Sunday, May 10. 2009
I know that Mother's Day was invented by Hallmark to sell greeting cards but, now that it exists, the child or husband who neglects it is in deep trouble. My wife (and my own Mom too, self excepted - believe myself to be the Black Sheep) produced some fairly OK kiddies.
Here's the new garden path you always wanted, wifey. Looped around my prize peach tree. Perhaps I did lead you down the garden path, but if you don't want my peaches, baby, don't shake my tree.
Yes, left front is a Harry Lauder's Walking Stick. Cool plant. A dwarfed, sterile, and contorted Hazel or Filbert, which looks most interesting in winter when you can see its strange shape.
Reposted -
The Jonathan Fairbanks house in Dedham, MA. 1636. Those are the bones of the basic center-hall Colonial. The slope of that roof is great for either snow or rain.
Multiculturally-sensitive though he may be, Sippican Cottage is omitting pueblos and phony old houses in St. Augustine from his thorough research on the topic. He means real wood-framed houses.
It's easy to detect the core of the farmhouse, before all of the additions and extensions.
What a young nation we are.
Saturday, May 9. 2009
 Thinking about smells and tastes today (they are essentially the same thing). My big old barn/garage did it to me this morning, with the warm air filled with scent and memories.
For me, that warm stew of the scents of gasoline, oil, grease, hay in the hay-loft, grain, tools and machines, dust, tractors, sawdust, kerosene, piles of saved lumber, old paint cans, leather tack and the saddle soap for it, the sweetness of fresh horse manure - mixed with the smell of the new grass and clover and wildflowers springing up in the fields wafting around - is an emotional thread that runs all the way back to my earliest childhood in Connecticut.
What it reminded me of today was being a lad of 8 or 10 helping my Dad build a new mounting block for my Mom and for us kids to get up on the horses. My Mom had a couple of big hunters, and appreciated a help to get up on them. She was almost always either pregnant or getting over being pregnant, but she loved the Hunt. These mounting block things had steps and a platform, with a railing on one side. My Dad would only use a hand-saw, believing that bench saws and the like were for the pros. He had one, but never used it. He could cut a straight line.
I was instructed to paint it barn red to match the horse barn, and the railings and cross-pieces white.
They make them out of plastic nowadays, but this guy built a simple wooden one.
Photo is one of those nasty modern plastic mounting blocks. Looks like made by Fisher-Price. Advantage: you can move them around easily.
Friday, May 8. 2009
Another reminiscence from our shrink friend Nathan about his days in the Indian Health Service -
 A limp and a death among the Lakota Sioux marked my first day at Eagle Butte, devoid of eagles and buttes. Two days’ drive from Chicago, I am greeted from afar by John Running Horse, he dipping and rising like a Venetian gondolier, waving aloft what from afar seemed to be the plaster sculpture of a leg. Up close, it is.
Before I could stop completely, John Running Horse lay one hand on the open window of my red Fiat 128, bowed in head and cast, asked, “You the new doc?” I was. “Put this thing on again”; hands me the cast, then points to his gondoliering leg. I park and head in.
The Indian Health Service had told me that there were two docs; arrive Sunday.
But, by Sunday, Dr. K. had been flown out with her atrial flutter to be cardioverted eighty miles up the road to Mobridge; Dr. L. was riding shotgun with a mother in active labor also to Mobridge. No docs in Eagle Butte.
I wrapped a new cast on John Running Horse’s right leg and asked as I did so -- dipping plaster rolls in warm water, smoothing them first around, then smoothing downward along the fracture to make it seamless -- how his old cast got cut off. Itched, he said; cut it off himself, as he unsheathe his James Black/Musso pattern S-guard bowie knife. White plaster still dusted its curved Stainless steel back tip and brass quillion; hadn’t even wiped it clean.
I told John Running Horse that his skin would itch again after a few days; dried skin flakes. I found a metal coat hanger, bent it straight and showed him how he could insert it within the cast to scratch itches. He found this marvelous; made a special leather sheath for it to hang from his belt. Later, he returned; brought a water color gift; painted himself on his horse; he wearing Sioux gear. In his right hand, born aloft like some victorious banner is not a leg cast, but his Winchester Model 1894 lever-repeating rifle -- the gun that won the West, the weapon of choice for the Rifleman of TV.
Continue reading "A Limp and a Death"
You used to just plain peter out at 68 or 79 or 93 but, after 1951, the law changed and some Doc had to make up a cause to put on the death certificate. A proximate cause, plus additional lines to fill in for contributing causes/underlying causes of death. (Imagine what that change did to disease stats!) More many more little-known facts about death.
Old time Docs knew that people died when they got old and rickety or had a bum ticker or some nasty growths. You plumb wear out eventually, and it is just a matter of which internal doohickey crapped out first. It was considered sort-of natural, and not a medical issue.
And, when folks died, they either said "They died" or "They ascended to their Maker" or "Went to their eternal reward." They did not say "They passed" (what a strange expression - passed what? New Agey-sounding, isn't it? Took a pass on more life, or what? Passed into the Spirit World?) or "passed away," as the relentlessly euphemistic funeral home people used to say. Like they aren't dead: they just sort of floated away past the 7-11 and the Pontiac dealership and the Pizza Hut to somewhere else.
