Today: Cleaning Up the Summer and Thank God for Kate Bush

An ill-fitting window fan and a hastily (badly) installed air conditioner meant winged and crawly things had easy access to our house this summer.  So long as you were under an inch or so in diameter, it was come on in!  The air is ON.

So, today I have been sweeping up the bits of moths, spiders, lady bugs, wasps, etc. that survive when the rest of bug has turned to dust.  These bits collected in every corner of every room.  There was a thin layer of tiny, light-colored bugs on the living room floor in front of the window fan.  They were too small to be identified.  I think they must have tried to come through the fan blades.  This didn't work out well for them.  There is still a Daddy Long Legs hanging out (literally) over the dog's dish.  Hand-to-heart, the thing could straddle and Eggo.  It has been clinging to the side of the cupboard for days, still as stone.  It looks so delicate, though, that it felt like murder to sweep it away. I left it.  A proper spider, a miniature version of that one in the Lord of Rings, did not fare so well.  It scurried out from under a baseboard while I was sweeping and I stomped it instinctively.  I felt a bit bad about this but at least I was quick and it was trespassing.

I also cleaned my 13-year-old son's room today.  (He is now off at school and so unable to eject me as soon as I open his door).  I rounded up some items there for Goodwill.  I found two pairs of sneakers from last year, now two sizes too small for him and too dirty and torn for Goodwill.  These went into the trash in the kitchen.  One, a basketball shoe, sat disconcertingly on top of the pile and gave me the whim whams as I went to and fro, it looked so much like a disembodied foot.   I heard a news story recently about how feet in shoes tend to wash up on certain shorelines.  Apparently corpses in water tend to break apart at the ankles and the feet go drifting.  More cleaning ensued.  Now the shoes are covered by other trash and it's safe to get a Diet Coke.

My summer was short and lame.  I did not go swimming once.  This has never happened before in my nearly 50 years.  I had some surgery in mid July (just when the water temperature in our Vermont wild rivers might be getting tolerable).  Bathing was then forbidden for weeks.  No proper vacation either.  (See note re: surgery).

The good news is that I have a trip to England on my horizon now, and closing fast.  (I just called my doctor to get my "airplane medicine" and my credit card company to put them on notice).  The Infanta is my travel companion.  Why England in September?  Well, Kate Bush is, as you should know, giving a series of concerts in London in these next few weeks.  In a fraught moment last May, I managed to snag two tickets.  KB opened the shows this week.  I have been reading the reviews at every lull for the past 48 hours.  Every one has fallen in that narrow spectrum between glowing and "I"M WETTING MYSELF."  I can't wait.  My step mother is coming to stay with Shackleton.  She can be relied upon not to let the place go to wrack and ruin in the four days that we'll be gone.

Now We Are 46...

There's an A.A. Milne joke in there somewhere. I am feeling sort of decrepit.

In the background today I have been playing (though not really watching) a Gregory Peck retrospective on Turner Classic Movies. Great Cold War stuff. I remember the Cold War - or at least a big chunk of it toward the end. Sigh. Well, my recollections do not go so far back as the last horrible movie (Gregory miscast as a hard-boiled smart-aleck army officer who keeps referring to "dames" and calling a nurse "nursey"). It was somewhat redeemed by the hats and the haircuts. And GP's perfect posture.

I have stolen an hour to post a new picture or two and just to say hello. The banner is fresh from today - taken when Maisy and I stole a walk to the river to look at how it has changed in the last few days into a sinister brown lake. The first warm days of spring have just arrived here in the far north, along with floods. Nothing like the weather disasters in the deep south, though. (The older I get the more I feel the horror of natural disasters. Maybe that's progress?)

It's strange here after this punishing winter to feel a wind blowing soft instead of with a knife edge. Here's another picture from the back field that I took today. I fiddled with the greenness a bit but it is morally correct if not completely photographically correct. See you soon. Thanks for looking in.

Shackleton Speaks VII

Shack's strong suits do not include reading and writing. Given an assignment to choose five of his ten weekly spelling words and write sentences, he goes for brevity. Also, he doesn't worry too much about the spelling aspect of spelling practice. This week's list included "flake" and "public". So, he told the teacher: "I like con flakes." The other sentences were similarly structured and short. My favorite, however, was "Not in public!"

We learned this week that our wireless internet connection is sufficiently robust to support downloading Netflix movies through the Wii. Amazing. It works great. We now have a 30 day free trial so, naturally, we spent a half a day last week watching movies. We saw the gorgeous movie Babies. You've heard about that. It's that fly-on-the wall (well, fly with a super hi-def movie camera) documentary that follows four babies from four different parts of the world through their first year. Lots of amazing photography and lots to think about. One of the babies lives in tribal Africa. He's a lovely little guy who gets through his first year with no baby equipment, toys or diapers. In one scene, he leaves a deposit of baby poo on his mother's knee. She grabs a corn cob and cleans herself off.

Shackleton turned to his sister and I and asked, "Anyone want some corn"? We shouldn't encourage him, but we can't help ourselves.

