Yes, I know, it’s 9/11, the 21st anniversary of the terrorist attacks on the homeland (and lest we forget, ten years since the shameful sacrifice of our embassy in Benghazi). And yes, September 11th, 2001 was an awful day. I spoke my piece about it recently, but watching commemorations today provokes more thought.
It’s like a national tick. Somber theme music swells behind news stories. Anchors and pundits and scribes dig deep into their vocabularies for uncommon words to convey the common grief. On social media people post heart-tugging memes. Never forget.
I just can’t.
I can’t (and won’t) forget. But I also can’t watch re-runs and recaps, the same reflexive tributes that have aired now for two decades. I no longer change my profile pic and I don’t share memes. I just can’t.
No, I’m not saying that it’s all insincere. For many Americans these remembrances are heartfelt, essential, even therapeutic in a way. My reaction to the annual observance would be different, however, if we showed that we understood exactly what was attacked on September 11th, 2001.
More than cities or citizens or travel or government, our country was attacked that day, dammit, our freedoms, our very way of life.
I know we don’t understand that because we’ve all but stopped defending against assaults by enemies in our midst. I know it because almost half the country chose to install an avowed enemy of Liberty in the Oval Office. I know it because we, the People, didn’t object loudly to the “Patriot Act” and countless “public health” decrees.
I’m sorry to say that September 11th has become “Old Yeller,” the sad movie we watch because we need to cry. Come tomorrow, we’ll go back to kicking the dog.
My heart goes out to those who lost loved ones 21 years ago today and in the GWOT that followed.
The last thing you’d expect to read on Ubi Libertas Blog is any mention of British royalty. As an American Patriot I’m no fan of that or any monarchy, so acknowledging the passing this week of Queen Elizabeth II isn’t something most readers would predict I’d do.
And yet here we are.
I’ve seen a dozen or more of my like-minded friends strike a dismissive pose about her death, some posting inexplicably distasteful comments on social media. The basis for such disrespect, apparently, is that these united colonies declared independence from the Crown 246 years ago.
Naturally, that’s license to go scorched-earth on all British royalty. Get it?
It’s kinda like my father never, ever buying a Chevy ’cause his neighbor had one that burned oil.
Look, if you wanna hate on George III and post your crude memes, have at it. We fought a war to get out from under that murderous tyrant, and you can piss on his tomb for all I care. Hell, put him right there with OBL if you want.
Elizabeth II, personally and as head of state, was the staunchest of our allies. I’m not a “royal watcher,” nor do I venerate the title she held for 70 years, but I do know that she was among America’s greatest friends internationally.
The Revolution is over. We won. For crying’ out loud, People, have a little perspective. And while you’re at it, show some fucking respect.
It feels like autumn. We awoke this morning to 55°F and dense fog, followed by a breezy day with temps hovering around 70°F. This is the first hint of what’s in store for the next couple of months, and we welcome the change of seasons.
We celebrated by relaxing here at the campsite.
Yesterday we chose to stick around Harrison. After watching a parade of balloon pilots fill their propane tanks at the campground’s station, we headed out in the truck with no particular itinerary. Eventually we decided to visit a local gun shop to pick up fresh ammo for Deb’s carry pistol. She suggested that we also browse the shop’s inventory of hunting rifles.
I have a basic bolt gun in .30-06 that can be used for deer or any other game on The Mountain. It’s set up for me, though, which means it doesn’t exactly fit Deb. She’s very interested in hunting, aiming to develop her skills under the watchful eye of her cousin, and having her own rifle would be ideal.
The guy behind the counter was friendly, patient and extraordinarily helpful. Deb handled several guns, favoring one in particular but opting to walk away and think on it some.
From there we drove a short distance north to a farm market for local produce, cheeses and baked goods. After that we stopped at an antiques shop to collect ideas. As we climbed back into the truck, Deb made an announcement.
“Let’s go back to the gun shop. I’m gonna buy that rifle.”
And so we did.
Her choice? A barely used Savage 110 chambered in .308, sitting in a Mossy Oak synthetic stock and fitted with a Vortex 4-12×44 scope. And the price was right.
She added a sling, a soft case and a couple of boxes of ammo. We turned the truck east and drove out to The Mountain, where she showed off her new hunting rifle to her cousin.
The whole exercise was satisfying, as well as symbolic of our new American Life. It reminded me, too, that I’m fortunate to be married to this woman.
Late this afternoon I bought firewood at the camp store. It’s been a long time since it’s been cool enough for a campfire, and tonight we resume that tradition.
More will follow. Life is good.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.