Send in the Clowns

21 Nov

OK, we have 306 million people in this country, at least half of whom are over 35, and this bunch is the best the Republican Party can find?

We have a loud mouth who stops just short of admitting he’s a Nazi (“You tell me”, he says.) who wants to shutter mosques and register Muslims, but says registering gun owners is “going too far, because the Constitution is very clear on that subject”. Is he aware that the Constitution also says “Congress shall make no law …prohibiting the free exercise (of religion)?

He may know his gun rights, but he isn’t all that familiar with the rest of the Constitution.

We have two woman who have won the right to pose for their driver’s license photo wearing a colander on their heads (Lindsay Miller, of Massachusetts, and Shawna Hammond, of Oklahoma), because they are members of the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster and he’s worried about a lady in a hijab.

And then we have a brain surgeon who is willing – eager! – to subject another race to the same indignities his own had to endure, and sees no irony in it.

What is wrong with these people?

Can we get George Takai to run? I’ll vote for him.

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The Year of the Goat, The Week of the Dog

20 Nov

At the rate we are going, El Destructo is going to tear down the house by the end of the week.

This latest escapade is entirely the fault of the humans around here. Blazer’s run is between two large trees in the back yard. If the tie rope is not on the outside of the trees, it will not allow the pulley to slide along the run. Instead the dog comes to a crashing halt when he gets to the end of the rope. Depending upon his speed, this can result in the dog simply doing a summersault (probably painful), slipping the collar over his head, snapping the hook off the end of the rope, or yanking the run out of the tree.

Wednesday afternoon, whichever of us brought him in did not make sure he was on the proper side of the tree. All we have to do is wave our arm to the left and tell him to “go around”, but that command wasn’t given, and the dog’s not an engineer. When I let him out before bedtime, I couldn’t see in the dark that the rope was around the tree, so he went racing out – something needed barking at – and pulled the run out of the tree, which resulted in the rope (and the pulley) sliding off the end of the run, and Blazer taking off after whatever was crashing through the woods.

A deer, probably. At least, I hope it was only a deer.

A couple of weeks ago I had purchased a strap that attaches to the dog’s collar. It’s about seven inches long, and has an LED light which can be turned to solid red, blinking, or off. It is called Niteize*  and cost about $12 (I had a coupon) and is worth its weight in gold, as I was able to locate the dog immediately by the blinking light. The Rudolph effect.   Reaching him, through the mud and the briars was another story, but I managed to get him back to the house. I left the pulley in the dog dish, on the counter, so there was no way The Squire could claim he didn’t see it.

In addition to selective hearing, I’ve noticed he also suffers from selective vision.

Thursday morning he took the dog for a ramble – Blazer doesn’t go far on an empty stomach. He did repair the run, but managed – heaven only knows how – to break the hook that attaches the rope to the run.    Instead, he tied the rope around a post on the carport.

This morning, all I saw was the rope sprawled across the concrete, and simply hooked up the dog. Well, when you have 75 pounds of pit bull/greyhound mix on a fairly short rope (30 feet), it can be messy. The dog took off at top speed, carport post cracked, and the dog managed to break his collar. He pulled the ring that holds his tags and the hook, out of the collar. He ripped the stitching that holds the ring in place; dog collars are constructed of the same material as seatbelts. We’re talking some sort of force and speed, here, folks. The rope snapped back and got caught in a tree branch, and The Squire came dashing downstairs – barefoot. The “boom” was enough to wake him up, and he thought a tree had fallen on the house.

He went off to the grocery store to get a new collar, but the largest they had was for a twenty-five pound dog, so scratch that. We will have to stop at the pet store again tomorrow and purchase a new, and slightly larger, collar.

And see what other mischief Blazer can get into before the month is out.

 

*Unsolicited testimonial here. These little lights are phenomenal. They come in the strap type, which attaches to the collar, and several sizes of “fobs” for small dogs and cats. The fobs don’t blink, but they are very bright.

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Pushing the Envelope

19 Nov

Back in January, Blazer decided he has enough seniority around here to take over the recliner in the living room. Neither The Squire nor I were exactly delighted with this arrangement, but the chair keeps him off the draughty floor in the winter and close to the a/c in the summer. I got a cover for the chair, which is some help, although the dog much prefers it rumpled into a ball, rather than spread over the back and sides to protect the upholstery.

For as long as we have had him, Blazer has slept outside the bedroom door until I get out of bed, even when I take my afternoon nap. This morning, The Squire glanced up the stairs to see if there was any sign of my floating to the surface, and realized the dog wasn’t in the hallway. When he came up to investigate, he discovered that Blazer has decided to wait for me in the arm chair in the TV room, rather than sleep on the floor!

