Boys of November?

The fifteen levels of playoffs have gone too far. I don't mind that they are in basketball (also known as running ping pong) or football ( also known as crunch, crunch, bang, bang, who really gives a crap?) or the Olympics (which should really be sponsored by Pfizer) but to be playing the World Series this late in the year is ridiculous. It may snow in Philadelphia tonight. I intend to stay up and watch the game. I took a long nap after my walk today so that I don't fall asleep. So much for the no television resolution but it is the WORLD SERIES! Shame on the fool that allowed things to go this far! This is BASEBALL, the national pastime.
It used to be so nice to go to a ball game. A cold beer, several hot dogs, popcorn, sausages and peppers were an addition that was acceptible, and a slight sunburn made the day perfect.
Now it looks like hot cocoa and nachos with ski parkas and gloves. No more "Kill the Umpire!", now it will be REPLAY, REPLAY, REPLAY! This is baseball, not synchronized swimming. We need a little more John McEnroe and a lot less Frosty the Snowman. This is the sport where you can jump to your feet when a human being lofts a ball, that is going over a hundred miles an hour, over the Green Monster. Do you get the same feeling when when an oversized monster makes a slam dunk or a Bambi-like receiver catchs a ball in the end zone? This is the sport of Lou Gherig and Joe DiMAGGIO and TED WILLIAMS and Kirk Gibson (will I ever forget that moment?). The world has changed. Not all change is good (are you listening Obama?) There is no smoking in the Cask and Flagon. There are no more nickel Cokes. You have to pay to get your telephone fixed. There are no more Carmellow Bars. THERE WILL BE PEOPLE DRINKING LATTES AT THE WORLD SERIES! Do you think that the Bambino would have had several Lattes and Nachos before each game. He would have had to leave the park to smoke his cigar.
I have heard that the problem with America today is that there are no more heroes. I think the problem is that there are too many sissies! We need a ball park where the beer taps flow, the hot dog rolls are graced with butter,and the vendors walk up and down the steps with ice cream sandwiches and chocolate covereds. IF YOU BUILD IT, THEY WILL COME! Where have you gone Jolting Joe?

"And rain on me.".

Yesterday, just barely yesterday as I am up so early having already gotten eight hours sleep, was spaghetti sauce and sausages. The sauce came out fine even though I forgot to put the anchovies in it. A full head of garlic and some red wine ensured that the taste was pleasing. The parmesan rinds provide enough MSG to compensate for the lack of anchovies.
It was raining while I was assembling the sauce but it had stopped by the time that the simmering had started. As the sauce has to simmer for six hours, it looked like a good time for a walk. So the umbrella and I went for a stroll. The weather was cool but not uncomfortably so. When I decided that I had walked far enough, I headed back to where I live. The rain tried to start again but resolved itself into an almost liquid mist. I was going to put up the umbrella but the mist felt so pleasant that I just kept walking. It was like being at the seashore in the very early morning. When I got home I was DAMP! Change to dry clothes, put on warm socks and slippers, fry up the sausages, and wait three hours for the sauce. HMMM, what's that over on the counter? A very large bottle of Burgundy that has already been opened! Out came Stephen Hawking's book, out came a wine glass, and out came the sniffles. I guess that I am past the age where I can go walking in the rain with no side effects. So from now on it will have to be rain on the street, rain on the tree, rain on the sea but no rain on me.
A big dish of bucatini and sauce and sausages later, it was time for a nap. The nap lasted until one o'clock this morning. The good news is that it was another day of no T.V..
Outside there are rumblings of thunder and it will be a long while until daybreak. When it gets light I will go walking. It is too enjoyable to be forestalled by a few sniffles. I still have five quarts of sauce to revel in. Perhaps I will need some more Burgundy. Port may be a better choice for such a day but port has proven itself stronger than I am. Port and peaches yes, port and spaghetti, a sacrilege.
Sacrilege, the word reminds me of an old Catholic adage. "Abortion is a sacrilege. If men had the babies, abortion would be a sacrement.".

