Six Killed on the American Side, So Far - 3 Days In

    We are in a new chapter in United States history: we are at war with Iran. They have bombed our guys, killing some and injuring three times more, six and 18. How long will this conflict last?

    God bless the legacies and the families of those that we lost. I am still looking for their names and origins. May their contributions be meaningful.

    

 Lunardi Has the Indiana Men Still In?

    They have to win their last two...

    Too many losses now, which is 12. Right? Or 11. We have lost a lot of games. The Northwestern one was galling, the Michigan State one yesterday to be expected, more or less.

    We lost to Minnesota and a lot of teams.

    We have Ohio State... and Nebraska? Then the Tourney.

    What does Mike Lunardi know?

    We shall see.

The Legality and Morality of Fighting Iran, Killing their Leaders

    Well, the United States and Israel have combined to lethally execute operations against a major world leader, a religious icon, or a spiritual and political authority for the Republic of Iran and much of the Shia Muslim world.

    Does this fit into many Biblical narratives? I think this is likely. For those of us who believe and try to live by Biblical and scriptural covenants, blessings, and prophecies, it smacks of heavy and perhaps not accidental events and occurrences.

    The laws of the United States are being violated by such acts, according to a friend that spoke to me at a party last night. It deserves consideration, this accusation. Did the U.S. Congress need to give approval? Did the designation of the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps as a terrorist organization give the U.S. president and military carte blanche to strike as they wanted?

    Grey areas, not black and white. The recent capture of Nicolas Maduro and his wife was considered legal since the Cartel de Soles was qualified as terrorist. As the drug runners being blown up in the Caribbean and the Pacific. Whether some of those boats are really illegally moving illicit drugs is not always known. 

    Questions to ponder, legal and moral.

    Habeas corpus, all the rights of defendants or accusees of whether they deserve a trial.

    In the last 25 years, arguably longer (see Clinton trying to kill Bin Laden in 1998), killing enemies of the state who are terrorist has become normal, accepted.

    Israel is very determined to weed out its existential enemies. Especially since October 7, 2023. The tone and the rules of the deadly game has changed. Syria fell to the freedom fighters, which seems better for many. Lebanon has lost firebrands that threatened the existence of Israel.

    Israel has wiped out many Hamas members and fighters in Gaza City, and in other places. Hezbollah has a continual target on its back. No safe quarter, even in the rich Gulf States like United Arab Emirates.

    Saudi Arabia, and maybe Jordan, were pressuring the U.S. to strike Iran.

    Donald Trump determined that many U.S. presidents failed to combat and stand up to Iran and its threats as he has done. The revolution in 1979 was egregious to us and many citizens of many lands, while the bombings of the barracks in Beirut in 1983 were worse. Iran was blamed for killing our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan in the 2000s.

    They, the Irani government, would not back down from developing nuclear power.

    Israel could not abide by it. And the U.S decided by executive order and military might to do the extreme, "decapitate" Iranian leadership in order to let the people of Iran to make the next steps.

    Legal? Moral?

    What else is there to consider?

    Certainly awful and tragic that we killed school girls, maybe in Teheran, as collateral damage.

    Wars and military strikes are always a mixed curse of strategy and woe.

    Blood is on our hands, as a commander once said to me.

    Will the blood of guilty and innocents be attributed to our souls?

    I think so.

    The next days and weeks will determine much more.

    How will the next leaders of Shia Islam proceed? I think, undoubtedly, with more caution and less bravado. Will there be retaliation from some of the followers of Islam? Likely, too.

    We must figure things out.

College Basketball 2026 - Winners, Losers PART II

    Miami of Ohio is undefeated. They would be a sweet Cinderella. Go Redhawks!

    Saint Louis are top Twenty Five. Go Blues?

    New Mexico is good, Utah States is decent, Gonzaga is okay even though upset by the Portland Pilots.

    Florida? Vanderbilt? Clemson?

    Louiseville or Kentucky. Talented, but I do not want them for historical reasons.

    Who else? Saint John's, and a few more Mountain West.... No.

    It will be Big Ten, I hope. Michigan, MSU, Illinois. No, Illinois is too outside oriented my friends said today. This morning after basketball. I like to play. Make a few threes. Get hit in the eye and a little bloody.

    So, Texas Tech without Toppin. That would be cool.

