Monday, December 27, 2010

Home for Christmas

I’m taking a break from the column to enjoy the holidays, making up for all the ones I spent at sea.   Next week we’ll explore a host of war mongrel shenanigans, including an AP report on UN kibitzer to Afghanistan Staffan de Mistura’s revalation who says that the Taliban know they can’t win, they just won’t admit it publicly.  AP doesn’t mention when or where the Taliban admitted it to de Mistura, nor do they speculate on whether de Mistura knows that King David Petraeus has admitted that we can’t win. 

Ho, ho, ho, huh?

I'd like to think that someday, somehow, we'll be able to bring a lot of our service persons home for the holidays and all the other days too  by putting a stop to the insanity of the Pentarchy's Long War.




  1. Happy New Year, Commander.

    And yes, peace. Here's hoping, anyway.

    A thought for all this war's victims, willing and unwitting:

    Move him into the sun -
    Gently its touch awoke him once,
    At home, whispering of fields unsown.
    Always it woke him, even in France,
    Until this morning and this snow.
    If anything might rouse him now
    The kind old sun will know.

    Think how it wakes the seeds, -
    Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
    Are limbs, so dear-achieved, are sides,
    Full-nerved, - still warm, - too hard to stir?
    Was it for this the clay grew tall?
    - O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
    To break earth's sleep at all?

    (Wilfred Owen- Futility)

  2. Thanks, JP. Happy New Year!