Sunday, February 26, 2012

Mulling things over in Mulligan Michigan, I see a man singing the National Anthem in Daytona

None of us know who is the man who sang the National Anthem in the rain before the start of the Daytona 500. I have to ask. Did he really? All the drivers stood under umbrellas, looking smart in their crisp uniforms. He looked a bit damp and had no umbrella. I appreciate that he sang bare headed and well. I try to be ironic about patriotism so as not to be jingoistic, but even I know that Francis Scott Key's lyrics are waterfast as well as steadfast. Well played and well sung, who ever you are, American Man of Lieder.

I know when there's a big race, my younger brother has the NASCAR flagbout in front of his house and the race on his big screen. What's bigger than Daytona? So I could text him and ask him who he's rooting for. For whom he is rooting will not do. Little bro has a new tattoo he's using for his Facebook Icon, and it's labeled with our father's birth and death dates. I don't understand anything more than that about it, obviously not executed by a noted artist. Just wonder if I'll wind up on an arm or leg, if anywhere. Kid is going to need a lot of skin real estate if the series progresses. I texted him and called him a pagan and told him to read Leviticus again. Added a Smiley face, too. Our father has been gone for months. I commemorate him in my writing, my brother commemorates him on his flesh.

A woman with red hair in a short ponytail has brought in a pair of pies, and maybe more food shall arrive for the race. A woman, a curly haired red head, came in with her daughter, 6, and everyone is giving the youngster dollars to load the juke box with Taylor Swift. The six year old has been given a tour of the kitchen too. The curly redhead is a regular, and she had lived with the lead singer of the band that performed last night. The daughter might be that lead singer's family too. Now the youngster is out hula hooping on the dance floor, and the bartender has turned on the spotlights.

The man at the corner of the bar turned out to be the curly redhead's high school sweetheart. They went out to have a smoke. Now they sit together at the bar. There's a smoke shack built of rough sawn planks outback. The corral out front arose this summer, now legitimate for drinks under the sun, perfect for those visits from the Harley Davidson elite.

Richard Petty just knocked it out park with his speech to the racing nation, a perfect mimic of the film, The King's Speech. They have really upped the game for the game day television spot. I won't admit to going out to the web for the GoDaddy.Co tease.

I am mulling out life in Mulligan, but I want to be driving to Hastings in the sunlight in under an hour.

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