Notes from the road.1

Firstly, a late thank you to Roderick R. for his seasonal salutations waaay back. Been in a tailspin since just after the holidays; that is not what I owe, not right now.

Back to the trip to Texas. We left Monday October 22 at 10:00 a.m., according to my scanty notes. Drivedrivedrive to the North Carolina border, about 105 miles south. The ladies have a tradition of stopping at state welcome centers. NC's had a life-size cutout photo of Ava Gardner, an early crush, at the pamphlet hall: she was born and is buried a few miles away. Greedy duck , I asked the well meaning volunteer, a nice fellow, if I could have it." Nah", quick on the uptake," but I have a list of BBQ places and their exits, wouldja like one?"  A handy resource on that section of road. The trip was like that.  No blue highways for us: it was big roads, US 95 and similar , varying only north/south or east/west. The ladies liked their "Cracker Barrel": a large chain "easy on, easy off", purporting to serve home-style cookin'. Swill. Our first food stop, Exit 90, for Holt Lake BBQ, where we had family style fried chicken and  BBQ ; Charlotte was keen on BBQ that stop. Other stops were made:  we pumped $100. in fuel (gas,surprisingly, not diesel) twice a day. Saw a strange site: a large iguana, sunning on the dash of a U-Haul van. The Tom Tom GPS, very vocal, and named "suzie", took some getting used to, especially in swoops off the main road which throw her into a recalculating tizzy. I never got used to the mechanical yapping. Drivedrivedrive to Florence, South Carolina. I'll let you do the geography. Charlotte and Ruth went to visit pals in Timmonsville, SC, so  Neil and I were dropped at the Quality Inn. You know the territory: hotels, convenience stores, gas stations, 6-8 lanes of traffic to scamper across; o look, an Outback restaurant.Where my brother and I had a decent meal, a couple beers, and talked. I cannot remember the last time we had had a meal like that together. Back to the room. We watched "Cowboys and Aliens" and went to sleep. The Quality Inn had an excellent breakfast buffet, "most important meal o' the day", as I tell colleagues.

We left Florence at 9:15; Ruth had fallen and hurt her leg during the night, so calls were made to docs in Texas and sense of urgency took hold. Ruth is a trooper; she kept right up at stops and is full of wonderful anecdotes of growing up in Texas. She has written a book: historical markers on Texas highways, a huge undertaking. Imagine how many miles of road Texas has, even in the shabby sections? We had lunch at the aforementioned cracker barrel chain , may the staff have to eat their swill someday. Two fuel stops, and we fetched up in Montgomery, Alabama. We stayed at the Drury hotel,located in an even drearier area than the previous hotel. My glasses broke, the earpiece screw just backed itself out and disappeared. I carry eyeglass kits but nothing seemed to fit. We had Combos and popcorn for dinner, followed by a "Bait Car" mini-marathon. Sliding further down the scale: combos and reality t.v. Is this what the road does?

Day 3, we arose at 7:30, with a phone call from Charlotte asking if we would be interested in visiting the Rosa Parks museum in downtown Montgomery. We demurred: I dreaded maneuvering that RV in narrow southern streets. Down to breakfast, where the spread was even better than the previous day's. We filled up. Charlotte and Ruth picked us up at 10:00. Half the day gone, as Dad used to say.
Drivedrivedrive, more carrion appearing on the road . As we approached Stockton, Alabama, I saw a sign for the "Stagecoach Southern Buffet". Best food of the trip. Buffet style, a funky old place with ample seating. Best fried chicken of the trip. Southern cooking is wonderful, if it doesn't kill you.

Gone to Texas.

My brother arrives tomorrow at the wheel of a 33 foot motorhome, belonging to my second cousin Charlotte and her pal, Ruth. Charlotte (and presumably Ruth) are retired full bird Army colonels. They earned Vietnam service ribbons. They have many friends and former colleagues.

Charlotte called a month ago, asking me to help drive her from Richmond to San Antonio. Not a good health year for her, she said. She is in her eighties. Charlotte and Ruth (who broke her hip last winter)spend the summers at the family homestead in Vermont. They winter in San Antonio. I have not been feeling  perky lately, so I called my brother to help. He did agree: I want everyone to remember that. Our mission is to get The Ladies there. Neil texted me today: "Call me Toby"; The Brass still have their bark, used as necessary on the help, i.e., Neil. There are two cats and a sloppily cleaned reeking cat box in the RV. On the bright side, Neil saw DC while they were attending a women's war memorial gathering, dedication; he offered few details. Neil, to walk off some energy, walked 6 miles around the District, and saw JFK's grave. Charlotte and Ruth included him in a tour of the Rose Garden at the White House; I asked if they toured the veg plot. "No".

