Category: photog’s Corner

Here you will find the stuff that shouldn’t be mixed in the other categories but interest me. caveat emptor.

Facing Reality

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, photog's Corner ,

Today was a busy day.  Lots of chores around the house and yard.  And then in the afternoon Camera Girl broke the news that the kitchen sink drain was completely clogged.  So, out come the monkey wrenches and plungers and the fun begins.  The trap was clear so I went looking for the snake to send down the drain line.  But it was gone.  There is no more annoying experience for a man than to have one of his tools turn up missing when he needs it.  But who could I blame?  I wanted to blame Camera Girl.  After all she is my go-to.  But unfortunately, I knew in my heart it must have been me.  I was trying to remember when I had thrown out any boxes without looking at them during the move ten years ago.  I vaguely remember thinking that whatever was in a certain beat-up box was useless old hardware that I no longer needed.  I think I told myself it was some scrap from a project.  Some conduit that I didn’t want to part with at the time but had never found a use for.  Looking back, it was just part of the dumpster mania that happens when you’ve been in a house for twenty-five years and then you have to empty it.  At a certain point you’re tempted to throw anything out, even the dogs, just to end the packing.

So, I took a piece of coaxial cable that was lying around and tried to snake the line with that.  No luck.  Then I reassembled the drain line and dutifully plunged it for almost half an hour with no result.  Tomorrow I’ll go out and buy an auger and clear the line.  I’d do it today but the roads are clogged with people going to the various Labor Day fairs and carnivals that break out at this time of year.  We’ll go early and pick it up and then head out to an orchard for some photography.  Then we’ll return by a roundabout route and I’ll spend an hour or so removing glop from that sink drain line.

I think I’ll blame Joe Biden for the clogged line.  The crud in that pipe is somewhat reminiscent of the gunk that must exist between his ears.  There must be a sympathetic magic that exists between the crap he was spewing the other day and all the noisome disgusting bilge that infects the waste lines of the world.  Joe himself is like a waste clog that has fouled up this country.  All the normal processes that need to happen to keep our country functioning have been obstructed by the presence of this human hairball.  He’s gummed up the works and America is stuck with a mess and no easy way to clean it up.  Well, I’ve stretched that metaphor way past its limit.  And it’s a mixed metaphor.  Joe is more akin to a backed-up toilet than sink because he’s really a lying sack of crap.  But I’ll move on.

It’s sixty some-odd days until the election.  I think we’ll learn very important things afterward.  And at this point I’m not even nervous.  I’m prepared to accept either eventuality.  If we win, great.  If we lose, I’ll move on.  If we lose that means I am responsible for steering my life in a permanently hostile political environment.  No more pretending we can vote our way out of this.  I can assume that the US federal government will always be trying to deprive me of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  And I will be avidly weighing my options in finding the optimal way to avoid its efforts.

Even though the dish washer is unusable Camera Girl decided to use some real china and silverware to have a nice dinner.  It was ribeye steaks with big baked potatoes smothered in butter.  It adds to the mess in the kitchen but her instincts were correct.  That dinner, followed by a showing of John Huston’s “African Queen,” was a good remedy to a frustrating afternoon of plumbing failures.  And tomorrow I’ll gather my supplies and set things straight in Camera Girl’s kitchen and all will be right with the world again.  If only Joe Biden could be as easily flushed down the drain.  But he’s a much bigger hairball.

Cry Havoc and Let Slip the Puppies of War

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, OCF, photog's Corner, Reclaiming the Family ,

So, what to write about today?  Creepy Uncle Joe buying votes in the mid-terms by canceling student loans?  Meh.  Handicapping the mid-terms?  Boring.  Now there were a few headlines that caught my attention.  Donald Trump implores the senate Republicans to dump Mitch McConnell as leader when they take back the Senate.  Now that’s a great headline.  And it’s good advice.  But what’s there to say about it other than it’s a good idea.

And my current personal projects aren’t really that universal in their appeal.  Right now I’m trying to learn enough PHP and MySQL coding to automate some very time-consuming changes to my website.  The book I’m working from is about a thousand pages long and I’ve just gotten past the introduction so it’ll be a tough slog.

I haven’t read or watched any interesting stories in the last few days.  And I’m way behind on my photo work and the fiction writing.  The whole system is falling apart.

