When my eyes blinked open in the pre-dawn, something was nagging in that part of memory that said: “You have to do something.”

It wasn’t the dream. That was about some ancient Navy stuff, nonsensical and non-threatening, and maybe triggered by the news that USS Forrestal (CV-59) was leaving Philadelphia for the 17-day drag to Texas to be chopped to pieces. Easy come, easy go, I guess.

I wonder who is going to find that case of Budweiser I left undisturbed behind the sheet-metal panel in the compartment 02-33-7?

I guess I would have been just as pleased if they just sunk America’s first supercarrier at sea to create an artificial reef where the fish could take custody of the beer.

(A lot of Forrestal sailors look like this guy these days. US Navy photo by Joseph Battista. Hat tip to Shipmate Dave for finding it!)

Anyway, padding down the passageway from the head- wait, was I still dreaming? Watch what you are doing. Do not trip on the Oriental rugs. Wait: there were no rugs in FID, and the bulkheads were gray, not eggshell white. I remembered that awkward moment when FID was pierside in Marseilles and I was walking briskly and buck-naked down the passageway from the shower in the buff- FID was a single-sex ship in those days- and realized someone was touring some guests who by the sound of it were not on French, but female.

Vive la Difference!

I started to rouse from the reverie with caffeine. That was it- gray machines! I had to take the car in early, and that there was a mystery in progress. I like mysteries, even tried to watch one when I got back from Uncle Julio’s last night- a totally separate story involving the massive power outage and attendant minor fire at Willow- but I am getting off track already.

I had been at the computer most of the day, having realized suddenly that there is apparently a “contact” button on the website that some foolish people have actually used. I had not checked that account in several months, had forgotten the password and all the other happy horseshit that goes along with big software roll-outs.

I am not completely unsympathetic to the problems with the Health Care computer programmers, you know. But there were 600 “You’ve got Gmail!” notes that suddenly popped out and there went the day. Another storm was rolling in- this one on the ragged edge of wintry mix. The rain was supposed to start at 1900 and continue through the morning, with the very real possibility that it would freeze to branches and roads and electrical wires and bring them all tumbling down and leave us all in the darkness.

So, the question of this morning was whether it was going to be a hockey rink outside, and if so, what would that do to the early delivery of the Panzer to the German mechanics, provided they were able to slide into work in the dark.

I pulled on a jacket and some shoes and went out on the patio. It was still raining, and the pavement looked wet but not with the sheen of ice.

OK: a go. I made the coffee, checked the email and discovered that Mr. Jay Carney had a completely rational explanation for why the Congressional Budget Office report saying that the health care law’s imposition was going to cause the loss of a couple million jobs and cost a couple times what we thought. He explained that it would permit “folks” to spend more time with their families.

Where I come from, that is the line used to explain why the Congressman or Secretary is resigning in disgrace, since I can’t imagine anything I would like to do less than stay at home with a spouse glaring daggers at me 24×7. But I guess it is all a matter of taste.

I vowed I would get back to why the EPA was going to ban woodstoves, or why they mandate low-flow showerheads that limit flow to 2.5 gallons per minute be hooked up to tankless water-heaters that only produce hot water with an outflow of more than 3 gallons per minute through the system.

I thought, as I walked down to the garage to get the Panzer fired up, that it would be easier if they just banned hot showers, you know?

And when I discovered to my growing horror on the walk back from the Dealership, a hot shower was going to be precisely what I was going to need when I got home, but that was gong to be a bit of a problem since the sidewalks had not been salted like the ones back at Big Pink, and I was going to be sliding along in the chill dank rain for much longer than I had thought. After the first decent slide, I realized I really had to watch my step.

Copyright 2014 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303