This did not sit well with The Squire.

Mind you, this is a dog who refuses to eat in the kitchen, and waits until we have said grace before he eats his own meals, but I think he’s about reached the limit.

No matter how hard you push the envelope, it’s still stationary.

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Mad Dog!

18 Nov

Normally, when I go over to knitting at church, I take Blazer with me.  On Monday nights, he has a grand time playing with the Cubs Scouts, but for the last several months we have been sharing our space on Wednesday with the Golden Age Group. Now, Blazer is a bit of a Golden Ager himself, but I do worry that he will be in the way, so this morning I left him home.

The Squire said that when the dog realized I wasn’t in my normal spot – in front of the computer, alas – he went looking for me. He couldn’t see the car in the drive, so he searched all over the house, sniffing in every closet and under the bed.

Then he looked for my car a second time, and began his search anew. Sometimes Blazer gets very “talky”, but The Squire said this morning’s words were more akin to angry muttering, mixed with low growls. The dog was obviously seriously pissed.

And the Golden Age group didn’t show up!

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Doing My Part

17 Nov

I went back to the “Y” yesterday for the first time since my surgery in late September. I had to reinstate my membership, so was still in the lobby when an Islamic family came in, looking scared to death. I’d never seen them before, so they probably joined while I was AWOL.

They appeared to be a mother, father, and 20-ish daughter.  I went over and gave each of the women a hug, telling them how sorry I was for what had happened, meaning, of course, the Paris attacks. I remembered my manners and didn’t try to hug the father, but bowed slightly, and repeated the only Arabic phrase I know – Saleem Aliakam. I probably butchered both the spelling and the pronunciation, but it means “Peace be with you”, and our former rector always said it to our Moroccan exchange student, when we passed the Peace at church.  (Thank you, Fr. Al and Youssef.) The father bowed back and then took both of my hands in his, and looked as if he was going to cry. Later, the two ladies thanked me, and apologized for “those crazy people”. I replied we all have our share of crazies.

Oliver Cromwell used to ring the alarm bells in English towns, which was a sign for every one to run to the church to see what was going on. He’d lock the people in  the church and then set fire to it. Not much different from firing a gun in a crowded theatre.  And all in the name of religion. I’m not sure God is at all pleased.

Onward and upward.

I didn’t accomplish very much at the “Y”, as so many people wanted to welcome me back and ask how I was doing. You can’t just say “Fine, thank you” and keep going (well, maybe you can, but I can’t!) so I spent a lot of time chatting and singing the praises of my operation. And my surgeon.

Just as well. I was sore at the dickens this morning. This is going to take a while.

We are having a candlelight vigil at church tonight, and of course any Episcopal gathering involves food. My girlfriend sent me the picture on the right, and I found a recipe for a cheese ball and had at it. Several folks in our congregation have celiac disease, so when I stopped to pick up the American cheese, I grabbed a green pepper to use for the stem and leaves instead of what seems to be a pretzel and obviously, cookies. cheeseball

DSCN0031Mine turned out this way.

Take your pick.

While I was working, I took a nibble of cheese. I’d forgotten how horrible American cheese is. Yuck!

 

 

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Why I Love My Husband

15 Nov

The Squire was rummaging in the back room, and then came out and poked around in the refrigerator

“We don’t have any onions for supper.”

It sometimes happens that things in our fridge migrate from one place to another, so I took a look. I reached into the cheese drawer (don’t ask) and turned to him. “Will this do?”

“Ah! The Shallot of the Lady!”

And he headed for the cutting board.

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Never Try to Talk to a Politician

11 Nov

Last week, Fr. M asked if The Squire and I would be willing to meet with the local county councilman and another gentleman to discuss the possibility of there having been a Revolutionary era fort at the far end of Joppatowne. No problem. We didn’t think there had been, but we were willing to ride out to the site with them and take a look.  Joppatowne had been pretty much deserted by 1770, but what the heck.

We were met at the church at 1:30 today by Mike, the councilman, Barbara, another county executive, and the original gentleman (hereafter known as OG), whose man I never did catch. OG said that a fleet of about 300 British ships sailed up the Chesapeake, and were met by a barrage of cannon fire from a fort at Foster’s Point. Under normal circumstances, the military allowed one cannon per so many soldiers, so the amount of firepower suggested a lot more men in the fort than there actually were. The British, being pretty smart, turned around and sailed away.