Maybe some con flakes?

Hope all is well with you usual stoppers-in. Thanks for continuing to come around. I haven't been out there much lately but I hope to catch up soon. Happy Halloween.

File This Under "The Flight Goes On"

I signed in to read my email tonight and was distracted, as I so often am, by the AOL news headlines. This one was: "What Happens When a Flier Gets Sick Midair?

I have wondered about that, so naturally I read the article. I was relieved to know there's a protocol - even for that worst case scenario:

And when a passenger dies, [the airline representative] says, there are clear procedures to follow. "If they don't respond, we move them to the floor for possible CPR," he says. "If after 30 minutes, there's still no sign of improvement and they're dead, then we have to go ahead and put them into a seat." Standard airline procedures dictate the person is to be secured in the seat, says Gailen, "so we move the person to a seat -- preferably where few customers are nearby -- and ask for volunteers to assist in moving the person, if necessary."

Directives also require that the deceased not block an exit row, that the eyes are closed, that a blanket is placed under the body, and that the body is also covered with a blanket.

I don't know which would be worse. Being the dead guy or the passenger who has to finish a full flight next to the corpse?

What's the etiquette around being seated next to a corpse anyway? What if it lists? Can you give it a little shove? What if the face blanket slips down?

What if it slips down and you see the eyelids are open? Do you ask the flight attendant to get those lids back down? I doubt, somehow, that she would welcome a reminder about the eyes-shut protocol that you read about on America On Line.

Would it be permissible to use the tray table in front of the dead body for that last little plastic cup, snack bag, and crumpled napkin that seems to take forever to get collected? Hmmm. And what of, the, er, loss of bladder and bowel control that generally accompanies death?

I am betting that if you are the passenger tagged for seat mate with a corpse, especially a leaking one, the flight crew would promise you the sun and the moon and the stars, or at least one free round trip, to be a good sport about it.

And what, I wonder, if I were the unlucky one who transitioned mid-flight from valued (or at least potentially repeat) airline passenger to most unwelcome cabin cargo?

I heard once that Oscar Wilde's last words were, "Either this wallpaper goes or I do." I am no Oscar Wilde, but I would like to think I might manage, what? "If I don't get a lie-flat seat right now, I am out of here!" or maybe, "No, I won't wait for the plane to come to a complete stop at the gate or for the damned seat belt light to be turned off"?

Oh, I know this isn't funny. But, well, you know.

May all your travels be happy and healthy.

Not Realistic - Real

I was watching TV this weekend and tumbled into a building show on PBS featuring a young couple (maybe linked just for TV purposes - it wasn't exactly clear) who were building one of those multi-dormered suburban mansions. You know the types - the ones that were so popular before the real-estate bust: acres of drywall, cultured stone this, electronically controlled that, blah, blah.

As it happens one of my (many) unrealized life goals, is to someday build the house of my imagination. If I ever get that far - you heard it here first - I will not allow the builders to put anything in it that provides a realistic facsimile of a real thing. I want plaster walls. Doors that are solid wood. I want a fireplace - actually, several fireplaces. These fireplaces are to be built of stone, or brick, or some other form of honest masonry. More importantly, on one will be able to turn them on and off with a remote. Logs, smoke, ashes. That's for me.

Not that you asked, but I have been building this house in my mind for years and it just kind of spilled out.

In other news... Still unpacking the old van with the unsold goods of last weekend. I went to an auction preview on Thursday and didn't go the auction on Sunday. This is a first. I think it's progress.

Three Saddles; Three Little Words

Above are three English saddles I bought at an antique store in Morrisville this week,being investigated a little by Maisy. I paid $60 for the lot, which felt like a bargain to me because, my gosh, they're leather and someone in Argentina must have had a job of work to make them. Of course, I am leaving aside the fact that I don't ride horses, nor does anyone in my family. Allow me to digress on this point for a moment...

I have actually resolved not to ride horses, nor to allow anyone in my family to develop an interest therein. Of course horses are gorgeous and I am connected with some lovely horse-riding people. I have noticed,however, that horses are sort of like the Sun (or at least Jupiter) in the lives of these people. They are massive, gravity-creating entities around which their owners seem forced to orbit. Everyone I know who has horses spends more money on them than they do on their mortgages. They all seem happy enough to revolve around their horses and to pay for the privilege but I am not going there - despite the fact that we own lots of land and I have a 12-year-old daughter... She can put one of these saddles on a saw horse and pretend, for free. Until I sell the saddles of course.

I bought these, as you have probably figured out by now, with the purpose of reselling them at what I hope might be a small profit. I have decided (and you knew this was coming if you've been following along), to make a foray into the world of commerce. This will, I hope, take the shape of a booth at the upcoming "British Invasion" car show in Stowe this September.

