There is a wonderful Hoagy Carmichael/Frank Loesser tune, Two Sleepy People, that just sprang to mind. There have been numerous performances, but Fats Waller’s take on the song, is perhaps the most memorable. ( Although Christopher Lloyd and Marilu Henner did a wonderful rendition on a Taxi episode.)

“Two Sleepy people by dawn’s early light, too much in love to say Good Night ” is the last line.

I was thinking about that, because I remember that New Relationship Excitement where simply being in each other’s company was the most powerful of aphrodisiacs. Then we get “used to each other” and the excitement wears off, even though Love is still there, felt, perhaps, even more profoundly.

I went up early, way early. Maybe too early, but I just wanted to be with J. I brushed my teeth, got ready for bed. We watched an I Love Lucy DVD. And I fell asleep, a couple of times. I got up to finish the laundry, pack J’s lunch, and think about the day.

Now I am sleepy, a little wistful. For the time I was with her, lying in bed, Lucy,Ricky, Ethel, and Fred keeping us company, I felt close and happy. My joints didn’t ache as much. And I want more of that closeness.

Let’s see what happens.

We went to dinner, J and I. Had a good time, at our usual barbeque place. We talked about our pending March trip to New York City where we will do the tourist experience.

I did some more tidying when we returned. I showed J the tunnel a mole is digging through the yard. Should I be concerned?

I’m doing some trainspotting. One train just stopped in Ashland, discharged some passengers, and departed.

Life continues to be pretty good.

I have that half-sleepy, half-awake feeling, wanting to lie down and rest, but lingering are dirty thoughts of tongues meeting, spit swapping. I want my hands to trace her curves, pull her nipples, stroke the lips of her cunt, feeling the wetness come.

We can decide we are tired or busy, that ignoring our lust is a good idea, until we once again are away from each other. And our denial cuts another wound in our psyche.

Yeah it makes no sense. But we will continue to be respectable.

I had been talking about fixing home made macaroni and cheese for the last two months, since winter began. Given we finally had a cold day and it’s really not that hard I did the deed today

I make a roux in the double boiler, then add the milk, then the grated cheese until it’s all melted and thick. I must have used close to a pound (454 gm)of extra sharp cheddar cheese. I save some to cover the pasta cheese sauce mix.

While I’m making the sauce I’m boiling the pasta. When that’s ready, I drain the pasta and mix sauce and pasta up real good!

Then I cover with the reserved cheese and place in the oven til the cheese is melted on the top.

Sure to be a hit with children, and domestic partners.

The Grade Crossing Gates in Ashland are stuck. It is 6:33 AM. The CSX crew is on the scene to repair them. The rush hour has already started. This has the makings of a real mess here.

I slept pretty OK last night. I did awaken once, went to the other room, where it’s a little cooler. I suppose I should sleep some more. But I may stay up to see if maybe that can “reset” my internal clock.

The weather forecasters were calling for snow last night. We had NO snow. We have had none in Richmond this season, at least to accumulate. It happens occasionally.

OK. That’s about it for now.

I have mastered my Old Man Disguise. I just realize younger people, when they see me, probably think of me as on old man, grey hair, slight limp, hard of hearing. However, I don’t wear those Old Man “Just off the golf course” clothes. No loafers, polo shirts, khakis. No godawful sweaters that look like a pair of Argyle socks run amok.

I was eaves-dropping on a conversation between an Old Man (75+) and a somewhat younger woman (70?). It was more of a monologue on his part, (a man– o-logue?), where he talked about places he has been, like some vineyard near Solvang where his daughter was married. I heard another table conversation where the diners were talking about going to the once every ten year production of The Passion Play in Oberammergau.

I was appreciative for that moment and that I was dining alone, looking out the plate glass window of the Iron Horse Restaurant. A big freight train passed by, I looked at the graffiti on the freight cars, hauling coal. I enjoyed my salmon pattie sandwich, then my maple sundae with candied walnuts.

I walked about the Town of Ashland and saw a sign for a bed and breakfast in a walk-up over a used book shop. Highly quaint.

