This blog is for all ages, so I will confine my opening lines to @##!!!%%&&!!! So the wrong movie was announced for Best Picture of 2017. BFD!
Did anyone die because of a mistake that was subsequently corrected? How many people lost a limb from this mistake? How many people filled the hospital from heart failure? How many buildings fell down? Did the Earth move?
I like movies as much as the next person, and more than a lot of persons, but I don’t consider it a national emergency if that ugly little statue is held by the wrong set of sweaty palms for a three minutes.
I am not an advocate of drugs, but in this case, take a valium and chill.
P. S. Correcting a mistake in public during the Oscar awards does not count as “grace under pressure” in my book.
Two Thousand Seventeen crept into the second week of February, before I was finished with January. I’m holding on to my crown with one hand while running madly to stay in the same place: just like the Red Queen.
I lived most of January against a canvas of rain, rain, rain: except for the last weekend. I spent that under the cold, blue skies of the Sonora desert. Good friends “flew me” on Southwest from Oakland to Tucson. During the drive from Tucson, to their home in Oro Valley, I discovered the special beauty of that desert. Cactus were never on my list of “wonderful things in the world.” Until I experienced the Saguaro forests: amazing those tall pipes standing against the blue skies.
Most of Saturday was spent at the Pima Air and Space Museum. I am told its beginnings were humble. But the Mars family of candy bar fame took an interest. Their funding elevated the museum into a wonderful tribute to aeronautics. They are close to having one of every model of commercial and military planes. There was even a Stinson L-5, the plane my Dad flew in the China theater of WWII. In the interests of breaking up this text a little, I am inserting an old photo of this plane flying the a low pass between mountains. (Sorry about the tape marks).