Maybe I'll take a cue from the London street hawkers of yore and develop a cry for my wares (you know, along the "cockles! mussels! hot chestnuts! scissors sharpened!" variety). Since I plan to sell all manner of items, mostly the English dishes and books and pictures - and saddles - that I can't seem to resist, this call will take some time to work out. I am open to suggestions. If you get to Stowe Sept. 17-19 this year, look for me and the kids under the blue and white striped pop-up shelter called (I have ordered a banner) "It's Splendid. I'll Take It!"

I am still awaiting approval for my booth from the event organizers but I have sent them my check and I think they'll let me in, even though I am not selling car-themed stuff. I am afraid this may mean that the kids and I will be lonely at our booth but we're all kind of excited about venturing forth. I may require Shackleton to dress like the Artful Dodger and drag the car people over to buy a teacup. I don't know...

Three Little Words

I have been thinking lately of the power of three-word descriptions to sum people up.
I was reading a little booklet on English Architectural Drawings of the 1930s, something produced in conjunction with a show on the subject in London during the 1980s, and the author of the beautifully written forward referred to someone as an "antic Cambridge don."

Hmm, I thought. This is sort of like Haiku. Let's think, what three words would nail me? I can't hope for "antic Cambridge don." Maybe, "sour-mouth bi__ch"? Sometimes that would be fair. "Past-it writer manque?" (I count that as three words because hyphenated words count as one - sorry about the missing accent). Perhaps this seems too harsh. I'll keep thinking. Why not try this out on yourself. It's not a bad exercise for a Sunday when we should all do a little reflecting.

I have been occupied these last few weekends with planning work on "It's Splendid" and will be continue to be so for the next few weekends to come. This is one reason the old Blog has languished. Thanks to those of you who have continued to drop by. I send best wishes to you to enjoy what's left of summer.

So, Galadriel Dropped by the Other Day...

And while she was catching some rays out on the lawn, the Understudy snapped the above shot of her. (Doesn't it look like she's on something?)

(This won't make any sense when I change the banner picture, which I often do because I get bored quickly). My brother gave this Tolkien-inspired Barbie to the Understudy for Christmas a few years ago, not having got the memo, apparently, that we don't really do Barbie. The Understudy grabbed her off the shelf in my office the other day, where she had been keeping company with a barefoot GI Joe from the same source, and decided to do a photo shoot. So, that's all there is to say about that.

Report Writing for Accountants Can Be Yours!

In other news, I wanted to let you know that I went back to the book sale (see the last post) and snagged Report Writing for Accountants.

Can you believe that even though the price had been dropped to zero there were no takers (other than me)? I had a quick look inside and can report that there are no chapters on "creative accounting" or anything that threatens to be interesting. Also, I see on the fly leaf that it once lived in the inventory of used book seller where the proprietor was trying to get $7.50 for it. That's seven dollars and fifty cents! You don't have to be an accountant...

All the unwanted book-sale books were headed for the pulp mill the day after I plucked Report Writing from among the doomed. So I feel very slightly virtuous for having saved this one, at least this one, from the macerator. But like so many rescue stories, this one may end badly unless I can find someone who wants it now. If anybody knows an accountant, or someone, anyone, who wants it (a $7.50 value, after all), email me your contact info, and I will send it to you for free! Media mail is on me, so long as you're in the U.S.

It's clearly time for me to go read some other blogs. Bye for now.

Some Friendly Advice

I've been away for a bit - not really away, away, just not writing here. A few ideas have dropped onto the stony ground of my imagination over the last week or so, but none seems to have taken hold. I thought the I had a BIG IDEA for a post about the metamorphosis that earnestness has taken over the last 150 years or so while I was reading Lytton Strachey's biography of Queen Victoria last night.

Turns out that when Prince Albert, future consort of Queen Victoria, and his brother Ernest were examined for their confirmation by the German Bishops of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, crowds gathered to watch. Strachey reports that every one was riveted. The princes did well and this was considered a good show. Hmm. I thought. Times have changed, haven't they? Earnestness remains, but no one seems to be looking for it in the correct religious sensibilities of future princes. What's the equivalent these days? Maybe some students presenting an alternative energy project at contest sponsored by Bill and Melinda Gates?

That's kind of as far as I got. I kept reading. It's really a great book.

So, just so you few who continue to stumble in here don't go away empty handed, I thought I'd dispense some advice. I know how we all enjoy getting advice. I especially enjoy the nuggets dispensed for me by Whusband. I enjoy it so much that I have decided to fine him for any sentence that begins with, "What you should do is..."

But that's us. I am sure you'd be happy to take advice from me! And who knows, someday when I am gone my kids might read this blog looking for maternal wisdom. (The picture above of the Understudy was snapped this week by one of her friends. "How soon hath time...")

So for you and them, my best piece of advice is "Drive slow in parking lots."

I know I have already shared this but I am offering it again because it is really excellent advice. If that's not enough, or you find it a bit shop-worn, I'll also add, "Don't smoke."

And, if you must smoke, don't smoke on the street or at least never walk with a lit cigarette. It looks really cheap.

I hope inspiration is being kinder to you all. Bon weekend.