The next stop after Richmond I have been told of is Montgomery, Alabama. Never been there. Neil mentioned eating mudbugs in Louisiana, get some decent boudin ; I'm up for that.We pass right under the BBQ capital of Texas, Lockhart, on the way to San Antone. Once there, TexMex cuisine. New cities, different skies. I have not seen Neil in 11 months. I am looking forward to this trip, cats, colonels, and all.

Photo: My brother, in my mother's arms.

Scott and George

Scott and George,
originally uploaded by scp2695.

English Garden Tour:transit and arrival. Day 1 in London.

Of all the big, truly bigsprawlingstinking, rightonthecusp of whoknowswhatnext cities of the world  we've been to,London is the most fun . Great people mover underground. Tiny jewel like stamp shops cheek to jowl with bold be-flagged tourist traps. A city on the edge: a vehicle incident, ripples pass through the system. Three jolts,and yer sitting, maybe in the dark.  It all works, mostly.  Great suits, bespoke or not.  Cheers.

July 3. Fuddruckers "restaurant" (booth, really) at Dulles has elk, ostrich (in season), and boar 'burgers. My elk was dry. Get "Premium Economy" seats on Virgin Atlantic. Six inches extra space is worth it. Decent swag. Much booze, little sleep. Entertaining this sheep w/ Isle of Man TT documentary. Hit Heathrow ground feet running.Turn on 'phone: it screeches WHEREAREYOU?ADJUSTTIME! and curls into a digital fetal ball. It is a.m.;can't check in 'til the p.m. Mill around mill until luggage catches up.London is packed, more than usual. London festival, Jubilee, Olympics coming up. We score tickets for  Buckingham Palace tour, including special jewelry.  Queen's paintings, GORGEOUS, could spend weeks gawping. Wee Rubens: works on a small scale, pleasant seasonal vignettes. Canalettos.  Jewel display was a mosh pit: Chinese have an entirely different sense of personal space than RR. Late lunch, dim sum at Grand Imperial. Spot of window shopping; we saw loads of Queen stuff, "Stay Calm" paraphenalia. I can see where we get the "Yay us" attitude. Must confess to buying a Clockwork Orange shirt, a walking copyright violation I'm sure. Dinner at the hotel: salmon; bangers and mash; lemon tart; Guiness draft. Drinks at the ReUnion bar: Bailey's for her, a French 75 for him. 

To bed.

Two dispatches from encounters between Mars and Venus.

After applying all over the South Shore of MA, RR walked into his town's library and enquired if he could put his application in. Right place at right time, a rarity in his life: someone was leaving, and he was in. RR, newly minted "Junior Library Assistant", is answering the phone.
"Good morning, Tufts Library, how may I help you?"
Two beats of silence.
"Oh, a man!"
"How may I direct your call?"
I knew this would pop up; just a matter of when . Small town libraries were traditionally staffed by local women; men were custodians, box movers or couriers. I got used to it. Colleagues groused about their husbands at break time, relating droll domestic anecdotes. SOP: keep 23 year old mouth shut, finish the smoke and get back upstairs.

Flash forward twenty + years. RR is now "Young Adult Services Coordinator'; ie, admin. He has a nice office on coordinator's row at the headquarters of a largish regional library system in another commonwealth.It is earning a rep as one of the best and most progressive libraries in the country. He is  happy to be there. His colleague next door, headquarters branch librarian, has the sweet spot, a corner office. RR's door is open. He is rabbiting away on policy,developing training, or most fun, buying books.
"Scott? What's distaff?"
"I beg your pardon, M---?"
"What is distaff?"
Rather than screeching back and forth like fishwives, RR gets up and walks the several paces to his colleague's office.
"You are, M---.  It is an old word sometimes used to refer to women. It could be hand held or mounted on a spinning wheel,if memory serves; traditionally used by women.Wherever did you come across that word?"
Survey forms had comment/question areas, and patrons (now customers) would  use them to suggest titles, etc.
"Someone on this comment sheet said 'The mysteries are taking a turn to the distaff side'."
"Ah. Forward that comment to A--.The commenter feels we are buying too many mysteries either by women or featuring women sleuths."

Twenty-eight boxes of books.

I transported twenty eight boxes of books when I moved from Massachusetts to Virginia. Not the 12 bottle booze boxes.They were Baker & Taylor, library jobber, boxes; easily twice the volume of  liquor boxes. Once here, I was able to unpack and shelve all of them; my one bedroom apartment in Weymouth  did not have the room.Such is the curse of an inveterate  bibiliophile and packrat. A colleague at my new employer sneered at her father's collection of  books, calling it "macho trophy collecting", like game. I held my tongue.