So, what’s causing all this havoc?  Well, we’ve been overrun for the last week (and will be into next week) with grandkids.  The little devils have successfully invaded the Compound and are monopolizing Camera Girl’s time.  Worse still they’ve subjugated me too.  When I’m not overseeing their infestation of the swimming pool, I’m forced to play chess with one of them or read stories to another.  And they even have me ferrying them around to the neighboring towns for tennis practice or school open house or whatever.

Actually, it’s kind of great.  My third oldest grandson is becoming a pretty decent pool player and a very good chess player to boot.  And tonight, my little granddaughter asked for three extra bedtime stories from her old grandfather instead of from Camera Girl.  It seems that she likes the same stories I read to her mother more than thirty years ago.

Really the only downside to all this babysitting is the lack of time.  It turns out I really do need time to write the stuff I post here.  There’s no way to multi-task while you’re refereeing young children at play.  They’re just too dynamic and need to be monitored pretty closely to prevent bickering from exploding into fisticuffs.  I have to rule with an iron fist.  Well, it’s probably more like a lot of haranguing by me but you get the idea.

But honestly, the political scene is just status quo.  After the FBI’s gestapo tactics against Trump there’s not much to say.  We know where things stand and we’re just waiting to see whether the electorate repudiates the Democrats or acquiesces in our new status as a banana republic.  So that just leaves me cultural and general interest topics to write about until the feds do something even more outrageously unconstitutional.

And of course, that’s bound to happen in the next week or so.  Biden is desperate to change the story away from runaway inflation.  He’ll attempt to bribe some other constituency with another illegal executive order.  The only question is whether it’ll be transgender polo players or normalizing monkey pox at America’s gay bath houses.  So, bear with me.  Things will return to normal soon and I’ll be back to decrying civilizational collapse again before you know it.

The Final Summer Spree

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Yesterday we had the end of summer family party.  The weather has been remarkably nice with temperatures in the eighties, beautiful blue skies and kids, grandkids, nieces and nephews filling the swimming pool and old folks smiling at memories of summers long past.

There was some politics thrown in here and there.  After all, it’s in our blood.  I joked about my impending campaign and how I’ll need at least ten million dollars to assure my victory.  But no checks were forthcoming.  But most of the day and evening was taken up with grilling meat, containing grease fires, eating fattening foods and sitting around talking about the best parts of the recent vacations, kids going off to college and whose arthritic joints hurt worse.

One of my sisters-in-law was marveling at all the various butterflies that were flitting around the aptly named butterfly bush that Camera Girl employs me to keep well-watered.  And it was interesting that they had selected the party day to come out in full force to get the last nectar from this plant resource.  It was one last reminder that nature rejoices in the summer almost as much as I do.

By the time the last guest had left and I had assisted Camera Girl in wrapping up the leftovers it was 11pm and it was time to walk the dogs and lock the doors.

Today we had the kids and grandkids back over to finish up the food and go swimming again in the pool.  I grilled up the last of the burgers and we stuffed the kids with pie, lemonade, ice cream and cake.  Remarkably, they never seem to get too full or groggy from all that sugar.  They just head back to the pool or play some badminton or soccer.

I was talking to their parents about school.  They start school a week from tomorrow and the grandkids were not happy at all by this talk about it.  I could see their faces fall at the mention.  So, I quickly added that the pool won’t be closing up until the day after they go back to school and they could come over every day they were allowed to if they liked.

But it struck me that I remember feeling exactly the same way when school was looming over us like that.  It was an awful feeling and at that moment I remembered what nine-year-old me felt like.  Ah, the persistence of memory.

We haven’t had any real rain in over a month and the state is declaring a drought.  My water comes from a well and since I live next to a swamp, I figure there’s probably a trillion gallons of water still in there.  Maybe a trillion and a half.  That’s what we call an engineering estimate.

But the fields are as dry as a bone.  I’ve been watering the vegetable garden and the flower gardens pretty religiously but a lot of the flowers have given up the ghost.  But that’s what late August is; the beginning of the dying time.  I guess I should be unhappy about the drought and the straw-like grass.  But I’m not.  I always hope that summer will stretch into September.  Sure, an inch or two of rain would be fine.  But eighty-degree days and blue skies are as close to heaven as I can imagine.  And soon enough the days will shorten and cool.  It’s inevitable.  So, another week or two of summer looks good to me.

