Well an odd day, I guess. I’m doing chores and housework at night. I slept during the day in three two-hour stretches, but I did sleep. I wrote some blog posts. I skipped swimming. I did two loads of laundry, fixed some more iced tea for J, cut some fresh pineapple for her break snack.

I wrote very satisfying blog entries, at least I liked what I wrote, about Catholic tradition, small towns and baseball.

And now, one more entry. There is a Daffy Duck cartoon on YT, Daffy And The Dinosaur, made in 1939, that’s pretty funny, with a dinosaur and a caveman who talks like Jack Benny, (could be Mel Blanc, I’m not sure, no voice credit given). Now comes a wartime cartoon with Germans as bumbling incompetents, humour for the home front.

All this is filler, so I don’t have to express how lonely I feel. J is perpetually exhausted.

Bedtime.

I was a boy once, watching men named Mickey, Moose, Rocky, Willie, Yogi, Boog, Pee Wee. They earned extra money by endorsing Gillette Razors, Lifebuoy Soap, Wonder Bread, and Camel Cigarettes, unfiltered. (I kid you not). The players were all about winning the World Series because it meant more money. If you lived in Brooklyn, some of the players lived in your neighborhood.

Now it is reversed. I watch these boys, younger than my own sons. Their names are Giancarlo, Masahiro, Aaron, Justin, Didi, Yandy. Now they endorse shoes. They get royalties from the sale of replica jerseys. They make more money in a season than what some players earned in a career,

It seems that nothing has changed, except there are computers everywhere and radar. If you go to the ballpark, you have to take out a mortgage to buy a hot dog.

The World Series was like Christmas, so important the principal would announce the score on the Public Address system. They played the World Series games in the afternoon. The fans would talk about the game, not the commercials.

Now, we are games away from the World Series with three rounds of playoffs before the Big Event. Baseball is little more than an intrusion, a houseguest who has stayed too long.

But the game still has some unvarnished brilliance by the great grandchildren of giants.

Ashland is a college town, Randolph-Macon College, affiliated with the Methodist Church. It is Division III in NCAA football, so it’s small. But the students give the town a certain energy.

Right now, I am watching some young women in dresses, nice dresses, like cocktail dresses, having fun near the train depot. The clock at the depot isn’t accurate. A couple walk by. I guess they are 60ish. She is wearing a flannel shirt and white jeans. She has long blond hair and is a little heavy, zaftig, to put it in Yiddish. Attractive. He is tall, heavy, with white hair. My imagination has them married since the time of the Carter Administration. I fancy their children are grown. They might have gone to school here. They’re spending the weekend at the bed & breakfast, the Henry Clay Inn, to re-kindle the romance. (I should write scripts for Hallmark Channel movies.)

Meanwhile, voices are heard off camera view. Sounds like the young cocktail dress women. Probably a party. Do college women ever wear dresses today? More people walk by, men, in jackets, but no ties. It’s like a wedding happened somewhere.

The last train through town was #53, Southbound Autotrain, the one where you stow your vehicle in a covered freight car, while you ride the train in a nice bedroom accommodation from Lorton, VA to Sanford, Florida.

So it’s time for another train to pass through, as the dusk settles in. We have to remind ourselves it’s 2019, not 1959.

Every month, when I have Holy Hour at Four AM, I simultaneously dread and welcome the disruption to my schedule. The time with Our Lord, metaphysically present in the consecrated Host, always affords me new insights. Today, I learned that I need to step up my empathy and compassion “game”, if you will. I’m far too quick to rage at my enemies. I have to remember that the anger I’m feeling is probably not at them, but somebody else, somebody that I feel like I can’t feel anger towards, like my wife. Or maybe the anger isn’t specifically directed toward anyone. It’s just there and it must be directed to someone. Could be just some chemical, like adrenaline, that’s simply there. And if I feel this way, maybe other people feel the same way in their anger. It is misplaced, misdirected or just excess adrenaline.

So I get home, sleep, wake up and am desperate to sleep again. I have that groggy semieuphoric feeling that comes with sleep deprivation, just before I throw in the towel and doze off.

Night y’all. More accurately Day, y’all. 😪

I swam tonight, 2500 meters. This makes three consecutive days at that distance. I’ve let the good things back in. I have ignored that which is a source of despair for me.

There is still a high level of craziness in the world I am powerless to control or even influence. So I let it go.

Holy Hour is at Four AM. Given my sleep patterns I guess if I fall asleep, fine. If not, I will make up for it in the morning. My stepmother has some health issues. She will be in my prayers tonight.

That’s all folks!

I took my week off from posting. I read the usual blogs, however. I’m still somewhat disengaged from the world. That isn’t necessarily bad. Because what the plugged-in World considers engaged is watching the media outlets through which propaganda is disseminated. These outlets also use your viewership (or equivalents) to determine advertising rates, for all forms of media from print to the internet.

Emotionally and rationally there is still a lot going on with me. Today 4 October marks the 39th anniversary of the day ex-wife #2 and I were married.

1980 was an election year. I remember my dear friend and mentor Bill R was there with a Cranston lapel pin prominently displayed (Allen Cranston D-CA was a prominent liberal Senator of that era). Nobody took the prospect of a Reagan victory seriously. So liberals, like ex-wife #2 and me, were surprised when Reagan won. We said publicly we were surprised. We all deep down knew that Carter had made a mess of things and was doomed

But that marriage was more about mental illness and alcohol than politics. So when 4 October rolls around, I seem to revisit the pain, more than anything else.

More on lots of stuff later.

It is 4:06 AM here in Richmond. Somewhere, on my computer feeder I saw where the temperature was 71°F (22°C).This does represent a cool down from the 100°F (37.77°C) that I saw on my car’s thermometer yesterday afternoon.

While outside it has cooled down. I am still sweaty and sticky from my workout (2500 meter swim) yesterday evening around 9:00 PM. This happens from time to time.

So I have not slept much.