Another wonderful day

Today was much like yesterday. The Sun was shining, the birds were singing (really only one crow and the sound was much like the sound that I make when I try to sing), and the leaves were everywhere. I am becoming fond of asparagus, the pencil thick ones not the thumb thick ones. I have plans for my infamous ten gallon spaghetti sauce tomorrow.
Two days without television, I am so proud of myself! I am not usually awake at this time of night but I got a call from a telemarketer about seven P.M. and have been unable to get back to sleep. I mentioned to the lady that there are restrictions on the time that they can call but she told me that it is several hours earlier where she is.
Tomorrow will be cooking and another walk. I shouldn't call what I do a walk. It is an amble. It is so nice to have the time to slowly move along, noticing the small things that enrich this world. I saw a wooly bear caterpillar with a stripe so wide that it reached to the end. BRRRRR! I must find my wool hat and long underwear, I will probably be needing them soon. I tried the heat and it came on. I shut it back off but I am looking forward to the days of sitting in a warm place watching the snow fall outside the window. Snow, what a joy it is. It covers the blemishes of the Earth and seems to say "All is well, errors are forgotten, let's start over.". It tickles the nose and bites the toes and justifies hot cocoa. It is as much a part of New England as the granite and the beans and the maple syrup and the codfish cakes. Would the symphony of Spring be so grand without the prelude of Winter? Will this global warming thing banish snow angels from our lives? It would seem to be an empty world without them.

The colors of life

Yesterday was a refreshing long overdue. I went for a walk and once again was heartened by the colors of Fall. I cooked a nice meal and didn't watch television, congratulating myself on achieving a goal I often set but seldom achieve. I went to bed while it was still light out but during the night I kept waking up, realizing that I was having dreams about things that happened when I was very young.
Finally I lay awake thinking. I realized that the melancholy of the past few days had passed. I have come to accept what I am, not what I should have been. I didn't do what I should have or was capable of, I just DID. Then a pleasing thought came to me. Why isn't there a color called melancholy? There is cerulean blue and burnt sienna, why can't Crayola make a melancholy? I imagine it would be sort of a lightish purple. Not the deep blackness of despair or the fiery orange of anger or the heartstopping greeness of some dark haired women's eyes but a gentle purple that says I am not a merry sunshine but I am going to be O.K.. The common phrase is "I am blue.". That doesn't begin to describe the feeling of melancholy. The sky can be a brilliant blue and gladden the heart, the sea can be a blue that twinkles in the Sun and lifts the spirit. Blue is not an acceptible definition. A nice gentle purple, not the deep dark of beet water or the foreboding purple of venous bleeding or the permanence of the stain that comes from those purple berries that grow by the side of the road on upright stalks. I was young and wore my new school clothes outside before school began and got into those berries. The carmine fire that shot from my Mother's eyes soon faded as she attempted to remove the stains. Somewhere, in a landfill far away there, there is a pair of chinos that look like they were at a Grateful Dead concert. Somewhere, in a landfill in Texas, there is a pair of white sandals with the red mud of the Red River muting their alabaster newness. That was one of my proudest moments, a time when I did do the right thing. The tears of a child should never be allowed to multiply, they are an anathema to the world.

