Mud Bugs at the Club

Sometimes lyrics just fit, from Dire Straits:










High and dry in the long hot day
Lost and lonely in every way
Got the flats all around me sky up above
I need a little water of love

Ive been too long lonely and my heart feels pain
Crying out for some soothing rain
I believe I have taken enough
I need a little water of love

Water of love deep in the ground
No water here to be found
Some day baby when the river runs free
Itll carry that water of love to me

Theres a bird up in a tree sitting up high
Waiting for me to die
If I dont get some water soon
Ill be dead and gone in the afternoon

Once I had a woman I could call my own
Once I had a woman now my woman is gone
Once there was a river now theres a stone
You know its evil when youre living alone






I have a small sailboat, it is what I consider my lake house. I visit my boat and sometimes I do not sail or even visit my boat, I enjoy the surroundings, we have wifi so I can do work if the IRS asks me about my laptop, it is a great club. However this year we had a drought and a number of boats are in limbo, perhaps till the spring rains. This time I am not the idiot, I would say how refreshing but I know I will soon wear the label so I do not judge. I dare not judge...Why? Because I am going to post so many words nar' a soul will read them unless they are keen on the Bard and this is one great bit of lit...I'm out of town for a bit so this should cover some ground while I am gone...Pretend its not one long post just come back and read more, good ole shakey was not overrated.

St. Crispen's Day Speech William Shakespeare, 1599

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!

KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.