Revenge of the Snow Goddess

First sign of Spring? Pshaww. Right after I made that statement, it started snowing. It is not blizzard snow. The flakes are small and drifting down slowly but they are coming hard. It is the type of snow that school children love. It usually means early dismissal and no school tomorrow. I have sympathy for them as they are on Christmas vacation and are off anyway. It must seem like a wasted snow day to them. I am going to make buttermilk pancakes and bacon. Yes, that is right, bacon, glorious bacon. If you have the time and inclination, look up "The Bacon Explosion". Using that recipe, most of the cooks will never get up from the table. It is Crestor proof. Pork Rules!

Signs of Spring

The first signs of Spring are occuring. The seed catalogues are coming daily. "The hermit gets tucked so warm in his bed, while visions of Sugar Plum Tomatoes dance in his head". As usual, I have made extensive lists of the things that I would like. It would be so nice to have enough land to plant so many things.
I have been an inverterate list maker since I was eleven years old. I can still remember the list I made to go to Summer Camp. I never went to the camp but I can still recall all of the things that I thought that I would need there. I would have looked strange, arriving at the camp in a semi trailer full of stuff.
I have made so many lists since then. Lists of kitchen tools, lists of automobile options, lists of Aurora plane models, lists of types of chickens, and the list of types of lists goes on and on. No wonder I identify so much with Alan Harper. The joy I get from making each month's shopping list is perverted.
The only type of list that I avoid is the terrifying TO DO List. I have enough guilt in my life about the things that I have done. To put together a packet of things that will never get done is to create a bomb of guilt that will explode at a future time. I do very little and that is probably the reason that I feel so contented. The only way for me to avoid mistakes and failures and disappointments is to not do anything. This may seem to be overly pessimistic but I know me. My Brother has called me Gunner. Gunner do this and Gunner do that. It bothered me when he first did it but I thought about it and realized that he was right. My Brother is able to decide on doing something and, like a young beaver, keep concentrating on it until it is done. I bounce from one unfinished project to another. La Petite Anglais told me that I was high functioning A.D.D.. If anyone was qualified to make such a judgement, she was. My whole family is riddled with that condition.
Speaking of conditions, I hope that I don't develop any. I just got my new medical plan from the company that I used to work for, "Bob's Pretty Good Medical Plan". I have misgivings about how effective it will be. All of the doctors that subscibe to the plan have last names that start with three consonants. The places that issued their medical degrees are a mystery to me. I don't even know where Karachi is. I do know where Grenada is and one thing that is troubling is that they are not M.D.'s. They all seem to be D.O.'s. There it is, the sinister DO. If one would have to write to them, would you address the letter TO DO? (shudder, shudder, shudder). I can visualize their list. "February: Order more leeches, eye of newt, and dragon's blood.".
I remember my Father's advice on finding a doctor, "Always find a Jewish doctor. In any field, because of prejudice, Jews have to work twice as hard and be twice as good as anyone else just to achieve parity.".
The latest project was Pot Roast. Not just any Pot Roast but French Pot Roast! Of course, being French, it required fifty pots and one hundred ingredients. It came out O.K. and would have been better if I had taken the time to reduce a bottle of Pinot Noir down to one cup and had had some anchovies. I'm gunner try it again at a later date.
I will close now as the pile of used tissues is about to keel over. This cold, or whatever it is just keeps hanging on, and I have been declared "The Phantom of Phlegm".

Oodles of Onions

Yesterday I made onion soup. It might not sound like a big deal but I am housebound with the sniffles and was going bonkers for something to do. The soup takes several hours and uses six pounds of onions. It came out pretty good but I have had better. La Petite Anglais made much better onion soup. I also made No Knead Artisanal bread. I have made that before and it is a two day process that I started the day before. It is wonderful but I take no credit for it. I got the recipe from Cook's Illustrated along with the onion soup recipe. Despite all of the time saving suggestions the magazine makes on so many things, it always seems to be the ones that take a long time that come out delicious and rewarding.
It isn't just cooking that follows that maxim. Life seems to be the same way. Anything worth doing is worth taking the time to do it right. Unfortunately it takes a long time to learn this.
Both of the recipes I have mentioned are French. Is there anything about life that the French have not mastered? They have given up on being a world power and an economic powerhouse but they live, love, eat, and drink with gusto. It took them a long time to come to those goals but they seem to realize that we are not going to get out of this life alive so we might as well enjoy the ride. Good soup, good bread, good cheese, and good wine are much more satisfying to an individual than a stealth bomber or a fat portfolio. A year in Provence would be nice. The French even have a city named after this wishful condition. La Petite Anglais, I remember you!

To All

To all of you that I know and love, Merry Christmas to you and hope for a wonderful and peaceful New Year.

Tower

It is the day before Christmas and I am sitting beside a tower of used Kleenex. I don't know how I get a bug. I did recently use an ATM and I have read that the buttons on an ATM are infested with an army of germs. I always wash my hands when I get home but I must have touched my nose or my mouth before I got home. Still things are not so bad. I have more than enough food in the house and I can stay cuddled in my blankie and watch the snow that is beginning to fall. I have everything that I need to make onion soup and that is my next project.
Christmas will come and go. It has never been one of my favored holidays. I used to wonder how people would feel if on their birthday, people gave presents to other people.
I was once married to a Lady that really knew how to keep Christmas. There was an Advent calendar and cookies and a sumptuous meal and reading of "A Christmas Carole". Each member of the family got to read some passages and that was Christmas for me. The Christmas presents were unimportant to me. That was a disappointment to the Lady I was married to as I always forgot to get something for her until the day before Christmas and it was usually something small and cheap that happened to be left in the store.
I have often wondered why I feel this way about gift giving. The only reason I can think of is that I was raised in a family that did not do a lot of gift giving. There was never much money to do much gift getting. On my birthday my Mother would make a strawberry shortcake for me and I still treasure the memory of that.
The only day that had mandatory gift giving was my Mother's birthday. Several days beforehand, my Father would take my Brother and I by the ear and parade us to a store, open his wallet, and make sure that we got her a present. He was a wise man and knew better than to give us the money and tell us to go get something. We would have gotten her some small trinket and something nice for ourselves. She would have ooohed and aaahed over the presents and still loved us very much but his life would have become very stressful.
And so the spirit of Christmas still lives in my heart. The Advent calendar and the cookies and the groaning board and Charles Dickens are there but I don't remember much of what was inside the fancy wrapping.
I do fondly remember Clownie and the Lady that knew how to keep Christmas and a certain gingerbread house. Gifts come and go and are soon forgotten but not the love that surrounds a family at Christmas.
I do not know how many more Christmases I will see but I do know how many I will remember. All the ones where the Lady spread her warmth and joy all through the house.

A tad too much

The snow goddess must have read my last post and said "Oh yeah?". The snow kept falling and now there is just a bit too much on the porch and steps. It will be pleasant removing it when the Sun comes up. I have always enjoyed shovelling snow. It is a task that has a beginning and an end in sight. It is nice to have a task that has a definite end in sight instead of an ongoing project that labors on day after day and requires weekly updates to people that have no idea of what you are doing (read committee here). The only answer that I ever found for said committe was "Unseen forces do not want this project completed.". It was pleasant to see the glimmer of fear and then confusion pass over their faces and then hear their question "You didn't ever work for the Post Office did you?".
The cacciatore came out fairly pleasant but I may have put just a tad too much pepperoncini into it. It has just a bite of spice in it, maybe a chomp instead of a bite. I cooked up twelve chicken thighs with it, they were defrosted and needed to be cooked, so I guess that chicken is going to be on the menu for quite a few days.
Why Snow Goddess? That comes from a song I heard fifty years ago.
Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Dressed in a silk white gown
Tap, tap, tapping
On your window pane
To tell you she's in town
"If you want to take a sleigh ride
Come on the rides on me"
Here comes Suzy Snowflake
Dressed in a silk white gown
A memory from fifty years ago suddenly pops into your head. Where has it been hiding and what else is in that hiding place? I can't remember where I put the potholder I used three minutes ago but I can remember a ditty I first heard when I was about eight years old. Are the memories of youth more lasting than the memories of later years? I hope so because the memories of youth are usually purer and simpler than the memories of adulthood and the terrible years of adolesence with their insecurities and aimlessness.
Another one just popped up. It was an ad for a carpet cleaning company.

"How many cookies did Andrew eat?
Andrew ate eight thousand.
How do you keep your carpets neat?
Call ANdrew8-8000.".
I have to go now because Suzy opened a door and forgot to close it behind her and the others are streaming out.
Does the human race need a mental pop-up blocker? Not if the pop-ups are from a gentler more innocent time. Snow Angels and toboggoning just popped in. No sign of the tragedies and disappointments of the last few years. OOOPS
"Look both ways when you cross the street
So you'll be around to live and eat
Waleeco, Waleeco, coconut bars are the best I know
And the best is none too good
For those who do what they should, should, should".
It is nice to know that the wheels are still turning.

