Not only dull, but also inept. If you endure it you'll find that it ends when I saw I am only pausing, but don't worry, you didn't miss anything. Maisy appears offstage with her (really annoying) narration.
Sooo, it is a beautiful day here in Vermont. I was administering mildew killers of various sorts to the deck in the early hours and have many other outdoor tasks to do, but I just had to stop and take in all this hummingbird action. It was almost scary. They were practically strafing me. OK, so they weigh as much as a penny but close up they are disconcertingly bee-like.
On that note, I must extract Shack from the basement where he has been playing Skyrim on XBox since it arrived three days ago. I dragged him up long enough to eat a peanut butter sandwich a few minutes ago and he was bouncing off the walls because he had achieved "so much iron." Apparently that's an achievement in Skyrim. It was a little chilling. (Remember what happened to Gollum?)
If you decide to brave the video, keep your eyes open for the clever method I employed to fasten the bird feeder hanger to the deck post.
Bon weekend, tout le monde!
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Just Hello, And Another Tip
Hey All -
A day at home and another "to do" list left undone. I have, however, accomplished scanning a photo that I found last night of the Understudy at age three. (Today's banner - had to share).
And, since I showed up here I feel obliged to make myself just a bit useful. So I am sharing the video for a song that made it's way into my iTunes library as part of an David Gray album purchase a year or so ago. (Album = Draw the Line). It was a deep track, not one I was looking for or knew anything about but it caught my ear and recently I investigated it a little and learned that the other voice (it's a duet) was none other than Annie Lennox. No wonder the song floated to the top.
The album is great and this song is a highlight. I and at least one friend from high school will be at David Gray's concert in Vermont in July and I am nurturing a secret hope that Annie L. will decide to vacation here just then and will join him on stage for this. Are you listening Annie and David? In any case, I hope you will listen and that it will improve your world a little. Off to do laundry.
Monday, May 14, 2012
Lucky Bird
Yesterday I went out early in the morning to buy groceries. Can you believe that just a minute into my drive a black cat - coal black, mind you - no white paws or forehead blaze to drain off some of its bad luck, raced across the road right in front of me? No damage to the cat, but I was the first car through after she passed. There was no intercessory person to pass before me, to bear the brunt. I had seen the self-same cat the day before and had been relieved when it dodged right as I approached, thus not crossing my path. But no such luck yesterday. So, there I was, was facing an entire day - Mother's Day, no less - marked by black cat crossing right around the time the sun came up.
All right. The Understudy brought me cinnamon rolls when I woke up from the morning nap I had to take as a result of getting up so early. That was good. The Polaroid pictures that the kids and I took, however, at three dollars a piece, were almost a total loss - and I thought about that cat. (My favorite is the banner today). I worried a little all day. To wit: as I was mowing the lawn at the new house last night for the first time - a "lawn" that consists of a cliff joined to an incongruously rocky swamp - I worried that I might cut my foot off trying to wrestle our ancient push mower. (Maybe the bad luck is that 15 years after graduating from law school I still have to wrangle lawn mowers up hills?)
Today, however, a little red-breasted bird flashed by the front of the car as I was driving the kids to school. It made a nice acrobatic little flourish as it skirted my grill. In my own susceptible mind, I decided this must presage good luck. It is a day off (I work part time, which is why I can't afford to have someone else cut the grass on the cliff and in the swamp). When I got back to the house with a list in my head of a million things to do, I sat down in front of the TV to gulp a bowl of cereal before I started on the list. Driven from the morning news show by a man who was vacuuming a cat (I am not making that up - the cat was fat and not black), I landed on our free trial of HBO. Woody Allen's 2010 movie "Midnight in Paris" was just starting - as in, opening montage of Paris scenes.
Thank you red-breasted bird.
I had seen the reviews, which were good and which had made me want to see it, et voila! It stars Owen Wilson who is always so winning, and also Paris. Didn't Tina Fey say it best? "I want to go to there."
Even better for me is that the movie is about (partly) the 1920s. Allen's sketches of Hemingway, the Fitzgeralds, Dali, Picasso, Gertrude Stein, are made with very broad strokes - of necessity I expect, given that most Americans can't find the U.S. on a world map that isn't labled, much less do they have any idea about Dali and T.S. Eliot, but I was grateful to see them at all. As a few of you know I wrote a book (which is laying around in a great lump at the moment) which features time travel and life in England in the 1920s. So I was just thrumming along with the Wilson character. His dilemma is whether he should remain in Paris in the 20s - a time to which he is magically transported by the most gorgeous 1920s automobile I have ever seen. And of course Woody Allen always photographs his beloved cities so beautifully.
