Today is 11th Septemia, 13AS...a Eponaday

"Eponaday is The First Day. Epona is a very ancient Celtic Goddess of Horses. She is chosen because The Horse is central to Amazon Culture. She starts off the week with the symbolic 'getting back in the saddle'."

"Let us look at the structure of the week itself. The First, Second and Third Days are the 'official' Work Week for business, school, etc. On the Weekend, the Fourth Day is half and half; morning and early afternoon for finishing up the Work Week and the late afternoon and evening for playing and partying. The Fifth Day is not a religious holiday per se, but rather meant to be a day of relaxation and reflection."

Addendum D [Calendar for A New Matriarchy]

Life in The Desert

~It is presently 105° and 13% humidity. That is not a comfortable ratio.

I learned something about swamp coolers the other day. They're only good for reducing the ambient temperature by about fifteen to twenty degrees, depending upon the humidity. Given the above temp - and the relative humidity - that means the air the swamp cooler is blowing in right now is somewhere in the range of 85° and 90°. That's better than a straight 105°, but it sure the fuck ain't comfortable.

Nothing beats the pure cold air of AC. *sigh*

The Price – A Very Short Story

Merle was a good man. Worked hard. Made a decent living. Never raised his voice or his hand to his wife or kids. Went to church most Sundays. Helped out his neighbors when he could.

Every Fourth of July, he would put on an old pair of combat boots, climb into the bathtub fully clothed and get stinking drunk. He didn't get out for anything, so he'd end up pissing and shitting himself. He remained dead silent the entire night.

He'd spent ten months in Europe fighting the Germans. He'd had more than enough of things blowing up. Terry, his wife, left him alone until morning, when she'd help him get undressed. He'd mumble, “You're a good woman,” a few times. She'd take his clothes downstairs and soak them. He'd take a long scalding hot shower.

Merle would then come down for breakfast. Terry would make his favorite; wet scrambled eggs, sausages, country potatoes and biscuits. Those mornings, instead of using cream, he'd take his coffee black with lots of sugar. Then he'd sit on the porch, have a cigarette, seemingly quite calm. He'd smile and wave at the neighbors as they passed.

Merle never talked about this. No one else did either, not until after Merle was dead and then only in a very soft voice, as if he was still up there, getting plastered in the bathtub.