Solitare

Last night was a perfect night for solitare. The solitare that I practice is not the same as the solitare most people are familiar with. I learned to play in the Sixties. It consists of sitting comfortably by yourself in the evening, with a low soft light on, and reflecting on your life. I discovered it while trying to learn to meditate. Hey, it was the Sixties and everyone said it was the key to internal peace.
I never did learn to meditate. How can a person clear their mind of all things or concentrate on just one thing? My mind is like the insides of an old fashioned watch. There are innumerable wheels, all turning at different rates, and never ceasing to move. I have never been able to stop the wheels or just let one turn but I did discover solitare.
Solitare consists of sitting in the aforementioned environment and reflecting on my life. All of the failures I have initiated and all of the people who tried to love me and finally gave up due to the lack of reciprocity.
Solitare is dark and sultry and most would say that I should try to look on the bright side and lighten my life up. Noooo. After some time it is a cleansing and humbling thing. It feels good to sit and take inventory of your life and realize that you are just a man with all of a man's failings and defects. There is a lot of clay in your socks.
There is one thing that is missing. I used to have a Dusty Springfield record that I would play while solitaring. Her voice and music and lyrics were perfect for the moment. I think that she is probably the best singer that I have ever heard. I will say the Barbra Streisand singing Ave Maria and the lyrics of Elton John ( Burn Down the Mission and Country Comfort) are right up there with Dusty Springfield. There they go again, the little wheels turning at a furious rate while the big ones amble along.
There was a monster storm forecast for this area last night. This morning there is an accumulation and it is still snowing but there are no feats of snow. I am all tucked in and have no reason to go out. There are the remnants of a beef stew that I made several days ago and the larder is groaning. The stew is reasonable but not overwhelming. I didn't have any anchovies for it and the result is lackluster at best. Some day I will learn to make good beef stew. There are leftover buttermilk biscuits and I am going to make another attempt at chicken cacciatore.
The snow seems to be picking up. I hope that the birds and the squirrels are alright. There they go again. The snow was the big wheel and the birds and the squirrels were the little ones. Think of one thing or no things. How is that possible?

Lemon Mead

Two days ago I made Sima which is Finnish Lemon Mead. This morning the corks were lying on the other side of the kitchen so the mead must be done. I have made this before and it is pleasant but a bit strong. That should be no surprise as it is Finnish. The recipe makes six quarts so if a Russian tank comes up the driveway I will invite them for cocktails.
The past week has had several unseasonable balmy days but Winter is here. It is not bitterly cold but cold enough. After all it is the middle of December in New England and about time for some cold. Seeing people in shorts and tee shirts is not right for this time of year. That is not the proper dress for going over the river and through the woods.
I had been thinking of having roast goose for Christmas. That was until I priced one at the market. Fifty-seven dollars for a meal's main dish is a bit steep and a rib roast would be much cheaper and satisfying. Goose farming must be a very lucrative business. Scads of wild geese fly over the house in the Fall. Poached goose must also be very satisfying. A nice thick steak or piece of haddock is definitely in the future.
That's all the news from Lake Boondocks. I miss the city!

Chickened Out

The pea soup didn't happen. I noticed a piece of chicken in the refrigerator that needed to be cooked so I made chicken soup. The soup isn't that good. I think that I put too many aromatics in it and it looks more like spinach soup than chicken soup. I have lost the knack of making soup and will have to return to the recipe books. The corn bread is very good. I made it with buttermilk instead of regular milk. The recipe has to be adjusted by reducing the baking powder by half and adding some baking soda. The correct adjustment can be found in Fannie Farmer under baking powder biscuits. All of the esoteric cooking books that I have and I constantly find myself going back to Fannie Farmer and Betty Crocker.
I do have a new recipe for beef stew and I am looking forward to trying it. The recipe is in the latest copy of Cook's Illustrated and involves anchovies and mushrooms. I will withhold the baking soda and save it for the heartburn.
Today will be a day for taking care of the many things that need attention. It is about time that I got up off of my skinny butt and took care of things. These actions will have to be post-Wikipedia.

Fizzle

The forecasted Monster Blizzard didn't happen. This morning most of the snow is gone. The trees no longer wear the blobs of frosting they wore yesterday and the roads look clear. I was looking forward to snowdrifts and Lara's Theme. There will be other storms this Winter but I was anticipating this one very much. I am all tucked in and warm and happy. Today I will make Swedish Pea Soup. It is still c0ld enough to be a good day for homemade soup. I don't have any salt pork but I can substitute bacon and sausage. Maybe some Irish Soda Bread to go along with it or corn bread might be nicer as mixing anything Irish with Swedish usually results in a fight over the last beer.
Christmas is wending its way toward us and it might be a disappointing day for my loved ones as the larder is a bit sparse this year. It always seems to be around Christmas.

Winter, AT LAST!

There is little reason to live in New England without Winter. Spring is damp, Summer is measured by the race to get the tomatoes and zucchini ripe before the frost, Fall is nice but there are the leaves. All of these seasons are focused on the coming of Winter. Stock the larder, get out the shovels and the tree decorations and make sure that you have a fresh box of Bell's Seasoning.
Winter is here at last. We are due for a monster snow storm. The wind will blow, the snow will drift, the plow guys will chase each snowflake around town with their pick-up trucks. People will flock to the store for bread and milk and eggs. They will also flock to the liquor store, maybe for some sherry to go with the French Toast.
I went out this morning for something that I wanted and I will be able to survive comfortably for at least four days. My larder is packed and there are many dishes I have been longing to try. I still need to make the fish stock. If I don't make it soon I will have all of the ingredients for nouc mam. I don't have the recipe for the ancient Roman Garum but nobody else does either. That dish may have been the reason for installing a vomitorium.
Yesterday I was going to make the fish stock. I opened the refrigerator and there they were! The sausages looked up at me with a pleading look, unlike the fish that look at me with those big accusing eyes, and the sausages were joined in their appeal by the tomatoes and garlic and onions and mushrooms. Their chorus overwhelmed the fish stock mission and their masterpiece was ladled over linguini and topped with grated asiago. Today might be a good day to make oatmeal cookies or another loaf of that amazing almost-no-knead bread. The bread is baked in the Dutch Oven and comes out better than any artisan bread that I have ever had. Yes, that is a good plan for a snowy New England day. Spend the day loafing. It is Winter in New England. A time for rest and reading and napping and eating, At Last!
As long as the power stays on, this ant will be snug as a bug can be. If the power goes off, I have candles but it is so hard to cook with candles. Fondue maybe. MMMMM. I will try not to think of Giants in the Earth or Ethan Frome. This is Massachusetts, not Minnesota or Vermont. Winter in those places is more of a test than a rest.

Mister Underhill's Bug

A new mystery has evolved. I rarely go anywhere and I don't have contact with anyone. How in the world did I get the flu? I got a flu shot a while ago so maybe I just have a nasty cold. While I was on one of my walks I must have touched something and then touched my nose or my eyes. Every time that I go out I wash my hands thoroughly when I return home. The only place that I can think of that might be the culprit is the library. I can see the headline now. "Man Expires From Too Much Reading." It would be a fitting epitaph for me.
I will have to go out today. There are things that I need and the little store down the street is very close. I went out yesterday for a walk in the snow and the cold. It was worth the effort. It is December in New England and it is about time that we had some snow and cold.
So I will go out and then return to a warm blanket and some hot tea with lemon and commiserate with myself. There is nothing more pitiful than a man with a cold. He sits huddled up with his tissues and blankie and wonders why there is no chicken soup for him to sip. He stares into the bathroom mirror and sees Rudolph staring back. He knows that he will get better but enjoys the self pity that emanates from every pore of his body. Linda Ronstadt created the anthem for a man with a cold. The lyrics are "Poor, Poor, Pitiful Me.". I don't need outside sympathy or compassion. I have enough of those for myself. I will get better. Not better than I was but better than I am now. I will close now (I can hear your cheers and applause) as I need to go and get some more tissues.

Something fishy this way comes

Last night I had the strangest dream. I have never been to China and I have most certainly not ever poled a raft down the Yellow River. That is the context of the dream. It was so lucid. The colors and the sounds of the river and the smell of rice and fish cooking on a bed of sand on the raft. The taste of lumps of rice and broth and fish and greens scooped up with a ladle-like spoon was so satisfiying and warming. Where can such a dream have come from? What remote dusty corner of my convoluted thought process can have been harboring such a journey? Where did the high red cliffs come from that accelerated the journey and swirled the raft around and around as it passed between them?
Will there ever be a time when I will be allowed full access to the library of my brain? There are so many mysteries there. I think of the library in "The Name of the Rose" another tedious book by Umberto Eco that I forced my way through. "Foucault's Pendulum" wasn't half bad but "Bardolino" was pure drudgery. That is what happens when you buy a book instead of getting it at the library. You feel morally obligated to finish the dreadful tome.
Today will be interesting as I have an understandable urge to make fish stock. First must come another trip to the grocery store, be still my beating heart, for there are things that I will need to make it. I have never made it before and it is something to anticipate. I will need fish and rice and leeks and marjoram. I have all of the other things that I will need. Maybe some cream for the inevitable herd of cats that will congregate on the porch will be in order.
It will be a pleasure to welcome such visitors. One thing I miss by living where I do. The landlord was very specific about no pets, especially cats. I have always had at least one cat and I would welcome the drooling devotion of a dog and the aloof companionship of a cat. I no longer miss human companionship but I do miss the petting and the purring. You give love to an animal and it gives it back. No conditions, no comments on how you could improve your life by changing -----, no snide remarks, and they never get telephone calls in the middle of the night. They also only dirty one dish and never a glass or silverware. A cat would be preferable as they don't have to be taken out for a walk so they can do a poop and then propel it halfway across the yard with a kick. A litterbox is preferable to a walk in the rain or snow and worrying about Rover's little brown footprints on the kitchen floor. Still there is the warm bond that seems to grow between Man and Dog, a dog trusts you implicitly but a cat merely seems to tolerate you, knowing that you will fail it at some time. Cats are a lot like human companionship.
Fish don't seem to make good pets. I will see if they make good stock. I look forward to putting the leftover fish frames and heads and tails into the rubbish barrel ouside. I can see a herd of cats poised on top of it when the landlord comes out to empty his rubbish. I have never really seen a conniption.

Swell Away Dear Heart

Recent events have my heart swelling with pride and love. My daughters, whom I have always loved and always been so proud of, have found a way to amplify those feelings exponentially. I have done one thing right in my life. I have been the father of the three most wonderful people in the world. It is enough and I am satisfied with my life. More than satisfied, I am beaming with joy and love and just a little bit of pride. It has been a long time since I felt pride in anything I have done and I am tickled pink to have even a glimmer of it return. It feels so good to know that someplace, somewhere in the world, I am loved.