    Texas A & M? Alabama. Tennessee. Arkansas. Uhhhhh.... Iowa? No. Wisconsin? Maybe. No.

    Too many teams, but definite ones that we do not want.

    No UCONN, kentucky, kansas, UNC, or even UCLA. 1995, almost as bad as 1987 for IU.

    Did I forget anyone? Not Nevada.

    Nah, that is most them. There, part deux in the books.

 College Basketball 2026 - Winners, Losers

    Okay, UConn came back against Seton Hall today. UConn, the Huskies of Storrs, a recent winner of the Big Dance over all, is a top team. Lots of talent, I basically hate them. They have won way too much in the last almost three decades since 1999. That year was fine, as a newbie, 2004 was fine, but now since the miracle run in 2010 or 2011 and then more recently in this decades, I am tired of them.

    They stole an IU commit, and may have actually won with him. I hate them. Okay, I just do not want them to add more rings. IU has sat at five a large majority of my aging life. Connecticut has five now. I think. I do not want them to have six.

    Nor Duke. Who is very good right now. Nor UNC, which is ish, but still good enough to dance. March Madness, that is.

    My BYU Cougars are on the ropes, after losing their star guard Saunders and crumbling sadly at home to UCF. UCF may be better than Brigham Young right now. Ugh. Hmm, hmmm, hmmm.

    Why should we care? I am from Indiana.

    And the Hoosiers are squishy... Purdue is good. Notre Dame and Butler are down...

    OHHH! BYU loses in Morgantown tonight! They will drop out of the Top 25 and now may not be good enough for the March Madness around the corner. So much promise, now in jeopardy and lost...

    Arizona? Maybe. Houston? Struggling lately, but maybe.

    I hate not having my teams in the fight.

    Iowa State, but not Kansas... UCF is good. 

    Who in the Big Ten, or SEC? There are a few good ones.

    UCLA. Probably not good enough...

    All for now.

 The Machines in which we Flow

    I was taking a nap after playing basketball this morning, and I had a dream or thought with that title. I fell asleep reading some from the book, a classic, The Road by Cormac McCarthy. We loves days off, do we not? I work some Saturdays, but not today.

    I also wanted to write about some college basketball. But first, I must mention that Israel and the United States have struck Iran all over their country, Iran has retaliated, and it looks like the Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei is dead.

    So, those posts can be for the near future. In sha' allah.

    Where do we find ourselves? In these machines that I had a notion of.

    We have governments, militaries, businesses, religions, in which we find ourselves ensconced. Some say it has a lot to do with race and ethnicity. Fair enough, for many people their birth in "White Privilege" allows them a step or three ahead of others. Their parents raise them in a healthier atmosphere, with nice homes, good neighborhoods, travel and good or excellent education, inheritances from previous generations...

    Whereas Blacks or African-Americans, in large numbers of cases, claim the opposite. Many Latinos have similar complaints of none of the above. Hard work can only make up so much, many claim. Rare are the poor, be they brown, black, or white or Asian, or any other ethnic background.

    How are we at math? Does this lead to strong careers in engineering, or other STEM professions. What about law, or medicine? So many people excel in these fields, create wealth for themselves and others, primarily their children.

    Entertainment can bring wealth and success to an elite few.

    Writing, in all its forms. 

    Many of us ride in the middle, we struggle or live at our means or at our desires for modicums of success.

    We move and travel according to our whims, fancies, desires, our capacities and financial availabilities. Some rich folks die in airplane or helicopter crashes, because they had the economic means to go that way, but it became tragic. Kobe Bryant had everything, but he died like a poor man with a junky car, who could not withstand a treacherous highway.

    Luck, fate, and God can play itself into all of our machines, our systems, our ways of living.

    Surviving, thriving, struggling, making it.

    What machines of life do you find yourself in?

    If not in our country, where else do you find yourself? 

    Can you go where you like to go?

 Yes, there are Monsters by Night and by Day

    I woke this morning, late in February. It was dark; it was foggy and somewhat ominous outside. Looking out my upstairs bathroom window, I peered through the slats of the blinds and noted the weather, the ambience. It was a little warmer than it had been the last few weeks, with a good deal of humidity. My window looks down on a field, trees, an assortment of lights, which through the mist and the doomy looks of the pre-dawn appear a bit creepy. I could conjure werewolves that would stalk us, their human prey. How terrifying would it be to be surrounded by the threat of man-eating monsters? We are thankful and aware that these fictitious monsters like werewolves, vampires, and all the mythic beasts from our collective histories are just that: fiction.

