Happy Fourth

All of the Fourth of July’s of my childhood involved clear blue skies and perfect warm days. I am sure in reality there were Fourth’s where it rained, where the lake valley in the mountains of Vermont reached the unbearable heat and humidity that happens. People think the mountains and they think cool air. They don’t know about the days that reached 100 with the air so thick you could cut it with a blunt saw.

I think that the reason that I remember these days as being so perfect is because those days were always spent with Grandma Brown.

Florence Brown, nee Mallette was my mother’s mother. She was a grandmother straight out of central casting. She wore cotton house dresses and pinafore aprons. She kept her hair in a sensible pageboy and wore equally sensible, black Dr. Scholl’s shoes. Grandma was a country woman, raised on a farm, who didn’t drink and from whom I never heard a swear word. The strongest expressions I ever heard from her being “golly” and “my gosh”. Her only vice was Raleigh cigarettes. Grandma baked and cooked and put up pickles and vegetables and preserves. She raised a garden every year and the bounty from her little patch graced her table year round.

But the Fourth was a special day. We were sent off down the road to Hydeville to the house she kept for her son, my Uncle Burt, to spend the day and have a picnic at Grandma’s.

She spent days preparing. We kids would be sent out to pick strawberries days before, tiny fraise des bois, smaller than the tip of your pinky and sweeter than sin. These were used in strawberry rhubarb pie. There were always three kinds of pie at least. Strawberry rhubarb, blueberry and lemon meringue and sometimes there would be apple turnovers if there were still apples in the root cellar. Potato salad, macaroni salad and a green salad from the garden with radishes and whatever else good was in season. I had escarole salad long before it was a trendy dish for yuppies. I remember bitter escarole fresh from the garden with chopped chives and sour cream. Of course there were hamburgers and hot dogs, but they were served with piccalilli, green tomato relish and pickle relish that she had put up. Then there were the pickles. Sweet pickles, dill pickles, mustard pickles and bread and butter pickles. And there were always cookies. My grandmother always had cookies in the house in case we boys dropped in, which we did frequently. What I remember most were the molasses cookies and the sugar cookies. The molasses cookies were thick and cakey, like the best gingerbread you have ever eaten and the sugar cookies were as crisp as a freshly starched collar and as light as a cloud.

By the time we got to Grandma’s the preparations had been made and we would help bring things out to the picnic table in the back yard near her clothesline, setting out the red and white gingham print oilcloth on the green picnic table. Then the parade of food would begin until the board was groaning under the food. Quite often the bluebird house would have a family going and the stage was set for a Fourth of July picnic that couldn’t possibly have happened outside a movie from the 1930’s. Grandma is one of the few people I have ever known that could actually get bluebirds to nest in a bluebird house.

Grandma would say grace and then we would begin eating and Grandma, encouraging us to eat more would tell us stories about her childhood.

Grandma had been born on December 31, 1900, one of 12 children of French Canadian immigrants. Born and raised in Vermont, she and her siblings were unusual in having finished high school. Her father had been a teacher in Quebec before moving to Vermont to become a farmer, he encouraged all his children to finish their education. Her love of learning colored her life and she passed this love of knowledge on to us.

She would tell us stories about her 2 favorite brothers Andy and Poly, (Napoleon), all of those stories began, “Andy, Poly and I…” how they terrorized one of their teachers in the one room school house that they attended as small children by making themselves bows and arrows out of reeds, putting tacks in the ends of the reeds they used for arrows and ambushing him, climbing rocks in forbidden areas, swimming holes and the pastimes of a long past era. She would tell us about the first time she ever saw a horseless carriage, the first time she saw and airplane, about the music that was made in a house of musically talented children, she the only one unable to master the violin. She had been taking German when the US entered WWI and the school stopped teaching the language. Grandma kept her text books and taught herself German.

Sometimes the stories were sad, once about the loss of a younger brother to diphtheria. Another about the brother who was the most talented of all at the violin and how he hung himself in the barn one day, no one ever knew why.

