I picked a dumb time to leave Israel; start of the winter growing season and I just rented 7 acres of agricultural paradise. It fairly begs:’level me, plant me irrigate me, weed me, eat me’ and I’m off to dally in the frozen North American wilderness. Oh well.
Sincere apologies for my 40 page In-box of worthy posts un-commented-upon. Frankly, until all the shekel-dollar birds were in a line I considered it a sacrilege to divert precious time to frivolity. Historically, my time in the Untied Snakes is often spent on Xanga (30%) so do not fear. Even though I have a month’s work to finish in three weeks.
I’m reminded of a third grade joke:
Me: (to my random seat-mate on the Airbus-330, already eyeing the overhead area for an anchor-point for her noose) “Wow, those people look like ants from up here!”
She: “They *are* ants, you dumb-f&ck. We haven’t taken off yet.”
So I suppose ‘cuddle-time’ at Flight-level 310 is probably out of the question.
Jurassic Park taught me one thing: ‘Warning: Objects in the mirror may be larger (smaller?) than they appear.’ I expect to over-analyze my existence during the 12-hour smoke-less flight. The good, the bad and the ugly here in the Cradle of (-sic) Civilization.
My only (?) loose end is that I leave a good two dozen tiger swallowtail caterpillars without any remaining Rue leaves to gobble. Not my fault their older cohorts nom-nom-ed all the low-hanging leaves. Again, oh well. Darwin predicted this evolutionary bottleneck, I’ll say, to assuage the guilt. I’m hoping Beth Seedsower can fix me up with like, 30 pounds of Rue seeds while I’m in the area. My like-new ’91 Subaru will be the key to a successful trip. ‘See the ‘merkins, you/ …in your Subaru.’; yeah, I remember the jingle well from the 60s.
CYA from the other side/ JS
Wu: Odd. I’d heard you were flying to the AMAZON, to check out the backward ‘NO-ZAMA’ tribesmen, in their froggy leather aprons, mebbe bringing back recordings of their poison-frog-tipped AM radio ‘Mister-Bow’® jingles, or even the rarely-documented tree-top performances of native-superstar ‘Mister Bo-Jungles’, singing in the sing-song native dialect, so far un-translated by Wycliff?
Me: So sorry. You were purposefully mis-informed, Wu. My apologies.