The Right Thing

It is not very often that I do the right thing. I have on occasion done the right thing and not known about it until much later. Today I did the right thing and I realize it today. I had labored in my mind over it for some time and last night I made up my mind. I knew what the right thing to do was but it was much more advantageous to me to do the opposite. I lay awake for a while and decided to finally for once in my life to do the right thing at the right time. This morning I did the right thing. I am basking in the glory of knowing that I am loved and it is priceless. It is more than enough for me. Perhaps in the future the advantageous thing will happen but right now I would not trade the right thing for anything.
Blessed is the Father of Daughters!

Adventure

Anticipation is brimming over in my mind. I may be about to embark on a new adventure. Too long have I been Mr. Underhill and I may be about to step out the front door on a journey into the sunshine. Still, Bilbo was right about stepping onto a path and the old Holmstrand luck may be lurking around a corner so I will try to not get my expectations too high. I have always been averse to change. There are complications but perhaps they can be overcome. I very much hope so.

Why?

Yesterday was a day for wondering, wondering tinged with sadness. When I was in younger, I went to the World's Fair which was in New York City at the time. I don't recall all of the modern wonders that we saw there but there is one thing that was permanently etched in my mind. I stood in the long lines and eventually got to see Michaelangelo's Pieta. I was overwhelmed by the man's ability to turn stone into such a moment. The moment has stayed with me all of these years. The sadness of Mary and the almost stunned look on her face. The sadness and the artist's ability to capture it in stone led to a lifetime of interest in great art. The sadness was amplified exponentially when my own children were born. How that woman had to watch her own son be so horribly executed. It was as if she had chosen to withdraw from life and suffering. Even as I type this, the feeling washes over me. It is not the sadness of her face but the look of almost totally abandoning everything. I think that I remember reading that she and Mary Magdalene went to Cyprus to live out the rest of their lives. Cyprus, the homeland of Astarte? There is much to ponder over such a move.
Yesterday I put a Christmas CD on the computer. It is Luciano Pavarotti's "O Holy Night". He sings Ave Maria in Italian. I don't understand Italian but the feeling came rushing back over me. I once had a CD of Barbra Streisand singing Ave Maria but I had to abandon it because I became so morose after listening to it that I would cry for some time. How Mary must have suffered holding the body of her son after all that she had witnessed. Perhaps the thought "That's enough, I cannot take any more.". That's enough, the springs of the eyes are awakening again.
Christmas is a time of hope and joy. There is Santa and Rudolph and lights and cookies and the tree and the glow of wonder in the faces of the children. There is Jingle Bells and the power of Adeste Fidelus and the portent of the Drummer Boy and the mission of the Magi. Then there is Ave Maria.
I was raised as a Roman Catholic. There is much to the Chuch that I have come to ignore. The Church holds Mary in a very special place. I can never ignore the look on her face in the Pieta. I don't think that the artist could either. Perhaps that is the reason that it was the only work that he ever signed. It was his legacy to us.

Garlic

Yesterday I took a walk. The walk was, surprise surprise, to the grocery store. I had not been there in several days and the withdrawal symptoms were setting in. It was necessary, I was out of garlic. I also wanted to get cream cheese and sour cream and graham crackers. I have plans of making a cheesecake. I could have gotten most of the ingredients at the local convenience store. The people that own that store are very nice but I feel that expiration dates on perishables should end in 09. So the plan was garlic, cream cheese, sour cream, and graham crackers. Sure! The end result was many more things, canned tomatoes for sure and then several other things.
I enjoy grocery shopping more than anything else in my life at present. We are so lucky to live in America with the bounty and variety we have. Food is so inexpensive. I remember my Father telling me what it was like to live in the Great Depression. "When you have to spend fifty percent of what you make for groceries, then you will know what it was like to live in the Depression.". Lately I spend about ten percent of my income on groceries. That may be because I never buy anything pre-made. I bake my own bread and even grind my own hamburger. Another contributing factor may be the way that I eat. I think that I have come to grips with cooking for one. I still have monster pots full of things that just cannot be prepared for one but several things are now under control. There are still things that would feed six but the list is growing shorter. The other thing may be that I still only eat one meal a day. That comes from a lifetime of :
1. Constantly being late for work and therefore skipping breakfast.
2. Being too engrossed in work to notice that I had worked through lunch.
3. Wanting to save room for the delicious suppers that my Wife used to make.
I was raised in a home where there was no eating between meals and when supper was over, the kitchen was closed. We rarely had sweets because my Father's idea of dessert was another piece of fish.
I try to shop for food once a month. Even though I have enough food for the month, after some time I go into grocery shopping withdrawal. So I walk to the store, the walk is probably better for me than the sausages and heavy cream and cheeses I purchase, and pick up a few (HA HA) things. I guess that one of my dreams in life would be to be the food buyer for a soup kitchen. Not a food pantry because all they can stock is canned goods. Leeks and cabbage and asparagus and squash and fresh mushrooms and cheese are not in their larders. It would be so nice to be able to fulfill Oliver's plea.
I have finally faced the fact that I am a natural born recluse. I avoid the hustle and bustle of modern life and spend my time under the reading lamp or at the stove. I traveled extensively when I was younger and no longer feel the lure of the horizon. I have never found a place so attuned to my feelings than Massachusetts ( maybe Cape May New Jersey or Bermuda). I have found few joys in life to match the joy I get from the Kitchenaid Mixer. The joy that I used to get from watching my children grow is a thing of the past. I would give up the mixer to be able to experience that again! I was not a very good Daddy but I loved being a Daddy!

Pizza!

Yesterday was Pizza Day. I felt guilty about making something new but I was tired of soup and spaghetti and meatballs. I make pretty good pizza (I am trapped in Italic and don't know how to get out of it) but never seem to be able to resist putting too many toppings on it. Pepperoni, onion, garlic, mozzerella. asiago, basil, oregano, pepperoncini, olive oil, and sliced tomatoes make for a wonderfully gooey and spicy pizza. Slipped under the broiler for the last few minutes melts and browns the cheeses nicely. Mr. Beck and eleven of his friends came for a visit and the afternoon was pleasantly mellow.
Earlier I had walked to the library and was pleasantly surprised to finally find a book with Jansen's Temptation in it. I will try the temptation. Stomach Beware! Potatoes, onions, cream, and anchovies are in your future. The only thing that my stomach has ever rejected was octopus ( until I learned that you are supposed to scape the black slimy stuff off). I can still hear the laughter of the Portugese waitress. The broiled sardines more than made amends with my stomach and the Shrimp Antonio was its reward ( imagine tiny shrimps and mahogany clams cooked in a heavily garliced marinara sauce, the sauce mopped up with garlic bread).

VIP

The most recent comment has prompted this post. Grandfathers can be tricky. They spent a long time being Fathers and had to learn something. They especially have to be tricky when they have a VIP (Very Intelligent Person) to deal with. I have been through this scenario three times. Each time was remarkably different but each time I learned something. It is easy for me with R because I do not bear the burden of his future. I do not have to worry that if he eats that Snickers bar, he will not go to Harvard or his teeth will all fall out. He is a very VIP and will find ways around rules set in cement. He is also a boy and I understand a little bit about boys. I have been in the crucible three times and still don't understand girls, except for the fact that the four that I experienced were all much smarter than me (not very hard to be). Boys are easy, there is not a whole lot of thinking going on in their lives. Everything is black or white, yes or no, easy or let someone else do it. Therefore they are very susceptible to Tricky! Girls however are full of thinking. The wheels of their minds are constantly turning. They consider the nuances of every situation and how it might affect them. This necessitates the use of Very Tricky. If a Grandfather turns Very Tricky loose on a boy, the boy has no hope. It is a joy to watch R grow and learn the ways of the world. There are three more boys that I would like to introduce to Foxy Grandfather (thank you Vonnegaught) but that remains to be seen if it will ever happen.
By the way Sweetheart, you only picked up on one Tricky Grandfather item. You missed the other two but they will remain a mystery forever.
If you have ever watched Two and a Half Men, I am Alan. My Brother Paul is Uncle Charlie personified. If R is ever exposed to Uncle Paul, he will end up wearing a Nascar jacket and dreaming of horsepower. He would also end up as a very sweet and caring person but you and A seem to have already taken care of the latter two.

Alas poor sauce

Yesterday I made spaghetti sauce. I can't understand how it came out so lackluster. I usually make a decent sauce. There is a balance in the Universe. Usually the soup is not so good and the sauce is yummy. The balance has changed. If I am allowed an opinion on this subject, I would rather have a decent sauce.

Sweet Sorrow

Goodbye fair soup. Parting is such sweet sorrow. The kielbasa is all gone but there is still a gallon of soup left and I am tired of soup. I think that the soup is headed for the trash but there is a fear associated with this decision. I am in the mood to make spaghetti sauce and I know how that will turn out. A gallon of spaghetti sauce and two pounds of sausage and pasta and sauce for five days. I have never learned how to cook for one. There was a time when teenaged daughters would bring home teenaged boys who ate like Biafrans and all was right with the world. Maybe this time I will make meatballs instead of sausage. Even better would be meatballs and sausage. Short ribs would be even nicer but they are rarely at the local market.

Disturbing Dreams

I woke up at 11:30 this evening. It was because I had a very disturbing dream. I have been sitting and thinking about the meaning of the dreams. I think that I have found some reasons for the dreams. There are some issues from my past that have never been properly resolved. It is easy to resolve an issue that was not your fault. It is easy to let an issue lie that was your fault. The issue involved was resolved long ago but not by me. The entire incident was my fault and these dreams say to me "It is over and time to let it go. Accept the closure. You were a jerk and acted like a spoiled child. Be a man about it.".
The soup is getting tiresome. I have to learn to make less than two gallon soups. The cabbage may have been a mistake. It announces its presence early each morning. The zucchini and squash were a good idea but I will have to put more kielbasa in the next one. I have fished all of it out by now.