I did not stop buying books: my employer has excellent book sales, and, for a Southern city, Richmond has decent bookstores. Plus the mom n' pop store at the beach is excellent. Several years into my residence here, it became apparent a weed of the collection would be necessary. First back in the boxes were graduate school titles: esoteric stuff on information theory,outdated selection guides for mid-sized libraries, and similar books. Easy. Then to undergrad and personal interest titles.Science fiction anthologies and novels; most of the Hemingway and Fitzgerald titles; years of the World Radio and Television Handbook; an entire duplicate run of Wodehouse; etc.,and other books which if I wanted to read again, a decent public library would own . I even got rid of my Edmund Spenser. My mistake; we'll get to that in a minute.Not going into the discard boxes were gifts from family and friends; history, ancient,aviation,nautical; books owned by family members; and books I felt I could not do without (Twain; all of Hunter Thompson; Anthony Burgess; Paul Theroux; Pynchon; various editions of Moby Dick; ditto Walden and other Throreau titles; plus English Romantic prose and poetry). My grandfather owned maybe five books; I inherited one. I have several of my father's books as well as several bins of gun books (under the eaves) which he used in his business and to write his book. Very specialized stuff; none went. I donated eight boxes to my local library. I do not want to speculate on their fate.

The other night I thought, "hmmm, nothing to read", an absurd statement in this house; " I will read my Spenser anthology.". Wrong answer, RR: gone. Worse, the local library does not own any Spenser. My employer owns it, but they are 47 miles away. Libraries  have given up the 'core collection', archival concept, and have traded it in for the bookstore model, which to me is the emperor's new clothes. We have to be relevant, reduce runs of shelving to shorter cases that display like a bookstore, blahblahblah.Swell if  you want to concentrate on the NY Times bestseller rubbish; not so great for book dorks like me. There may be an answer, from an unexpected source.

I bought the missus a Nook for our anniversary, set up a wireless network , and she immediately began loading it up (very fast downloads, I must say) for reading on our trip. Very convenient, though there is not a wide selection for nonfiction readers. There are ways around that. An observation on our e-reader. Books, no matter how many pages, all look the same on it (and, presumably, other brands). Which gets me to the physicality of reading. I have a Signet Classics edition from 1960 (cover price .50) of Kidnapped . Nice dense, still white pages, and here it is: the book has a scent. It is a scent which, when I read it (again and again), impels me to snuffle the pages. That scent transports me back to the days of reading under the covers with a flashlight after lights out. The damndest thing....The weight of a book, a real book, is a comfort to me. With an e-reader, Moby Dick has the same heft as the very thin A Coney Island of the Mind. Not always a bad thing:  I can schlepp a bunch of books on e-reader much easier than I can a box of books.

The days were just packed

Missus and I were recently back in England. Linda saw an ad for a trip to visit English gardens, guided by a local garden expert. She is the avid gardener; I dig as directed. It is a savage hobby, uprooting perfectly happy plants that are not satisfactory, and replacing them . Any excuse to revisit GB will suffice for RR; so we went. I'll supply details in future posts; for today, I will concentrate on what for me was an all too brief high point.

When the trip had been booked, I contacted Lorenzo da Ponte, author of  the "Tone Deaf" blog, whom we met two years ago on a less hectic tour. E-mail serves and volleys commenced; for various reasons there was one opportunity to get together. Little is always better than none, so had to settle for little time.

We got to see LdaP and signora, got to see Hereford cathedral, and spend some quiet time before we had to bustle back to Cheltenham. Lorenzo and missus were very kind to us. I am a curious person, and enjoyed scoping out a portion of L da P's books, and once again was amazed at Mrs. LdaP's reading quantity. Even saw a title for future reference as we say in the library biz: a bio of Pepys which won the Whitbread Prize when it was called the Whitbread prize. Another instance of inspiration from L da P. I thank him and the missus for their hospitality and patience.

Where was I?

I go away for a bit, and they move all the furniture.

There are two kinds of cardiologists: plumbers and electricians. Plumbers do stents, valve jobs, etc. Electricians do pacemakers.I had a stress test with the plumber, and passed it. Two weeks later I get a call for the electrician cardio minions saying cryptically, "there was something 'anomalous' in the last report your pacemaker transmitted, we need you to come in.". Medtronic, who makes the pacemaker/defib I have, had sent me a letter months ago saying there was a prob with the leads, but not to fret Mr. RR as yours is a two lead unit, and while not swell, was not a real problem. This time there was a problem. The heightened impedance meant that a lead was fractured, or was going to fracture. Action must be taken. But we can't do it where it was originally done, we need a better equipped facility in Northern Virginia, or Richmond. A full blown operating theater because what we are going to do, Mr. RR, is use a laser to cut the leads and any calcification off the surface of your heart, pop in new leads, and Bob's yer uncle. Uhuh. That's what they did. I had never had 'real' anesthesia, and that is where the problems cropped up. I was sick for days from it. Then the swelling was too much on the site, according to the nursepracticioner, and various medical personnel had to visit me to poke and prod it. This passed, and all is back to ha,ha normal now.

