RADIO DEATH ROLL 007

I'm a creature of habit. I get up roughly at the same time every morning, open the woodstove, take a leak, start the coffee, turn on the radio, check email, drink coffee, listen to NPR, take a shower, get dressed, load up the woodstove, feed Paris and Nicole, start the car, pull out the driveway and head for Stone Ridge. Map Quest Old Glen Wild road in Glen Wild and Atwood road in Stone Ridge you'll see my route. Old Glen Wild road turns into Church Rd. as I pass Jimmy Wild's well drilling and head across Glen Wild road. I blast past Dave Capachioni's place, where he sells honey and take the back way into Mountaindale. The radio is still tuned to NPR and just as I climb the hill out of Mountaindale and wind down into Ellenville, the death report comes on. Who ever got killed by car bombs or any other nefarious device in Iraq or Afghanistan the previous night is matter of factly reported to me at this juncture in my commute. It's gotten so i can't drive this road at any time of day without thinking about death.
You can be as philosophical as you want about life but that only works if you're still breathing. If you're dead the conversation ends rather abruptly.
Rt. 52 leads to Rt. 209 and about this time I switch off NPR and go over to WKRZ. This station plays an eclectic mix of blues and Lezbo singer/songwriter fare. I sing along off key. I head north on 209 past Dunkin Dounuts and the old Shrade knife works factory, past the prison and up the hill to Kerhonkson. I curse the school buses and half asleep old timers putting along, hurrying (for God knows what reason) to get to the job site. I reach Stone Ridge a little after 8am and stop for another cup of coffee and a muffin at Bodacious Bagels. They know me so well they have the coffee (with a little half and half) and muffin ready to go before i can say blueberry. I blow my horn at Claude Osterhoudt feeding his angus beef and five minutes later pull in front of the job. No IEDs or suicide bombers in my path.
When I was coming up in the late Sixties the evening news was filled with flag draped coffins and pissed off hipppies. They read the names of the dead and I can still remember that rancid smell of urine and blood at the VA hospital when we went down to visit cousin Steve. I felt connected to that war. My friends went and fought. Some got shot up. Some died from Agent Orange or just got so damaged they changed forever. I got lucky and avoided the whole mess. But while it was going on I felt we were at war and when it was over I felt a great sense of relief. This war is different. 10, 20, 50, 100 US or Iraqi or Afghan citizens blow up every morning at that same spot in Mountaindale and I barely notice anymore. I doubt if I'll even blink when it's over.