So, there you have it. A black cat undone and the promise of a red-breasted bird fulfilled. I guess today is the day to hang some pictures and set up the heating oil and propane contract for the new house. Fingers crossed.
All right. The Understudy brought me cinnamon rolls when I woke up from the morning nap I had to take as a result of getting up so early. That was good. The Polaroid pictures that the kids and I took, however, at three dollars a piece, were almost a total loss - and I thought about that cat. (My favorite is the banner today). I worried a little all day. To wit: as I was mowing the lawn at the new house last night for the first time - a "lawn" that consists of a cliff joined to an incongruously rocky swamp - I worried that I might cut my foot off trying to wrestle our ancient push mower. (Maybe the bad luck is that 15 years after graduating from law school I still have to wrangle lawn mowers up hills?)
Today, however, a little red-breasted bird flashed by the front of the car as I was driving the kids to school. It made a nice acrobatic little flourish as it skirted my grill. In my own susceptible mind, I decided this must presage good luck. It is a day off (I work part time, which is why I can't afford to have someone else cut the grass on the cliff and in the swamp). When I got back to the house with a list in my head of a million things to do, I sat down in front of the TV to gulp a bowl of cereal before I started on the list. Driven from the morning news show by a man who was vacuuming a cat (I am not making that up - the cat was fat and not black), I landed on our free trial of HBO. Woody Allen's 2010 movie "Midnight in Paris" was just starting - as in, opening montage of Paris scenes.
Thank you red-breasted bird.
I had seen the reviews, which were good and which had made me want to see it, et voila! It stars Owen Wilson who is always so winning, and also Paris. Didn't Tina Fey say it best? "I want to go to there."
Even better for me is that the movie is about (partly) the 1920s. Allen's sketches of Hemingway, the Fitzgeralds, Dali, Picasso, Gertrude Stein, are made with very broad strokes - of necessity I expect, given that most Americans can't find the U.S. on a world map that isn't labled, much less do they have any idea about Dali and T.S. Eliot, but I was grateful to see them at all. As a few of you know I wrote a book (which is laying around in a great lump at the moment) which features time travel and life in England in the 1920s. So I was just thrumming along with the Wilson character. His dilemma is whether he should remain in Paris in the 20s - a time to which he is magically transported by the most gorgeous 1920s automobile I have ever seen. And of course Woody Allen always photographs his beloved cities so beautifully.
So, there you have it. A black cat undone and the promise of a red-breasted bird fulfilled. I guess today is the day to hang some pictures and set up the heating oil and propane contract for the new house. Fingers crossed.
Sunday, May 06, 2012
Metaphysical Proof of Divine Love
Sunday morning on the farm.
Rolled out of bed to this:
Purple martins have actually chosen to renew their lease at our crappy purple martin house, (despite the fact that the sparrows who squatted in it in past years left it a mess and though it is listing in what must be a disconcerting fashion for the chicks). Purple martins flitted around me, Snow White fashion, while I took this picture. (OK. They were probably doing this because they were annoyed and wished I would back off, but I am in a Snow White frame of mind so I am going with that interpretation).
Whusband's flowering plum trees - also listing and not very healthy looking during most of the year - are now actually flowering.
And
I opened this bag of LaVazza, fresh from the Italian grocery store in Montreal. The smell of beautifully roasted beautiful coffee beans was almost enough to bring tears to my eyes. Then I ground some of them and made coffee. Transports.
Happy first Sunday in May to you all.
Rolled out of bed to this:
Purple martins have actually chosen to renew their lease at our crappy purple martin house, (despite the fact that the sparrows who squatted in it in past years left it a mess and though it is listing in what must be a disconcerting fashion for the chicks). Purple martins flitted around me, Snow White fashion, while I took this picture. (OK. They were probably doing this because they were annoyed and wished I would back off, but I am in a Snow White frame of mind so I am going with that interpretation).
Whusband's flowering plum trees - also listing and not very healthy looking during most of the year - are now actually flowering.