So here I are, whutinhell am I going to write about? Can't seem to get going on anything. Read Robert Hughes' Rome , I enjoyed it. I had never read any of his books before, and had seen only brief segments of his program on modern art.Hughes obviously loves Rome, and is dismayed to see what traffic and tourism has done to the city.I'm reading a new translation of Magic Mountain; it flows more smoothly than the old one which I have read several times; heck, this is the second time I have read this translation. Why do I do that, return to titles I've read several times?

On a sadder note, I read in The Guardian the other day of the death of Paul Fussell, a critic whose work I enjoy.I've read his Great War and Modern Memory and his Abroad several times.Those two books are on my top forty list, highly recommended. His cogent cant cutting voice will be missed.

Missus and I have another trip planned. I am leery of it, but missus wanted to go, so I go. It is a guided tour of English gardens and we will be there just before the Olympics start. Swell. A while ago, my sister in law,the arch conservative who surpasses the general conservative notion of believing coming out of the trees was a bad idea,does not believe we came out of the trees. She enjoys baiting me on various and sundry topics, while I strive to not rise to the bait. This time she asked, "Are you top dog in the house, RR"? I saw where this was going, omysistersandbrothers. "Nah", sez I, "I'm the junkyard dog.". And I am . If missus wants to go to England with all those athletic supporters and people painted in their national colors running around loose, we'll go. I'll find a nice quiet local, and sample some good English beer. We're going to stay in Cheltenham a few nights, Holst's house is there, and England has a good transportation system.So we shall see what we shall see.

The very model of a modern myocardial

Plunking my self into a chair to check in at cardiac rehab, Nurse M-- had the intern come 'round the desk to look at the screen with my info.Nurse M-- asked when my last catheterization was. "2009". Reading aloud, Nurse M-- tells intern that my ejection fraction, according to the test, was 20-25%."Look at him", she says, "no way his ejection fraction is 20-25% now, he'd would have trouble walking.". "See", she continues, "the value of attendance at rehab?". "He could be a model for a rehab poster.". Whoah. Been a long time, if ever, since RR was used as a model; usually he has been held up as a dire warning.

A correction: in the June 2010 "Tool Shed Thursday" I named the knife in the top photo as a "wrong way knife". Wrong: it is a farrier's knife, used for cleaning out hooves.

Obviously, cable is back and so is RR. It has been interesting.I have been having a blast working the teen desk at our newest branch. Tiring for this modern myocardial, but very rewarding. I really enjoy being that synaptical point between person and book. No matter the format. Connecting people and books is our field's schwerpunkt.

I am reading Leigh Hunt's Autobiography, edited and with an introduction and notes by J.E. Morpurgo. This Cresset Library edition, purchased for the princely sum of $1.00 somewhere, is being read with 2 bookmarks: one in the text, and the other marking my place in the copious endnotes.
I discovered Lulu.com, a print-on-demand publisher, through my interest in aviation history. Imagine my joy when I learned that the author of a blog I regularly read , "Conrad Walks", has published books there. I ordered Conrad Walks:Lands End to John O'Groats, and enjoyed the 77 day trip. So much so, I later ordered his most recent, Conrad Walks Wales. Inspiring stuff, with touches of humor. More on all three titles later.

Veg challenge: well, this year was a very mixed bag. I was distracted by events and the veg garden box missus and I made. This topic too will require a revisit and more space.

Thank you everyone for your comments and notes while I was away. I will be more disciplined in my attention to The Shebeen.

And the song of the gen-set will be heard throughout the subdivision...

Quick note. Had no power for 3 days, came though ok, except the shallow root ball tree(as most trees do around here) that fell over had the cable line running through it. No cable (inc. computer) til further notice; be at least a week 'til it is restored. Hence, my stealing time on my employer's machines. More later.

Little minds: Two years at Ralph Talbot Elementary School.

My beloved brother who is a good man and needs a job if anyone needs a highly trained mechanic, knowledgeable i.e. having worked on: HVAC, commercial electrics, and high speed food production machinery maintenance and repair,as well as clean room experience; an excellent ‘we’ll cobble something up’ (but never a dubber) guy, has sent two of my report cards from Ralph Talbot elementary school. He found them while rooting through papers.

