Saturday Gardening Post – In Which The Times, They Are A’Changing – UPDATED

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

A surprisingly cool and gray day for the dead-red middle of August.  One might very well have been up ta Maine and not in Northern Virginny.  My porch thermometer didn’t even crack 80 degrees, and by late afternoon I even put on a sweatshirt.

Not that I’m complaining, I assure you.

Yesterday, Ol’ Robbo was looking at the sunlight on the trees out back and thinking to himself that he’s definitely beginning to see that change in the light which signals that we’re now on the backside of summah.  It’s the shift in the angle of the sun’s arc across the sky relative to the wood-line, which faces southwest.  I’m not sure I could actually describe the way the reflection on the leaves changes.  I just know when it happens.

Again, I’m not complaining.  As regular friends of teh decanter have long known, summah is Ol’ Robbo’s least-favorite season, and even the first hints of its impending exit always make me happy.

Not that I had much to complain about this year, real summah coming fairly late and staying relatively comfortable with only a few stretches of what I would call really hot weather.  And even then, my thermometer hasn’t broken triple digits all season.

I’m sure my Betters will tell me that my lying eyes are all wrong and that Science! proves this has been, again, the Hottest Year in the History of the Woooooorld!!!  But I know which one I choose to believe.

Oh, as for gardening?  I didn’t do any.  Instead I flopped down in my hammock and spent the afternoon reading and watching the world go by.  (For those of you interested, Ol’ Robbo is on his geology kick again.  I finished up Simon Winchester’s book about Krakatoa and started in on my umpteenth reading of John McPhee’s Annals of the Former World.)

Good times.

UPDATE:  Only up to 74 degrees for Sunday!

Friend of the decanter RJB reminds me about the big “derecho” that slammed the Midwest earlier this week.  I gather a lot of crop damage was done, along with other property loss and some deaths.

I dunno why the weather-folk feel compelled to use the term “derecho”.  Maybe it just sounds sooper-spooky (like “Arctic bomb cyclone”).  Maybe it’s just that “squall with unusually strong straight-line winds” is too much of a mouthful for practical reporting purposes.

As a matter of fact, I first heard the term when we had one come through here about eight years ago.  I remember Port Swiller Manor being without power for four or five days after that, and the upstairs becoming so miserably hot that I had to sleep in the basement.  I also remember quickly giving up trying to read in the evening by candle-light and just going to bed with the sun.  (About eventually having to clean out the deep-freeze full of spoiled foodstuffs, I choose not to remember.)

Oh, Boy

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo had one of his patented odd dreams last night, part of which involved playing with a two or three year old son.  There was some mystery attached to the legal status of our relationship that I can’t recall.  All I remember is keeping him from falling down a flight of stairs and tossing him up and catching him.

Once in a way, one of the Gels will ask me if I ever wish I had a son.  Sensing a trap, like Admiral Akbar, I invariably reply, “If you mean do I wish you were a boy, of course not.”  As a parry, it has the advantages of being both straight to the point and perfectly true.  But to the broader question, I can also say honestly that I simply haven’t given it that much conscious thought, and I certainly have never felt anything like regret.  (I mean, would I have liked to have a son? Sure.  Do I feel there’s some kind of hole in my life because I didn’t?  Not at all.)

Granted, I was genuinely surprised when Eldest came along, simply because the progeny in my father’s family up to my generation had been overwhelmingly male and we’d more or less assumed she was going to be a boy, too.  But as time went on and the tally mounted (my brother and sister and I have seven daughters and only one son among us), I simply shrugged.  God’s will?  Roll of the dice?  Contamination of the water supply by estrogen from all that birth-control use? Who knows.  (I’ve heard that last one and put it in the same category as the one about fluoride and the Commies.)  I’ve simply found that it really doesn’t matter, after all.

I can only suppose that the kernel of the dream wandered into my subconscious braims because when we were visiting the Former Llama Military Correspondent and his family a couple weeks ago, I recall watching the LMC and his son punching each other (in play, but pretty hard) and thinking to myself, “Self, that’s something you certainly could never do with the Gels.”  Funny how these little things can stick.

I also asked myself if it might be something to do with a nascent anticipation of grandchildren, but the thought that immediately came back on that line was, “For Heaven’s sake, not yet!!”

 

School Daze

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

What with Youngest’s college move-in being pushed back a month (which see the post below), Mrs. R and I were able yesterday instead to help Middle Gel get settled into her campus digs, which she otherwise would have had to manage on her own had we been absence in Ohio this week with Youngest.  So lemons and lemonade.  A few observations:

“Necessary” is a marvelously fluid word.  Without fundamentally altering the laws of physics, there is simply no way the pile of stuff Middle Gel assembled to take to school would have fit in just one car as originally planned.

Before they let us in, the school subjected us to a WuFlu pop quiz, which struck Ol’ Robbo as rayther absurd.  “Why, yes.  I just spent three hours on the interstate only to be denied entry because of these flu-like symptoms to which I will now cheerfully fess up.”  Mmmm-hmm.

And on that note, humping bins apparently full of lead ingots in from a hot garage while wearing a mask certainly took a few months off Ol’ Robbo’s life.

For all that, it was a remarkably neat and hassle-free trip.  We were allotted two hours to make the drop but had plenty of time not only to move all the Gel’s things in but also to go pick up some lunch and bring it back to her dorm.  The Gel is doing herself very not badly in accommodation this year.  She’s in a four-person suite in which each of them get not only their own bedroom but their own bathroom as well.  Coupled with a serviceable kitchen, an airy common room, in-suite washer and dryer, and garage parking, it’s a good bit nicer than any place I ever lodged in my academic days.  (In all fairness, she was stuck in the rattiest dorm on campus her freshman year so why should she not enjoy the advantages of being an upperclassman now?)

And speaking of the hot weather, as we passed over the York River on the way home, I beheld at least four different thunderheads looming at various points to the west and northwest.  I think we eventually hit all of them along the way.  Good times.

 

Saturday This N’ That

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

A quiet Saturday here at Port Swiller Manor.  Were things anywhere close to normal, Ol’ Robbo would be packing up the cars today to take Youngest Gel off to college.  However, as we’re still setting our collective hair on fire over teh WuFlu, her move in date has been bumped back a month and she’ll be doing online from home for at least a couple weeks.  (We’ll see what happens then.**)

In the meantime, a few odds and ends:

♦   Obligatory Saturday Garden Posting entry:  For the second time, my mower ran out of gas before I could finish the yard.  I usually have a fairly healthy reserve left over,  but the grass has been very thick and very damp these past two weeks and putting an extra strain on my poor Briggs & Stratton engine.

♦   Additional Obligatory Saturday Garden Posting entry:  As I type this, I count no fewer than seventeen tiger swallowtail butterflies messing about in my garden, plus numerous additional smaller kinds (and I even saw a Monarch the other day).  I also have two hummingbirds feuding over my feeder now.  (I have found them to be extremely territorial and aggressive about it.)

♦   I won’t go into the details because that way madness lies, but I suddenly find myself on the verge of being saddled with a new adopted kitten.  I’ve no objection to kittehs as kittehs, but Decanter Cat has become quite happy as sole Queen of her Domain since we lost her cousin last Christmas, and Decanter Dog has such a neurotic hatred of all other animals, that I fear this will result in far, far more trouble than it could possibly be worth.

♦   Middle Gel went to a local blood drive run by Robbo’s Formerly-Beloved-But-Now-Distant-And-Suspect Nationals today.  I had to laugh a bit when she got home: She just skootched in over the minimum weight requirement and came back looking pretty ghostly.  The Gel was gobsmacked that some of her friends couldn’t understand why she would donate blood.  “Why the heck do they think?” she said.  (She goes back to school Monday, by the bye, and since Mrs. R and I won’t be in Ahia as planned, we’re going down for the day to help her move in.)

♦   Fingers crossed for Eldest, who had a job interview on Friday (I withhold details for now).  I’m resigned to having her home for another year or so but it would be nice if she could chip some coin into the household kitty while she’s here.

Whelp, that’s about it.  Time to go cut up the potatoes for dins (which I roast in chunks with rosemary and olive oil).  I’m doing what the Mothe always called “Pub Chicken”, which is simply chicken breasts coated in breadcrumbs (and spices) and pan-fried in butter.  Add some steamed asparagus, and we’re in business!  And, even though it’s still mid-August, we can comfortably eat out on the porch this evening.

 

** As a matter of fact, as I was telling a friend I ran into this afternoon who is having major angst over her own freshman son, I’m beginning to sense that this nonsense is going to die down sooner rather than later.  The various “stay safe” plans are chaotic and (as will be found out) unworkable; Higher Ed is doomed financially if it doesn’t get butts back on campus; parents and kids are getting more and more fed up; I see almost no sympathy for teachers whinging about not wanting to run the risks of classroom exposure; and, perhaps most importantly, the various governors (including Cuomo and our own despised Northam) are beginning to realize the scare is not going to prove an effective politickal weapon with which to pound OrangeManBad, and that they themselves are increasingly the targets of voter ire.  I could be wrong, of course, but I don’t think I’m that far out.  Again, fingers crossed.

On Seeing The Light

Greetings, my fellow port swillers and Happy National Lighthouse Day!

Ol’ Robbo takes the opportunity to remind friends of the decanter that the easternmost point in the United States is West Quoddy Head, Maine (which see).

Quaint little absurdities like this help to keep one’s perspective nicely balanced.

Enjoy!

 

 

Brushes With Celebrity – Now With Envelope-Opening UPDATE

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo’s father had a weakness for what became known in the family as “seein’ da stars”.  Any time he was near anyone who could claim any level of celebrity status, he would begin to act like a groupie, sometimes to the extent of requiring restraint.  I don’t know why, that’s just the way the Old Gentleman was.

So I thought of him and smiled when I came across this little meme reposted by Mixolydian Don:

“List 5 famous people you’ve either met or have been within a few feet of, but ONE is a lie. Then let your friends guess which one they think is a lie.”

Shall we play?

1.  Margaret Thatcher
2. Antonin Scalia
3. John Cougar Mellencamp
4. Tom Wolfe
5. Aaron Copeland

Have at it!  (Answer revealed tomorrow.)

UPDATE:  Thank you all for playing, either in the comments or in your heads.  Here are the results:

Margaret Thatcher – TRUE – When Ol’ Robbo interned in Parliament during her tenure, he snagged tickets for Prime Minister’s Question Time on a couple occasions.  It was a thing of beauty.  I wouldn’t count that, however.  Instead, I actually crossed paths with the Iron Lady in the hallway at Westminster one day.  We made eye contact and she smiled quietly to herself.  She was a good sheila, Bruce, and not a’tall stuck up!

Antonin Scalia – TRUE – We attended the same Mass for some years.  He usually had something to say to the Padre afterward about some point in the readings or the homily and I sometimes hung around with a small knot of people to listen in.  I also once saw him in the grocery store in a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and Berkenstocks chatting amiably with a shelf-stocker. That was….interesting.  (BTW, seeing him on a weekly basis, I also saw his declining health, especially toward the end.  Which is why I dance with impatience every time the smothered-with-a-pillow meme bubbles up.)

John Cougar Mellencamp – FALSE – But I didn’t just pick him at random.  I was working as a bag boy at a golf club one summah when word came down that JCM was in the neighborhood and had called in for a tee time.  There was much excitement and running about in the clubhouse and the cart shed to put our best foot forward.  Fellah never showed up, nor, I understand, did he bother to cancel his reservation.  There was much disgruntlement.

Tom Wolfe – TRUE – My law school commencement speaker.  We shook hands but that was about it.

