The Worst is Yet To Come

The Worst is Yet to Come, oder 
Das Schlimmste Kommt Noch


Almost all holidays for many years, ever since schooldays,
I have been scheduled to work in the Salt Mines of La Chin-
Gada.

Gott sei Dank I remember one dark December night, dark
early like it is now, when I was more or less alone in
garrison at Schtuattgart-Suedwest-Vaihinga, in
Schwaobenland, and the cold moist winds combined with the
early darkness, and the prospect of spending the
holidays like that was not encouraging. I was trying
to learn to pronounce French, and Jimmy Carter was
the president at the same time.

And then appeared out my window a party of 30-50
children from the schools to do some Christmas caroling,
and it really was just the thing.

But however this year the as I calculate it 253rd anniversary
of the Battle of Leuthen falls on a Sunday, and I am
scheduled to have a day off from my night job, as luck would
have it.

That will free me up from one type of work, to concentrate
on another type, and so to commemorate the great victory
which in itself, and in its follow-up, really was extraordinary,
I plan to post up the lyrics to a song that sprang up from one
soldier in the darkness of the early twilight of the fifth of
December.

It's an extraordinary episode in itself that has come down
to us in history as the Leuthen Chorale. Over the scenes
of bloody snow, maiming and killing--just the magnifi-
cent death in battle of General Lucchesi alone would be
something, when he was beheaded by that cannonball--
and lots of other drama besides, when the darkness fell and
most of the killing was done the Lutheran hymn arose
spontaneously and we are told 25,000 men took up the
song by the light of torch, campfire and what reflected
off the snow.

Not Frederick II of course, but he heard them. It's a celebrated
scene of the eighteenth century, and we shall have a
look at that coming up this Sunday.

So I'll be posting that very soon.

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Metaphorical Swine Flu

I'm feeling all right physically but metaphorically I've
got a combination of the Swine and Bird flus with some
bronchitis, to put it delicately.

 That would entail a
feeling like nausea, headache, phlegm, snot and vomit and
diarrhea all at once...and it may be that the best way to
handle it is just to go off in the woods alone and projectile-
blast it all off in one or two mighty spasms from every
available barrel. Once it's out it's done and there may
be a chance at recovery.

I am already trying to separate it all into coherent sentences
right now with some success, but I suspect it may be vague
to the reader, trail off, incoherent...I've just got to blast it off.

It came up in the research, and it is where the other bloggers
fear to tread.

It has had me blocked up for these many months now, debating,
and so the whole thing will be healthier once exposed to the
light and perhaps shrivel up to a pile of ashes.

Then it'll probably seem like nothing at all, and let the world
wonder at how it stopped me up so long.

I'll spit it out before Christmas while it is still 2010. But before that
the Leuthen Chorale, as a study in contrasts, and to prepare
the ground in advance of this other stuff.

Also on Leuthen Day, I expect the 8 and 3 Chicago Bears to beat
the 2 and 9 Detroit Lions, more convincingly than the last time
when the Incident occurred, where a technically new rule about
feet or something robbed the Lions of a Phantasy touchdown.

I'd better get back A La ChinGada.

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