I have just had what basically amounts to a four-day+ vacation in the serial company of two of my most favorite guys, four days of grateful-to-be-alive. Now I am back home, on the ground, and it's kinda like the feeling you get when you ride those moving sidewalks at the airport. You sail along until suddenly you come stumbling off and find yourself once again rudely subject to gravity.
I will not post on the shameful decision of the New Mexico Human Rights Commission. Are the officials of all such commissions --especially the Canadian versions--not most properly addressed as "Commissar"? Nor will I rant in support of Andrew McCarthy's new book on the West's pathetic response to Jihad, aptly named Willful Blindness. (Note the mild paralepsis in the foregoing.)
Instead I will link to a story that leaves even a man of my age, experience and convictions speechless with the knowledge that his vacation is over:
An Italian woman, dressed as a bride, travels through the Middle East, relying on the innate kindness of people, to promote peace...and is found murdered, naked and raped in Turkey.
God Himself could not have imagined such a scenario. I need to sign off for fear of saying things that will even offend myself.