FIX-IT
Yesterday was a wonderful day for walking. The Sun was shining, the air was the same temperature as me, and the leaves accented each footstep with a pleasing crunch. The palette of the maples, with its reds and oranges and purples and greens and yellows and browns sang of the glory of New England in the Fall. I stopped by the waterfall to feel the moisture in its breath and listen to the laughter in its voice.
Unfortunately it was also a good time for thinking. The other night I watched a comedy show that had a man that was supposed to be a financial expert. He was asked what he thought that the government should do about the financial crisis. He said "FIX IT, FIX IT, FIX IT!".
I started thinking about fix-it. Ever since I was eighteen, I have been involved with FIX-IT. As an electrician, as an electronics repairman, as a telephone technician, as a roofer, as a homeowner, as a Father, and as a husband, the demand has always been FIX-IT! I feel that I succeeded in all except the last. At the waterfall the thought exploded in my mind "How can I fix it when I am the one that broke it?". The one that broke something is not the resource to go to when it is time to fix something. Perhaps it is time for the Democrats to take over. A change of captains and venue is sometimes the only answer. It has been in my experience.
So much for the regrets of the past. Today will be roast chicken, mashed potatoes, string beans, and squash. There is also the friendliest bottle of Sauvigon Blanc out there for the sauce. It is a very large bottle and I only need about one half cup for the sauce. I wonder what will happen to the rest during the two and one half hours that I am waiting for the chicken to cook. HMMMM? I like cooking with wine very much, I like wining with cooking even more.

This morning I read the blog of one of my daughters concerning raising orphaned or abandoned kittens. My heart filled with pride over the tender and sweet person she has become. She has an infinite supply of love for living things, excepting spiders, and to achieve such a level of empathy is the highest state a human being can aspire to.
I tried to leave a comment but was unable to. Yesterday my Brother brought me a new computer. It has all of the bells and whistles of the new age of computers. It can go from zero to sixty in a flash, stop on a dime and give you nine cents change. He spotted it in someone's trash and took it home and brought it back to life. He is amazing with anything that has moving parts. NASA could get the Hubble telescope fixed if they could only find a spacesuit big enough to fit him. The only problem would be that they would have to let him drive.
The groceries for the month of November are all in and I am looking forward to the cold weather, cooking, and reading under a nice warm blankie while watching the snow fall outside. Some cocoa and grahamn crackers will set the tone. So here in New England we are hunkering down for the seasons of rest and recharging. Soon up on the roof there will arise such a clatter!

To be a Red Sox fan is not for the faint of heart. They can take you from the depths of despair to the heights of exultation in a moment. Some say no one can ever match Kirk Gibson's moment in the World Series. That may be true but watching Carl Yastremski bat in a losing cause in the ninth inning of the last game, refusing to go down on a called strike or watching Ted Williams hit a home run with the last swing of the bat in his career comes close. All those years of disappointment were not disappointing, They were full of drama and hope and pride. I have been listening to people lament over the trading of Manny Ramirez. Where does that compare to the trading of Babe Ruth? What a town for baseball! Who else has anything to compare with Fenway Park? What other city has a skyscaper that announces the state of the game? Thank you Red Sox. You have added admirably to the joy of living. You have pretty good sausages and peppers also.

I am up before Dawn. I still get up at the same time each morning. A lifetime of arising at five A.M. is hard to overcome but the Dawn is later and later each day as the season progresses. The lateness of the Dawn is thanks to the axial tilt of the Earth. The up at five is thanks to the U.S. Army and the telephone company. It is a peaceful time, before the daily rush of commuters and motorcycles pushes the peace aside. Each morning a freight train comes through in the dark, wailing its mournful groan as it passes through the town. It always reminds me of when I was working in the Mid-West. A young man, far from home, stuck in a dead-end job but refusing to admit a mistake and staying with it. Out in the flat green pool table of America, long freight trains pierce the dark with their lonely lament. The perfect accompaniment for a brooding Swede sitting in the dark thinking "Things wouldn't be this bad if you only worked harder.". And so I wait for Eos's golden tresses to wreath the trees. The maple in the back yard was overpowering yesterday. The oranges and reds and yellows and still some greens were interrupted by only a few browns. I am looking forward to seeing it this morning.
So I sit here at the keyboard with one troublesome thought dashing in and out of my mind. Before I go to sleep each night I have been reading a book by Stephen Hawking. I took several Astronomy courses when I was younger, so parts of it are familiar but last night he put forth the concept of anti-time. As a way of simplifying the concept he used "i" and compared it to the square root of -1. I can't seem to get my mind around either concept. Then he offers a diagram that shows the beginning of the Universe at 0, expanding and then contracting to -0. Reading Stephen Hawking to put your mind at rest before going to sleep is like asking Stephen King to tell you a bedtime story.
The sky is beginning to lighten but there is a heavy layer of grey clouds that are obscuring even the moon, so the tree might have to wait another day. But trees are patient. They have learned to wait. I have learned to wait also. Wait for what? The song of the train.