Maybe to the lovely Mall in the Sky.
Kingston Farm, Concord, MA (h/t, And Rightly So). One heck of a fine barn/garage deal.
Thursday, May 7. 2009
"I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the falls azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff -
and I lived on..."
 I read Nabokov's Pale Fire when it came out. I've read all of Nabokov, or almost all. None of his butterfly texts.
From Mary McCarthy's 1962 review:
Pale Fire is a Jack-in-the-box, a Faberge gem, a clockwork toy, a chess problem, an infernal machine, a trap to catch reviewers, a cat-and-mouse game, a do-it-yourself novel. It consists of a 999-line poem of four cantos in heroic couplets together with an editor's preface, notes, index, and proof-corrections. When the separate parts are assembled, according to the manufacturer's directions, and fitted together with the help of clues and cross-references, which must be hunted down as in a paper-chase, a novel on several levels is revealed, and these "levels" are not the customary "levels of meaning" of modernist criticism but planes in a fictive space, rather like those houses of memory in medieval mnemonic science, where words, facts, and numbers were stored till wanted in various rooms and attics, or like the Houses of astrology into which the heavens are divided.
Hear about the mechanic who was addicted to brake fluid?
Says he can stop any time he wants.
 It's part of wisdom to know the limits of one's knowledge (and the limits of one's wisdom, if that is possible).
When I post a photo of a rug I like, aka a floor mat, my taste and lack of expertise are invariably corrected by one or another rug pro who likes Maggie's. And rightly so. I am the kind of person who welcomes correction and education even as it injures my fragile self-esteem and self-worth.
But this time I am determined to show something to wow the experts: this highly-collectible museum quality semi-antique 3X5 Barbie rug.
Now that is a special rug. It's the Barbie 50th Anniversary Rug! The sensitive rendering of Barbie permits the depth of her wonderful personality to shine through. The vibrant, sensual pink is very special, as are the beautifully stylized background flowers.
Any person of discriminating taste would be proud to have this carpet in their parlor.
Wednesday, May 6. 2009
Ignoring acquittals in sentencing? We agree with Dr. X that this is wrong. Judges aren't gods.
I just had to highlight Dr. Clouthier's site today. She must write fast, or have no time to take care of patients. From her today:
Who owns the Republican brand?
 It begins:
It’s not Republicans. And it’s not Rush Limbaugh–much as Obama, his minions and the press would like to paint it so.
I’ve got bad news: The opposition owns the Republican brand. Oh yes, they do. Democrats define Republicans and the Republicans accept the definition by operating from their false premises.
How do I know Republicans are owned by the Left? Because the Republican message is consistently negative and defensive: “I’m not mean.” ” We don’t believe that.” “I’m not extremist like them“. And by them, Republicans are defining themselves against the press-Obama-grassroots caricature of Republicans. In doing so, the Republicans with a national voice diminish their own party.
All of her stuff is good.
Monday, May 4. 2009
 Pete Seeger, at Powerline. Gotta admit that Pete did a good job with Abiyoyo and Sam the Sailor or the Whaler or whatever it is called. I heard him perform years ago at Tanglewood.
His dangerous innocence has made him good with kids' songs, and a fervent supporter of mass-murdering totalitarian oppressors of the common man - provided they were of the Commie variety. Thus his inscription on his banjo, Woody Guthrie-style, "This machine kills fascists," has an unintended irony which Jonah Goldberg would appreciate.
Sunday, May 3. 2009
 Sipp is very fond of John Singer Sargent. So are we.
Portrait is his Dr. Pozzi at Home (1881).
Ah, for the days when a gent could don his at-home robe or smoking jacket after work and on weekends. Chair by the fire, glass of Scotch or brandy, nice Habana ceegar, book or the internet, kids in the kitchen or upstairs or wherever being very quiet because "Your Father is at home." No treadmill exercise, no weight-lifting, no driving kids to summer hockey practice, no running to the dry cleaner or to Home Depot.
Diapers? Are you kidding? What is "yard work"?
Today, a gent's work never ends no matter how wealthy. The wives have taken over, and the modern wife ain't got no respect. But she might show some, if you dressed like Dr. P.
Fathers are half-emasculated these days, unlike the diabolical Dr. Pozzi.
The lowest level of Hell, according to Dante, is reserved for those who betray their benefactors.
The Circles of Hell. h/t, Thompson's Friday Ephemera.
Saturday, May 2. 2009
A re-post for the beginning of boating season up here -
 Since it's boating season up here, I thought I'd do a little study of the US Yacht Ensign for today. This flag's use originated in 1847 when the Commodore of the New York Yacht Club proposed using it to identify private (ie non-commercial) yachts in US waters.
The law permitting the Yacht Ensign's use as a substitute for the National Ensign (American flag) was repealed in 1980. However, boaters love the Yacht Ensign and, in good American spirit, defy the regulation and continue to fly it. It just looks better on a boat.