    However, we recognize that in life there are real monsters. They come in human form. Okay, there are scary wolves and crocodiles, and even hippopotamuses, snakes and sharks that are monsters unto themselves, which can harm and terrify us. But the worst of us are us people. Some men (and a few women and children) may threaten, harm, or kill just one. That is monstrous enough. Most of us will never harm or certainly not take another human being's life. Some people are lethal to a degree that is hard to imagine. Dictators, despots, regime leaders of our present, mostly past but some in the present...

    Vlad Putin qualifies. Trump and Musk in Africa, I would say. Possibly Netanyahu? Troubling times. We do not have a true modern day Pol Pot, or Idi Amin, or Joseph Stalin, or Adolph you know who. Just in my parents' lifetimes, we have had some really bad ones. One or two responsible or culpable for millions and millions dying, most of them cruelly and unfairly. Not accidentally. On purpose. Oh, yes, Mao Zae Dong. How many did he kill? Some would argue Kennedy, Johnson, and Nixon killed too many in Vietnam. Ugliness, all around, these wars and conflicts.

    Poor and destitute dependent on U.S. aid and medicine in Africa? Yes, this last year. I am not sure how many have and still will die as result.

    We do what we can.

    Sort of. Kind of.

    How do we fight and battle the real monsters?

    The sun came up and it was sunny.

    Bad men are still afoot. Many places.

Passing Wayne Girdley's Algebra, or Trying Harder the Next Year, May Have Made the Difference...

 Passing Wayne Girdley's Algebra, or Trying Harder the Next Year, May Have Made the Difference...

    Perhaps the knowledge and the discipline, effort and the confidence, would have led me to have a more successful life.

    Or not.

    Hard to say. I will still strive to succeed, and flourish, and prosper, despite past setbacks.

    God wills it, mash allah.

 Salinger does not Rhyme with Malingerer

    Is English not fun and salty?

    Hail, hail, all thee English users and even some abusers.

    Next up: avoiding the Arabs.

    Dedicated to Richard Stephens. Is that his name? Benghazi, victim, I mean. 2012.

    Oh, we must avoid some...

A Poem to those that We Love

 Some Toxicity Makes Us Barf Up Constantly

Poem as Follows

    I think mostly warmly of those that I love

    I think of them, remember them, hope the best for them.

    Some times they do not respond well, or maybe pretend that I do not exist or matter.

    I believe that that is on them.

    It is their loss.

    I offer something, but they cannot accept it.

    Okay.

    I love them despite themselves and despite my idiosyncracies.

    They can ignore warmth and love, the sun and the stars.

       Some stars are occluded due to pollution, lights from the big city

        Or huge volcanic eruptions in far-off far flung places like Indonesia

        Or Iceland.

        Or maybe Pinatubo on Luzon Island...

        Anyway you slice it, I recall warmer climes when you were my sisters, or brothers,

        My brothers in arms, or in peace,

        My parents struggling to be happy, or quietly content.

        Still mine and the ones I love.

        But you have the right, or the privilege, or the sad misfortune to ignore me,

        Forget me, resent me.

        God grants us that agency. He is kind and cruel like that.

        We have all the freedoms and constrictions of the universe.

        I love Him, and you, and I will live and die for all of it.

        You have the right to disdain those that gave you life, sustenance, and rearing.

        You cannot, you may not, you perhaps will not even care a whit for soldiers or marines or rescuers who died for you and your blessed country, richer and freer and more powerful than the rest.

        Because of all it. For all of us. You, me, everyone.

        I choose to remember and love, cherish and celebrate.

        I will not forget them or us or you.

 Some Toxicity Makes Us Barf Up Constantly

    Yeah, that might sum it up.

Indiana has Lost to Northwestern Five Times in A Row! We need Cignetti to Coach Basketball

    We need to play so much better. Up by six, at home, with 10:29 to go. Getting outrebounded by the Wildcats.

    These guys. Lamar gets hot, then goes cold. The offense is not dynamic and flowing enough.

    Hmmm...

    Catch you soon. Ugh, March Madness can be sadness. But no.

Money is not the Cure. It Can Help, But it cannot solve all Things

    I started this post the other day with some things in mind.

    Can you think what they are? Maybe some billionaires could be more philanthropic?

