Yesterday was our last full day in Eagle River.  We visited Lucy’s Diner for breakfast.  Yes, Lucy’s is a bona fide diner, a diminutive dining room of perhaps eight tables, and a counter with a row of stools.  We sat at the counter affording a view of the kitchen.  My interest was captured by the cook working efficiently before a steel griddle, preparing the eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes.  Sipping coffee my appetite was sharpened by the kitchen aroma.  Several waitstaff all female, performed a ballet of movement behind the counter, to pour coffee, to bring food orders out of the kitchen.  Rain was falling outside, a family waited inside the door to be seated.

Lucy’s felt right, cozy, sufficiently intimate for a room of strangers, bound together by a appreciation for a basic breakfast done well.

Then my gaze was captured by a notice from one of the local volunteer fire departments posted by the register.  The flyer announced a series of raffles which would take place, a drawing on each of the first twelve days of December.  The purchase price of a single raffle ticket was obscured, so I couldn’t determine the cost of a ticket.  The image of the flyer says it all.  A play of words, the 12 days of Christmas, and “12 Days of Guns” has a poetic symmetry.  But, the symmetry of the coming of the Christ child, a symbol of purity, the overture of peace and goodwill is juxtaposed with a give-a-way drawing of a different weapon for each of the first twelve days of the Christmas season.  I sat on my stool, comprehending the list of handguns, of long guns offered in the Christmas fundraiser for a fire department.  I felt numb at the artlessness of this disingenuous idea.

One can always use a home-defense shotgun right?  Or maybe a 45 cal. semi auto handgun…

We are orphaned from reason, lost in a world of our making…

“You need not be present to win.”

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What about a tune, a lifeline to get us through another week?  This one captures my mood.  It is the music that we hold onto, that holds us as we continue on in life’s journey.

Paint It Black

By The Rolling Stones

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colours anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black
With flowers and my love both never to come back
I see people turn their heads and quickly look away
Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day

I look inside myself and see my heart is black
I see my red door, I must have it painted black
Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black

No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee this thing happening to you
If I look hard enough into the setting sun
My love will laugh with me before the morning comes

I see a red door and I want it painted black
No colours anymore, I want them to turn black
I see the girls walk by, dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes

Hmm, hmm, hmm…

I wanna see it painted, painted black
Black as night, black as coal
I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky
I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black

Yeah!

Hmm, hmm, hmm…

Lyrics by Mick Jagger and Keith Richard