O baby; if they had short buses then, I would have been a passenger, judging from the comments made by Mrs. Bresnahan, and the grades earned by young master RR. The first marking period in November is the worst. RR has been torn from Vermont and plunked down in S Weymouth, MA. People drink ‘tonic’ there. I did not know how to write cursive. Social progress was cool: no check marks in ‘needs to improve in’ boxes. Down in flames in arithmetic the first three grade periods. This grade 2 report in music was grim: ‘fair, fair, fair, does not show too much interest’, consecutively. Mrs. Bresnahan is silent on art activities in the June marking period. On the bright side, RR’s reading grades went from D to C, then another C; B was earned the last period. Give a little whistle.

Thus the tone was set for an undistinguished academic career.The other report card is from grade 4: should be hitting stride now, work habits formed. Teacher M.E. Gauld is not remembered. Marks are poor to middlin’: many c, enough ‘b’s to keep parental units hopeful. Arithmetic is still abysmal. F. Must have really liked history and geography: 5 boxes out of 8 are ‘b’. Never tardy, RR is absent 7 days over the year. Music and Art are ‘Satisfactory’ across the board. A foolish consistency is recognized as The Way: head down, be the faceless rabble in the halls. No outbursts.

Movie House of Memory: Hey! Who moved the furniture?

Trying to jumpstart a stalled theme, I reached back into memory for movies seen early on, and found broken connections. I could not remember the title of one, though it made an impression. Another apparently faded out of existence, and I was just plain wrong about the last title. Jarring to one who values a here-to-fore excellent memory.

A single detail of the first could be recalled; the title eluded me. Dog-like creatures in cages of fire attacking a planet. I didn't say the thing was worth remembering. A slog, not a 'surf', on the web was called for. Cycling through the list of 'sixties science fiction films, one sparked a memory. A still photo later, and I had it. The title is "The Phantom Planet", released in 1961. Young master RR was enthralled, there in the dark, watching the Solarites attack the planet where a tiny astronaut was marooned: tiny because the atmosphere had a shrinking effect on people. Rubbish, but magic to a nine year old kid.

No problem remembering the next movie. Details could be recalled, as well as the title: "Puss n' Boots". There are many versions out there: this one was unique. 'Live' actors, in costume, absolutely creepy. A vivid bit branded onto my brain: Puss, drinking with the evil sorcerer, convinces him to show him what he can do. The sorcerer, in his cups, changes himself into a mouse. Puss chases him around the joint, grabs him, and eats him. Whoah! The thing is, a search of IMDB listed several versions of the tale ,but not this one. As we librarians say: "If we can't find it, you don't need it". I needed this title. I dug more and found the movie and the interesting story behind this title. You can read about it here.

The last, and to some the least, was a Three Stooges film. The problem:it was presumed to be one of their late films, with Joe Besser. I ordered it from Netflix, and it was different. Back to the interweb. I had details mixed up. The one I remembered was not a feature movie, but a short ("Space Ship Sappy"), indeed with Joe Besser. "The Three Stooges in Orbit" with Joe DeRita, the film I ordered, was an entirely different kiddle of fish. Maybe the blending of details and titles was proof of the caution our parents gave us when we watched the boys: "that stuff will rot your brain". Or the ravages of time and too much rubbish. That is okay: at least I got to see and remember them this long, even if I was wrong.

Air Show!

The missus and I recently attended something new,an import from England. 'Flying Proms': 'a symphonic airshow', like they do at Duxford or Shuttleworth(?), with music playing while vintage aircraft do fly-bys. It was program music, themes from films:"Battle of Britain", "The Blue Max", "Out of Africa", "The English Patient", and "Victory at Sea".The aircraft were the stars of the show, types I never expected to see flying.

I grew up in the flight path of NAS S.Weymouth. When we first moved to Weymouth, blimps droned overhead, headed out on patrol for Russian subs lurking off the coast.There were air shows featuring the Blue Angels, the Navy precision flying team. Days before the show, they came honking in,low and fast,causing the best house trained dogs to have an accident. RR and his pals would walk to the base on Saturday for the air show. I do not remember if it was these shows which started my lifelong enthusiasm for aviation, or the time my father said to me "Hear that?That's a B-29", pointing to a silver glint waaay up there. I later learned they were 'weather monitoring' flights.Dad, having served in the AAF and flown The Hump, knew B-29s when he heard them. Or was it the time I talked with Eddie Rickenbacker on a radio talk show? No matter. Hooked, poor sap, looking up at the most mundane aircraft, and getting really excited when something interesting passes overhead.

Interesting aircraft flew at the proms. First,a Supermarine Spitfire Mk. IX, elegant lethality, flew. Magnificent. A pair of Fokker Dr.1's, full sized reproductions of the overrated German WWI fighter, still striking and able to turn on a floating dime, did their stuff next. One of the loveliest designs to fly, a DeHaviland DH89 Dragon Rapide, made her stately progress above our heads after the Fokkers. Spats on the undercarriage make her even more attractive. A Stearman Trainer, the 'Yellow Peril', flew next.She was followed by another jewel, a Hawker Hurricane. The last aircraft was an F4U Corsair: big, blue, and powerful. We were seated about 50-80 yards from their flightpath, and the power of that big radial could be felt from where we were sitting. She was not more than 40' off the deck. Glorious.

