We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
A re-postfrom June, 2008. Was it that long ago? Seems like yesterday...It was a fine trip.
We took a day, last week, to hop the train over to Lake Como (and to stop by the Como Duomo), and took the fast ferry up to Villa Carlotta in Tremezzo - and then across the lake to Bellagio to see the equally renowned gardens of Villa Melzi.
The 17th-18th century Villa Carlotta and its gardens were a traditional and necessary stop on the "Grand Tour" of "the Continent." We anglophiles like to follow in those old paths.
It is impossible to capture on camera the feel of such vast and varied gardens, which are, in effect, both botanical gardens with worldwide collections of plants, and ornamental gardens designed to impress as much as to delight - some formal Italian and some English-style.
For example, these gardens have bamboo groves, Sequoia groves, acre-sized plantings of azalea, palm collections, collections of cacti, citrus arbors, etc. Even a turtle pool with happy and smiling American southern Red-eared Sliders and Cooters.
This photo is the entrance:
More of my mediocre photos on continuation page below -
Video of Market St., San Francisco, 4 days before the quake. The camera is mounted on the front of a streetcar. I cannot embed it...but maybe Dr. Merc, our Embedder In Chief, can figger out how to.
The population of SF was 400,000. Some traffic, eh? No lights, no crosswalks, no rules. Everybody dodging cars, horses, and streetcars. Total chaos, and wonderful. I love the two guys running to jump-start the car in front of the streetcar.
Also, dig the serene dude on horseback weaving through the people and the traffic. Reminded me of the absurd end of the already-insane Blazing Saddles.
“I’m tired of hearing about the Holocaust.”Be close enough to most people for them to be honest, even Jews, and you’ll often hear that said. What they most usually mean is they are tired of hearing hypocrisy.
Sunday is Holocaust Day, Yom Ha-Shoah, Day of Remembering the Catastrophe, sadly commemorated in many nations so we don’t forget.The actual full title is Yom Ha-Shoah Ve-Hagevurah, Day of Remembering the Catastrophe and the Heroism.
Yes, there was heroism.Among the parents and strangers who kept spirits alive ‘til death. Among the relative handfuls who risked all to shelter or aid escape. Among those who escaped to fight.Among those who tried to alert the Allies and get their help, failing but persevering.
Apart from blenders, toaster ovens and computers, another realm the microchip has improved immensely are the new state-of-the-art metal detectors.
Metal detectors have been around for a long time, about seventy years or so, but until relatively recently they've been severely limited as to the type of ground they could penetrate. All of the iron in the ground in California, Nevada and Colorado has been like a solid wall to metal detectors, until now. This new wave of metal detectors can now penetrate these ferrous-rich areas, and great discoveries await those who try.
The technology has also enabled metal detectors to work correctly in salt water. The old style worked somewhat, but not nearly as well as the new ones do.
Below the fold, I'll list out some popular ways in which this new metal detector technology can be used for fun and profit. You don't have to buy the fanciest one on the shelf, but you'll certainly get more options, the more you pay. A more-expensive model can not only tell how deep a coin is buried, but even what type of coin it is. It can also tell basic metal types, such as "iron", "silver", "gold", and can even isolate and identify pull-top tabs, the all-time bane of the treasure hunter. So, a few extra dollars spent now could save you endless hours later in the field.
I guess that even I, who does tend to be a skeptic about everything, have been a bit influenced by the RC-hating MSM, because I have to admit that this somewhat surprises me.
My Mom recently mailed me a stack of letters, postcards, etc that my Grandpa had mailed to his kid sister from a June-August 1940 trip he had taken his two kids on - my Mom and my late uncle. (My Grandpa's lovely wife died after giving birth to my Mom, and he never remarried. Not sure he ever got over that loss.) A single parent.
He wrote about three letters or postcards per week to his dear Sis in Bridgeport, CT. It's a delight to read these travelogues. Seems like the fellow (who was a good pal to me when I was young), a great yachtsman (also a fine horseman, polo player, and shooter), spent much of his time on the bridge with the officers during the cruise part of their trip. He reported all the warships he admired en route - Sis' husband was a naval officer in the Pacific at the time. Probably spent the rest of the time in the bar playing poker, which he reported was pleasantly air-conditioned.