I notice the Democrats are laying it on pretty thick about how the arc of history is bending toward their mid-term success.  Blah, blah, blah.  And the predictable Republicans are panicking about all this.  “Oh no!  The Trump selected candidates will go down in flames.  Quick, make friends with the progressives!”  Feckless losers.  People are telling me we must move to the middle.  And I tell them there is no middle.  There’s getting what you want and there’s folding like a cheap suit.  Pick one.

But the result will be upon us soon and I can deal with either eventuality.  A true binary is upon us.  We either win or lose.  And I can deal with either result.  But no more uncertainty.  Either the American people throw off the Democrats or they don’t.

What a beautiful sunset tonight.  It’s a joy to see a day this beautiful.

Honey Bees at the Compound

photog photog's Corner, Science , ,

 

Anyone who has looked at my macro-photographic pictures knows that I like to photograph insects in general and bees in particular.  I find them interesting.

About 25 years ago I established a honey bee hive in my yard.  I did all the things that the books said to do.  I bought the packaged bees with the included queen and installed them in the approved hive with its rack of frames and other accoutrements.  I had the bee suit and the smoker and I fed them syrup and checked on them every once in a while, and they seemed to thrive.  And even though New England winters are awful they survived into the next year and seemed to be thriving.  But after the second winter they were all dead.

This was disappointing.  But I persevered and started all over.  A new hive, new bees and away we went.  But this time they were dead by the next spring.  I read up on what had happened.  Tracheal mites and varroa mites had become the scourge of beekeeping.  Hives were dying off by the thousands.  Eventually chemical treatments became the “solution” for keeping honey bees alive in the Age of Varroa.

But I was unwilling to keep bees that needed to be loaded with poison to survive.  Beyond the question of whether honey produced by semi-poisoned bees was safe or appetizing I just didn’t see the sense in raising creatures that were incapable of surviving on their own.  But I kept an ear open hoping for an announcement of the discovery of bees that were resistant to varroa mite infestation.  Decades passed and I lost track of the whole thing.

But this week I watched a YouTube video by a beekeeper up in Vermont named Kirk Webster (how’s that for a New England name!) who has been raising bees without medication for twenty years.  It was very interesting.  So, this Webster guy lost lots of his bees in the varroa mite plague.  And earlier he lost lots of hives to the previous tracheal mite outbreak.  But apparently, the surviving hives had better genetics and their descendants were able to thrive in the environment that contained these parasites.

And it seemed a big part of the answer had to do with Mr. Webster’s embrace of natural selection.  By allowing the mites to eliminate the weaker hives the stronger bees became the basis of his new stock and they thrived.  And possibly part of that selection was a race of Russian bees that he had adopted during that time.  Possibly bees that had been exposed to the enormous range of climates and fauna found in the vast Eurasian continent gave them a distinct advantage over the European bees.

Well, I warned Camera Girl that sometime in the indeterminate future she might see me walking around the grounds wearing a bee suit.  She shook her head and went back to preparing food for tomorrow’s party while mumbling disparaging remarks about someone or other.  Well, not everyone is as enlightened and innovative as some other people.  But the takeaway is that there are definitely beekeepers who have found success with keeping bees without dousing their hives with insecticides and poisons.  Something for me to think about.

Walking the Walk

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, photog's Corner , ,

So, my ridiculous Dunwich post was an outgrowth of a political meeting I went to last night.  I’m getting involved in town government for the first time in my life and it already looks to be a nightmare of cosmic proportions.  Although I’m happy to say it probably does not include the risk of being eaten alive by a squid-headed dragon from deep space.

But it will involve getting involved with some fairly offensive progressives on a one-on-one basis.  Yeah me!

But I guess if we’re ever going to make progress on fixing things, somebody is going to have to get his hands dirty and why shouldn’t that somebody be me?  I won’t bore you with the details but it will be directly involved in elections so you might say I’m getting right down to brass tacks.

In contrast to my contempt for the Stupid Party in Dunwich, the actual Republicans in my town are good people.  Being in New England means we’re always swimming against the current of blue state government and its toxic agenda.  But we have managed to stave off the worst of their programs and influence.  This off year election will probably not be a good one for Republicans at the state level.  The state employees own the state and runaway tax increases seem to be the default position used to keep the pension bubble pumped up.  When that dam finally breaks it’s going to be a flood of red ink that won’t be fixable.  But until then let the good times roll, I guess.