Soup's On

Sunday was a banner day. My darling daughter and her wonderful husband and my amazing grandson came for a visit. They brought lingonberries!!! We had a nice meal, my grandson complimented on the Swedish meatballs and ate quite a few noodles. There was cake that was a bit too rich. We walked to a park where my grandson displayed an amazing agility climbing and mastering an assortment of challenging obstacles.
When we left the park there was no whining or crying about the fact that the outing was over. He never seems to whine or cry about anything. He is so interested in everything that goes on about him that I am sure he looks forward to the next surprise that life offers him. This is a credit to his Mother and Father for they seem to have the same attitude about life. They don't complain or moan about anything and they gratefully don't seem to gossip about anything. I especially appreciate that because gossip is something that really irritates me. There are enough problems in our lives without commenting on the problems or perturbations of the neighbors. It is something that I admire about each of my daughters. They just get on with the business of living and look for the pleasant little flowers we find along the path of life instead of dwelling upon the thorns.
Yesterday I made soup and, lo and behold, it was actually edible! It is the first time that I have made soup that I actually liked. Homemade soup is usually not very good. The only really good one that I can remember was one that a lost love made with new potatoes and leeks and cream and butter. The soup that I made was not from a recipe. I just emptied all of the vegetables from the refrigerator into a pot, put in baby lima beans, onions, cabbage, tomatoes, potatoes. corn, peas, and beef broth. The addition of kielbasa may have made a difference as I usually don't puy any salt into the soup. Some leftover cheese rinds and olive oil went in and then a blessing of soy sauce as I remembered the words of another lost love. "Kissing a man without a moustache is like a soup without salt.".
Cheese, bread, and soup, life is good. I don't think that I can ever serve such a soup to my grandson as he is not very vegetable prone.

Re-trek

Yesterday was almost a repeat of the day before. I took another trek to the grocery store. It is a good long walk and good for me. As usual I purchased too much and now my knuckles tend to drag on the ground. The grocery store is a magnet I cannot seem to avoid. I got mushrooms and dried baby lima beans and tomatoes and canned tomatoes and rice and yoghurt and heavy cream and quite a bit of other stuff. I will try to make the walk each day the the weather is nice.
Today will be pizza and Swedish meatballs and three layer chocolate mousse cake. Today will be mostly trying to figure out the new medical plan that I have to pick by Friday. I am leaning towards Bob's Health Plan and Excavation Supply Depot. Their motto is "If something goes wrong, we've got you covered.".

The Trek

Yesterday I went for a long, long, walk. The weather was so nice and I had something on my mind, so a long walk was called for.
First I trudged to CVS. It is about three miles to that. There were some things that I wanted to get there. Their spices are very inexpensive. It was not an inexpensive trip as there were some vitamin supplements that I wanted.
Secondly I went to the Post Office to get some stamps. I am tired of paying a zillion dollars for ten stamps at the convenience store.
Thirdly, the main reason for the walk occurred. I went to the grocery store, about two more miles. Why the grocery store? Yesterday morning I felt an urge to make Swedish Meatballs and try a new recipe for triple chocolate mousse cake. I overdid it a little as the bundles were a bit heavy walking back to where I live. It was more than worth the travail. It was a beautiful day and I needed to get out and have the dust blown off of me. The walk back from the grocery store is only about two miles as the entire trip is one big circle.
When I returned I reheated some chicken and tumeric and took a nice long nap after reading for a while. I am looking forward to another stroll today, as soon as the Sun comes up. There is still more chicken in the pot for when I return. Chicken, tumeric, tomatoes, olives, leek, garlic, onion, chicken broth, peas, broccoli, corn, and heavy cream make a nice dish, over a large amount of rice. Five drops of Tabasco make it just right. I weaken and add just a few drops of soy sauce. I know it is not good for me but it just seems right.

Gentle people

Yesterday I went for a flu shot at the senior center in town. This is a small town and it is remarkable how many seniors there are in this town. As I was walking to the center, some lady that I don't even know stopped and asked me if I was going to the flu shot. I said yes and she told me to get in and she would give me a ride. I wonder if it was the grey hair and grey beard that tipped her off.
I am by nature overly garrulous and as we were waiting for the shots to begin, I struck up several conversations. Most of the people in this town were born here and have lived here all of their lives. We spoke of the things of value here and the opinions were remarkably uniform. The little market, the small stores, the library, and the fact that the teenagers are all nice and polite. It is a quiet place, sort of like a Brigadoon without the flashy pants. We recently got a barber shop and Wal-Mart closed its doors and moved to another town. There is a bookstore that is doing well and a store that sells nothing but hot dogs. There is no computer store and no restaurant chain. There are some of these stores but they are in a town to the North. There is a hardware store. It is not part of a chain but it has everything that a person would need.
Evidently the people here continue to deal with the stores that their parents dealt with. They realize that any money that goes to Benton, Arkansas will never return. It will not pay for their neighbor's heating oil or children's braces or weekly groceries. There is definitely a Quaker heritage going on here. The quiet enjoyment of the simple things of life and the concern for neighbors are apparent in everything here.
The town hall must be over a hundred years old. The police station and the fire headquarters are in that small town hall. All of these buildings are within two blocks of each other and the library. I have watched town meeting and see one philosophy in the meeting. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it.".
There is another gem across from the library, a doughnut shop that has cinnamon doughnuts
A good book, a cup of coffee, and a cinnamon doughnut. Simple things for a simple old man.

Seasoning

I am up very early. I usually get up around 2 A.M. but this morning I am up even earlier. I have already had eight hours of sleep as I went to bed while the Sun was still up. It was so pleasant to lie down in the warming Fall Sun. The good book that I have had a lot to do with the incentive to lie down.
Yesterday started with a trip to the library. A long walk followed. Gazing at the trees and the waterfall brought pleasing thoughts. The trees are still in most of their glory but the black veins and bones of their fingers are beginning to show as the wind is slowly stripping their hands of their bright orange and red of their leaves. It is like an old man's hands, the strength and sinew of youth slowly give way to the veins and knuckles of the denoument.
The season is slowly passing and it will be missed. It is the simplist of times. The scurry of Spring and the labor of Summer are gone and the enduring of Winter is ahead. It is a time for reflection and savoring the year. The air is so attuned to us that we can barely feel it. It is dry but the mist of the waterfall cures that. Only the squirrels are scurrying about as a stroll through town and the fallen leaves seems to leave their peace on the mind and the heart.
The afternoon was spent chickening. Chicken braised in broth then combined with tomatoes, corn, broccoli, onions, pepperoncini, peas, and my new favorite, tumeric. A can of cream of mushroom soup topped it off and the whole was ladled over rice. The tumeric puts the yellow back into the sauce and I am told that it is good for me. So a bellyfull of rice and chicken, the Sun streaming through the bedroom window, and a new adventure to turn the pages of, led to a very enjoyable afternoon and evening.
I am enjoying the simplicity and slowness of the way my life is now. There are concerns but there have always been concerns and they pale before the joy of being alive. In the past they roosted in my mind as it lay down on the pillow but now they have to find another place to roost as I savor the simple joy of a warm blanket in a cool room.
I am on a journey to an unknown destination but I no longer try to steer. I will just look out the window and enjoy the ride. I will accept what life puts on my plate. There will not be a Nobel Prize on the plate or a fascinating novel but there will be rice and chicken and a little tumeric.

A child is ill

A child of the family is ill. All of the feeling of unfairness and not being able to understand rush back into mind from where they have been lurking. It brings old thoughts to mind.
I remember when mankind was able to go to the Moon. It was a very expensive journey and they didn't even bring back T-shirts. T-shirts that might have been able to clothe a child shivering in the night in one of Earth's backwaters. They took clean and pure water and air with them on the journey. I would wager that they didn't get the air and water from Mombasa or New York City. What about the cost of such a meaningless trip? How many innoculations or meals could have come from that cost? Is the government stealing our childrens lunch money?
Now there is a way to make automobile fuel from corn. It will result in even further savings because there will be no need to make trips to the grocery store because there will be no food there to purchase.
Somewhere in Somalia, a child went to bed last night without supper. Somewhere in America, a teenager was riding around in a Hummer fueled by corn. Both are children of the human family. Maybe we can spin mosquito netting from Moon rocks and a child in Burma will not get malaria.
Somewhere a child is ill and somewhere a child is hungry. Somewhere fuel from corn is going into a tank. Not a tank of a generator that will provide power for lighting for a school or power for a water purifier but the tank of the kind of tank that goes BOOM and RAT-TAT-TAT.
Somewhere a child of the human family is ill or hungry or cold. Somewhere derivatives have put health care for the poor on hold. Somewhere sagacious old men have decided that million dollar salaries and homes in the Hamptons are more important than a child with a fever. What if it was their child? I have news for them, it is their child. The family is not taking care of the children. SHAME, SHAME, SHAME on us. You can capitalize the us if you wish.
There is one small glimmer of hope. Bill and Melinda Gates are using part of their 401K to pay for mosquito netting and clean water and a cure for illness. So I nominate them for high office. Not President or King or Emperor but for the highest office imaginable. I nominate them for Parents of the human race!
When I was young my heart steered me towards socialism. When I got older my mind steered me towards capitalism. It is nice to know that the hand of the heart is back at the tiller. So I will make an attempt to feed the man's sheep.

