We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Coinky dinky. Great! I love words that just appear out of no where. As a toddler, my dad used to call a "sandwich" a "jammo" and, thinking he HEARD the word incorrectly, his mother would repeat "sandwich" over and over again. He continued to ask for a cheese or whatever "jammo". Years later I asked him why. His response was "because you jam everything between two slices of bread." Duh.
When he grew older. he studied engineering and was always inventing stuff. Need I say more.
On the larger subject, the sister of a Cuban friend insisted that all those S-words were a result of us having lived before and already knowing. Her English and my Spanish were not sufficiently sophisticated to have an in-depth discussion, but when such moments happened, she'd just wink at me. Her brother said this was why he refused to live in the same house with her -- she was "distracting."
Coincidence Studies is all serious. No tongue in cheek. Quite the opposite. Yet still much fun. If you want to believe in them, they exist. If you are neutral, some may slap you into noticing them or not. If you don't believe they exist, they don't exist.
They can be helpful, harmful, fun and tell us more about the nature of reality.
Signs. Can that be added to the above alliteration.
Or would this be more a portent?
We didn’t chopper into the base until almost dark. There was just enough light to find our way to the bunker we were to sleep in that night. We all felt good about that, as we had been out in the bush for a while. Felt good mainly because it meant not standing watch that night. A full night’s sleep was a rare event.
My unit had been tasked to provide security for the engineering battalions who were constructing a portion of the famous or infamous “McNamara’s Line”. This was a hundred yard wide clearing through the jungle. It was parallel and just south of, the DMZ that separated South Vietnam from North. At this stage the work was being done by bulldozer. Nothing more than scraping clear any growth, almost making a road through the jungle.
We woke and saddled up the next morning early. As we filed out of the bunker the line of men made a loop and paused for a moment. I found myself facing Stu. Stu had been a member of my squad for quite some time, but had been recently transferred to a squad that was undermanned. He was the studious and quiet type… his glasses accentuating his intellect. But he was a fish out of water… not meant for the game of war. He did everything asked of him, but this was usually accompanied by a soulful moan of how he did not want to be where he was.
When I noticed him this morning I was immediately concerned. He looked horrible, his face pale and showing visible signs of depression. I could just tell that something was wrong. I asked him how he was, how he was feeling, was he sick. He responding that he was fine physically but just had an overwhelming sense of sadness. That he just felt bad inside. But that he didn’t know how to explain what he felt. At this point the line of men starting moving again and I was unable to continue the conversation. Though I knew something was wrong, as he was not physically ill, there was nothing I could do for him. No way to pull him from the mission and keep him in the rear.
The unit continued to move out past the gate of the base… turning to the right. We were split into columns, with one up the middle and one on either side. My squad drew the left side of the formation, the men spread out as always. We had gone about two hundred yards when we heard the faint pop of NVA rockets. Each type of rocket and artillery had its sonic signature, based on distance, terrain and wind. If you were lucky you would have a second to find a depression, tree stump, anything that might provide some cover. This morning we had half a second or less, but at least enough time to be lunging for the ground when they hit.
As I was getting down my eyes happened to be looking at the exact point where the first rocket impacted… in the midst of the explosion I could see a figure silhouetted in the blinding flash. The barrage continued for a few more minutes… striking emptiness. No one else was hit.
I rose and had the rest of the men do the same… we all still wary and cautious, but after a moment we starting to move out again. I left my column to go see if there was anything I could do for the man I had seen in the explosion. I reached the site and looked down and there was Stu. His eyes stared up at me in lifeless composure, a look of almost ‘surprise’ on his face. His arms and legs gone, nothing but his torso and head left. Somehow, his glasses were still resting, unbroken, on his face. Yes, he had had reason to feel sad that morning. He did know it was the end.