    Sure.

    I was thinking about Rondell Moore, one of the most gifted athletes I have ever seen. He was 25, and took his own life. Did he not have millions?

    Hmmm...

    We all need to be happy with what we got, in the end.

    Be grateful if we have savings. Even a little.

Songs of Grief and Sadness may Bespeak Hope and Sublime Joy

    Can they speak to me? You?

    Can they, now?

    Sure. I am convinced of it.

    You take the medicine in doses.

    As do I.

    It snowed a bit yesterday.

    Thanks for shoveling.

 Black History Month: Provo, Utah

    I lived in Provo-Orem, Utah for five years in the 1990s. A formative part of my life. I studied a lot of Spanish, a good deal of Arabic; I traveled to more of Chile, Israel, Palestine, and Egypt. These places, none of the above, do not have a lot to do with African-American history. However, there are tie ins to me, personally, to Black History for me while I was in those places.

    There were people of African-American origin in those places, just not what many think of as places of ethnic diversity.

    In Provo alone I got to know and become friends with a few. Franklin from Fresno, California. A very nice, enthusiastic young man from Sandusky, Ohio, who I have not thought of in a long time. (His name...)

    I am glad I wrote this!

    BREAK: Shout out and condolences to Rondell Moore, who just died at age 25. Did he not have millions? Money does not solve all things.

    Oh, a Purdue guy who put fear into me like few I have ever seen on the football field.

    We still have a week of African-American history.

    Where does it fit with you?

    Watching the Bulls with Waleed, later Jenni, and others.

    Remembering the best: Michael Jordan. Penny and Shaq were not bad, either.

    Air Jordan, and was it... Spike Lee? Or Chris Rock. Tyra Banks' tooth brush...

    Haha. Ha.

    

 Black History in Bloomington, Indiana

    It's 2026, and it's February. I like Black History month, because learning history is important; learning and scrutinizing our common knowledge of the present and the past helps us know better.

    We should know better.

    My hometown has a history of African-Americans, probably tracing back to the time when IU was founded around 1820, a few years after statehood for us Hoosiers. 

    I grew up in B-town; I am a long time basketball sufferer. I write this as Purdue is killing the men and giving the Hoosiers, at time hopeful this season, their 10th loss of the season. March Madness worthy? Not unless they change up their execution and toughness. I do not see it.

    The football team, a dream squad, was another matter this past year altogether. Wow.

    Lots of African-American help on that team, which we will forever cherish.

    Sports bring us together, which Bloomington celebrates.

    Bob Knight brought greatness through diversity there, with many Black players among some great white ones. 

    There is more to life and success than sports, obviously, but some things are more visible than others.

    I grew up near the IU campus, attended Elm Heights where we had some Black students, but I did not know that we had a historical Black part of town. It was past downtown, I guess between the hospital on second street (or third?) and Pigeon Hill, closer to former Dyer Middle School, which would become Tri-North. Which, not surprisingly, has had a higher concentration of African-American students and athletes.

    Much of Bloomington and the surrounding county, Monroe, is very white, over the last decades more diversity has come. This possibly represents more advancement and success among people of color, along with the growth of jobs and the university.

    

    ASIDE: Jesse Jackson died this week. More on him later, hopefully.

    Who did I know who was Black, in Bloomington?

    A good little list, I think. Some of them were adopted by white families, yes, but it all comes together, which is my greater point.

    In the country and the world, we all interact and make history together.

    Long live Black history month, and the significance of who and where and why we are.

    Blog it.

 Wallowing in My Juices

    There is suffering and pain;

    we know this.

    There is grief and anguish;

    What more can I admit.

    

    Things dark and gloomy, sad and tragic.

    Gut wrenching, blue, all of the forlorn colors.

    Woe is me! Woe is you! 

    Woe unto all of us...

    We wallow and meander, morosely...

    Little light, little hope.

    And yet:

    There is warmth out there waiting.

    Where, do you say?

    You must tell me. You have to explain.

    Please, do tell me.

    Tell me your "why". Tell me your "what".

    You know what these are.

    I can let you explain and expound.

    We have so many juices and liquids within our beings...

    Water-dependent, in our blood, our brains, in our loins and innards,

    Flowing everywhere, the cells of our animal lives,

    Meshed with the fluids of plants and trees and rivers and oceans.

    The juices bequeathed by the photosynthetic leaves derived from the sunlight.

    And the bones, dried and liquified, of billions of us, lie ossifying across the globe.

    

    High and low, the dead and alive.

    We celebrate life and all those who have lived in their juices before.

    Let us not wallow, and bemoan too long, use up our time in the lows, and come out the 

    other side

    To the heights and climbs,

    Higher echoes and climes.

    Reach for the waters of life and sing.

 Chinese, Russian, American Leaders Kill or Let Helpless Die

    Xi Jinping heads a government that puts minorities (and protestors?) in concentration camps and forced labor prisons. True? Where is the Muslim outrage for their fellow Muslims, like the Uighur? Apparently, not that big a deal for the extremists like ISIS or Al-Qaeda. Hypocrites, really. You are not Godly people at all. Mohammed himself would cry to God in utter shame.

    What about the rest of us? Humanitarians? Humanists? We are bereft of conscience. I think.

    Russia, you kill thousands of innocents in Ukraine, you suppress Chechnya and others.

    Killers, murderers, you put Raskolnikov to shame. He only killed an old lady for his silver. You? Putin and your thugs? Rocket a cancer hospital for children. Wow.

    The U.S. and Donald Trump? Cut medicine and aid to thousands of destitute, sick, Africans. Much inspired by South African born Elon Musk, who I guess learned from the history of apartheid and sick thinking of his home country how to let poor, black people stay sick, and let them die worse than dogs.

    I know about dogs dying in Africa. My dad told me this winter, for the time I wanted a story of puppies at Christmas, instead his pet is left to languish , starve, suffer, and die.

    You rich, powerful, nations let people die, or worse, torture and kill them.

    Xi, Putin, and Trump.

    As Solo told Vader, "I'll see you in hell."

    Is that a correct quote from fiction reflecting reality in 2026?

    I think so. 

 My Dad has Published Almost as many Novels as J.D. Salinger

    Unless there have been posthumous novels published since his death in 2010. Need to check.

    Jerome, or Jerry, Salinger, author extraordinaire. Born in 1924, 1919, later to publish the Catcher in the Rye. The youth's misinterpretation of a Robert Burns poem, from maybe 1860.

    J.D. wished to harken to a time of more innocence, before "phony" (and terrible adulthood) would catch him and toss him over the cliff. Perhaps he died many times inside, so much that he was broken into many parts that people have a hard time understanding, putting together. His son, Matthew, loved and cherished him. His daughter Margaret, not so much.

    Salinger lived to be 91. My dad is now 88. Given up on his novels, we are assured, like the thought or beginning of two men trying to extricate themselves from southern Algeria, or somewhere deep down in the Sahara. Paul Bowles managed this book, or at least the Algerian vast landscape, decades ago, likely unbeknownst to my father, but a bit bewitching to me. I will not read it, yet, having seen a film version, reading some summaries and critiques. Disturbing and sad, is what we learn. Books in Algeria! Perhaps for me yet? We never know.

    Should fiction be terrifying and sad, like that created by Cormac McCarthy or Richard Mathison?

    Enough of that fiction, there is plenty of real pathos and tragedy for that!

    My dad published two novels with the august octogenarian Mary Campbell in the 2000 teens. Around 2012 or 2013? Perhaps before. We will check.

    Letters to Lucretia and Forgotten Memory. At least one got looks at or consideration by Morgan Freeman, or his folks, possibly adapted to him. That was cool. His books may not move much. Nothing like Salinger.

    Not to be compared to Salinger, who seems to have altered human history with his literature. And his life. My dad?  Much smaller circles of influence. But my father was not a determined writer since his teenage years in the 1950s. Salinger was very intent on writing since he was 17, in the early 1940s.

    I wanted to be a writer since the 1980s, in my teenage years.

    No novels from me, or at least none published.

    My father helped write and publish a non-fiction book in the 1970s. About genealogy, or family history. He has written a number of letters, or mini-memoirs, and other small stories or remembrances.

    A little like me. I have written or composes some poems. A bit like my daughter. The oldest.

    She may trump us men. Who knows?

    May any of us compare to the late, great J.D. Salinger. We are not traumatized by battles and death, burnt flesh and awful carnage and violence.

    But we may have some important things to share, write, and impart.