And
I opened this bag of LaVazza, fresh from the Italian grocery store in Montreal. The smell of beautifully roasted beautiful coffee beans was almost enough to bring tears to my eyes. Then I ground some of them and made coffee. Transports.
Happy first Sunday in May to you all.
Friday, May 04, 2012
And While We're On the Subject
I saw this guy, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, for the first time ever on the Grammys back in February. He was tall and balding and wearing a brown wrinkled suit and he thanked the people of Eau Claire, Wisconsin for his Grammy. It was love at first sight.
So, I checked out his music, belatedly, at last.
I now have an iTunes playlist called "Arty" featuring this and several other Bon Iver songs. When this one comes on, it stops me, whatever I am doing. I don't know what "Holocene" means and I can't understand the lyrics other than "I was not magnificent" but this music goes right through me.
Let me know what you think.
So, I checked out his music, belatedly, at last.
I now have an iTunes playlist called "Arty" featuring this and several other Bon Iver songs. When this one comes on, it stops me, whatever I am doing. I don't know what "Holocene" means and I can't understand the lyrics other than "I was not magnificent" but this music goes right through me.
Let me know what you think.
Friday Night Family Fun
All of us together back at the Last House for the first time in a couple of weeks. Shackleton just came down stairs and asked for $10 for a Minecraft upgrade. Whusband, sensing a teachable moment, offers cash if Shack will read three Aesop's fables aloud. Much groaning from Shack.
Whusband administers high culture like an innoculation and it is generally received that way by the kids. The Understudy says classical music will always remind her of being cold and hungry because Whusband plays it for hours while I'm at work. He also refuses to turn up the heat and the kids hardly ever like the food he has on offer. (As soon as I walk in the door, crank up the thermostat and boil spaghetti).
The first fable on the programme tonight involves a "soldier out collecting faggots." I bite my tongue. Shack laughs. Whusband tells him that he is being vulgar. The next features "a vain girl wearing dimity at a carnival." (I kind of missed the instructive kicker on both of them and missed the third one altogether.) I am pretty sure the morals of the stories were wasted on Shack too, but he was still snickering about the soldier when he asked me how much money I have in my Paypal account.
I am going to look up "dimity." It rings a bell from some long-ago read Thomas Hardy novel. Mayor of Casterbridge? Maybe time to read that again. Then I will get Shack his Minecraft upgrade.
A dimity bustle, 1881
So you don't die of curiosity: "Dimity is a lightweight, sheer cotton fabric having at least two warp threads thrown into relief to form fine cords. It is a cloth commonly employed for bed upholstery and curtains, and usually white, though sometimes a pattern is printed on it in colors. It is stout in texture, and woven in raised patterns. Originally dimity was made of silk or wool, but since the 18th century it has been woven almost exclusively of cotton.")
Things could be worse. I don't have to wear dimity or a bustle for starters and we're going to the indoor water park tomorrow.
Bon weekend tout le monde!
Whusband administers high culture like an innoculation and it is generally received that way by the kids. The Understudy says classical music will always remind her of being cold and hungry because Whusband plays it for hours while I'm at work. He also refuses to turn up the heat and the kids hardly ever like the food he has on offer. (As soon as I walk in the door, crank up the thermostat and boil spaghetti).
The first fable on the programme tonight involves a "soldier out collecting faggots." I bite my tongue. Shack laughs. Whusband tells him that he is being vulgar. The next features "a vain girl wearing dimity at a carnival." (I kind of missed the instructive kicker on both of them and missed the third one altogether.) I am pretty sure the morals of the stories were wasted on Shack too, but he was still snickering about the soldier when he asked me how much money I have in my Paypal account.
I am going to look up "dimity." It rings a bell from some long-ago read Thomas Hardy novel. Mayor of Casterbridge? Maybe time to read that again. Then I will get Shack his Minecraft upgrade.
A dimity bustle, 1881
So you don't die of curiosity: "Dimity is a lightweight, sheer cotton fabric having at least two warp threads thrown into relief to form fine cords. It is a cloth commonly employed for bed upholstery and curtains, and usually white, though sometimes a pattern is printed on it in colors. It is stout in texture, and woven in raised patterns. Originally dimity was made of silk or wool, but since the 18th century it has been woven almost exclusively of cotton.")
Things could be worse. I don't have to wear dimity or a bustle for starters and we're going to the indoor water park tomorrow.
Bon weekend tout le monde!
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Checking In
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