He also reported that my Mom, as usual, won the shipboard trap shooting contests (she has always been good with a horse and a shotgun, but now all she does is tennis and gardening). At the time, my Mom was in high school on the riding team and my Uncle at Dartmouth on the drinking team.
Their cruise took them from NYC to San Francisco via Baltimore, Havana, Cristobal, Balboa, Acapulco, Los Angeles on the Panama Pacific Line'sCity of San Francisco. From his letters, they also stopped in Colon and Panama City.
As I do, my Grandpa loved the shipboard life, especially the coasting up from Panama to California. Then they spent a few days at the Hotel Empire in SF, then variously trained and drove to the Yosemite Lodge, the Grand Canyon, spent a couple of weeks at the still-wonderful old Eaton's Ranch in WY, thence to the New Lawrence Hotel in Chicago and then train back to NYC.
Nice summer trip.
Christmas, mid-1950s, in Grandpa's parlor I think. My cuz added some color to the B&W. My Grandpa with pipe in hand on left next to Sis, and other relatives:
A bit more about this one of my two fine Grandpas on continuation page below. One day soon, we will do a post inviting readers' Grandpa reminiscences. Not today.
A friend of mine was recently pulled over for speeding. The constable, ambling over to his driver's side window asked "Are you carrying, Mr. Smith?"
"No, sir. I am not carrying today. But why do you ask?"
"I ran your plates. Have a good day, sir, and watch your speed."
The cops around here know that if you have a carry permit, it means you've been well-vetted by the local PD, the State Troopers, the FBI, and who knows who else - and that you have been found to be a solid citizen.
Found these at the Bass Pro Shop in Nashville a couple of years ago. In my case, their message happens to be true. Yes, there are still some Farmalls in New England, and my Grandpa's is still running fine even though he stopped running long ago.
The ones with the close-together front tires creep me out on Massachusetts hills, though. I prefer a "wide stance" on the hills.
Several years ago, Rockwell International decided to get into the heavy duty transmission business. They were getting ready to tape a first introduction video, so, as a warm up and sound-check, the professional narrator began ad-libbing what has become a legend within the trucking industry. This man should have won an Emmy for his stellar performance. Now remember this is strictly off the cuff, nothing is written down.
Talk about a Gift of Gab.
President Obama and the Democrats in Congress should have hired him to explain their version of health care reform to the American people.
- "Authentic" classical music, with original instruments and strict constructionists directing (eg John Eliot Gardiner) was popular over the past couple of decades. Interesting too. But is it time to Forsake Authenticity?
How much of what shapes our lives is luck and serendipity? Most of us have met our spouse by chance, and many even have their jobs or even their careers by stumbling onto something.
On Maggie's Farm, we like to view life optimistically as an endless conveyor belt of opportunities, but with few of them passing by more than once. Thus do we necessarily accumulate regrets over time.
But what is luck made of? What is Fate made of? In part (and only in part), it is made of these ingredients:
"Character is destiny." - Sigmund Freud
"Chance favors the prepared mind." - Louis Pasteur
"You make your own luck." - Ernest Hemingway
"I find that the harder I work, the more luck I seem to have." -Thomas Jefferson
"I've found that luck is quite predictable. If you want more luck, take more chances. Be more active. Show up more often." - Brian Tracy
"Suit up, show up, and shut up." - AA aphorism, and the closely related Woody Allen quote: "Eighty percent of success is showing up."
This topic came to mind as I reflected on our corny but deeply true QQQs on persistence. Persistence tends to work because it works on a statistical basis. If a fellow hits on enough gals in the pub, he'll eventually get lucky.
Of course, knowing when to fold 'em is part of wisdom too. Sometimes sunny optimism is plain stupid.
When Christ rode into Jerusalem down from the Mount of Olives on a colt (or small horse, or donkey - whatever) on Palm Sunday, he was greeted with Hosannas by excited crowds who believed him to be the Messiah.