What a glorious morning. The air is cool and dry, the mosquitos are nowhere to be found, and the coffee is hot and dark. I was up before sunrise and watched the dawning of the new day from the porch. As the light slowly grew I became aware of the treat that was coming and waited in slow anticipation. Then it happened, the first sunbeams broke through and the glory of the maple trees came to life. The colors of the leaves abandoned their muted glow and burst into vibrancy. The awe of the color of the maples and the sweetness that can come from them if one is willing to wait for the season more than compensate for their lack of an overt demonstration of fruit. Like everything in life, "Two outta three ain't bad!". The little helicopters are nice also and the way that you can split them and stick them on your nose.
Before I got up, I lay awake for a time wondering about the difference between hopes and dreams. Dreams are things that are probably never going to happen. Hopes are dreams that we have while we are awake. I have a dream that I have had for many years. It has not happened and did not happen yesterday. I hope that it will happen today. I am physically getting by, I am financially getting by, but my dream has not happened. I hope that it will happen today but "Two outta three ain't bad.".
I thought of the thanks that I offer each night before I go to sleep. "Thank you for freedom from pain. Thank you for a full belly. Thank you for a warm place to sleep.". Three out of three is good too.

Up at five A.M.. Coffee on the porch. It is a balmy morning. Yesterday morning there was ice on the porch, today it is mild and moist. Yesterday I made chicken parmesan again. It was as good as before. I must learn to confine myself to Italian and New England cooking. They are simple, use only the finest ingredients, and actually LOOK good. I have neither the resources nor the skill and patience needed for French cooking but boy do I have the appetite for it.
I watched part of the political debate. Neither candidate seemed to feel that specifics were important. I endured their platitudes and snide remarks until one candidate said that his plan was that he had confidence in the American people to ride out the troubles and build anew. So his plan is a confidence game! I turned off the TV and began to think. Why can't we find able people with no financial taint to vote for. I came up with a dream ticket. Bill Gates for president, Stephen Jobs for vice president, Warren Buffet for Secretary of the treasury, the head of the Marine Corps for Secretary of defense, George Bush Sr. for U.N. representative and head of the CIA, and T. Boone Pickens in charge of Energy. I miss William Jefferson Clinton very much. It is a shame that he can't run again.

Usual day, I awakened at three A.M., made coffee, and began pondering the eternal question "If there is only one M&M left in the bag, is it just an M?". My heart was gladdened by a fiery post.
Each time I meet Kristen's husband I am more and more impressed by him. His quiet dignity and his infinite patience are a wonderful example to the son that obviously adores his Father. The dignity and patience which with his parents treat each other will bear fruit in later years. It has already.

Yesterday was a banner day. One of those unusual times when the actual event is much better than the anticipation of the event. This morning I was reminded that I have been able to pass on something to the next generation. It is my inability to hold my tongue when a thought flits from my mind to my tongue. I have often experienced this in my two younger children but was unaware that the oldest has similar tendencies. It is too bad that my Father passed away so soon. They would have enjoyed hearing him give me the advice he so often gave to me "Nils, the only time you should open your mouth is to change feet.". This is only part of the legacy I have bequeathed to them. Think of all of the sunshine, music, rainbows, and respect for humanity that is in Ibsen's work. That has also been passed on to them.

