weather | dual personalities

November 2, 2016

“We could be confidantes. Confiding confidentially.”*

by chuckofish

It is November, but it doesn’t feel like it, that’s for sure!

I mean really.

We had a quiet Halloween. No one knocked at our door. I watched the Halloween episode of Angel, season 5–“Life of the Party”–the one where Lorne works around the clock to throw the ultimate Halloween party at Wolfram & Hart, but problems arise when he has his sleep removed. Then I watched two more episodes for the heck of it. Not a bad way to spend Halloween.

I guess it is time to put away my festive (and very vintage) Halloween candles.

I should note that today is the birthday of the great American pioneer Daniel Boone (1734-1820)

who…

Of all men, saving Sylla, the man-slayer,
Who passes for in life and death most lucky
Of the great names which in our faces stare,
The General Boon, back-woodsman of Kentucky,
Was happiest amongst mortals any where;
For killing nothing but a bear or buck, he
Enjoyed the lonely vigorous, harmless days
Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze.

Lord Byron wrote those lines in Don Juan, Canto 8. Old Dan’l was a pretty famous guy! Anyway, I will remind you that Boone spent those latter days in my flyover state in the appropriately named town of Defiance.

As Boone said, “I firmly believe it requires but a little philosophy to make a man happy in whatsoever state he is. This consists in a full resignation to the will of Providence; and a resigned soul finds pleasure in a path strewed with briars and thorns.”

I concur. Discuss among yourselves.

*Fred in the “Life of the Party” episode of Angel, season 5

The portrait of Boone is by John James Audubon.

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August 16, 2016

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.”*

by chuckofish

Well, gee whiz. Heavy rain, causing power outages, road closures and water rescues, has wrecked havoc once again in our flyover bi-state area.

It took me a long time to get into work yesterday, but I had no problems except that my tire light came on and I had to deal with resetting it. Modern Problems.

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They say it may clear (partially) tomorrow. Awesome.

*Norman Maclean, A River Runs Through It

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July 18, 2016

“Let the trees of the forest sing”*

by chuckofish

When I got to church on Sunday I saw that two huge oak trees had been blown down in last Wednesday’s big storm. The branches had been moved out of the driveway, but the huge trunk with its root ball still remained.

During the announcements our rector told us that the pastor of the St. Louis Family Church, a very large evangelical church in west county, had called him the next day and said he would send people out to move the downed trees asap. This is part of their emergency storm relief mission. Our rector said, “Thank you!” The motto of this church is “Honor God. Help people.” I was surprised, impressed and the news made me feel very happy. This must be a very busy week for those volunteers.

I did quite a lot of work in our own yard on Saturday–cleaning up from the storm. I filled five bags with detritus.

The boy came over with some loppers and he and the OM cut up the big branches and filled a bag too. What a storm! I was actually driving home when it hit and it was very scary indeed. I was afraid a tree would fall on my little car and I would be squished. Zut alors! was I glad to get home.

In other news, we celebrated the OM’s birthday with the boy and daughter #3 at a restaurant down in Lafayette Square in the city–We are so adventurous!

I couldn’t be in this picture, because I didn’t get the memo about wearing blue!

Also, the boy got his first penalty in a hockey game and also made his first shot on goal. Onward and upward.

We watched a terrible movie: Hail, Caesar! (2016), the Coen brothers send-up of Hollywood in the 1950’s. Even Channing Tatum couldn’t salvage this mess. Totally not funny.

I finished The Woman Who Walked in Sunshine, the 17th installment of the #1 Ladies Detective Agency books by Alexander McCall Smith. Although I find these books mildly irritating, I am a loyal reader and always ultimately enjoy them. Precious Romotswe is a great character after all.

[Clovis Anderson] wrote: Do not allow the profession of which you are a member to induce you to take a bleak view of humanity. You will encounter all sorts of bad behavior but do not judge everybody by the standards of the lowest. If you did that, he pointed out, you would misjudge humanity in general and that would be fatal to discerning judgement. If everybody is a villain, then nobody is a villain, he wrote. That simple expression had intrigued her, even if it was some time before its full meaning–and the wisdom that lay behind it–became apparent.

Wise words to ponder this week. Discuss among yourselves.

*1 Chronicles 16:33

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June 24, 2016

Keeping cool, flyover style

by chuckofish

Circa 1990

It is really hot here in flyover country–dog days hot–and it is only June! Time to break out the gin and tonics and read poetry!

Here is an appropriate poem by old William Cullen Bryant, who probably thought the temperature was roasting at 79-degrees. Try 99-degrees! Read the whole thing–it’s good!

It is a sultry day; the sun has drunk

The dew that lay upon the morning grass,

There is no rustling in the lofty elm

That canopies my dwelling, and its shade

Scarce cools me. All is silent, save the faint

And interrupted murmur of the bee,

Settling on the sick flowers, and then again

Instantly on the wing. The plants around

Feel the too potent fervors; the tall maize

Rolls up its long green leaves; the clover droops

Its tender foliage, and declines its blooms.

But far in the fierce sunshine tower the hills,

With all their growth of woods, silent and stern,

As if the scorching heat and dazzling light

Were but an element they loved. Bright clouds,

Motionless pillars of the brazen heaven;–

Their bases on the mountains–their white tops

Shining in the far ether–fire the air

With a reflected radiance, and make turn

The gazer’s eye away. For me, I lie

Languidly in the shade, where the thick turf,

Yet virgin from the kisses of the sun,

Retains some freshness, and I woo the wind

That still delays its coming. Why so slow,

Gentle and voluble spirit of the air?

Oh, come and breathe upon the fainting earth

Coolness and life. Is it that in his caves

He hears me? See, on yonder woody ridge,

The pine is bending his proud top, and now,

Among the nearer groves, chestnut and oak

Are tossing their green boughs about. He comes!

Lo, where the grassy meadow runs in wives!

The deep distressful silence of the scene

Breaks up with mingling of unnumbered sounds

And universal motion. He is come,

Shaking a shower of blossoms from the shrubs,

And bearing on the fragrance; and he brings

Music of birds, and rustling of young boughs,

And sound of swaying branches, and the voice

Of distant waterfalls. All the green herbs

Are stirring in his breath; a thousand flowers,

By the road-side and the borders of the brook,

Nod gaily to each other; glossy leaves

Are twinkling in the sun, as if the dew

Were on them yet, and silver waters break

Into small waves and sparkle as he comes.