Gratitude

This a.m.'s reading was fuzzy, littered with the echoes of last night's city coucil meeting. Coffee-then-espresso failed to shovel aside the brainmuck and I finally found a measure of peace only when reading about the finale of Chancellorsville and the passing of Stonewall Jackson. My wife is asking that I stop the narrative and rejoin the trek up Magic Mountain and like those maddened Russian guides in Nepal, I will make the attempt without portable oxygen. The death of Jackson was an opportune section of the Narrative to halt as such concludes not only the chapter but the Section and what follows, Vicksburg and Gettysburg is a sphere of thought all itself.

Yesterday's commentary by Roger and Ed was most welcome. My mindscape of the Civil War lacks the precision that my friends have in abundence. While at the University I focused on the "peculiar institution" and only read and thought about the myriad effects that the war had on human bondage. Names such as Foote, Catton, McPherson and Freeman were absolutely alien to me. The independant council of my brain which routinely examines the actions of my life and invariably misattributes them has been active of late, thinking now that my sudden interest in the Civil War has something to do with last fall's election. I am not sure nor do I hope to be. What I do appreciate about Mr. Foote is the panache by which he relates that which has been routinely deified since the War even ended and instead colors the skyscapes with all its deserved visceral damnation: the reader will find no shelter here.