Time

Friday was an off day for me. Not off as in "didn't have a good day" or to indicate something wrong, as in "this milk is off" (which sadly enough it was, morning coffee was disappointing), but off as in "I didn't have to go to work."

While I am never sad to not go to work, after all, as interesting as it can be at times, it's still work. As in, not fun, as in, yes, I would rather be doing something else. But that something else seldom pays very well. If at all.

The one fly in the ointment of the three day weekend was the necessity to get up earlier than usual, not "get up to go to work" early but "get up to go to church" early. (Though not to go to church, just get up at the same time as I do on Sundays. Which is 0830 for those keeping score at home.) The latter is 150 minutes later than the former. Both being earlier than "get up when I feel like it." So my Friday would not be a total leisure day, the trips to the dentist, while few and far between (normally every six months for a cleaning and a check-up) do have to occur. This particular visit was for a perceived fault in my chewing equipment which my dentist wanted to repair.

Having had more than my share of tooth aches in my day, when the dentist says, "we need to fix that," then I comply. A minor fix but a needed fix.

While fully prepared to go to the dentist at the not unreasonable hour of ten in the AM, I was not prepared for the idiot computer generated messages which came in on my land line at 0245, then again at 0415. While I am no expert on the law, I do believe that these type calls are patently illegal at certain hours. I'm quite certain that the wee hours of the morning are well outside those legal bounds.

The message was some rambling diatribe about medication not being covered by insurance blah, blah, blah. Totally irrelevant to me and completely non-applicable. My doctor's office and my insurance providers actually employ people to call me during normal business hours should there be an insurance problem or some other thing which requires my attention.

I realize that as I get older there are folks out there who prey on the elderly. They send them bogus magazine subscription requests which are boldly marked (in red) "SECOND NOTICE" on the envelope and is really a solicitation to buy their magazine. Not an indication that a payment is overdue. But if you make it look like an overdue bill some folks will just pay it, assuming perhaps that their spouse ordered that magazine.

The scammers will also have their computers call you to tell you that the IRS is "filing a lawsuit" against you or some other type nonsense. Which if you just call some number and pay some fee can be handled without the necessity of going to court.

How quaint, the IRS suing people over the phone. Yeah. Not.

Personally, for those who do this sort of thing, I think slaughter after a long period of torture is appropriate. The Missus Herself will often chide me for my instinct to go "a viking" on these sniffers of feces by saying, "they're just trying to make money." My protests that bank robbers and drug cartels are also trying to "just make money" echo in the air to no avail.

Anyhoo.

Went to the dentist, got the work done and got home and went through "the overnight mail" as Buck liked to call it. (Check comments on the blog, run through the blog favorites, and check koobecaF.)

After doing that I glanced at my timepiece and realized that the inauguration was not fifteen minutes away. So Mr. Computer was put into sleep mode and I sallied forth to the salle de TV. Switched on the set to see Chuck Schumer speaking, as he's not one of my favorite people I almost switched off the set, then Mr. Schumer began to speak of Sullivan Ballou (a gentleman we have met before in these spaces). I have to admit, I was impressed, my estimation of Mr. Schumer went up, considerably I must confess.

At any rate, when he was done, the new vice president was sworn in, followed by the new president. I have to say, it felt odd seeing Donald Trump up there. Odd indeed. But I truly liked his speech, thought it was apt, and necessary. After his speech, the singing of the National Anthem and the conclusion of the ceremonies, I switched off the set, but not before seeing Mr. Trump and Mr. Obama both stop to greet Bob Dole, a man I have a great deal of respect for. That was a lovely and fitting end to this transition of power. The end of one administration and the start of another. Peacefully. Something many nations don't get to experience in their time.

We do. Frankly, we do it pretty well, all things considered.

I'm sure some of my more liberal acquaintances will be rending their garments, gnashing their teeth, and wailing (oh dear Lord, the wailing) for the next few days as they have been for the last few days. So being out of work on Friday let me escape the last minute hopes that the Trump Presidency could be averted, yes, that was mentioned more than once last week.

Sigh.

Well, snowflakes, I had to grit my teeth and soldier on for the last eight years. But I did, the man chosen to be President back then was not my choice, but he was my President. Now Mr. Trump is our President. If you don't want that, leave, the exits are clearly marked.

It's time we all grew up.

Okay?

By the way, that clock in the opening photo was a Christmas gift from The WSO. I like it. A lot. Here's a picture of the clock, in context if you will -

The opening photo was Friday morning. The photo above was Friday evening.

A lot happened yesterday. But it happened peacefully. So let's move on, together.

Sullivan Ballou

Oddly enough, I had never watched this series before now. I see by the OAFSSRFTOTN that the series originally debuted in September of 1990 airing on five consecutive nights from the 23rd to the 27th. I was stationed at Offutt AFB in Nebraska (SAC Headquarters) and had a television. My work schedule was not burdensome, I just missed it.

Now, through the magic of Netflix, I am watching this, saw Part 1 last night. I regret not seeing it the first time.

Now I know there are a lot of Southerners who object to calling that conflict "The Civil War". Believe me, I understand. But get over it. We're all Americans now. That was a different time with huge differences between the way we were then and the way we are now. You weren't alive then, neither was I. Americans shed each others' blood back then. Since then we've shed blood together, in other fights. Whatever you want to call that earlier conflict, knock yourself out. Doesn't rattle my cage either way. Mr. Burns went with "The Civil War". His series, his choice.

All that aside, it's an interesting series. There are parts I have problems with (objectively and subjectively), but for the most part it's well done and well presented. FWIW, Ken Burns hails from the same small town in New Hampshire as my Dad. Different generations though. (Correction: Mr. Burns lives in my Dad's home town now, he's not from there. He was born in Brooklyn, NY.)

Now there was one story near the end of the first episode that really resonated with me and not just because it deals with a soldier from Rhode Island, which I currently call home. It's the story of Major Sullivan Ballou of the 2nd Rhode Island Volunteer Infantry. Or rather the story of the letter from the Major to his wife back home.

As is usual though, that's only part of the story.

Major Ballou died of wounds received at First Bull Run (First Manassas) and was buried in the vicinity of the battlefield. That part of the story is not nearly as romantic as that portrayed in the Ken Burns series. Both though are part and parcel of what war can be like.

It seems that Major Ballou's grave was desecrated. You can read that story here. Like I said, not as romantic. But war is Hell. It's also nasty and brutish and every kind of terrible that you can imagine.

What started as simply my wanting to share this sad and touching story of a dead soldier's last letter home in a time gone by, turned into something a little more than that.

Interesting stories can often turn out to be a little more complex than you realize. You can't always take someone's version of a story at face value. What is that person's motive for telling you the story? To entertain? To convince? To simply convey information? To sell you something?

So whether you're watching or reading the news, whether it be on television, the radio or on the internet, take it with a grain of salt. There's always more to the story.

Sometimes you need to do some research. Dig a little deeper, as it were.

It's too bad that most modern journalists can't be bothered to do that.

Still and all, Major Ballou's story touched me. RIP Sir.