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Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Sundries first, just to mix it up a bit?
Ol’ Robbo is kicking himself a bit today because he missed last night’s display of the Northern Lights, a phenomenon which I have not seen before. Apparently, they were visible even well south of here. All I can say is that I had dismissed the possibility earlier in the evening because it was raining and overcast, and it didn’t occur to me to recheck the skies before I went to bed. Perhaps there will be an encore tonight?
Speaking of things meteorological, this week’s exciting news was the report of a tornado in Youngest Gel’s area. It seems to have missed her by about five miles. The story Ol’ Robbo got was that at word of the twister’s approach in the middle of the night, Youngest fled to her Young Man’s digs for shelter. I’ll concede that his place is rayther more storm-worthy than hers, but…….Mmm-hmm. (I think – I think – that those two are going to wind up together: they’re definitely making post-graduation plans around each other, but Youngest is being maddeningly coy about it all and hiding behind studying for her exams. Ol’ Robbo may have to go full paterfamilias when he heads out for graduation next week.)
And speaking of nothing in particular, how about Ol’ Robbo’s beloved Nationals, who are playing surprisingly competitive ball at the moment! (They’re just over .500 at the time of this posting, a height they last reached, if I heard the stat correctly, sometime in June 2021.) Lots of very young but strong talent coming into form, from what I can see. Of course, given our management, these kids likely will be incubated here for another couple years and then lost to teams like the Yankees because we won’t cough up enough coin to keep them. Eh. In the meantime, however, Ol’ Robbo is enjoying baseball again. What else is there to say except GO NATS!!!
So, as to gardening…..
Ol’ Robbo is happy to say that the damned dear didn’t get all of the buds off his roses: the survivors are opening out now. Meanwhile, the foxgloves are beginning to form buds, as are my blueberries and raspberries. It’s far too early to expect anything out of the butterfly bush and cupflower yet: my main garden plot doesn’t get into full gear until summah.
Today was pruning day here at Port Swiller Manor, with the focus on the holly hedge by the sidewalk and the large shrub, the name of which I cannot recall, by the front door. Ol’ Robbo is always a bit hesitant to pull out his shears, as once I start chopping, I tend to fall into berserker mode and overdo it. Today, however, I restrained myself, taking just enough off the hollies to thwart snerps in the neighborhood from leaving sanctimonious little notes in my mailbox about the requirement to keep the sidewalks free from overhang. (I’ve had this happen in the past.)
I also had another go-around with the wild grape that really seems to be coming out extra-aggressively this year. Like all terrorists, including those being loudly supported by idiot kollege kidz at the moment, the vines think they can shield themselves from attack by embedding themselves in civilian populations. Whelp, Ol’ Robbo is at the point of being perfectly willing to sustain collateral damage to purge the bastards once and for all: if firing Round-Up into a vegetative shield is what is required, so be it.
Finally, still no hummingbird sightings as of yet this year. This doesn’t necessarily mean they aren’t coming into the feeder yet, just that Ol’ Robbo hasn’t spotted them at it. At the same time, they always seem to get to my feeder later than they do other people’s in the area, why I don’t know. Just one of those things, I guess.
Greetings, my fellow port swillers and happy Epiphany! Ol’ Robbo is looking forward once again to secretly chalking the traditional Epiphany greeting over the Port Swiller Manor front door and seeing how long it will last until Mrs. R notices it. (Unfortunately, she looks on such things as bits of “boogie-boogie-boo!” and is rayther intolerant of them.)
Speaking of the outside, they went so far as to treat the roads yesterday for the first time this season, but it looks like the latest Storm of the Century of the Week is only going to drop a few flurries here this morning before it turns all to rain. Yawn.
Eldest Gel heads back to school tomorrow, the last of them to leave. All in all it was quite pleasant having teh three of them home for a bit, except for the discovery at 4 ack emma one night that one of them had managed to clog the septic line yet again, requiring a very expensive snaking out the next day. Ol’ Robbo admits he rayther blew his top over that one, but I think the yelling and pounding on tables was, in the circumstances, perfectly justified. (It also induced a contrite confession from the malefactor, after which no more was said, so there was that at least.)
Also on the housing front, we had a fellah out last week to give us another estimate on restoring the basement. He’s the young son of a friend of Mrs. Robbo’s and eager to build up a client base, so hopefully he’ll give us a good deal. On the other hand, we also had a different fellah out to give us an estimate on replacing the Port Swiller Manor roof which, after a quarter century, is beginning to show its age. The figgah he came back with just made us laugh and laugh. (Ol’ Robbo wouldn’t mind a legit Storm of the Century of the Week putting a limb down on said roof, thereby allowing us to shove the expense off on the insurance company.)
