Greetings, my fellow port swillers!  The name of this post? Oh, what the heck – let Nordlinger sue!  Shoe fits foot and that’s all there is to it.

♦  First, I was able to snag Mrs. R’s laptop over the weekend, so as my weekend traffic is usually terrible, you might want to review the posts below to better understand what I’m talking about here.

♦  Oh, and let me just say that I hate Macs!  Infernal thing kept trying to tell me where to go and what to do.  Bloody impudence.  Give me a PC any time.  And if that makes me a dinosaur, so be it!

♦  As promised in the post on the great chimney fiasco below, Mrs. R and I did indeed sneak off to a downtown hotel Saturday night.  All in all, a relaxing and pleasant time, although once again ol’ Robbo’s inability to get in a good sleep away from home manifested itself.  Whenever I stay in a hotel, I tend to drift back and forth between semi-consciousness and dream time without ever getting to the deeper part of the sleep cycle.  And each of the dreams builds on the last, usually pursuing a theme of something starting out relatively simple, but getting progressively more complicated as the dreams wear on, and often incorporating what I half hear or see when in that dozy state between them.  This time, I recall that my first dream involved the simple proposition of trying to cross a softball field to get to where my team was warming up.  I don’t recall all the permutations of the thing as it progressed through the night, but certainly at one point later on I was being chased by Confederate cavalry.

♦  We decorated the port-swiller Christmas tree yesterday.  A decorated tree on December 4.  It just ain’t right.  I derived some grim satisfaction by pointing out that the thing would be dead long before Twelfth Night.

♦  This morning I heard something odd, speaking of Christmas:  In roughly the 43rd rendition of “The First Noel” I’ve endured since the beginning of Thanksgiving week, I couldn’t help noticing that in the refrain, “Born is the king of Israel,” the choir were pronouncing Israel as “I-Is-REE-el” instead of “I-Is-RYE-el,” which is the way I’ve always heard it sung.   As the kids like to say (or do they still?), what’s up with that?

♦  Yes, I say “endured”.  And the punch line is that, come December 26, which is actually in the Christmas Feast, all such musick will positively vanish from the airwaves.  Fitting for the by-then withering tree.  Time and place.  I rave about everything having its proper time and place, and yet nobody listens.  Feh.

♦  Or should that be humbug?

♦  May I finish up with a little bragging?  I may? Thank you!  Well, yesterday saw the eldest gel play her first CYO basketball game of the season.  I’ll spare you any triumphalism about the game: We got crushed by St. Theresa’s, 33-9.  In defense of our team, I will say that we only had seven players to their fifteen, which means we could only swap out two at a time while they had three functioning squads through which they could rotate.  And they had some giantesses on their crew.  Also, we’d only had our first practice on Friday and the ref had a real down on us for some reason.   No, what I really wanted to praise was the gel’s attitude:  I have never in all her years seen her so full of hustle and aggressiveness as she was at that game, flying up and down the court, going after the ball, taking her licks, cheering on her mates and…….not complaining at all.   She tells me that she’s really not all that especially interested in basketball, but is doing this instead in order to become more socially active and to help out the school as best she can.  That, my friends, shows that we are making progress.

A happy day to you all!

UPDATE: Oh, I should have noted that “CYO” stands for Catholic Youth Organization.  From what I gather, it is a sort of diocesan club league, different from the regular parochial school league, in which the gel is also playing.