Always makes me a little sad when the days get shorter. This hasn’t been a great summer for me but normally I much prefer summer, heat and glare and all.
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They say that Louis XIV had the inscription Ultima Ratio Regum cast into all the cannon of the French Army. It means “The Ultimate Argument of Kings,” and that always struck me as one of the most honest and up-front things any ruler or would-be ruler ever said. “We can dress it up prettier than this, but when it comes down to the unvarnished truth this is what it’s about: You’ll do as I say or I’ll send my goons to kill you.”
I thought about that for a long time. If there’s an ultimate argument, it seems only logical that there must be an ultimate answer. For years I thought the ultimate answer must be the bullets in my rifle, but it never seemed quite right. I’ve got bullets – he’s got frigging Cannon Balls. I mean, if there were three hundred million rifles throwing bullets at him, then maybe. But we all know that’s not going to happen. So if there’s an ultimate answer to his ultimate argument, it sure as hell ain’t bullets.
It finally came to me – and that’s when I abandoned the city and most of my stuff, and gave all that was behind me a good stiff Randian Shrug.
The ultimate answer to kings is not a bullet, but a belly laugh.
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We had our spotting scope out the other night to take a look at Jupiter and Saturn. With a 60 power scope we could see Saturn’s rings and 3 of Jupiter’s many moons.
I love the cooler days and the lack of flies, but I know the cold is waiting around the corner. There is much to do before it freezes.
Then again, there is always much to do.
I’ve always thought that if October was followed by April it would be perfect. The shorter days are always a bummer.
The midges should have died off with the hard freeze this morning. It might be time to put the bug light away. We didn’t have that many mosquitos all summer, and the smoke slowed them even more.
I’m with you, Joel. I love the summer, and I live in the humid South. Of course, to me, it doesn’t seem that bad, as I grew up in this.
In USN basic training, in winter in Great Mistakes, the Yankees derived great glee from the sufferings of miserable Southerners, telling us, “This isn’t even really cold! You guys are pussies!”
Vengeance was ours when, as the last class in (wool) dress blues, a group of us arrived in Millington, TN, near Memphis, in May for class “A” school, and they began sweating.
Quoth I, “Boys, it ain’t even started to get hot yet. Y’all wait ’til August!”