As a sign that the house isn’t the only thing starting to age round here, Ol’ Robbo went for a follow up visit to the doc yesterday. She was very pleased with the effects the blood pressure med she recently prescribed is having on the Robbo circulation, but now she wants me to start a cholesterol prescription, too, AND go see a urologist about my prostate. (I suppose since that’s what did in the Old Gentleman, and at a relatively young age too, this is one recommendation I shouldn’t ignore.) Heigh-ho.
Poor Decanter Dog is also on the sick list. She cut her haunch somehow a few days ago and it got infected. So, hey for the antibiotic shot and the cone of shame. The vet also foisted on us a couple other meds to deal with tummy issues apparently related to all this, but after trying (unsuccessfully) to jam them down her throat, we decided the best thing for her was really just to let her sleep it all off. She’s resting comfortably at my feet and already seems a bit better today than she was.
Meanwhile, to round out the pet front, we’ve got mice again and Decanter Cat and Kitten are having a ball chasing them about. Unfortunately, they so far don’t seem to be so good about actually eliminating them. I believe I read somewhere that for cats the chasing part is instinctual, but that they have to be taught by mum what to do once they’ve got their prey in claw. It’s pretty plain that neither cat ever received such education.
Well, that’s that for the Home Front. It’s a bit topsy-turvy and stressful sometimes, but compared to the ever-darkening world outside, it’s still a harbor of calm and sanity. As anybody paying even the least attention to the nooz will know, 2024 is going to be quite interesting (in the Chinese curse sense). I hope we can maintain our little sanctuary amidst the chaos.
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
WordPress remains on the fritz and I can only post from a very, very tiny box. But I got some kind of cryptic message this afternoon suggesting that the WP bots might be working on the problem. Your continued patience is muchly appreciated!
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
WordPress is on the fritz at the moment (don’t know how I’m posting this), and I’ve no idea when things will get back to normal.
Please stand bye. (And have another glass!)
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Ol’ Robbo doesn’t have much to say for himself at the moment.
Fall is definitely here, with a genuinely crisp morning today. I also think the hummingbirds have now left for warmer climes. (UPDATE: Narp, they’re still here.)
Speaking of falls, we now have to carry Decanter Dog down the stairs because she can’t seem to navigate them anymore, as her eyesight is starting to go. Alas, I’m afraid she’s starting to age.
On a cheerier note, Ol’ Robbo salutes his beloved Nationals for having a much better season than he originally feared, especially after their miserable start. Yes, we’re still in last place but I though we’d lose 100+ games for sure early on. More importantly, a genuine competitive core is starting to emerge. I hope (and believe) the trend will continue going forward. (As far as the playoffs go, my attitude is Anybody but the Philthies.)
Also on the athletic front, I’ve got back into my routine of periodic sets of pushups throughout the day plus a lunchtime power-walk, which for some reason I had dropped. I can’t think why, as it really makes all the difference. (Alas, I still can’t use my equipment in the Port Swiller Manor basement until we get it cleaned up and put back together.)
Same thing when it comes to my piano-playing. After a long lapse, I’ve started messing about with some of Haydn’s sonatas and wondering why I ever gave them up.
Ol’ Robbo finds himself rereading the Flashman Papers for the umpteenth time and feeling marginally guilty about it. But they’re that good. And how is rereading a book any different that re-listening to a favorite CD?
Whelp, it seems possible that I may have some time on my hands next week, work-wise, although I still rayther doubt it. This morning, Mrs. R said, “Hey! You could paint Eldest Gel’s bedroom!” Grrrr…….
Greetings, my fellow port swillers, and huzzay, huzzah!!
Why, you may ask? Because as of today the Port has been on the table for fifteen years! And that’s real years. In blog years, I think that’s something closer to eighty.
Like everything else these past couple months, this anniversary caught Ol’ Robbo on the hop, so I don’t really have anything profound to say to mark the occasion, except to thank the two or three of you who still drop in from time to time to scan my feeble observations. I know I don’t deliver the same product I used to (if I ever did) but I still enjoy plugging away here, and am still gratified every time I think I’ve made any kind of difference with something I write.
So, ladies and gentlemen, charge your glasses gunn’ls under! Here’s three times three and no heeltaps, and another fifteen years!!
HUZZAY! HUZZAY! HUZZAY!
UPDATE: The lovely and talented Sleepy Beth also had a blogoversary yesterday, her 19th. (I still beat her tho’ because I started with the Llama Butchers in November of ’03.) She puts into pixels a timeline and synopsis of the whole bloggy experience a lot better than I could. By the bye, Beth is, I believe, the only person ever to claim that Ol’ Robbo was her favorite Llama. Yip! Yip! Yip!
