A Perfect Morning in an Imperfect Time

Did you ever think that you would be looking back so fondly to the Halcyon days of 1989?

I think I graduated from high school at the most perfect of times. Our senior year, 88-89, saw "The End of History" as the cold war ended, the commies turned into nice guys, and the Wall fell. We were in college for the 90-92 recession, so the bad job market didn't really hit us, we left college with the New Economy in full swing and either got established in "old economy" jobs with enough time to burrow deeply enough to avoid layoffs when the bubble burst, or made truckloads of dough in the new economy that gave us the abliity to ride out the 99-03 recession (the economy's waking again, feel it?). We're old enough so that Osama and the end of the world scares us just enough to take it seriously, but we're not young enough to actually believe this is the End of the World (I assume that people my age in 1982-83 were just as frightened of Reagan/"evil empire" as folks are these days of Bush/"american empire").

We really are a lucky few. I look around to those younger than I, who were broomed out of their first jobs without so much as a "fare thee well", who are looking at the world situation and seeing nothing but terrorism, war, and cruelty until the end of time, and I truly feel sorry for them.

Actually, it's the computer science and business majors I feel sorry for. The history / poli sci / and even english majors understand this as just another variation on that favorite disc of time's jukebox: "Man's inhumanity to man". (ooo boy, get a load of that! I crack myself up sometimes.).

So, as for my part, things are going fairly well. Job is motoring along; hopefully they'll keep me until I don't wanna be kept anymore. Wife's good. Kids good. New cat is a laugh-riot -- if not a bit annoying at 5:15am when he's reminding me it's time to get up and chase the sun. And I actually like this weather. I think perhaps it's the Scottish in me -- but this morning, walking to work with the old Jethro Tull on the MP3: "Grey the mist cold the dawn; cruel the sea and stern the shore. Brave the man who sets his course for Albion", I could imagine my Scottish ancestors keeping watch in the towers of Castle Moil, waiting to raise the chain that ran from Skye to the mainland to collect the toll on the ships sailing southerly down the coast.

Just a perfect morning of a perfect life in the perfect time. At any rate, beats the shit out of the alternative.