You know, today I was reading some of the Democrat happy talk about how the “inflation reduction” act would win them the mid-terms.  Is it possible they believe that?  The only two choices I could come up with is:

  • It’s just whistling past the graveyard and there’s no substance to the conclusion.
  • They know that they’ve got the voter fraud thing completely worked out and they don’t have to worry about elections anymore.

I’ll leave it up to the readers to pick which one of these two choices it is.  Or add a third choice of your devising.

I’ve been ploughing through the Yellowstone photos.  I’ve got about three thousand files.  They’re mostly landscape and some wildlife but I was happy to see that a lot of the plant and flower shots look good.  There are some very interesting flowers in that locale and they make good macrophotography and close-up photography shots.  But it’s still going to take me a while to make much progress.  With end of summer activities and all my other responsibilities breathing down my neck it’s slow going.

So, we’re about eighty days before election day.  Joe Biden’s approval rating has soared up to 40%.  And the Democrats are flogging the inflation reduction meme as hard as they can.  I guess they have to do something.  Maybe they plan the October surprise to be an indictment of Trump right before the election.  I’m of two minds whether that would make things better or worse.  Maybe that goes under the same idea that doing something is better than doing nothing.

And finally, I was thinking about how nice it must be to live in a state like Florida or Wyoming where the majority of people are like me and get to have the state government that I would want.  I’d just like to say for the record how much I envy all of you in the solidly red states.  I feel like it would make my life feel twice as happy to not hate my state government and not have to endure the constant bombardment of harmful and maddening government actions.

Well, I better get back to writing my campaign victory speech, “Fourscore and seven days ago …”

Dunwich Public Service

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Here in Dunwich the Evil Party and the Stupid Party cooperate.  Typically, First Selectman Cthulhu represents the Evil Party and negotiates with the Stupid Party to determine whom he’ll eat first and whom he’ll leave for last.  In between these two cases the order of the other meals can be a surprise both for Cthulhu and the ingestees.  Basically, they’re all living in the moment.  If the First Selectman happens to be feeling a might peckish then even without any provocation from the various entrees, he may decide to indulge in a snack.  And conversely, if the partisan antics of the Stupid Party are indulged in too strenuously, then even a sated or even a queasy Cthulhu may be forced to quiet the proceedings by the process of elimination.

But after those discussions were done, we got down to the business of making the Great Old Ones great again.  Apparently, Dunwich has a four hundredth anniversary this year.  On that day in 1622 Cthulhu ate his first Englishman and really, really liked it.  For that reason, he signed in blood (someone else’s) the official charter allowing Puritans the exclusive right to colonize what would come to be known as Dunwich.  Although back then it was known as New Dunwich.  In exchange, the inhabitants agreed to forfeit their immortal souls and pay an eight percent sales and real estate tax in perpetuity.  That Cthulhu really is evil.  Anyway, the anniversary committee gave its report and recommended fire works and a school pageant.  Blah, blah, blah.

At the meeting I was held forth as a candidate for the office of Keeper of the Condiments.  This is a high honor and comes with the additional perk that as the purveyor of barbecue sauce for the First Selectman I would be very unlikely to be eaten.  Of course, it is a highly demanding job and some folks think it slightly cruel.  Before every meeting of the selectmen, I am charged with slathering them with barbecue sauce from head to foot.  Most nights it’s just a formality but then again you never know.  It would also be my job to keep on hand a thousand-yard spool of nylon rope to be available for use as dental floss as needed.  But of course, replenishing the supply is only a very occasional chore.

I must confess that I have my qualms about accepting the nomination.  I mean, it’s not that I don’t despise all of the members of the Stupid Party.  After all, they are invertebrates of the first water with no hint of courage or even conscience.  As cocktail hors d’oeuvres for a squid headed dragon they would enjoy their finest hour.  But wasting that much barbecue sauce on these slugs just rankles.  If it was just ketchup or mustard, I think I’d be okay with it but my upbringing was always “waste not want not.”