I also wanted to raise a glass to all those blogs in my “Under the Table” column, friends from the past who have drifted away for one reason or the other. Those were good times, indeed, and Ol’ Robbo can’t resist indulging in the fantasy that one day a bunch of them might suddenly reactivate. Sláinte!
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Ol’ Robbo discovered rayther abruptly yesterday morning that they are dickering about with all the metro stops at this end of his regular line and that it is necessary to board a shuttle bus to get to that part of the line still in operation.
Thinking I would out-fox the system, I slid over to the line which is actually closer to Port Swiller Manor but has no parking. Narp – that one is disrupted, too.
There is something about the subway – shuttle bus – subway commute which particularly irks Ol’ Robbo. It epitomizes everything I detest about mass transit/urban living, from the authoritarianism to the incompetence of our Betters. (They did a major overhaul of my line three years ago. That they have to disrupt it again so soon suggests to the cynical side of me that somebody screwed up.) May as well just brand us all, put bells round our necks, and get it over with.
Incidentally, as the second line I mentioned has no parking, I got Mrs. R to drop me in the morning. She was unavailable to retrieve me in the evening so I simply walked home from the nearest station. It took a solid 45 minutes, not at all a bad jaunt when the weather is pleasant, but rayther a long time to be hauling a heavy bag.
Thank Heaven I don’t have to do this on a regular basis anymore.
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Regular friends of the decanter will know that Ol’ Robbo is, for lack of a better word, something of a crank when it comes to putting up Christmas decorations, preferring to delay as long as possible. Ideally, I’d wait until Christmas Eve itself before decorating the tree and switching out purple bows and candles for red ones as we did when I was a kid. Mrs. R sees things differently, so of course I’ve had to compromise some in this matter, but I still try to stall as long as I can.
We bought our tree this year this past Saturday. This I didn’t mind so much, and indeed it’s a real necessity. Around here, if you don’t get in your tree at least two weeks early, you can easily find yourself not getting one at all. I noticed even the lot at my church was totally cleaned out by Sunday. (And my were they pricey this year, too!)
There, I thought, the matter would rest for a while. You see, in recent years Middle Gel has taken over primary decorating duty (the other two have never been much interested) and she doesn’t get home from school until this coming Friday. I’d have been perfectly content to set the tree up in its stand and let it sit for the week.
However, there’s a catch this year. Although the Gel gets home Friday, she’s immediately turning around and heading out on Saturday to prepare to perform in a Lessons and Carols service at her former choir director’s local church down in the Tidewater. So she wouldn’t be available for decorating until the following Monday. This would have been perfectly fine with me, but by some process of reasoning, Mrs. R decided it would be Too Late.
So imagine my surprise, once I got the tree in its stand on Saturday, when Mrs. R said, “Good, now please put on the lights and bring up the rest of the decorations so that I can add them.”
Biffed again.
We have a new feature this year, too. Mrs. R got her hooks on the large, West German-made electric train set which used to circle the trees of her yoot. I’ve no problem with this at all, at all, nostalgia being in general a Good Thing, except that I’ve already disclaimed any responsibility whatever if one of the cats manages to zap herself on the tracks.
(At least I also convinced Mrs. R this year that as long as the tree’s already up she can go ahead and put the presents under it so that I no longer have to trip over them in the closet. “I think the whole ‘Santa’ story is pretty much blown by now,” I said. She giggled.)
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
How about a little nonsense to celebrate the end of February?
Ol’ Robbo has mentioned here before how intelligent Decanter Kitten is proving to be, but now I’m starting to have some doubts. She was sleeping in my lap yesterday morning when my stomach started grumbling. This convinced her there was a mouse or something under my robe, whereupon she began to attack. That hurt.
I also mentioned rereading Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time. I’d hoped to finish before Lent begins, but I find I’m just starting the last of the twelve novels and I don’t think I’m going to make it. Do I binge tonight and tomorrow night? Or just let it go for now? Decisions, decisions….
Speaking of Lent, I don’t plan to stop posting this year because I have other, ambitious, penitential plans and may need to vent a bit. (Wish me luck.)
Sooooo….Will MLB have a season or not? I guess today is “fish or cut bait” day. I guess I hope they do, but I’ve been off baseball for two years now so it won’t be the end of the world if they don’t. (One of the things Management is looking for, evidently, is to allow on-field rules changes after only 45 days’ notice instead of a full year. That’s practically Calvinball, that is.)
Finally, Ol’ Robbo reads where some of the good citizens of Ottawa are still hearing “phantom” honking, even though the truckers have now left downtown. I know I’m not meant to laugh about this…but I do. (Yes, I’m a bad man.)
Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Ol’ Robbo is having browser issues – nothing loads all the way up, so I am literally typing this blinds. Hopefully, things will get back to normal soon.
The Port Stands At Your Elbow 
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