Nods to Britons, who have taken their share. Perhaps I'll do a post on Britons; because, let's face it, they've stuck with the war on Islamo-idiots far longer, and far more reliably, than anyone else.
But man for man, few in numbers, Australians have ALWAYS been there -- with their unique humor and elan. And plain cold courage. Stack them up against so-called other "NATO" allies. Dutch? German? Belgian? Whomever. All are well behind enemy lines. Aussies are taking it and giving it back.
"Tenacious Kazimierz Michalski, who fought in the Second World War and survived the horrific conditions in the Russian Gulags, caught Stephen Gillespie, who posed as a builder, stealing £300 pounds from his wallet when he was meant to be fixing the leaky roof."
I always had a huge, mega, monster crush on this man -- he was a class act on and off the screen, not to mention being really hunky (built almost exactly like MY man, actually). And he handled his battle with cancer with the same grace. All of us, male and female, can only hope to be half the man he was.
Rest well, sir.
This clip will always and forever define him for me:
... who may never read this; he's not one for the printed word, much. Though he may not "read" the words, he'll "read" my heart. Most assuredly. Already has.
Normally, I'm one for posting snippets from others -- a paragraph from a news story here, a video there. This one time, I'm departing from personal tradition, fully expecting a high boredom threshold from readers.
So be it ... I'm willing to run the risk. Because for the first time, and the last, there is love. And my heart is so full, I have to put it in printed words, though they may never be read. (Or "read.")
For one thing, we look alike. That is, we are built much the same: Slim, clean-limbed, graceful, like cats. Our faces look alike, far beyond the superficial brown eyes and oval structure. We share the same easy smile.
For another, there is an undeniable magnetic pull, the strength of which takes my breath away.
For a third, we communicate on a very basic frequency. This I will expand on -- but for now, it's important that it IS basic. You'll see why, I hope.
All of this is a superficial skimming of Why We Are. But it's hugely important, not only for us, but for everyone looking for The One.
I am a Smart Person. I was raised carefully, by intelligent parents, to appreciate and cultivate all that is best in human achievement. My lineage is high -- Old Money, and Society, with all its refinements, were bred into me like breakfast oatmeal. Though I did not inhabit the rarefied strata of high society, because my Dad chose the obscurity of military service, I was inculcated with its bedrock precepts of Entitlement and Education into all that was, is, and will be, in the Human Condition. I was encouraged to exercise my mind, flex my creative muscles, dare to dream, to be sure that my reach may exceed my grasp. I was given every bit of ammunition human achievement had to offer, quite consciously, from far-seeing parents. I was raised to be A Lady.
The only problem with perfect upbringing is ... the person.
Beyond being loved.
Alas, I'll never put paid to the investment in me. I'll never light the world on fire. I'm sorry.
He loves me.
It's very simple. And, in simplicity, we solve the riddles that keep us up at night -- we find rest. We find our Home.
Me and him, we understand each other. Body ... O yes.
Mind. What's to understand?
Soul. An uninterrupted circuit.
The stupid stuff of life -- "How dare you do this, that or the other" -- is, well, stupid. Anger? Only a blip on the radar.
There is only love.
We. Love. Each. Other.
So, there you have it. An unwanted diatribe about me and my so-called life.