Grandma had a hard life. She had married a wild Scot from Nova Scotia, who turned out to be a drunk and a spendthrift and she had divorced him. She raised 4 children in the depression, making a living cleaning houses. The second world war came and both her sons were sent over seas. She suffered a nervous breakdown and was hospitalized in the state mental institution for 14 years. The state hospital in Vermont was notorious and the fact that she was able to overcome her illness is a testament to the strength of her will.

After she was released from the hospital, she lived with us briefly and then for economic reasons, she remarried Carrol Brown, so that they could combine their resources and live on their Social Security. She had never had much, so living on social security did not present any challenge to her that she was unequal to.

I didn’t really understand as a child how much these meals meant to my grandmother. It was in some way defiance in the face of want and it was about generosity and thankfulness for those things in life she loved and it was about love.

Grandma loved us boys. I don’t think I had ever given it much thought as a child, but we were the only ones of her grandchildren who visited her frequently. It think it must have been painful for her that my Uncle Joe’s daughters rarely came to call. Joe had been her favorite child, and she would tell us how she had saved a dime every week in order to save up enough money to help him buy his first car. His infrequent visits and the lack of contact with his family must have hurt in a way that Grandma never let show.

I loved that kind and gentle woman and these many years since her death I still do. I wish there had been some way that I could have shown her how much I loved her in the way that she showed her grandsons her joy in us by her annual display of plenty and generosity. Carefully planned and saved for out of a meager income, brought out of the ground with her own hands, prepared and then presented to us and while we were sustained with these good things we in turn sustained her with our pleasure in her offerings and her company.

In a fairly miserable childhood, I was given the gift of many happy Fourth of July’s, enough to last any man a lifetime. So on this Independence Day, I wish for you all to have as good a Fourth as any of the ones I had as a child.

Stupid fun

I wanted to see how liberal I am. Now I know.

My Liberal Identity:

You are a Reality-Based Intellectualist, also known as the liberal elite. You are a proud member of what’s known as the reality-based community, where science, reason, and non-Jesus-based thought reign supreme.

Take the quiz at www.FightConservatives.com

Holiday lack of plans

It is a funny day. I have been getting things done, though largely I am acting on auto-pilot. I have had to put up with asshattery and have also been fortunate in having competence come to the rescue as well.

In the garden the baby robins are hatching. We have moved from blue eggs to tiny grey balls of fuzz, newly hatched and as delicate as membranes. They manage to be grotesque and beautiful in a strange miraculous way. I will try and get photos but the proud parents are a bit hysterical and I don't want to wind up like Tippi Hedren.

I have no plans for tomorrow. It seems as though people have all made plans, assuming I had as well, or will be out of town, or simply refuse to come into town and deal with the unwashed masses as they descend on Boston to spend the entire day camping out on the Esplanade in anticipation of the evenings fireworks. I am looking, or at least attempting to view this as a karmic break. This is a gift of peace and quiet to be embraced.

Whatever your plans for the 4th, I am looking forward to sloth.

Cure for the blues

Well, they've managed to piss me off, which has been a great cure for the funk that I had allowed myself to get into.

I got up Friday morning in plenty of time to go to the gym. I got there, right about on time, maybe a minute or 2 past 6. But, Eddie, our faithful front desk guy was late. That did not piss me off. Eddie usually is not merely on time, he usually will let us in a bit early.

No, pissedoffness came in the form of some buff assclown. I found myself waiting with one of the regulars who I see just about every morning. We were chatting and these 2 characters come up. One being Mr. Buff Assclown and his friend Mr. Desiccated Yuppie. Buff Assclown says something about "Is he always late?" The regular and I look at each other and sort of mumble something about how Eddie usually has the doors open early.

"Well, he's batting 3 and 0 with me!" was the response.
This kind of ticked me off, because I've been using this gym for about 2 years. I go usually 5-6 times a week and I am usually there at opening time. In all that time I have never clapped eyes on Assclown.