Fall

It is Fall in New England. All the glories of the season are bursting out all over. The sugar maples are blazing with their reds and yellows and oranges and purples. The weather couldn't be more perfect. It is a little cool in the daytime but stop for a moment in a sheltered nook and the Sun warms your face and thoughts. The fallen leaves carpet the lawn but, huzzah, the lawn isn't mine and therefore neither are the leaves. It is the time of pancakes and sausage and maple syrup. It is also the time for tucking in the garden for its nap.
The garden that I have is in pots on the porch. Yesterday I attempted to clear it out but was restrained, restrained by the yellowjackets crawling among the leaves of the plants. The yellowjackets are a bit testy this time of year. The last time that I was stung I had quite a reaction to the sting and had to go to the hospital. The doctor told me to not get stung again as the next time could be even more serious. So I left the field to the victors and will clear the porch after we get a nice frost. All of the green tomatoes are sitting in a bowl on the counter and are embarrased to be inside. They must be embarrased because they are starting to blush.
The other fall is wending its way towards oblivion. Last night I was able to sleep in the bed. My side is still very tender but at least I don't have to live in fear of a yawn. It has been three weeks but soon it will be over. The last time that it happened it took about a month to heal. My boss had to tie my shoes for me as I could not bend over.
I have made a resolution to eat vegetables. Lately my diet has consisted of almost exclusively meat. Green leafy things are in the future. Each time I think of this situation I remember what my Brother once told me.
"Vegetables aren't food. Food eats vegetables. Don't eat anything that didn't have parents.".
Sitting here, thinking of this, I have suddenly developed a yearning for squash. This is a good time for squash in New England. Ummm, baked squash with butter and maple syrup and sausages! Maybe a little spinach and beet greens to go with it. I have some nice kielbasa to go with the greens. This will be a Fall to remember.

Perfectly Porcine

A man was standing at a bus stop early on morning. As he was waiting he noticed another man coming his way, walking a pig on a leash. It was the ugliest pig that he had ever seen. The pig had gooey black stuff smeared all over parts of it, patches of scars and missing hair, and a wooden leg. The first man started chuckling at the sight.
The man with the pig stopped and said "What are you laughing at?".
The first man said "I was laughing at your ugly pig.".
The second man said "Hey, don't you laugh at this pig. This is a good pig. This pig made me rich. He was digging in the backyard and hit oil. That's where the gooey stuff came from.".
The first man said "That's all and well but what about the scars and missing hair?".
The second man said "Hey, this is a good pig! This pig saved my daughter's life. We had a fire at the house and when we got outside, we discovered that my daughter was missing. The pig ran back into the house and took her by the hand and led her outside. This is a good pig.".
The first man said "Sure, that's all well and good but what about the wooden leg?".
The second man said "Hey, this is a good pig! You don't eat him all at once.".

No Change

Things don't seem to be getting any better. I have spent the last two nights on the couch and it is becoming increasingly more difficult to get a good night's sleep. I know that it is said that as you get older you heal more slowly but this is ridiculous. Today will be an indoor day, cook a little, read a little and nap a lot. It is difficult to stay inside when the weather is so perfect. The leaves are all changing color, the air is brisk with a little dampness, and the Sun is warming the sheltered spots. If I am ever introduced to the Queen, I will be introduced as Sir Napsalot.

Dreams

I spent the night on the couch last night. It seems to be the only place where I get enough back pressure to make sleep possible. I was surprised when I awakened that it was light in the room. I usually wake up around 2 A.M. but it was 7 A.M.. I had the strangest dream. It should have been terrifying but it was strangely comforting. I have many dreams and often wonder if there is meaning to them. Someone should produce a directory of dreams, for I think that we all have similar dreams and there may be common reasons for what we dream. I used to dream that I could fly and someone explained the reason to me. The reason must have been valid for I have no longer had that dream in many years and the reason disappeared many years ago.
There are also dreams that we have while we are awake. They are not really dreams, they are wishes. I have had such a dream since 1974. It has never materialized but there is still time. If it ever does my purpose in life will have been fulfilled and I can leave behind a legacy that will be worthwhile. It will not be a legacy to be proud of but it will at least be worthwhile.
I still have the dreams that I am late for work or AWOL from the Army. It is so comforting to wake up and realize that those nightmares are no longer valid. I used to work at a place where being late or being absent were just not tolerated and what I did in the Army meant that if you were gone 24 hours without leave, you were a deserter. It is bad, bad, bad, to be a deserter! I came close once and it was very scary. They explain the consequences to you and it is very, very, scary.
So, I will live with my daytime dream and wonder about the nightime dreams. Wonder, what a nice word. I have wondered about things since I was a small boy. I still wonder about things. Do trees have an awareness? I know that some of them are able to communicate with each other. If they do have an awareness, what goes through the awareness of a six thousand year old pine tree? Are trees the hairs of the Earth and therefore we are the creatures that live among the roots of hairs? Why do some birds have to work so hard just to travel a short distance while others float along through life? The floaters all seem to be predators. They don't scurry from cubicle to crubicle trying not to be noticed but sit in oak paneled rooms and enjoy the fruits of the winds, none of which come from their efforts, as they rise higher and higher. The scurryers and the floaters all eventually seek out the trees for some reason. Do they dream while they rest in the trees? Perhaps the Ents know. I wonder.

Stasis

I am in stasis. I try not to move or breathe too deeply. The rib is still floating around and is becoming worrisome. It announces its presence with the slightest awkward movement. Last night I slept sitting up on the couch as the added back support seems to help.
Yesterday I attempted a walk but have you ever noticed how many stairs there are in this world? They are a surmountable barrier but not an easily surmountable barrier.
So much for the whining of an old man coming to the end of his warrantee. This morning has the grey clouds of Fall drifting by. It is nice to finally be in the weather of Russian plays. I have never been a fan of blue skies and puffy clouds and gentle breezes. This is my kind of weather. It is time to sharpen up the swords, get out the longboat, and go and pillage England.
There is some kind of heritage at work here. When the Swedes came to this country, they could have gone anywhere. Florida or California or the Southwest. Where did they go? Minnesota and Maine and Washington state were their prefered destinations. Snow and dampness and big trees, skoal to you my brother and throw another ox on the spit. We will light a fire at each end of the longhouse and tell tales and recite poetry until the mead is exhausted. Live for today for the damp cold destination awaits.

As usual

As usual the chili is not good. It is not terrible but it is not that good. I have to learn to follow the recipe and stop adding extra ingredients. I stopped taking the pills yesterday and was sorry for it this morning. I guess it is going to take a while longer. Thankfully I have enough of them to last for a while. Many thanks to my Brother!
I am looking forward to getting back to cleaning. It is getting close to the time when the house will be closed up for the Winter and the fragrances I have generated over the Spring and Summer are not that pleasant. I need a big bottle of Febreze and some Pine-Sol.

Simple things

I have just come through a very trying time. Coming through that time has led to a much appreciated re-evaluation of life. Over the past few months I have been wondering about happiness. Is happiness a state of bliss or just an absence of unhappiness? I think that I have an answer now. Happiness used to be a time gone past but never now. I think that was because I had too many things on my plate. If you have fifteen things that you judge your happiness by, one or two of them are bound to go awry and you will be unaware of the others. This attitude has come from a PBS show about happiness. The show said that the key to happiness is K.I.S.S.. Don't let the happiness of good health be offset by the fact that your socks are too tight. Pare down the list of things that make you happy to a few important ones and get rid of the rest. Basically what they said was that multi-tasking leads to depression and feelings of inadequacy and failure. At home or at work, it doesn't matter, keep it simple.
I was feeling lonely and unlucky. Then came the crucible. It is hard to be happy when you cannot straighten up without white-hot searing pain. That seems to have passed now and is just extremely uncomfortable. I realized this this morning when I was able to get out of bed without almost passing out. I sat on the edge of the bed thinking "Hey, this is pretty good.". So I began to take inventory. I could not have come through this without the aid and care of my Brother and Sister-in-Law. There goes the loneliness. Someone does care. I have enough food in the house to last me for some time. There goes my biggest worry. I will be able to cook decent meals. Here comes the happiness. I will be able to go for a walk. Now the happiness is rolling in. My children are all alive and turned into people it is really nice to know. How much happier could a father be?
So that is enough! So what if the soup I make tastes lousy. So what if the sink doesn't drain right and so what if I don't have total recall. So what if I cannot understand Hawking? At least I can sleep through the night without worrying about having to get up.
I think that happiness is making room for happiness. Eliminate most of the things that can go wrong and make room for happiness to bloom. Happiness is like an old quiet friend, who simply nods at your craziness and smiles at your mistakes. Happiness doesn't judge, it is just there if you take the time to notice it. Today I will make the meatballs or some chili. If it is chili, I will forego the beans in honor of my closest and dearest friend.

Norman

It was with sadness that I read that Norman Borlaug has died. There appears to be no memorial or celebration of his having lived planned. There are more human beings alive today because of him than any other person that I know of. Lister, Salk, and Borlaug. It is a short list of individuals that humanity owes great debts to. We celebrate the lives of those that have brought us war, disease, and famine. Generals and leaders that plunged us into strife and turmoil. There should be a celebration of the lives of the righteous outside of Israel. If I just say Norman, who do you think of?

