whose decisions unleashed the debacle that became known as the Vietnam War.

All historical indications were that Kennedy was pulling back from Vietnam when he was killed, and the massive influx of American troops sent there in support of a corrupt South Vietnamese regime rests on the shoulders of another political liberal icon: Lyndon Baines Johnson.

I have not spent any serious amount of time studying or even thinking about the Kennedy assassination in recent years, but I stumbled onto a novel a few months ago which offered some fascinating theories about mysteries surrounding the so-called "magic bullet" and other physical elements of the event. The book, by Stephen Hunter, is titled, "The Third Bullet." Besides being a novelist, Hunter is a Pulitzer Prize-winning newspaper film critic and a firearms lover/expert.

This tale also offers a plausible explanation of how Oswald might have been "set up" as the fall guy for the murder of a president in which others, who remain unknown, were also actively involved. Hunter's book has Oswald being one of two shooters. You might find the story interesting, even fascinating -- or, you might not.

History sometimes is a straight line from Point A to Point B. More often, it is a pathway going uphill and downhill and filled with twists and turns. The pathway which met at a junction called Dallas, Texas, USA, on November 22, 1963, affected the lives of millions of individuals, not just the lives of three men named Kennedy, Oswald and Johnson, and changed the course of history in irrevocable and immeasurable ways.