Eddie shows up about 5 minutes late, apologizing. He had called the assistant manager to let him know he was running late and had asked Mike to open the doors for him. No harm no foul as far as I am concerned.

The morons get on the elevator with me as I headed down to my locker room, and were giving me the look that as far as they were concerned they had scraped more acceptable things off the bottoms of their shoes. So taken were they with their display of disgust that they neglected to push the button to get off on the level with the machines, and rode down to the basement level where we lesser mortals have our lockers. This also seemed to be an annoyance since I had not read their minds and intuited that they wanted the machines and not the free weights.

I changed and went up to the machine room to pre-exhaust before I hit the free weights. This is when they really worked grandpa's last gay nerve. These guys were using one of the cable machines so I went over and set up and used the other one. I did one set and then went over to use the parallel bars to do some dips. When I started back to the cable machine my new friends had decided that the machine I was using was for some reason much better than the equipment that they had been using. I really didn't feel like getting into it with these 2 bozos so I used the machine they had abandoned. I finished my set on the cable machine and started to head back over to the bars. Guess what? That's right, they were over there. Once again I improvised. This kind of went back and forth until I headed down the stairs to the free weights. Fortunately, free weights seem to be something that happen to other people.

I actually had a pretty good workout. I shook the dust of these two mooks from the Ganomish skirts, and then it was off onto the city streets where a larger than usual number of morons crawled down the sidewalk, managing to move as slowly as possible and block the entire sidewalk in their glacial progress. I managed to get past all of the wide loads, hit my usual coffee shop and was down the stairs of Park Street Station. Actually, I was half way down when the next aggravation transpired. I got to the top of the stairs to the Red Line as a train disgorged it's load of commuters, all of whom packed both sides of the stairs not allowing anyone to descend. I fought my way down the stairs and reached the platform just in time to see a nearly empty train pull out of the station.

During the 15 minutes it took for a Alewife train to come the platform filled and finally when the next train pulled in, it was a)packed and b) the air conditioning was out. I finally got to work and Monkey came over to my office to say good morning and ask if we should try for a quick smoke before the day began. He then said something about reading my post and asking how I was doing since my post was sounding pretty glum.

"I'm fine, today. I just had a whole bunch of people piss me off and it snapped me right out of my funk!"

So, to all of the assholes that aggravated the living piss out of me first thing Friday morning, I say a hearty thank you. You actually do serve a useful purpose.

More garden photos

After this mornings post, I figured we all needed something to cheer us up.



Here is the latest photo of the new tenants kids.



Prairies Sun Rudebekia



Blue Lace Cap Hydrangea



Annabelle Hydangea



And one of my favorites, Lillies.

At any rate. After a long day at work, I went out and watered my garden. Spending a half hour or so out in my garden, watching things grow and observing progress helped me relax and get a different perspective. Life goes on.

Heatwave

Boston is one huge grey fug. As Monkey observed, you feel like you need a machete to cut through the air. It is a bit strange for someone like myself who used to thrive in the heat, that I seem to be getting slowed down.

I went to bed early, wound up oversleeping and blowing off the gym. I walked in a very leisurely manner over the river, stopping for coffee on the way at one of my usual stops. The early morning clientele were like sonambulists. The only lively character, the art student who works at the front counter, who had my coffee ready and waiting before I ordered. (The benefits of being a regular who tips)

I am not sure that the heat is the only reason that I am feeling out of sorts. I have been very busy at work. Lots of projects, lots of problems that are out of my control that are creating new sets of problems that are leaving me feeling brain dead by the time I leave the office.

The trainer that I have been working with has taken a new and better job. I am happy for him, but not so happy for me. Aside from the fact that we have become quite friendly and I have come to like him, he was also the manager of the gym and was a good presence in the facility. Cheerful, friendly and helpful. I know why he left his job and it does not give me any good feelings about the direction the facility may take upon his departure.