But what the hell.  I need the cash.  Things have gotten expensive and the job comes with a pension and a tax exemption and eight percent is eight percent after all.  And all things considered it’s not the worst position in the town hall.  I’ve heard being the First Selectman’s Keeper of the Bicarbonate is a lot worse.  I don’t like to think about that one.

Summertime and the Living is Easy

photog Current Events, Life in Dunwich, OCF, photog's Corner , ,

Day after day of bright sunny weather has spoiled me.  I’m now hopelessly cheerful which is disastrous for a conservative blogger in Creepy Uncle Joe’s America.  Whereas I should be railing against runaway inflation and fascistic FBI activities, I’m too happy.  Whenever I get bored in the house I go outside into the blinding light and I feel my batteries recharging.  This Saturday is the last big summer party of the season and I’m anticipating the fun of seeing all the kids one more time before they have to start school again.  Burgers and dogs, sausage and peppers, potato salad and watermelon, lemonade and ice cream, and ricotta cheese cake.  Just a great way to end a nice hot summer.

I’ve been watching good movies and eating good food for the last couple of days.  Brando in Julius Caesar, Mutiny on the Bounty, A Streetcar Named Desire.  Chicken chop suey and homemade chicken pot pie.  Even watching that goofy Wolf Man movie the other day was a summer indulgence.  The end of summer edges us closer to the next milestone of the calendar, Halloween.  And that means classic monster movies and not so classic horror movies.  And that spells shorter days and the first nip of frost in the air.

Last night it was fifty degrees.  The cooling trend is there.  Backsliding into the mid-eighties is predicted for next Thursday and onward but the writing is on the wall.  Soon the air conditioners will be put away for another year.  Lemonade will be off the menu and hot coffee back on.  Watermelon will give way to apples and hot soup will reassert itself in the weekly menus that Camera Girl will present me with.  And all of this should make me SAD (seasonal affective disorder) but somehow, it’s just too bright and sunny to work the trick.  Maybe September will work its melancholy magic on me.  But until Labor Day rings the bell on summer I can’t seem to believe in winter just yet.

Looking a little ahead we have “Liz Cheney Appreciation Day” coming up on Tuesday.  That’s gonna be a humdinger.  I have to see what special celebration I’ll select for that.  I’ll try to capture my joy in a special schadenfreudian post that sings the praises of representative democracy when it actually works.  Also, Camera Girl has promised to bake me a huckleberry pie from real Montana huckleberries.  Wednesday, I meet with the Dunwich Committee to Re-elect Cthulhu.  Thursday and Friday I’ll have my chores in support of Saturday’s party and Sunday will be the cleanup.  By next Monday I’ll try to develop some post-summer let-down.  That will stand me in good stead when trying to summon the gloom and doom needed to opine about the current state of this fallen republic.  I’m sure by then Biden or one of the other odious carbuncles that supposedly run this country will have offended the public decency with various high crimes and misdemeanors.  By then I’ll have built up a level of bile sufficient to vent my spleen at these toads.

But until then I’m just too darn merry to groan.  I’ve got thousands of Yellowstone photos to review and process.  I’ve got a load of bug photos from around the grounds and I’ve got repair projects to address.  So, pardon me if I whistle a happy tune and luxuriate in the season.  Misery is sure to have its day soon.  La dolce vita.

Celebrating the Rituals of Summer in Stalinist America

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So yesterday Camera Girl and I travelled to our favorite seaside paradise to celebrate the sun and surf with all of my descendants and their spouses in the appropriate fashion.  There was swimming, boogie boarding, sand castles, crab hunting, sea shell collecting and sun bathing.  Afterwards there was way too much fattening food and an enormous portion of ice cream.

All this was followed by various board games.  I was unsurprised to discover how many of my descendants were very good chess players.  But the game that they really got excited about was Yahtzee.  Now I’ve been known to join in the game.  But I was shocked by the maniacal chants of “bonus Yaht” that echoed around the vacation house as an inordinate number of these five of a kind dice throws occurred.  In fact, I volunteered the opinion that the dice were loaded.  These shrieking fanatics, which included Camera Girl, paid no attention to my analysis and cheered the shocking luck.  But it was impossible to deny that I had a better time watching this game than I can remember watching any professional sports game in the last dozen years.