The reason we were able to see these aircraft fly was the venue. The Military Aviation Museum is a nest of aircraft restorers. They acquire these machines, fix 'em up, and fly most of them. Swell: remember, these are old and rare machines. One prang and they are scrap. I read of a Me109G6 flown in England, even after the Germans cautioned them about flying her too much.The DB605 engine in Messerschmitts, along with the Rolls Royce Merlins in Spitfires, were hand built precision machines. Machinists today, even with CAM, are not able to get the close tolerances necessary for these high performance engines.Guess what happened. The 109 was pranged, lightly; enough to tear up the the engine. This summer, two aircraft of the Commemorative Air Force here in the states crashed, two more off the roster of flying pieces of history.

Even so, if I hear of an airshow nearby, and the weather is good, I will pack up the sunscreen and the missus (a good trooper, she has crawled through a B-17 with me), and be there. See you near the flightline.

Mixed grill: too many vampires and vegetables

A mixed grill today,along with hearty thank you for the inquiries as to the status of the missus and RR.
It has been a hot unhealthy spring. I am looking forward to a hotter but healthier summer. Cancer has been discovered in mother-in-law, so we will be dealing with that. As to what is on the grill, this must be brief as once again my computer is down and I am stealing time---

Work-- working with 65,000 new volumes in a new branch is swell for this bibliophile. The plethora of vampire novels, zombies, and manga, the insidious Japanese reading level destroying book form which is killing fiction for teenagers, is not swell. More on this trend in the future. Unfortunately, my energy levels do not match my hopes for service.

Reading-- as an antidote to all this supernatural fiction, I have returned to an early interest, American realist and naturalist novels. I am currently reading Upton Sinclair's Oil! , a novel which served as the "inspiration" for the (unseen) film "There will be blood", starring Daniel Day Lewis, whose work I enjoy. Frank Norris's McTeague, never read I am ashamed to say, is in the batter's box. His Octopus, the first of a proposed trilogy on wheat which Norris did not live to complete, was read many years ago, and will be read again. So much for fiction: I find as I get older I am less interested in it, preferring non-fiction for my casual reading. I am also doing much re-reading except Thomas Wolfe: no one over the age of 19 can re-read Thomas Wolfe.Do your reading habits mirror these?

CSA/veg challenge-- the greenery is winning, even with my preparation for the challenge. Kohlrabi, a heretofore unknown and unused veg was the first gauntlet. I made empanadas with it and squash, also on offer with our share.They are easy to make, even for a tyro like me. Here is the recipe.On the bright side,I have re-discovered the smoker. Sap that I am, I bought a 4-plus pound brisket of grass fed beef. Grass fed meat demands slow, low cooking because of the lower fat content; otherwise one might as well be gnawing on a boot. Smoking it is the way to go. My last smoker adventure, because of technical difficulties, made me gun shy on using it.The beef came out well, and missus RR and I will be finishing it up this weekend. Just in time for my next protein adventure: smoking a chicken which I plan to purchase when we next pick up our CSA.

‘difficult to translate’: The German Genius by Peter Watson

BB mentioned The German Genius in his blog, and, always glad to hear of some interesting new non-fiction, I borrowed it from the library here in the Yellow Tavern quadrant. Glad I did, even if I did have to renew the doorstop sized (964 pp.) thing.

Part of my fascination is language. Profs say English is from one kinda Deutsche or another;swell until a word like Bildung comes along. It is not just a word: it is a concept, very important to understanding Germany. Which is important and really needs to use a lot of pp. to tell you why. One word does not equal one word in another language. Several word/concepts like that. When you see italics, start paying attention.

Watson's basic tenet is this: from 1750-1933 it was the Germans. They transformed themselves, assembled a country, and dominated the cultural and academic scenes. Ask the average citizen to name 3 ‘classical’ composers: chances are they will mention at least 2 German musicians. Sociology. Psychology. Painters.My old Penguin pb copy of Also Sprach Zarathustra uses Friedrich’s "Wanderer above the sea of fog" on the cover. That is the sole piece of German art I can recall. Well excpt Bierstadt, but he was American.America has benefited by steady influx of German people, for many reasons. They invented Expressionism.The book has 849 pp., plus a list of “35 Underrated Germans”; goes quick in spots. Watson is thorough in his coverage of German culture (and Kultur); being Germans, there is a difference. I looked forward to the post war sections and was rewarded. We learn why 1968 was an important year for modern Germany. I enjoyed reading about science and chemical industries; copious notes with bibliographic citations can help one pursue topics. Dyes. IG Farben, which is Thomas Pynchon country. Rocket science, theoretical physics.Practical physics, for example the electron microscope. How the Germans invented the seminar and research was institutionalized by the universities with the development of the modern PhD. It is all in there. Dealing with WW2. Why Germans are such good recyclers.