Meatballs

Yesterday I made Swedish Meatballs again. They came out even better than before. I think that the secret is making the meat mix really runny before cooking them and using beef stock and chicken stock in the sauce. I gave most of them to the man downstairs as I have seen him cook and almost all of what he makes is based on Hamburger Helper. I don't understand that as he is French. His heritage is French but he is as old Yankee as the Pepperidge Farm guy. The Indian is crying on all of his nickels. I will make the meatballs again soon as I have plenty of sauce left over and simply need to defrost the meat.
The weather is incredible here. It is a classic New England September. The Mother bumblebee is still visiting the nasturtiums each morning. The little ones have gone somewhere else but she will be around next Spring after her Winter sleep. The geese appear to have all passed by as I no longer hear their honking in the morning. The tomatoes have exhausted themselves and there are just a few small green ones on the vines. The herbs and chard and spinach and beets are loving this weather, as is the gardener. Ericka's cherry peppers are doing well and I have some mystery peppers that I don't remember planting. I think that they are Poblanos.
My old nemesis is back and it is time to let him know that he is no longer welcome. It is time to "Ease on down the road.",

Taking a Breather

This morning was a morning for taking a breather. I stood on the porch at seven o'clock and noticed that I could see my breath in the coolness. At first I thought that it was the coffee but then I noticed that a cool mist was condensing into cool droplets from the sky. Fall is here, in all of its many forms, and it has been long awaited.
I should have anticipated the breath as last night I got up and put a blanket on the bed about 3 A.M.. It was so nice to finally be sleeping under a blanket again, feeling the warmth and comfort it gives to bones that have traveled too many miles. Soon a blanket will be on the bed and one will be on top of that one. I will slide between the blankets, surrounded by their restoring warmth, and feel the coolness of the room on my face.
After putting the blanket on the bed, I lay awake for a while just enjoying the feeling. Thoughts started slowly ambling into my mind. This happens often, they are not really thoughts they are more like dreams that occur while I am awake. They all seemed centered around when I was nine years old. They are not really dreams but more like dusty rememberances. They are full of the same things that have occurred all through my life. There is a parade of triumphs and failures and things that might have been. The times of a boy, busting out with energy, looking for a peer to discuss them with and finding none. Busting out with the energy to begin life's journey but not knowing which way to go, not being capable of or wanting to set out as he knew his only peer was at home.
Home, there is a concept for this season of chilly days. Home, where you come in from the cold and there is a warm meal and a warm Mother who is cheered to see you, cheered to provide that warm meal, and loves you for what you are, not what you could be. Home is where you go where they have to take you in. They take you in because of the heartstrings that reach from them to you.
The blanket is a poor substitute for the warmth of a family but it will have to do. Flannel sheets are like the slice of warm apple pie, prepared by loving hands, that finished the meal. It has been a life lived not wisely but with great optimism and still is. I would give up a lot to have one more slice of that pie

Cool

It is cool this morning. I woke up at 4A.M. and noticed that the sky was clear and it was cool outside. Fall is coming and the days of hot spiced apple cider and cinnamon doughnuts will soon be here. Then will come Thanksgiving, the only stress free holiday. Stess free because the turkey is always the right size and the right color and you don't have to save the tags.There is no superstition involved, no remembrance of sad things, no begging and pleading. There is just being thankful. Thankful for peace and harmony and shelter and sustenance and stuffing and gravy. All of this because my grandparents left behind the deprivation and bleakness of Europe and came to America. Thank You.

The Roots of Sadness

Sadness is an old and unwelcome friend. I think that Scandinavians may be plagued by it more than other people. It flits in and out of our lives with no invitation.
This morning started out with no sadness but no elation either. I was sitting by the window watching the flights of geese pass low over the house, flapping their wings furiously and chatting to each other. Each morning there are more and more of them, sometimes several V's of them one after the other. I am in the front room rather than the porch because my friend the humming bird has evidently left on his annual vacation.
Then it hit. One lone goose passed overhead, honking mournfully, and headed south. I wondered why he was alone when so many of his fellows were around. I have read that when a Canadian Goose loses its mate, it will stay in the area and probably never mate again. The sadness of his situation slowly crept over me.
I wondered why I was so sad for the goose. Something else had prepared the way for the sadness. My youngest daughter celebrated her wedding day this past weekend. I was unable to attend due to financial and physical limitations on travel. I realized that this was what had prepared the way for the sadness. I miss seeing her, I miss seeing all of my cherished daughters.
Lately I have been reading Hesiod. I was supposed to read his work in High School but I didn't. I wish I had. If there was ever a formula for happiness, he gave it. It is simplicity and makes sense to me today. It probably wouldn't have when I was younger. Hesiod must have had an advance copy of Proverbs. I have done most of the things he recommends, especially the part about the cask and the lees. It would be hard to put aside enough food for a year but I have enough for at least two months. Hesiod's comments on government are especially relevant to America today.
Whenever you undertake a journey seeking an answer, you will meet a Greek who is coming back. The sadness has dissipated, books have always been my refuge. I will find something to do today. There is not much left to do as yesterday I made a spaghetti sauce with sausages, the day before I cleaned the kitchen floor, and the day before that I cleaned the oven. I had to clean the oven, there was only room to bake one cupcake in it and I want to bake bread. I need to find a crock to make sourdough starter.

Wants versus needs

As things stand today, I have everything that I need. I have freedom from pain, I have a full belly, and I have a warm place to sleep. What else can a human being need? There will always be wants but they are very few. Below wants are things that I would like to have. Yesterday I saw two things that I would like to have.
The first like to have is the stockpots in the little store down the street. The store used to be owned by two French ladies so those stockpots have seen a great deal of use. The store is now owned by a man from India. The stockpots have accumulated a layer of dust. I asked if they were still used and the answer was yes. Disappointed, I noticed that they are all aluminum so my disappointment went away. I choose to not use aluminum or non-stick cookware. I have cast iron and enameled cast iron and stainless steel. The cast iron only needs to be rinsed out, the enameled cast iron can be cleaned with baking soda and an empty onion bag, and the stainless steel can be cleaned with an SOS pad or some 0000 steel wool.
Walking back to where I live, I chose a different route from the way that I usually go. There it was, something old and something blue. The top of it has faded to grey, it is very close to old age, and its pants are riding high. This is a match made in heaven. I will not say what it is, as I learned as a boy to never let anyone know that I wanted something, so I can avoid disappointment. So it is not a need, will not be a want but it is firmly in the "I would like to Have" category.
I have all that I need, I have very few wants. the would like to haves float in and out of my life. Still? I am very fortunate. My needs are small, my wants will remain as wants, and the would like to haves change each day and are not necessary. I am very fortunate. Still?

V is for variety

The variation of seasons is one of New England's most endearing qualities. That variation is about to come awake again as the Vs of geese are passing overhead, honking out their harbinger of Fall. The mornings are cool and the days are full of warming sunlight and merry little breezes. I am looking forward to the cool and shorter days.
Summer is lingering, the humming bird still inspects all of the nasturtiums each morning, and the herbs have found new spurts of growth. The tomatoes are tired and are burying themselves in new foliage, much like an old man's nose and ears do. The peppers and sage and basil and tarragon are looking forward to coming inside for the Winter. The herbs will have a wonderful Winter on the windowsill that the airconditioner now dominates, once the machine is moved to the floor of the sunniest window and the only window that is wide enough to accomodate it. It will serve as a table for the seedling trays. The peppers will be hung upside down, pots and all, in the spare room that is the darkest and driest room. Next Spring they will be put outside to revive and produce even earlier.
A large flock of geese just dropped onto the soccer field across the street for breakfast. All of the honking stops once they have landed. They have a long journey ahead of them, all of the way to Chesapeake Bay, where they will be invited to dinner.
The cycle of the seasons turns again as the wheel of life turns in its endless procession of birth, youth, maturity, and age. The peppers are lucky. They will see a new season of growth and fruiting. Mankind is lucky, because they do not have to go through the uncertainty and insecurity of youth more than once. There is a word that describes this but I cannot remember it. Good, that means that it did not make much of an impression on me.
I have had my youth and fruiting and maturity and now I look forward to the end of the cycle, sitting by a sunny window and watching the chickadees and Juncos squabbling over the abundance of seed spread on the snow. Where the humming bird will go I don't know. How can such a tiny dynamo get too far? It will, even the Monarch butterflies are able to take on an overwhelming journey. Adios butterflies!
I just remembered the word, inferiority complex. Those little grey cells are not dead, they are just a little slower than they used to be. So am I.

Morning glory

What a glorious morning, the weather is cool, the Sun is bright, and the humming bird is browsing the nasturtiums. I have been up since three A.M. and welcomed the sunrise. I am even wearing long pants and a shirt, something that I have not done in a while.
I have been reading about an old friend, Gilgamesh. The story about the Flood makes more sense now that I read the National Geographic article about the Marsh Arabs in Iraq. Build an ark, simple. Just turn the house upside down, tar the inside, pitch the outside, and the ark is done. I guess that that discounts the idea of the Atlantic Ocean breaking through at Gibraltar. Still, there is Ballard's discoveries of the villages beneath the sea near Turkey. Will we ever know where them silly unicorns lived?
I am rereading a number of things that I read in my youth. So many things make sense now that didn't then. Does this mean that some time in the future I will be able to understand Hawking?
I am overrun with tomatoes. Each day I make a fresh tomato sauce. It seems a shame to use Brandywines in a sauce but what am I going to do with a surfeit of tomatoes? My little pals the fruit flies are loving this.

A taste of Fall

It is cool here this morning. I am sure that the temperature will soon be in the eighties again but it is nice to once again have a cool morning. It is easy to deal with the cold. Put on another sweater and the long underwear but I have always had trouble dealing with the heat.
I have roofed in August, dealt with Kentucky in August, and labored outside in southern Texas in August. The heat doesn't seem to effect me as much as it does other people but it does effect me. Maybe it is just being a svenska boyo but I do prefer the cold. There are not many Swedes in Alabama but there sure are a lot of them in Maine and Minnesota. Maybe it is the mystery of the women. It is not tempting to see what is under a sweat soaked blouse but an Icelandic sweater, now that is another story.

Little Dickens

I was thinking of the opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities. It is like that here but on a much smaller scale. It will be the easiest of times and the most trying of times. There is something approaching that may cause things to get difficult. It is not a calamity nor a doom but it is something that I could have avoided if I had been just a tad more diligent. I will get through it, somehow I will get through it, I just at this moment cannot see how.
It is like everything else about my life. Through a legacy of misguided action or the lethargy of inaction I have put myself in a situation and somehow the situation is going to have to work itself out, it always does. It may take moments or it may take years but somehow things work out.
There have been times when what seemed like a monumental catastrophy has turned out to be the best thing for me in the long term. I think back to an accident many years ago that probably saved my life and two wrenching partings that probably turned out best for everyone involved.
There are those in my life that I would desperately like to be closer to but, knowing me in my peculiar ways, it is probably better for them that we maintain a distance. Absence may make my heart grow fonder but distance makes their hearts grow tolerant. Is it better to be loved or just not despised? Toleration is the answer.
As the poster boy for Muddles, I will just muddle through. It is sometimes difficult to remember that without some rain there is no mud to muddle through and only a parched and impassible desert. It is better to muddle than to drown in an ocean of rain or dessicate in an arid wasteland.