This morning we got up early and were treated to a delicious breakfast of scrambled eggs, sausage, potatoes and sweet bread by our host.  Then we took a walk on the boardwalk and saw the sights such as they are.  Unfortunately, one of the destinations was a souvenir shop where Camera Girl added two more hermit crabs to her colony.  Princess Sack of Potatoes finds these shell-shifting crustaceans fascinating so Camera Girl uses them as an attraction which gives her leverage over the diminutive royalty.  Apparently spending time with these invertebrates is a bargaining chip for such behavioral manifestations as hand washing, vegetable ingestion and cooperation at nap time.

So, I forked over the card and even carried the paper bag containing these refugees from a seafood bar.  And before we knew it the trip was over.  We weren’t staying the whole week like the younger contingent.  As the elder statesman my mission was to give the benediction that confirmed that the next generation had mastered the skills needed to host a family event at Old Orchard Beach (OOB).  And then to get out and leave enough room for the young to enjoy the facilities so full of my descendants.

As we drove home, we reflected on all the traditions that we built up over the couple of decades that we brought our kids to this seaside town in Maine.  And now the torch is passed and the grandkids are getting to do the same things.  When we first moved to New England, we tried the more popular resorts on Cape Cod.  But not only were they very expensive but the atmosphere was too refined.  There was too much antiquing and bicycle paths and not enough bumper cars and roller coasters.  So, I asked an engineer friend of mine who was about thirty years older than I was where could I bring a bunch of kids on vacation that was actually fun.  He said, “OOB.”  Apparently, it was the working-class destination I was looking for.  What it lacked in cachet it more than made up for with a nice white sand beach and clean water.  And the rest is the family dynamic of enjoying the company of your kids.

And while I was driving the considerable distance back to the Compound, I reflected that even under an Orwellian regime like the Biden gang there is still an inner life that can be cultivated with the people who really count.  Sure, we don’t have much money.  With the economy crashed we’re all struggling to make ends meet.  But it doesn’t cost much to play Yahtzee.  And even I still have hermit crab money.  So even in a banana republic life goes on and summer must be celebrated.  So, I’ll put off my despair over the Stasi raids and the 86 million new IRS agents for another day when I’m not as happy and contented.  Bonus Yaht!

The Big Heat

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This early in the Dunwich winter (August 1st to June 30th), we can still have temperatures in the nineties.  Today the grandkids and their friends were in the pool and so we vacuumed it last night.  And Camera Girl’s garden is filled up with various squash varieties; zucchini, spaghetti and butternut.  I took a look at it today and found a medium sized frog hiding among the squash.  I guess he was working for me keeping the bugs off the vegetables.

And the last of the daylilies are blooming like crazy.  In another week they’ll be gone.  So, the swallowtails and the monarchs are flitting around them like their lives depended on it.

And the heat was like a wave of energy radiating from the grass and the plants.  I could feel it in the skin of my face and the hair on my arms.  It seared my lungs when I breathed it.  It made me feel intensely alive.  So, I took a bunch of photos of flowers and butterflies and a couple of the frog.

Looking over the various news items is depressing.  Not because things are getting worse but simply because they are so pathetic.  There is a consensus that no one wants Joe Biden running for re-election, not even Democrats.  But the powers that be haven’t figured out how to force Creepy Uncle Joe into a hospice.  I think they’ll probably get a veterinarian to put him to sleep.  It would be cheaper.

Most of the opinion pieces today align with what I expect the publication’s readership would want to hear.  Lots of cheerleading.  As I said, even though things are trending in our favor right now, I find myself a little down due to just how abysmally bad the state of the world is.  What can you say about the state of the world when we’re forced to choose sides between the Chi-Coms and Nancy Pelosi?  How do you win that bet?

I was having a discussion with an old friend and we were sort of talking about this same thing, the pitiful state of the world.  And I was making the point that we have to stop expecting a big victory that will fix all these awful things.  These awful things are the baseline conditions of our times and it’s up to us to fix them in our own lives.  Sure, we can hope to elect better leaders but what we have to do is find solutions in our own lives.  Your kids are the only future there will be for your world view.  Teaching them what you believe to be true and right is your best chance of saving them from the groomers.  Giving them a good education is the best way of preparing them for making a decent living.  Helping them get on their feet is the way to pay forward the help you were given by your parents.

