EARLIER THIS week, I was on the Jesus Patio relaxing, a talent I have possessed in spades for most of my life.
That’s my foot you see there in a Crocs shoe, the footwear designed for semi-professional relaxers.
My child bride and I are polar opposites in this regard. Although she is very fond of her own Crocs, she does not use them to relax because she’s mostly incapable of relaxing.
She’s always full throttle.
I don’t understand those people.
It was about noon, and the neighborhood was uncommonly quiet, possibly because it was Christmas Eve.
Both were correspondents during the Second World War, a profession that baffles me because you stand a good chance of getting killed unnecessarily.
Tregaskis was not killed in the war, but he came very close. Pyle was less fortunate, shot dead in the war’s final months.
Both books are excellent though Pyle’s is the better of the two. They provide a good idea of what war is like, or rather what World War II was like.
It was one of America’s greatest moments.
Occasionally, I would quit the Kindle to look at the scene above. That’s aloe vera on the left and the other is philodendron. They were quite little when I planted them.
One of the many good things about reading is that it can transport you to another world.
I was jumping from chilling on the Jesus Patio to dodging grenades and machine-gun fire in the Pacific.
You don’t get to do that every day.
I hope Santa was kind to you. This has been an exceptionally fine year.* If you read books like Tregaskis’ and Pyle’s you know that better than most. History matters.
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