A time of troubles

Last night I watched television. It is something I have been trying not to do but there was a special on WGBH about the younger days of Bob Dylan. It awakened old feelings and new thoughts.
It was amazing how young he looked. I had forgotten that then he almost always had an impish grin on his face. The duet with him and Joan Baez both paradying Bob Dylan was especially refreshing.
Then the show got serious. So many of my generation remember the Sixties as a golden time. We forget that it was a time of racial violence, assasinations, parents and children alienated from each other, war, and drugs wreaking their untold havoc on so promising a beginning.
Then came the ultimate Dylan, a man who was a true wordsmith, singing the saddest lyric ever written. "How does it feel, to be on your own, with no direction home, a complete unknown?".
Then it hit me, "No direction home". Thomas Wolfe was right. He was blunt and cruel but right. I miss coming in out of the cold to a warm home with a hot meal on the table and people who were genuinely glad to see you, who smiled gently at your supposed troubles and worries, and reassured you that everything was going to be allright. It was allright for them because you were home safe for one more day. They loved you but they also knew you very well. They knew that a hot meal and a warm place to sleep, surrounded by people that cared about you, were more important than anything else and they also knew that you didn't know that and were reaching out to the world for justification and validation. It isn't out there and never was. Working class heroes sleep much better than Rock stars. Rock stars bathe in the glory of a concert and then stay up till dawn in the long denoument of their day. Working class heroes endure their day and then go home and bathe in the paradise that is the busom of their family, if they are wise.
Dylan doesn't seem to smile much anymore. Perhaps he has Hibbing on his mind. Are there tamborines there? You can spend a lot of days coming in from the cold there.

Stinkybraten

Well, I tried the sauerbraten. I got the same result that I got when I tried it long ago. Imagine a roast beef sandwich from a convenience store. The kind where the use/by date is three months ago and the meat is a beautiful pink and green shade. It was not pleasing at all and a wasteful use of what could have been a wonderful Yankee Pot Roast. I think that the red wine vinegar is the culprit.
I have a new, for me, recipe book of Jewish cooking from the tenements of New York. I grew up on tzimmis and knishes and blintzes and pastrami and knackwurst and herring and roast brisket. The book has them all except for the brisket. No Gentile will ever be told the recipe for brisket. The recipe was destroyed by Titus and is only handed down orally by Jewish Mothers to their daughters. A Gentile attempting roast brisket is like a Mexican attempting Swedish Meatballs. It will be a disaster.
It is hot here. Not just warm but hot and it is five o'clock in the morning. It has been eighty degrees every day for the last few days. The tomatoes are loving it but the tomato eater is not. Fall will come soon but not soon enough.
Blintzes are in the future, maybe even Jewish Chicken Soup which has no equal anywhere in the world. It would be the nemesis of the flu that is being forecast. An old Jewish proverb stated that "If Chicken Soup and sleep can't help you, you are doomed.". As an added benefit, there will be schmaltz!

Ahrrgust

I recently posted that August was cool. I was tempting fate when I did that. So far, August has not been cool. During the day it seems to be always in the eighties. The nights have been warm and damp. The early mornings have been very pleasant, a cool breeze is almost always with me when I have coffee on the porch early in the morning. September is coming, September with its foretaste of Fall and frost and cider and cinnamon doughnuts. It can be warm but usually is dry so there is pleasure in the air that wafts through our lungs and keeps our feet from announcing their presence. September, when the Red Sox begin their traditional plunge from first place to 1.0001th place. Landsdowne Street will always be in first place. First place because of the sausage and peppers vendors and the beloved Cask and Flagon.
The tomatoes are beginning to ripen. In the last few days I have had Mortgage Lifters and Brandywines and Cherokee Purples. All sliced with just a touch of salt. The Brandywines are amazing, tomatoes with the flavor that I remember from the roadside stands in New Jersey. I corrected the problem I was having with blossom end rot with bone meal and lemon juice and it is working well.

Breathless

Yesterday a woman stepped back into my life who left me breathless. The last time that I saw her she was just a pretty young lady. She stepped off of her shell and into my kitchen.
There are women that are cute, there are women that are pretty, and once in a very great while there are women that seem to stop the rotation of the Earth with their loveliness and grace. Eighteen years ago this condition would have alarmed me and kept me up until the wee hours, waiting for the sound of a car in the driveway.
The last time I saw such a woman was in Eatontown New Jersey, in a smoke-filled, boozy, room. She too left me breathless and caused me to threaten an old friend, a friend who was bound to me with the olive-drab bonds that have no peer.
Many years ago, I was going down the escalator in Filene's Basement. Coming up on the other side was a young lady with similar attributes and not much clothing. That was the day that I realized how much my life had changed. Normally a man's thoughts would flow into an easily predictible pattern. Only one thought raced through my mind, "Boy am I glad that I'm not her Father!". (Insert driveway sounds here).
The woman sat in my kitchenand shared a meal with me. All the while I was marvelling at the change that has come over her. Her mind is as beautiful as it has always been. There is no rancour or lamenting to her conversation. There is still the tongue, a katana that shreds pomposity into the dustbin that it deserves. There is only one person that has aroused her ichor. She spoke of sacrificing that person to Pele but I doubt that that person posseses the primary prerequisite.
I should have seen this coming. The woman comes from a long line of beautiful women, beautiful of form, beautiful of mind, and beautiful of spirit. I have had something to do with a trinity of such women. The only thing that they got from me was the verbal katana that they keep hidden but can unleash at any moment.
Blessed is the Father of daughters but wretched is the Father of beautiful daughters as he sits making tea, waiting for the sound in the driveway. Blessed is the Father of daughters who have learned to think and reason but wretched is the Father of daughters who have learned to apply those gifts to his mentoring. Blessed is the Father of daughters who have learned to speak what they are thinking but wretched is the Father of daughters who have learned to loose their katana on his pomposity.
Is it blasphemy to pity God? For there God was, with the power to change the world forever, and picked the wrong gender. He might have created a world with no war, no stife, and no famine. A world with only a woman to rule it who had snakes for bracelets. I guess that he just took a look at her oufit and said "I'm glad that I won't be her Father.".
How do I feel about my daughters? In the words of my old poetry mentor "Cherished they are and legend they will be.".

August is cool

I am up very early in the day. The reason is simple, I woke up to put a blanket on the bed. I came awake realizing that a very cool breeze was blowing in the window and across the bed. This is not normal for August in New England. I live in an attic apartment and am usually blessed with a built-in sauna in August.
Each day this Summer there has been a nice breeze, not only at night but during the day also. It is pleasant to walk and pleasant just to sit and read. Who knew that being old and retired was going to be so easy?
The lyrics of a song I heard a while ago are wafting through the dusty corridors of my mind.

"It's allright
It's O.K.
It doesn't really matter if you're old and gray
It's allright
It's O.K.
You're coming to the end of the day."

It is surprising that such thoughts do not bring fear or gloom. Here I sit at two-thirty in the morning. It is not the end of the day, it is the beginning of a new day. It is time for change in the way I live my life, changes I have tried to make so many times in the past. Out with the extremes that have bothered me so much in the past. No 10's and therefore no 1's, just an ongoing procession of 5's. "Ease on down the road". There will be ruts in the road but hopefully no chasms.

Trying

I am going to try sauerbraten. I have always been intrigued by it and finally found an original recipe. I have gathered together all of the ingredients, except for juniper berries and don't think adding gin would be a good idea, and will assemble the marinade today. The meat has to marinate for two to three days.
The recipe book is all German cooking. From what I can see, there cannot possibly be a skinny German anywhere. There is even a recipe for German potato salad, something I had at my Mother-in-Law's long ago and have a very fond memory of. Any memory of Betty Eulo is a very fond memory.

A day for the heart

Yesterday was a day for the heart. I got an invitation to a wedding celebration. The daughter involved already knows that I can't possibly go. Travel is not possible for me. There are too many physical complications involved. She sent me an invitation anyway.
I am amazed at the difference that invitation made in me. It warmed my heart and bolstered the pride I have in that daughter. Then I realized that it was the right thing to do. She has always done the right thing in any situation. She works so hard but still makes time for the small right things to do. Blessed is the Father of daughters.

The soothing power of Nothing

Last night was a tumultous night. The same old nightmares, late for work, forgot about Christmas, still in the Army. After each episode I would awaken and realize that that specific fear did not apply to me anymore and drift off to sleep again.
When I finally awoke this morning, I lay for a while in the darkness, listening to the birds chirping their morning greetings. As I lay there, I began to think about what matters. A cooling, soothing, thought came over me. Nothing matters. All troubles will eventually be resolved one way or another, all wrongs will be righted or evolve into monumental wrongs, and the Universe will go on in its plodding way. What humanity does affects only this small ball of rock and ice and water. what one human does affects very little (except for Einstein= Mass Catastrophy Squared). The Universe will not notice when we are all gone and there will be a small ball of rock and water as our headstone. Nothing matters. No matter what monumental heights we reach, no matter what monumental mistakes we make, the Universe will not notice ( unless the Large Haydron Collider produces a small black dot to erase our headstone) and will plod on.
It is so soothing to know that no matter what happens in life, it is not my fault. Whatever I do or don't do, it is not my fault.
Nothing is not nothing. Nothing is a friend and comforter and a concept to be cherished. Nothing is a guide and companion. Now comes the most perplexing part of the concept. Is Nothing Sacred?
I think back to the words of my hero, Homer Simpson. "This is everybody's fault but mine!". Relax Homer, it's nobody's fault. This creates an axiom in my mind. Nothing is Sacred therefore Nobody is Evil! Jack Handy would understand.