Of course, I was preaching to the choir but I thought it was worth saying it out loud.  Sometimes we can let ourselves get discouraged and then we need to put things in perspective.  Regardless of what Washington or the Blue State leaders say is policy, we have access to our kids and we can do an awful lot to shape their minds and souls.  And we need to make that our priority.

Saying those things out loud actually helped my mood.  I walked away from the computer screen and spent some time annoying Camera Girl.  I could sense that she needed valuable feedback from me on what she was making for dinner and stuff.

Next week we’re going to spend a day and a night up in Old Orchard Beach, Maine with the grandkids and their parents.  This will be a kind of revival of sorts.  About twenty-five years ago we started going there with our kids in the summers.  There’s an old-style amusement park with rides, bad fried food and crooked carnival games.  The beach is actually quite nice and compares favorably to any of the other East Coast resorts in terms of white sand and clean water.  I’ll get to walk down the beach with Princess Sack of Potatoes just as I did with her mother when she was that age.  And I’ll probably have to carry her when she gets too lazy to walk back.  The littlest boy will fly a kite on the sand and dig a sand castle.  And if I’m not careful I’ll be pummeled by him in the bumper cars at the amusement park.  And all of that is the fun part of paying forward what my parents and grandparents did for me.  Spending time with these people is the reason we do all this.  Otherwise, we might as well give up and let the whole world go to hell.

The Last Day of July 2022

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“August up ahead. Sure. But the way things are going, there’ll be no machines, no friends, and darn few dandelions for the last harvest.” – Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury

Today is the last day of July.  So, tomorrow is the first official day of winter in Dunwich.  I know that seems odd but it’s true.  July is the only truly bulletproof month of the year.  By the end of August weird freaky cold spells can happen and June is certainly no proof against frost.  Also, it’s only in July that heat can blast all the cold out of old bones and a soul and convince you that there is still some kernel of boy left in an old man.

Of course, I’m ignoring the multitude of annoying problems of summer.  Mosquitoes, poison ivy, wearing hats and sunscreen, stifling houses, watering plants, cutting grass, etc. etc. etc.  But all of that pales into insignificance when you sit on a porch and listen to the crickets chirp and watch the fireflies flash.

And if you’re gathering with friends and family, it’s especially nice.  The long, long days of July have enough time for all the fun (and the chores) that go along with summer.  By definition the Fourth of July cookout is the cornerstone of the month but there is room for a bunch of barbecues and parties.  This year we lured the grandkids over a bunch of times to swim in the pool.  And that of course means taking care of the pool which is a royal pain but the reward ratio is still plenty high to make up for it.

Well today is the end.  August is a summing up.  It’s rushing in whatever is left to do and making sure to start getting ready for what comes next.  For the kids that’s school and fall.  For adults it’s beginning to put away all the summer stuff and prepare the winter equipment.  So, I’m going to enjoy today for sure.

Yesterday was a family get together.  A younger nephew had a birthday party and my kids and grandkids showed up with other of my siblings and their kids.  Over pizza for the kids and some very good Italian appetizers we talked about this and that.

I had an interesting discussion about a report I read about how faked biomedical research on Alzheimer’s disease has set back the course of finding a cure at least fifteen years.  The feedback was that fake research and shoddy peer review is now endemic and that science is thoroughly infected with quackery.  This jibes with the growing pseudoscience of climate change and all the nonsense that gets reported as research in the social sciences and psychology.

And maybe we’re kidding ourselves and it’s always been like this.  But it does seem to me that the public has reached a point where gullibility is dangerously high.  The COVID madness proved that supposed adults will do anything they’re told if it’s wrapped in a government program.

But for me it’s just one more reminder that we’re not “all in this together.”  Critical thinking and maintaining options may save your life and definitely will save you a lot of grief and money.  The Left has clearly shown us what they intend to do.  They’re looking to make us serfs.  It behooves us to work with whatever resources and allies we have to make that as hard as possible.

Well, anyway, enjoy July Thirty First.

 

 

And then, quite suddenly, summer was over.

He knew it first when walking downtown.  Tom grabbed his arm and pointed gasping, at the dime-store window.  They stood there unable to move because of the things from another world displayed so neatly, so innocently, so frighteningly, there.

“Pencils, Doug, ten thousand pencils!”

“Oh, my gosh! ” – Dandelion Wine by Ray Bradbury