Where do I stand? I stand corrected. Two days ago I made one of my typical statements from the twilight zone. I was corrected by one of the three persons in this world whose opinion I respect. I began to think about the contents of the correction. I realized that my opinions are simply borrowed from the nightly news and the blurbs of the internet. There is no thinking or reasoning behind them.
Yesterday I was going to go and register to vote. I decided not to. Why should my vote, that of a long haired sleeping gnome that lives in the past, be allowed the potential to negate that of a person who thinks and reasons and is informed about the world as it is now. I may still register if you can vote without choosing a candidate in the national election, as there are two state items on the ballot that need resolution. The first is the elimination of state income tax. The second is the elimination of serious penalties for the possession of less than an ounce of marijuana. I think that the elimination of the state income tax is a bad idea although the reasons given for retaining it are a bunch of baloney. The proponents of retaining the tax say that there will be no money to maintain the roads and bridges. The tax is here and those things are still not being done. The roads and bridges are supposed to be maintained with the excise tax on automobiles but none of that money is used that way. It turns out that that very large amount of money is entirely used up by the infrastructure that collects the tax. The state pension system is unfunded by the state. If you think that the legislature is going to allow their pension to disappear, welcome to my world. The lessening of the penalties for marijuana possession, which has destroyed some young lives, seems structured towards allowing the children of the very well off to escape any permanent record of such an event while putting such a remedy out of the reach of the poor.
One more ridiculous thought, you knew it was coming. The average taxpayer pays 28% income tax. The government lends the money to banks at 2%. The banks lend the money to the average taxpayer at 7%. The banks got a little greedy and cannot keep lending at such a disadvantageous arrangement. They need a big loan from the government. The government will get the money from Santa.
28% in, 2% out, pretty good deal.
7% in, 2% out, pretty good deal.
28% out, not so good.
All this endorsed by a taxpayer that lives in government housing.
It will be a cold day in Hell when you see a politician with his hands in his own pockets!
I don't think that I subscribe to any uterine stereotype, I am just commenting on what I see.

Thinking leads one to strange places. I realized yesterday that I have become too concerned with the national news. There is very little I can do to effect it but I can refuse to participate in the national malaise that is America today. What ever happened to the days when we were the good guys?
This line of thought was predicated by an e-mail message from a loved one suggesting that I visit www.michaelpalinfor president. It generated pleasant memories and pleasant thoughts. It might not be a bad idea.
I have been watching the Washington D.C. Flying Circus for eight years. It is about time that the silliness provide some entertainment rather than world wide apprehension. I nominate Michael Palin's character of the man with two bums for president. We have seen what one a-hole can accomplish in eight years, imagine if we had two in charge! The Ministry of Silly walks could conduct tours of Iraq and Afghanistan.
There is too much going on. My life is simple and very routine. I get up around two A.M. each day. I fritter three or four hours away on the computer. I go for a walk. I cook. I clean. I read and I go to bed. I am tired of all the craziness that is the news.
I was sitting and thinking of a simpler way when an old memory came to light, the Jains. They have had the secret to simplicity for six thousand years. I started thinking about their view of karma. They figured out string theory four thousand years ago.
I went to bed and the usual worries leaped out of the pillow. I lay there in the dark, fretting over various things. My worrying was interrupted by the lonely tolling of the church bell announcing the time. I pondered the simplicity and beauty of the sound of the bell. The worrys went away. I thought of the freshness of the air I was breathing in. I thought of the coolness of the water I drink. I thought of the wholeness of the simple foods that I eat. I dozed off.
When I awoke this morning, I thought about what had happened. I had purged my thoughts of the bad thoughts and concentrated on good, simple thoughts. The bad karma that flocks to bad thoughts had drifted away and the good karma had rushed in to be with the good simple thoughts. I could never be a Jain. I am too much of a carnivore, I would have a hard time living without garlic and onions, and I would have a hard time living in harmony with spiders.
Imagine a world run by the Jains. They are renowned for their honesty, integrity, hard work, and living with the planet not on it. Perhaps Azimov's Gaia would eventually come to pass.
As for me, I will live by the side of the road and be a friend to Man.