I surfed a wave of prolific gluing and painting, crashing headfirst and hard onto my Omaha beach of life. I've been spitting out it's sand since my last post. I'd happily eat the the tabletop sands of 1942 North Africa, if only the dug in, artillery barrage feel of everyday work hadn't somehow x32'd me into March, 2013...a rich and hypnotic newsreel grainy black and white into dull, boring high definition color of an 8:00 am until done work life. Now, faint echoes of Olivier's narration in my head, followed by a blunt realization tonight of trenched paced accomplished on the FOW front. I'm pinned. Gom jabbar pinned.
Not even a post. Send me your boats across the Channel becuzzz I long for my own Dunkirk. I write this post. What would Patton do? A Dirty Jon podcast voice from the past..."reinforce success": 1.5 year old grandson, Conner, said, "Papa". Some good sand...Jeeping in Calico, Odessa Canyon with my Band of Brothers. A great FOW deal on eBay. An un-nested family I hobby love. A rationed few nights of accelerator taste in my mouth, followed by morning drive teeth scraping super glue off nails. Grants already done but added to, with 3 Lee turrets for North Africa Sandworm spice. Honey dripped with sherm...man. Newsreel grey driving into my blue-eyed 1080p: