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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Whelp, it’s official: Eldest Gel appeared last Thursday with a car full of dirty laundry and dorm junk, and this afternoon she turned in the last of her take-home finals.  How in the heck do I have a rising college sophomore?

The Gel did very well her first year, by the way.  Good grades, tapped into the theatre club, and a reputation as a thorough and uncompromising skeptic of all things P.C.

Perhaps not coincidentally, this afternoon we got a notice from the U.S. Postal Service stating that the Gel’s O-fficial mailing address has now changed from her school P.O. Box to Port Swiller Manor, and will remain so through mid-August.

Granted that it’s been thirty-mumble years since Ol’ Robbo was an undergrad, but I have no recollection whatsoever of anything like this happening with me.  (Perhaps my parents never told me.). And I lived off-campus most of my law school days and certainly do not recall sending any change-of-address forms in to the post office.

Strange.

By the bye, the Gel’s plan for next year involves becoming more social.  (She wanted to concentrate on getting herself into college academic mode this year.)  If any friends if the decanter know a nice young man at VMI or Hampden-Sydney, well, let me know.

 

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

I won’t bother explaining the dearth of posts here again- just scroll down and you’ll see the pattern. Second verse? Same as the first! And it looks as if things will stay this way at least until August. Heigh, ho.

So anyway:

– First of all, Happy Easter! He is risen, indeed!

– Ol’ Robbo practices Friday abstinence as a general rule, but since we’re still in the Octave of Easter, today We. Have. The MEATS!

– Got to enjoy my first thunder shower of the year last evening. More coming tonight and over the weekend, which means the lawn will have assumed a savannah-like appearance by the time I get to it next weekend. I shrug.

– Had several young persons address me as “Sir” this past week. Are they all blind? Or is the grey on the side of my head getting that much more noticeable?

– Eldest Gel finishes her first year of college next week. I find this to be absolutely incredible. Where on earth does the time go? (She’s done quite well, too. AND she’s got my sister’s old dorm room for next year. How weird is that?)

– On top of that, we start the whole college boogaloo for Middle Gel this spring, and the Youngest will be getting her learner’s permit.

– Yikes, indeed.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

No, I’m not dead. Just busy with meat-space life.

Happy Palm Sunday, by the bye! Ol’ Robbo hasn’t been very diligent in his Lenten observances this year (which see explanation above), so I am going to try and make up for it by an especially intensive Holy Week. I’ll see those two or three of you who still come together here on the other side of Easter.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Sorry (again) for the dearth of posts, but Ol’ Robbo has been crazy busy down the office these past couple weeks and is rayther short on both time and creative energy.

However, I’m getting a bit of a break today before a weekend of “the felicity of unbridled domesticity” followed by a brutal two work weeks (and then Holy Week!), so I’ll give you friends of the decanter three items of observation on which to ponder:

Firsto, Ol’ Robbo got dragooned into a catered “Vegan” work lunch yesterday. I am reasonably certain that nobody in the history of the world has ever said, “I’m a Vegan because the food is just so tasty!” I managed to find a fennel pita sammich, which to me seemed the least repugnant thing on the menu, but even there the veggies were cooked out of all meaningful flavor and the bread tasted like cardboard. I ate a few bites just to be polite and smiled thinly as everyone else sat about virtue-signaling over their meals. Feh. As the late, great, Phillip Seymour Hoffman said in “Twister”, “Red meat! We crave sustenance!”

Segundo, I was watching some late cable movie one night this week when an ad came on for some lady’s razor. It featured a dad teaching his teenaged daughter how to shave her legs by shaving his own as an example. (It was unclear from the voice-over whether Mom was dead or they’d split the dishes.) You may call Ol’ Robbo a dinosaur (and if you’ve done so before, you may do it again), but I thought this was pretty damned creepy. (I begin to believe those theories about the deliberate cultural pogram against masculinity.) Also, granted that Ol’ Robbo checked completely out of the feminine hygiene field the instant the Gels hit potty-training, is leg-shaving even a teaching thing? I’ve a vague notion the Gels all more or less figured it out for themselves. (I certainly did when I learned to shave, and faces are a lot trickier than legs.) Yuk.

Thirdiest, if you ever think of visiting the Imperial City for the cherry blossoms, don’t bother about it THIS year. A freak late-winter warm spell followed by a freak early spring arctic cold snap meant that the buds came out and then got crushed. Same for the magnolias, the forsythia, and even my clematis. Damn you, ManBearPig! Damn you to hell! (Also, what with the crazy weather patterns, I haven’t been able to do a thing in the yard this year. And because of the work I mentioned, I won’t get a chance to start until after Easter. Gonna be one serious mess this year.)

UPDATE:  I just got thinking: Since Ma Nature put such a kybosh on the winter/spring transition this year, is it unrealistic of me to hope this also means that pollen levels and insect swarms will also be down?  Silver linings and all that…..

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

For those two or three who still foregather here together, no, Ol’ Robbo is not gone. A combination of Lenten practices, busy-time work, and the fact that I’m still confined to posting from my phone is the simple explanation for my recent….tersity? Terseness? Lack of posts.

Anyhoo, sass this crazy March weather? Mid-week warm and sunny spells coupled with lingering winter weekends have meant that lots of things need doing in the yard now but I’ve had no chance to do them.

Now they’re talking about our possible first major snowfall of the year for early next week.

Like Crazy Eddie’s prices, this weather is IN-SANE!

(Bonus points if you get the reference.)

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

I hope that you all are adjusting to your seasonal fasts. Ol’ Robbo is almost there himself, although the giving up of the grape is always something of a wrench. This year I have found real solice in repeating to myself “Offer it up!”

Somewhat relatedly, the signs have all pointed me to really concentrate my readings and meditations this year on the subject of love, particularly love as selflessness. I’ve long known that if one is asking the question “What’s in it for me?”, one is doing it wrong, but some recent epiphanies and observations have convinced me to try and probe much deeper into the matter.

After all, all you need is love.

(“John Lennon. Smart man! Shot in the back. Very sad.”)

Stomping my own new post below, but I just wanted to say good for Betsy DeVos for advising college conservatives this week, “Don’t shut up.”

I sent the article to Eldest Gel (sorry, don’t know how to link on my iPhone) and she really appreciated it. Currently, she’s locked in battle with her Econ prof: the prof sets up a political/economic question based in certain given (and slanted) assumptions, and the Gel immediately starts challenging said assumptions. Rancor ensues.

The other thing that irritates the hell out of her is the expectation that she conform to certain beliefs and attitudes based on her sex. Apparently she was arguing about this with someone the other day and said, “I’m a woman. So, what? I think for myself, thank you.” Much fainting ensued.

That’s my Gel!

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo finds himself on the back porch of Port Swiller Manor this morning, drinking a cup o’ Joe and continuing to enjoy the ridiculously lovely weather we’ve been having in these parts of late.  Alas, it’s all supposed to end later today, with showers/storms this afternoon and plunging temperatures tonight.

Heigh, ho.  At least one advantage is that a more seasonal late winter will help Ol’ Robbo get his head straight for Lent, which starts Wednesday.  Awfully hard to get into the spirit of the season when it’s so damn nice out.

Anyhoo, last weekend I spent some time hauling sticks and branches and generally cleaning up the yard.  In the process, I seem to have pulled something in my back, and it’s still bugging me.  Have I really reached the point where I’m going to have to so stretches and put on a protective brace before doing yard work?

That’s sobering prospect.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Yes, when the Eldest Gel, on her drive back to college, calls Port Swiller Manor an hour or so before she’s due to arrive at school but doesn’t leave a message when Ol’ Robbo can’t make it to the phone in time, I get somewhat agitated and am a wee bit snappish when I finally DO make contact with her and learn that there was never actually a problem.

Is this wrong of me?

Back in the day when I protested the Mothe’s seeming over protectiveness, she’d put on her best Jewish matron voice and say, “Just wait! Someday you’ll have children of your own!”

Yep.

Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo is enjoying a much-appreciated Friday off today. My sole achievement so far has been to refill the bird feeders off the porch, and even then I didn’t bother to change out of my robe and jammers. Hey, I like to watch the birds with my morning coffee. Got a problem with that?

On the whole home computer thing, I’m beginning to lean towards a Laptop of Robbo’s Own.  (Everyone else at home has one, so why not?) Any suggestions? I really only would use it for on-line shopping/research and blogging, so I don’t need anything fancy-shmancy (or pricey). Mrs. R wants me to take the desktop into the Apple store to see if they can fix it, but it strikes me that would probably wind up costing just as much.

Eldest Gel is home for the weekend.  She asked me last evening what I thought of Bitch McConnell telling Liawatha to sit down and shut up in the Senate.  I replied that he also should have told her to go make him a sammich.  The Gel laughed heartily.  That’s my gel!

Well, I suppose I should shift myself soon, as my non-paying job never ends: tax docs to prepare, lightbulbs to replace, and a run to the Bost Office today. But first? Maybe one more cup o’ Joe.

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