A few details gleaned from various places:
- The size of the flag should be based on the length of the boat, feet to inches, so that a 32' boat should fly the closest-sized ensign, which is 36". Otherwise, it looks stupid.
- The 50 star national flag or the yacht ensign should only be flown in two places: either on a flagstaff on the stern or on the leech of the mainsail. It should not be flown from the spreader. Only the yacht club burgee and, most importantly, the courtesy flag of a visited nation are to be flown from the spreader.
- What's the story on the "fouled anchor" naval and nautical logo? After all, a fouled anchor is a nautical abomination - it will cause your anchor to drag. Naval Uniform History says:
The foul anchor as a naval insignia got its start as the seal of the Lord Howard of Effingham. He was the Lord Admiral of England at the time of the defeat of the Spanish Armada in 1588. During this period the personal seal of a great officer of state was adopted as the seal of his office. The fouled anchor still remains the official seal of the Lord High Admiral of Great Britain. When this office became part of the present Board of Admiralty, the seal was retained - on buttons, official seals, and cap badges. The Navy's adoption of this symbol and many other customs can be directly attributed to the influence of British Naval tradition. The fouled anchor is among them.
Friday, May 1. 2009
A quote from his piece:
During the 1940s, my family lived in North Philadelphia's Richard Allen housing project. Many families didn't lock doors until late at night, if ever. No one ever thought of installing bars on their windows. Hot, humid summer nights found many people sleeping outside on balconies or lawn chairs. Starting in the '60s and '70s, doing the same in some neighborhoods would have been tantamount to committing suicide. Keep in mind that the 1940s and '50s were a time of gross racial discrimination, high black poverty and few opportunities compared to today. The fact that black neighborhoods were far more civilized at that time should give pause to the excuses of today that blames today's pathology on poverty and discrimination.
Policemen and laws can never replace customs, traditions and moral values as a means for regulating human behavior. At best, the police and criminal justice system are the last desperate line of defense for a civilized society. Our increased reliance on laws to regulate behavior is a measure of how uncivilized we've become.
Thursday, April 30. 2009
 I was working at home today, and took a stroll at lunchtime up the driveway for a quiet smoke and to give the horses some carrots. A new black F-150 pulls in. A well-muscled and well-tattoed guy leans out and says "Got a FedEx for ya." He rummages under the Lear top to find my package.
"Where's your truck?" I ask. "In the shop today." "Why all the plumbing tools back there?" I ask. "I'm a plumber." He pulls out his card for me.
I'm always interested in stories like this. Jimmy R. bought this FedEx route: he owns it. Three trucks, three drivers. His real job is plumbing contractor, but he helps the drivers on his route when a problem comes up. He started out as an apprentice plumber after getting out of the Corps. The man is a double entrepreneur, and Jimmy is a part of the America the libs neither know nor comprehend. He is also the part of America that the Dems are determined to damage.
"You need a plumber, you call me" he instructs as he leaves. Stickers on the back windshield of the Lear top: "Mossberg," an image of a leaping stag, and the US Marine Corp logo.
Man, I thought, I love this country just the way it is.
Our readers are already clued in to the Met Live in HD which, at least around here, is rapidly growing in popularity. The theaters sell out.
Now the Met has something even newer: Met Player. 200 Met performances in HD and state of the art sound. From May 1 - May 3, unlimited use of Met Player will be offered as a free trial. Sounds like a no-brainer.
No opera glasses needed.
Wednesday, April 29. 2009
That's his griz. I'd rather see her bare. Story here.
About beauty and kitsch and Scruton's new book on Beauty. One quote:
...if nearly everyone likes it, how bad can it be? "Kitsch is the daily art of our time, as the vase or the hymn was for earlier generations," said Harold Rosenberg, the great art critic. Milan Kundera argued, "No matter how much we scorn it, kitsch is an integral part of the human condition." And they were writing before the appearance of "reality" television, which repackages kitschy old conventions of popular drama as public competition, bringing to "real" people the humiliation and cruelty traditionally endured by imaginary losers in mass-culture fiction.
Photo: Flamingo decoys are still available, here.
I would say the Catholics win this round.
Tuesday, April 28. 2009
A friend emails this note:
I just finished reading Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich. He has an awesome born again story. If any of the guys in your Bible study like sports, it’s a good biography of a miserable superstar athlete who found his ultimate freedom and happiness in Christ at the end of his short life—and was able to pass it on to his father.
http://www.amazon.com/Pistol-Life-Maravich-Mark-Kriegel/dp/0743284976.
Monday, April 27. 2009
scientism
- The belief that the assumptions, methods of research, etc. of the physical and biological sciences are equally appropriate and essential in all other disciplines including the humanities and the social sciences.
Thanks, Reader.
Our own new metal signs will say "Warning: You are entering the MF Assault Rifle Range at your own risk" That ought to work for everybody but the deer hunters who are half in the bag at 4 AM and do not give a damn. We considered having "You are being monitored by video camera," but that did not seem country style. Too much like England - and a lie, too.
 Story at Rug Rag
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