Each chapter is like another term paper: Watson uses many direct quotes, and not always in a supportive of his thesis role. He will occasionally use a quoted adjective; I found this irksome. It gets slow at philosophy; Germans have been at work there too. Never knew of the philosophical link to the music, the notes, of Wagner, who frequently (along with his erstwhile pal Nietzsche) pops up. The section on German film was satisfactory for a book of this size. I never quite wanted to put it down. Watson has a conversational style; a plus over the long haul. One has to be interested in Germans, very much, or in intellectual/scientific history to read this. I am glad I did.

How many lumps with your tea?

"Many a bum show has been saved by the flag." George M. Cohan


First, a warm Shebeen welcome to a new follower, Dr. Morbius, who writes an interesting blog on film .


<- This is what we are dealing with these days in America. They are the Tea Party, a hydra of gun nuts, flat earthers, libertarians and people just plain pissed off. They are angry about taxes when in actuality taxes have gone down. Opportunists like Sarah Palin and Eric Cantor have become remoras, running dogs to the tea baggers. They want to undo any progress, and want to 'take America back': to the Gilded Age as far as I can tell. No pesky gummint regulation, no OSHA, no EPA, and back to the gold standard. No health care, no separation of church and state. Crappy misspelled signs littering the landscape. Pick a sample of weirdness that has popped up in America in the last century, and there is a tea bagger for that cause. No FDA, no Public Broadcasting Service, that viper's nest of liberalism; edjumication will be back to the '3 Rs'.

Here is an example of how Tea Party government will work, from Obion County, Tennessee. The city of South Fulton, Tenn. imposes a fee of $75.00 per annum on neighboring county residents for fire department coverage. A man called to report his house was on fire. When the fire department got there,they proceeded to hose down his neighbor's house, and let the burning house burn to the ground. Turns out the man had not paid his fire fee. He tried to pay when they got there, but the heroes said it was too late. He lost everything, including his pets. According to the mayor, people who cannot afford or do not pay the fee are 'out of luck'.

These people have all kinds of whacky concepts. There's birthers, who maintain that President Obama is not an American citizen, and have deluged the Hawaiian records department to such an extent that now the department charges a fee for copies of birth records.


It was not always this way with conservatives. One could sit down, have a drink with conservative colleagues without the screaming. Back in the day, I remember watching William F Buckley on his PBS show, "Firing Line". Quiet , reasoned discussion; unless he was talking to Gore Vidal. Not any more. I place the entry of meanness at the feet of George "Iraq has WMD" Bush, a Texas ward heeler. Look at his administration's reaction when the French passed on the second phase of American adventurism in Iraq.

What will RR and the missus do? We're going to fight them, challenge them in every way until the next elections , in two years. If they win, it means more prisons, more meanness, more getting beaten over the head with religion. Welcome to Amerika.

This is not an abandoned blog.

Sorry, 'bout that folks. I have been in a medically induced coma since the last election, to protect myself and others says the missus. These tea baggers, patriots every one, were on my mind too much. . More when I have better fine motor control and an adult sized keyboard for my fat fingers .

Fire on the ground

Missus RR and I recently drove to New England : Connecticut traffic was hellish. On the bright side, though peak had passed, trees in southern NE still burned with autumn fire. Sugar maples,missed here in the Yellow Tavern quadrant, are the core of the fire. They can be red , yellow, or bronze. Many white birches, too: we never see that type in VA.They stand out, leaves flicking a royal wave.

My brother was laid off last week. He worked for a family firm, spice makers (Bell Seasoning,etc.) and bartender's mixes; they do Tang, contract work for Kraft and others. Brother has been in high speed food production most of his working life, though he has an HVAC background and training . Our father lost his job at around this (50s) age; a knee jerk reaction of capitalism, perhaps?

My employer, scraping the bottom of the barrel looking for semi-warm bodies to staff our newest branch in Stafford county. asked me to work public desks in the youth area. I am having a blast: 65,000 books, all brand new, gotta love opening day collections! People get into librarianship for two reasons: the classification and organization geeks (very smart, too organized, sometimes poor 'monkey skills', fun; more on this someday, maybe) get their rush from codification; others want to be the synaptical point between patron and book. The spark one gets when one hands a child a book, something they wanted. Amazing, , the things one forgets over the years.