I had never heard of this battle, such as it was, but I do know that two men, Heathcoat Pickett and John Paul, were arrested and convicted of “giving comfort” to the enemy by selling flour from their gristmill to the British, so this makes sense. Why else would the British be here, but looking for a fight? Paul managed to escape, and lived out the Revolution in a cave, being provided food by his family. Pickett was hanged the next morning.

The cannon had been borrowed from, and returned to, Havre de Grace.

So, while I was on the phone trying to track down the church records (which would have also been the civil records) from that time period – on microfilm in Annapolis – the two folks from the county government, OG, and The Squire had settled themselves in the office, and got to talking Harford county politics. We do not live in Harford County, but it was really interesting listening to them. One point that Mike brought up was this business of non-permeable land. Right now, if a contractor wants to put up a building, a certain portion of the land must be in grass and trees. We have two empty shopping centres up the road, and his attitude is “do what you wish, but don’t make it any worse”. Repave the broken parking lot, put a new building on the old footprint, and we’re no worse off than we were, and we haven’t destroyed any more open land.  Dear Heaven, the man makes sense!

One thing the OG said that really caught my attention was a remark about people who sit on the county council, show up month after month, and never say or do anything. “If you are on the council, you should have a project. Pick out something you want to do, and present a report every month. Don’t just show up.” Sounds like a good motto for a vestry meeting.

After an hour of listening to the three of them discuss the future of Joppatowne, The Squire and I finally broke up the meeting and came home. When we left, they were still on the parking lot, planning a wonderful future for our little burg.

And we never did get to see the fort.

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It’s Official

10 Nov

My head really is screwed on properly.

We went up yesterday morning and had X-rays made of my neck, and as far as I can tell, all is well. The washer that replaced the crushed disc  is clearly visible, and so is the plate that holds it all together.  The side view gives you a good look at my jaw; I quite obviously grew up before fluoride. What a metal mouth! I see the surgeon on Thursday morning, and that should be that.

Blazer and I went over to knitting last night – first time I’ve been out alone since the end of September.  The Cub Scouts meet in the hall while we meet in the office, and Blazer spent most of his time hangin’ out with the boys. He is such an attention hound! A good ear wiggle from every man, woman, and child in the room, and then he came into the office for some more loving and some dog treats. Are we spoiled? Oh, no, not us!

A young lady from church came over this morning to talk with me about planning her wedding next September. She is an orphan, and has sort of adopted The Squire and me as surrogate parents. She’s had a dreadful life, and if anybody deserves a bit of “happily ever after” it is her.  Working with her on this wedding is a strain, as she wants it all, and we have very different tastes and ideas. Every colour in the rainbow, fruit, flowers, ribbons – and that’s just the cake! She did select a very pretty wedding dress, quite restrained, actually, but for the two flower girls she is thinking lilac dresses with turquoise sashes. And lime green flowers.

I told her it was going to resemble Nanny McPhee, and she shivered with delight. “I know! Wasn’t that beautiful?”

Just keep repeating, “It’s not my wedding. It’s not my wedding. It’s not my wedding.”

Oy.

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We Need a New Criteria

5 Nov

So, Ben Carson think the Affordable Care Act is the worst thing to happen to America since slavery and/or the attacks on 9/11. He hasn’t voiced an opinion on the seriousness of either World War, but he has said the Jews didn’t try hard enough where Hitler was concerned. Being in prison will make you gay, and evolution is a myth.

And now, it has come to light that he is convinced the pyramids were not built by the pharaohs as tombs, but by Joseph for grain storage during the Seven Fat Years.  This would naturally have come as a shock to Howard Carter (as well as many other archaeologists) who didn’t find a bit of grain in King Tut’s tomb.

I think it is time to reconsider the term “brain surgeon” as the epitome of intelligence.

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Try to Act Surprised, Part Two

3 Nov

I mentioned in late October that The Squire and I had just finished the latest book in David Weber’s Safehold series. Since the first book was published in 2007, I thought I’d go to the library and start over from the beginning, reading the series from start to finish without a one year break between them.

The library no longer carries the actual books. Everything is audio, now. Well, rats.

So, I went off to Abebooks and ordered the first four in the series. Off Armageddon Reef, By Schisms Rent Asunder, By Heresies Distressed, and A Mighty Fortress. They arrived yesterday. Heresies is the shortest book, with 618 pages, and Fortress is the longest, just shy of 1,100 pages.

These will be his Christmas gift, if I can keep them out of his hands until then. He probably won’t come up for air until mid-March.

Try to act surprised.

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