It was a departure from routine and most welcome. Then I went to my sponsee’s condo, bearing a 20 oz Diet Pepsi and chatted a bit.

Highlight of the day was when I found out my A1C is under control. This I learned when my doctor’s nurse called with my lab results from yesterday’s office visit.

I fixed chicken breasts in bread crumbs cooked in a 400° F oven with side dishes of Brussels sprouts and rice. J liked the meal. Tomorrow we finally go to the Edward Hopper traveling exhibition at VMFA.

I am very happy I have what I have.

I slept for a fairly long period for me, six hours. I did some trainspotting,reading, and coffee drinking. And now loneliness and isolatiom are making their presence felt. More sleep is indicated.

J has yet to text this morning, meaning no break yet.

Back to bed.

A good day, all in all. I had a doctor’s appointment that went well. Then AA. J came home. We had Dollar Tacos at Rico’s, a nice Mexican family place, where toddlers eat finger foods and drink from sippy cups, irresistible cuteness.

I came home and finished a lesbian romance novel on my Kindle©. I vicariously felt the excitement of young love and longed for that excitement.

I have another idea to communicate my love needs to J. We are going to read The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman simultaneously.. Of course she has to be awake for me to reveal this plan to her. I can do this.

And now I am tired. Her lunch for tomorrow is packed. I am going to sleep.

Night all.

I Took a nap around 5:30. Since then I have been watching shows on You Tube, mostly The Daily Woo, produced by a engaging fellow with multiple tattoos and a tongue stud who calls himself Adam The Woo. He has a feeling for the quirky and off-beat in America, a nation, at the level of the small town, that has been decimated by . Wal-Mart, Lowe’s, Home Depot, Target, the Internet and Amazon.

Tbere is error, of course, in his highly subjective perspective. But that doesn’t mean his perspective is devoid of truth. I remember, back in the Eighties, as I made business insurance sales calls in rural Virginia, that the world was changing, as it always is. Tobacco barns were in disrepair, replaced by curing sheds made of prefabricated sheet metal with propane heaters, rather than wood fires, doing the curing. One could find disused railroad beds, devoid of track and ties, a poignant lost world. Some became hiking and biking Trails.

The impermanence of the world hits me hard. It is something I should accept, but I don’t. I am as shocked today about Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz’s divorce, as I was in the Fifties. The Dodgers and Giants moving to the West Coast still shatter my sense of security. Security,for me, was a bedtime story, then being rocked and sung to sleep by my father, The Marine . I suppose because, at some level there is a little child in me who wants to feel protected; that Grandma and Mom and Dad will always be here.

But no. We are like Charles Foster Kane, of Citizen Kane, whose last word on his lips, “Rosebud” was from the world he lost.

“Remember that thou art dust and to dust thou shalt return”.– From the Traditional Ash Wednesday Liturgy.

In my childhood, Washington’s Birthday was celebrated, 22 February. The advertisers loved to do ads and commercials around the “Washington cutting down the cherry tree” legend. Everybody knows by now it was a story fabricated by a clergyman, Parson Weems. He wrote a textbook and decided that Washington should be made a paradigm of virtue. Hence the story.

Lincoln’s Birthday is 12 February and Lincoln was associated with log cabins, splitting rails, and cheesy-looking fake beards. The month was a four week long marketing opportunity. Caricatures of car dealership presidents wearing colonial style wigs, with hatchets , chopping down the cherry trees of high prices, seemed to abound. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe these cartoons are just dreams of mine, false memories and embellishments on reality.

Today February is Black History Month.   That’s it. All Black All The Time. Does Black History only matter in February? You know the answer. The various History Months and Pride Months are all concessions to the pressures of the identity groups that make up the modern Democratic Party. As such, these honorary months flirt dangerously with contrivance and artificiality.

Now if one expresses scepticism as to this popular proliferation of. “______ History Month” as offering any true educational purpose, one risks ridicule or shame.

Ironically Black History Month risks morphing into the modern version of Cherry Vanilla Ice Cream, solely a public relations artifice.

But that’s our time. Public Relations and Propaganda hold forth as our dubious conduit to truth. And we don’t even know it