Wonder

Wonder comes to the mind so often. Wonder at the blue of the sky, the white of the clouds, the flowers springing forth from the plants at the same time. It is almost as if there is a choreographer urging them all on. Lately the wonder has been about ogy. All of the words that end in ogy. The wonder first came in trying to figure out the word logos. The word logos is usually interpreted as word. I recently came across a different interpretation. Logos means spirit or essence of. That sure puts the Big Bang and the Bible on the same page. Biology and theology and geology came next. It was hard to get to sleep that night. Thoughts of all those things being related by a single ending, all stemming from a single pin point, everything in the Universe being related, don't make for a restful sleep. So I have a new word...Wondogy. Oh Gee, Why is there so much to learn and so little time to learn it?

Duck, duck. goose.

Yesterday was a banner day for me. I got to see my oldest daughter, my son-in-law, and my grandson. How three such wonderful people came together to form a family is a marvel to me. They are each different but share some qualities. They are each quiet, they are each so involved in the joy of living that it shines out from their faces, they are each so polite.
They arrived around noon time. My grandson has a new fishing rod and tackle box. He was anxious to try them out. He sat patiently as we sat at the table making small talk. Then we set off for a picnic.
We headed off for the Blackstone Canal and river. I noticed immediately that he got into his car seat and buckled all of the buckles himself. No whining, no complaining, just doing what had to be done. Just like his Father who endures the ride out to Yawnsville without complaining or whining, just doing what has to be done.
We stopped at the small store on the corner to pick up some things. Nutty-Buddies were in order and I watched my grandson peel the paper himself. He is becoming very self-reliant.
We parked and walked to a nice site that has a barbeque and table right by the river. Rix noticed that the spillway that runs beside the river was coated with a layer of algae. He said it looked like a golf green and tested it with a small rock. As we walked my grandson dropped his ice cream cone and I was not even aware of it. No whining, no crying, no "I want another one.".
We left the pile of things that I had brought with and headed to the river. He watched patiently as his Father tied the lure onto the line and tested the casting of his rod. No whining or begging, just a suggestion as to which lure to use. His Father took off the lure he had chosen and put Rix's choice onto the line. My son-in-law Alan was the only one in the group that has the patience required for fishing.
After a while we lit the fire and grilled some knackwurst. My grandson wanted to cook his on a stick. That soon lost his interest and all were cooked on the grill. I toasted some rolls and put a knackwurst into each one. As each one was done I handed it to my grandson. He took the first and gave it to his Mother. He took the second and gave it to his Father. I was very impressed by this. The boy has made the transition from self-centered child to a member of the family.
Soon my grandson announced that he had to do his business and didn't want to do it in the woods. My son-in-law put down his knackwurst and walked him to the car. No complaining, just doing what has to be done.
While they were gone I had the rare opportunity to talk to my daughter. She inquired about some family matters as did I. She commented on some personal matters that irk her, matters that she could easily avoid by being demanding but goes along with to maintain peace in her family. No whing or complaining, just doing what has to be done. The person that irks her had better beware, he has a reckoning in his future. She is a rare person, a person of gentleness and thought, with a soft exterior and a core of steel that most people are unaware of.
After a while we returned to my place. We sat, we talked. I showed my son-in-law a book that I have on loan from the library. A book on the cooking of Louisiana, something he is evidently very interested in. I watched as he looked over it with the intense concentration that I previously noticed in his son digging out dinosaur bones.
My daughter and her son and I went into the living room and there began the game of "Duck, duck, goose.". My grandson explained the rules, we played a bit, my grandson explained the new rules, we played some more, my grandson explained the new rules. It reminded me of Calvin's explaining to Hobbs the rules for reaching thirty-second base. My son-in-law joined us and my grandson explained the new rules to him.
After a while they had to go as they had another appointment. I loaded them up with the usual pile of things that I am sure that they don't want and they left.
One thing remains as a pleasant glow in my heart. While we were cooking the knackwurst, my grandson and I had a stick fight with small sticks, a battle he was obviously pleased to win. It reminded me of the days of miniature golf and bowling with my own daughters, two things that I am very good at. I always managed to just lose to them. It may be important to compete with other adult males but it never is to compete with your family. It is more important to stand in the background, offer guidance when it is appropriate, and let them learn how it feels to be a winner. Alan and Kristen are winners.
As I sit here typing, I am staring at a picture of my daughter. I sat with her yesterday and, as she was talking. I marveled at her beauty. I stare at the picture and marvel at her beauty. The beauty of her outside and the beauty of her inside. Quiet, polite, and strong as Damascus steel. Beautiful!

Mushrooms

Once more it is cool and damp and all around un-Juneish here. Today was supposed to be nice but doesn't look like it. It was cool and rainy on the porch this morning. It is a good day for mushrooms and mould, not for people. Perhaps it will get warmer and the Sun will shine.
I am having trouble finishing the book that I am reading. The trouble is that the author is dull, dull, dull. I have read one other book of his and it was the same thing. He spends too much time on the arcane knowledge that he has acquired and not enough time on substance. Sounds a bit like a personal biography.

Once more

Once more I made it through a month. I am in my usual state but I made it. I have been up since 1:15 A.M.. I went to bed early as the weather here hasn't been as nice as New England usually is in June. It has been cool and damp, very, very, very, damp! I have been sleeping with a blanket each night which is unusual for this time of year. This won't last. I will have to install the air conditioner soon. It doesn't really get the room cold but at least it will be cool and dry.
If all goes well I will go to the grocery store today. This is the highlight of my month. If I ever get rich, I will go grocery shopping every day and donate the food to the local food pantry. I have always enjoyed grocery shopping. When I was young, my family would go every Friday. We went Friday because Friday was fish day and it is best to eat fish the day that you buy it. It was a happy time for the whole family. Now grocery shopping has gone way beyond enjoyable and is at the apex of my month.
I am wending my way through a book that is very thought provoking. There is a question that I have had for a long time and the book offers many new ways to address this question. I thought that I had found an answer to the question through a melange of Hawking and the Rig Vedas and Jainism. The book takes all of those theories and tosses them on the trash heap and says "The personal quest for knowledge is selfish, only a quest for knowledge that will be used to benefit others is admirable.". An unopened book is the grave of the knowledge it contains. Only by opening it and sharing that knowledge with others do we give the book any value. Letters are simply symbols that convey the thoughts and findings of others.
Perhaps the thoughts that I have been having are the reason for the way I feel this morning. "I can see clearly now the rain has gone,".

Nils 2, Bird 0

Once again I beat the bird. I was up at 3 A.M. and the bird was still asleep. Why was I up so early? Because I went to bed really, really, early. It was still light out when I went to bed but I have a really good book and bed seemed the best place to read it. I went for quite a walk yesterday as the Sun felt so good. It was so warm that I wore shorts. I don't think that I have worn shorts in eight years. I have no plans for today. I may make pizza and transplant some plants. Today is one of those wonderful times when I have absolutely no reason to go out. A day for reading and cooking and cleaning, something that I have been neglectful of recently. Several days ago I cleaned the kitchen and bathroom. It is quite a task as I am a little anal about cleaning the floor. It takes a lot of time and my knees are a mess for several days afterwards. Having a white floor is good. When it needs to be cleaned it stares up at you each day saying "Hey boyo, it's time for you to take care of business!". It has become easier now that I take off my shoes when I come in the door. The thought of all the stuff that gets on your shoes while you are walking is disturbing. People with dogs seem to have an affinity for letting their dogs do their business on the sidewalk. The town that I used to live in had an ordinance that if you were walking a dog and didn't have a baggie with you, you would get a ticket. You were not allowed to walk a dog on the beach under any circumstances as there was shellfishing just off of the beach and shellfish are filter feeders. I am reminded of the words of a very wise woman. "Dogs are like strings, every yo yo needs one.". I like dogs very much but most dog owners think that there is something wonderful and natural about their dog doing its business on the sidewalk or beach or someone else's lawn. Cats at least bury their business, dogs are content to give it a strong kick and spread the wealth. Hey boyo, it's time for you to take care of your dog's business so Nils doesn't have to bleach the floor so much!
There used to be a television show Mayberry and there was a character Ernest. I am becoming more like him each day. I would rather be a bachelor farmer. I need some powdermilk biscuits.

Denoument

It is amazing the difference a day can make. Yesterday my old nemesis the telephone rang and all of the clouds cleared away. Once again I have been forgiven. Once again I thought back to the sage advice my Father gave to me "Nils, the only time you should open your mouth is to change feet!". I went to bed early and read till quite late. I was up early, my friend the bird was up and bursting with song. I had coffee on the porch watching the bats making their final runs over the house. This must mean that there are mosquitos in the air and the bats are welcome to them. I became aware that I was singing. No special song, just an old Billy Joel song that I have always loved, "I'd rather run with the sinners than.......". I have always admired his music and lyrics. He has a pleasing combination of pathos and humor and common sense and a common touch that seems to elude many others.
This morning is overcast and cool and damp but the Sun is shining on me. I am looking forward to June 28th, a day that will burst with joy and laughter and tender thoughts and pride. The pride that a gardener feels when he realizes that he has produced the perfect rose. As far as the weather today goes, what more perfect weather can exist for a Svenska boy? It is a good day to dust off the longboat, swig down the mead, and head off to England for a day of pillaging and plunder. Who else would leave France to take up residence in England?
That brings up a strange thought. Two successful invasions, almost a thousand years apart. Normandy to England and then England to Normandy. Hitler must have never read a history book. William the Conqueror's successful sea voyage and Napoleon's disastrous trip to Moscow, "Those who do not read history are forced to .....".
As I try to peer into the rest of this year, "I see wonderful things.".