Aaron Copeland – TRUE – This would have been in the mid-70’s.  He was in town on a guest-conductor gig and my parents, as members of the local symphony society, hosted a reception at our house.  Fortunately, they didn’t try to make me play the piano for him or anything.  Instead, it was basically “Shake hands. Now scoot.”  He was pretty grumpy and reserved.  FWIW, I’ve never much cared for his musick and consider him to be a Johnny One-Note, but not because of that.

So there you have it.  Those who guessed correctly are invited to pick up their winnings at the window.

 

Storm of the Century of the Week – UPDATED – And AGAIN

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Whelp, it now appears to be O-fficial that Port Swiller Manor will get clipped by Tropical Storm Isaias (pronounced, “Ekky-ekky-ekky-ekky-f’tang-zoom-boing-mrowr!”, I b’lieve) tonight and tomorrow.

We haven’t quite got to the point of deciding which of the pets we’ll eat first, but I did go so far as to remove the more airborne-capable objects from the porch this morning.

And after all the money I shelled out for the damn thing, we may finally get to put our generator to some use.   (The last time a major TS came through here, I recall power was out for about four days.)

We shall see.  Stay tuned.

“This Burger! It Is Made Of NOTHING!” UPDATE:  Meh.  Some decent rain, hardly any wind.  From the radar it looks like most of the action is east of Dee Cee and out over the Bay.  I can’t even bring myself to crack a Jim “Mimbo” Cantore joke here.

UPDATE DEUX:  For those of you wondering, yes, we did indeed have the generator kick in.  For about half an hour.  Late in the day, loooong after the storm had moved out.  I suspect Virginny Power cut the juice intentionally so it could make repairs elsewhere on the grid.  Yee-haw.

N’Yar! – Now With Lubberly UPDATE

N.C. Wyeth, “One More Step, Mr. Hands” – Illustration for Treasure Island.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Those friends who have spent any time around the decanter will by now know that when it comes to the subject of moovie adaptations of favorite books, Ol’ Robbo is most often wont to set his eye in fine frenzy rolling, glancing from heaven to earth, earth to heaven, and then to start heaving the crockery.  I hate ’em.  I do.

So you may be both pleased as well as slightly alarumed when I report that last evening I came across one that I actually, genuinely, like:  1990’s made-for-teevee version of “Treasure Island”.  (It’s available in DVD from Netflix.)

I’d seen positive mention of this film from time to time amongst the Moron Horde over at AoSHQ and determined to give it a try.  I was not in the least disappointed.

First, the film is eminently faithful to the book.  I happen to have reread it a week or two ago, so it was pretty fresh in my mind.  Almost all the dialogue was lifted verbatim, and, so far as I could tell, the screenplay was just about devoid of material R.L. Stevenson “might have written if only he’d been clever enough.”  Where it had to condense or cut or transpose, it did so intelligently, respectfully, and subtly.

Second, for a teevee movie, the cast is heavyweight.  Charlton Heston plays Long John Silver, with the young Christian Bale as Jim Hawkins, Oliver Reed as Billy Bones, Christopher Lee as Blind Pew, Julian Glover as Dr. Livesey, and Alan Tudyk as Steve the Pirate.  There were numerous other supporting cast members who I immediately recognized but couldn’t remember their names.  The whole thing was written and directed by Fraser Heston (who I suppose deserves the primary accolade for doing such a good adaptation job), and I got the vibe that it was something of a vanity project for the Old Man and his friends, and at the same time a boost for the son.

Did Ol’ Robbo have quibbles?  Of course Ol’ Robbo had quibbles!  But as they were largely technical and did not at all interfere with the spirit and flow of the story, I let them pass.  (Unless you want me to tell ’em.  Do ya? Do ya?)

Anyhoo, overall it was a delightful film and well worth a dekko.

UPDATE: This post has been up a couple days now.  Did nobody catch what I did in the emboldened bit up there?  Ye scurvy dogs!