His teachings and his miracles had become famous. People threw their cloaks on the road and, presumably, palm leaves, for his horse to walk on.
Much of their enthusiasm was unwarranted, however: the Jews were hoping for a political messiah (using the word "king"), more than they were hoping for the messiah who came to tell them that much of what they believed about being in relationship with God was wrong - and claiming that he had the authority to say so.
"Salvation," for the crowds, meant salvation from the Romans, and "the kingdom of God," in the Hebrew Bible, referred to the literal restoration of a nation of Israel under God, as had been promised to David. There was no concept at the time, I believe, of the now-Christian idea of salvation or the Christian idea of "the kingdom of God." Furthermore, Jesus had no interest I am aware of in politics or governance and had no beef with the Romans.
A radical for sure, in his apparent renunciation of the ordinary world.
My own view is that it refers to God's domain, ie the universe of those souls who seek relationship with God - not any literal kingdom but a "spiritual" (I hate that word), unworldly kingdom. Maybe "transcendent" is a better word.
I suspect that the Jews who welcomed Jesus to Jerusalem were deeply disappointed to discover that Jesus' mission was not worldly, but other-worldly: only a few handfuls of people remained to constitute what the scholars term the "Christ cult" after the crucifixion. It took Paul's inspired work to rebuild on the foundation.
(That's just my amateur take on it all. I am no expert.)
It didn’t dawn on me that there might be a few holes in my education until I was about 35. I’d just bought a house, the pipes needed fixing, and the plumber was standing in my kitchen. There he was, a short, beefy guy with a goatee and a Red Sox cap and a thick Boston accent, and I suddenly learned that I didn’t have the slightest idea what to say to someone like him. So alien was his experience to me, so unguessable his values, so mysterious his very language, that I couldn’t succeed in engaging him in a few minutes of small talk before he got down to work. Fourteen years of higher education and a handful of Ivy League degrees, and there I was, stiff and stupid, struck dumb by my own dumbness. “Ivy retardation,” a friend of mine calls this. I could carry on conversations with people from other countries, in other languages, but I couldn’t talk to the man who was standing in my own house.
It’s not surprising that it took me so long to discover the extent of my miseducation, because the last thing an elite education will teach you is its own inadequacy.
Mrs. BD is now considering this idea for an August trip: barging through Provence on the Rhone and the canals.
I told her the choice was between that trip and finishing getting my teeth fixed. It's called Fun With Implants. (Of course, if Obama would pay for my teeth then I could do both. Maybe I should write a note and cc Reid and Pelosi and tell them I'm ready for my new choppers right now.)
My Mom and Dad took one of these trips a few years ago. She said their plump Chef decided to try the balloon ride one time, got about 10" in the air and leaned out to tell the Sous-chef some last minute cooking detail and fell out of the basket into the canal. Hilarity ensued.
Also on my bucket list: Sailing cruise down the coast of Turkey. Yes, I do want to visit Turkey again - with digital camera this time. I like the people, the food, the landscape, the markets, the history, the ruins, and their fruit and wines.
Apart from blenders, toaster ovens and computers, another realm the microchip has improved immensely are the new state-of-the-art metal detectors.
My Mom recently mailed me a stack of letters, postcards, etc that my Grandpa had mailed to his kid sister from a June-August 1940 trip he had taken his two kids on - my Mom and my late uncle. (My Grandpa's lovely wife died after giving birth to my Mom, and he never remarried. Not sure he ever got over that loss.) A single parent.
A friend of mine was recently pulled over for speeding. The constable, ambling over to his driver's side window asked "Are you carrying, Mr. Smith?"
How much of what shapes our lives is luck and serendipity? Most of us have met our spouse by chance, and many even have their jobs or even their careers by stumbling onto something.
When Christ rode into Jerusalem down from the Mount of Olives on a colt (or small horse, or donkey - whatever) on Palm Sunday, he was greeted with Hosannas by excited crowds who believed him to be the Messiah. 