A public tip o' the hat to colleagues and pals who have been asking about the Shebeen and the state of health of us here in the cul. We are ok, thank you.

Adding pages, losing ground.

Meatspace events and issues have been distracting,my apologies. An encounter, not finished, with the legal system (witness, not defendant); family beach vacation, always fun and relaxing; health hi-jinks. We missed a couple weeks of the veggie challenge, more lost ground.


On the bright side, actually finished a book. Diane Johnson's Into a Paris Quartier: Reine Margot's chapel and other haunts of St.-Germain, where Johnson lives half the year. Evocative and anecdotal, it would be interesting to use Google Street View neighborhood photographs for the electronic version. One could never get away with that in Germany....


Endpapers in sight is Serve the People: A stir-fried journey through China, by Jen Lin-Liu. I've enjoyed this fascinating narrative of a young food blogger getting her cooking certificate at a Chinese cooking school. Food centered adventures follow: seeking the source of dumplings;trailing an up-and-coming chef in a New Shanghai cuisine restaurant; working the noodle stall circuit; and finally, hutong (urban compounds based around a central courtyard) cooking : home. Lin-Liu , blogger, professional writer, and cooking school founder (Black Sesame Cooking School, Beijing) introduces us to many vivid characters in a rapidly changing land. Highly recommended. Waiting in the wings is another China-related title, The Man who Loved China:The Fantastic Story of the Eccentric Scientist who Unlocked the Mysteries of the Middle Kingdom, by Simon Winchester. Years ago I read The Hermit of Peking, another story of a westerner living in the Middle Kingdom, so Winchester's work will continue that reading tangent.

I purchased it, along with Lords of the Sea: The Epic Story of the Athenian Navy and the Birth of Democracy, at Beach Book Mart in Atlantic Beach, NC. Good prices, quirky selection,and located next to a puzzle and kite store, another annual stop. I usually can find something I cannot live without in both stores. Makes me feel good, which I needed after starting Anne Applebaum's Gulag, which sis-in-law, for some reason, brought to the beach.

'Built to invade inferior nations':encounters with British machinery

Or so Bike magazine heralded, as the subtitle for the review of Triumph's Sprint GT. A bigger bike than needed, a tourer, but still, a Triumph. I prefer the atavistic (but not too) charm of the Bonneville.I found the magazine at a roadside cafe magazine stand on the way to Stratford upon Avon, and, lacking reading material with decent pictures,grabbed it. The announcement in huge type NORTON IS BACK was the clincher. Apparently they are revived and building . British motorcycle manufacturers (most notably Triumph,BSA, and Norton) have a complicated , entwined history. These sometimes quirky motorcycles are attractive examples of British machinery.

A simpler device was encountered in Stratford upon Avon . We were touring a cottage garden when I spotted a potato with large feathers around its circumference suspended on a string between two thin stakes. The wind would catch the feathers, and the spud would spin , and the feathers would presumaby scare away birds. Marvelous! A fascinatingly simple machine. and a clever solution to a problem.

Once the bus (no, coach, RR, must get the nomenclature right) fetched up on Windermere, there were two encounters with very different machinery. We were milling about waiting to board a ferry when I saw two teenage boys, about 15 or 16, readying their homemade raft. It was made from some plastic drums on which they had placed a very comfy looking love seat. Of course, I had to go over and check out their cobbled ( no,RR, bodged; this is Britain) rig. I asked who gets to go first, wished 'em luck, conversed briefly,then went about my business. I do not think the enthusiastic young men would have listened to an adult warning as to the (lack of) sea worthiness of their setup. I hope it turned out well for them, gotta admire their initiative. Rejoining the herd, I heard a distinctive sound of turbo props, buzzing not very high off the deck. It was a pair of RAF Shorts Tucano trainers, maybe 50 feet off the water,heading North. Several of these snappy trainers were seen throughout the day. This aviation geek's day was made later when a trio of aircraft flew over, albeit at a higher altitude. One was a Tucano, and the second was a Eurofighter Typhoon, pretty sharp for a kerosene burner. The third, I swear, was a Gloster Meteor. I am pretty good at aircraft ID, and the day was hazy, but that is my story and I'm stickin' to it. There must have been an airshow in the vicinity.

I encountered a piece of British machinery later with a more mundane function. After washing my hands I dried my hands using a Dyson Airblade. I have seen a Dyson air multiplier on sale in the States.It is a clever update of air movement technology replacing fan blades with airfoil technology. The Airblade, once one places one's hands in the machine, scrapes the moisture off the hands using a precleaned jet of air. Very quick and effective, no trying to find a place to wipe half dry hands after using this device. I swear, I was very thirsty after using the device. After using it, I jabbered about it to the Missus to the point of tedium, I'm sure.