 U.S. Combat Veterans

    I spoke to a Marine combat veteran who fought in Vietnam today. He fought fifty plus years ago; I spoke with him this afternoon. It is an honor and a privilege. He was hurt in Vietnam back around 1968, where things were hard. He knew guys who were killed. He himself was fortunate to only be injured, not maimed for life.

    He is a real guy; I have known him since either 2007 or 2008. He has some hard memories and feelings from those times. He went to the cemeteries of our guys at Normandy...

    Salinger fought and suffered with his colleagues at Utah Beach, but before that, I think notably, in the sands of that replica place in England. Too many young and battered and buried bodies, on both sides of the Channel. Thanks a lot, Adolph, and the twisters of social Darwinism!

    Terrible, the Third Reich.

    Any, Happy U.S. Presidents' Day.

    Chester Arthur lives forever. For what, we cannot remember.

Journeying with You - A Poem

 Journeying with You

    I tried to think back.

    Warm and happy memories.

    There were times not perfect,

    I have been less than stellar for periods.

    But steady?

    We hope! I hope I can leave you with those hopes

    Too much hope? Not enough? We cannot have everything, certainly not me.

    But having you has certainly been enough for me.

    

    There are are others who go farther, who provide with more, who are even less selfish.

    I am not a lot of all those things.

    Maybe enough.

    We went to Mexico. 

    Cabo San Lucas, Los Barriles, La Paz, in the southern Baja.

    Then La Bufadora, Ensenada, San Felipe in the north.

    Again by the Sea of Cortez, the Gulf of California. With a little one.

    They looked over our car outside of Ojos Negros. Mexican security, as it were.

    Mazatlan, Obregon, Guasave...

    The Mexican Riviera.

    Points on maps, you and me, and a baby.

    But wait! Before that, while pregnant, there was Acapulco,

    La Ciudad de Mexico, Tenochtitlan and Teotihuacan.

    Finally, Zihuatenejo. Romantic moments on the beach.

    Guitars and some moonlight, I think.

    Add another child, we went to places like Ciudad Juarez, after Arizona and New Mexico.

    Sleeping in the RV,  camping in western Texas.

    We went to a few places.

    Journeys. Not perfect, not opulent and bougie,

    Close and nice.

    Flew to Indiana, drove to Chicago or Asheville in the Appalachians, or Tennessee.

    The Outer Banks of North Carolina.

    We went to Boston, and New York, Manhattan, the New Jersey side with that tall lady...

    Cape Cod, some Vermont. 

    

    Places, journeys, remembered and forgotten.

    New Orleans, Mississippi, the Carolinas.

    Smoky Mountains. Like the Sierra Nevadas or Yosemite of yesteryear.

    Chile for six months.

    We did okay. We lived a few dreams.

    Did we not?

     As we aged and raised more children, we went to new places:

    The Turks and Caicos

    The Bahamas

    Canada

    Mexico, briefly.

    With our children, the apples of our eyes.

    We went to mountains and beaches, plains and lakes and rivers.

    Time would pass, years added on.

    You and I went to Iceland.

    We took most of the kids to Peru.

    We went places, and sometimes we were apart.

    I could hear your voice from far away; you were close by.

    In my heart and mind.

    Across the miles.

    In all, we have spent about 8 months away from the United States in seven foreign lands.

    States? Dozens, including Alaska and Hawai'i.

    

    We go on sentimental and emotional journeys.

    Sunday morning interlude: I meant to write and publish this poem

    yesterday, Saturday.

    I am composing it still, 

    While you go walking.

    Snow is still melting,

    Slowlier (not a word!) than ever.

    The ice of mid-Fedruary,

    After observing the sun, scrutinizing the moon...

    Its heights, its ranges, its seas of just moon dust or rocks

    Distracted again, by heavenly bodies.

    We do not wish ...

    I lost my thought.

    This is about you and me.

    Not all the distractions.

    Ahh, death!

    There you are.

    Existence! The afterlife.

    Not looking forward to bodiless entrapments...

    

    Where has the journeys of this Valentine's poem gone?

    Ugh, not the intended romantic Valentine's I had thought of!

    Saturday morning, the 14th, all light and gay.

    Happy, passionate, full of life.

    Today, somber and gray. With some hope. Just enough, or not sufficient?

    

    Either way, we are on our journeys.

      I thank you, and love you, eternally, for all the journeys,

    Remembered and forgotten.

    Eternally.

    Whatever that means.

    A poem, not perfect or perfected, like the journey of you and me.

    I love you now.