Paris

So Wifey and I were coming home for a mini celebration -- of D1's final mending from the worst 2 week sickness of her life. She caught some kind of bug in Mexico which gave her the worst Monctezuma's Revenge -- probably other Mexicans were seeking revenge, too, for building Wal Marts on their Mayan lands. Anyway -- D1 left to return to Brickell and her life, and Wifey and I went down to BlackPoint Marina, where we sat and watched a surrealistic looking sky of ominous clouds and streaming dusk sunlight, and I had a pair of Tito's doubles and ate oysters and fish sandwiches. Wifey only had the fish sandwich. As we got home, the news was buzzing with talk of the Paris attacks -- ISIS had coordinated suicide missions at cafes, a music hall, and a soccer stadium, killing over 100 innocents. As all of us do in tragedies on the news -- we first thought of our relation -- D1 had spend a summer in Paris, and visited the very neighborhoods where this happened. Then we went one circle out -- did we know anyone in Paris? We did, and I called my partner Paul, whose lady is visiting with friends, but she was, thankfully, in Barcelona. Then FaceBook (tm) showed an friend in Atlanta, Lauren, had a son there studying, but he was safely accounted for. Still, we were saddened. People started putting French flags on their FaceBook (tm) photos. I refrained -- I feel badly for France, but they were victims here, and I don't like relating with victims. After they bomb the hell out of ISIS, maybe I'll Frenchify my photo. Dr. Barry emailed with a sad reflection about the world we're leaving for our kids and maybe grandkids. And he's right, but the world has ALWAYS been a dangerous place. In the past, PAris was decimated by plague, which they later learned was spread by ticks from rats. It's just that now the rats have changed, and they come from Syria and "Palestine" and Libya, and other, more distant sewers... My friend with the closest ties to international affairs is John, a retired CIA officer, who was active in Irag. His posts say our targeted drone attacks are simply not working, and we need to ally with states we can't stand, in order to coordinate suppression of the terrorists. I don't know. All I DO know is that awful things happen, and ultimately luck puts you inside or outside of an exploding restaurant. Maybe Hemingway had it right. He said the world was so messed up, the best a thinking man could do was find himself peace and relative safety, a "clean, well lighted place" where he could have a few drinks, and get on with the business of his own life. Of course, Hemingway blew his own head off with a rifle in his ranch in Idaho, so maybe he's not the best adviser. As a back drop to the sadness, we've had unseasonable rain and cloudy skies. Usually by mid November the wet season has passed. Not this weekend -- we've had almost incessant rain, and as I right, it's still coming down with northern looking grayness all around. And still there is hope, there is future. We're off in a few hours to attend a wedding -- one of D1's closest friends, Alyssa, is marrying her Honduran prince -- a fellow who treats her above rubies. We're fetching D1 and her boyfriend Joey, and heading to the Palms on Miami Beach, in a ceremony that, whatever the liberal rabbi's words, will signify one thing -- hope in the days ahead. Weddings mean that -- even if half of them lead to divorce. But today we'll celebrate hope, and joy, and put the tragedies behind. It's what we have to do as humans...