Maybe it is all of these things in conjunction but a lot of my motivation is drying up. I do not feel like writing in my blog, or doing anything during the work week that actually requires any reasoning powers. I am in a funk.

I have an appointment with the shrink, so maybe it will do me some good to get some of this out of my system. I will most likely be back in the gym tomorrow, getting my energy up before another day of putting up with other peoples nonsense. The weather is suppose to cool, I have plenty of mindless chores ahead in the garden over the weekend and friends to catch up with.

See, I'm starting to feel better already.

Oh Daddy!

I can't say I've really taken to being called a Daddy since I've hit a certain age. However, if you happen to be a really handsome 6'6" black man, and you call me Daddy, I'll be willing to overlook it. (It helps if you're really well hung too)

Happy Summer

Today is the official first day of summer. Also called midsummer, as in "A Midsummer Night's Dream". It is the longest day of the year, which seems odd, since the days just seem to fly in the summer, and the winter solstice which is the shortest day of the year, seems to drag on forever.

The weather today, either is or is not conducive to the sense of magic that Shakespeare put into his play. It is cloudy here in Boston and the temperatures are only suppose to make it into the low 70's. But they are threatening thunderstorms, and the roses are still in bloom, late spring flowers are still in evidence and the world is still seeming young and fresh.

By August, the city will seem dusty and tired. All of the fresh green of spring will have somehow lost its vibrancy and the slow pace of high summer will have effected both the appearance and mood of the city.

For now it is almost like a mood of anticipation. A red-tailed hawk circles over the turnpike and then settles on the red tile roof of the old Hotel Somerset on Charlesgate. The scent of the lime trees in bloom soften the air, harsh with the exhaust fumes of the morning commuters. The pace has slowed. The students gone for the summer in this college town, people are more leisurely, the chores and cares of the day can wait a bit for attention.

Men in t-shirts and tanks call out for my attention, though summer is a time for love, not spring. The mating dance is done. Spring, that lusty and burgeoning season has exhausted itself and now like a perfectly ripe peach, summer waits to drop in our lap. Now is the time for long days, picnics, the beach, or seeking the shelter of cool shade to refresh from meandering in the sun. Short nights spent dancing, going here and there for an evenings entertainment or simply finding a congenial spot to enjoy the cool of th evening air, building a cache of memories to warm the long winter nights.

But today is grey. I hope we do get the thunderstorms they are promising. Sturm und Drang. Some proper drama for the day. Oberon and Titania in conflict, then a clearing sky, the sun, reunion, the happy lovers united at last. I do not know what the day will bring, but reading this over, I have put on my donkeys ears. I am looking at the world differently, and who knows what wonders this day and the newly minted summer will bring.

The New Tenent

I don't know how well anyone can see this, but a robin has taken up residence in my rose bush. Pretty cool huh?

Good Cause

A lot of talk goes on about doing the right thing. Helping people. Making a difference. Dave is actually doing that. Follow the link over to his blog. Make a donation. You'll feel good. Trust me.

Shopping list

As I was working out this morning it occurred to me that I should stop at the drugstore on the way into work. The foremost reason being that I had neglected to buy a birthday card for Monkey. He turns an ancient 31 today.

I also decided I should get some decongestant as well, because getting my Allegra refilled was one of the personal errands that got pushed aside over the weekend. Then I remembered I needed toothpaste, a necessary purchase for if no other reason the obscene amount of money that I spend at the dentist, and I was running low on condoms and lube, another necessary purchase, if for no other reason than the idea that hope springs eternal.

Quite a shopping list, huh? I have since been trying to think of possible stories that the check out clerk could construct from the items that I purchased. I am thinking it would involve preparations for a big birthday celebration for a loved one. Or at least a lusted one, accompanied by hay fever and a desperate sensibility about oral hygiene.

I remember a woman that I once knew who had a big, friendly Lab. He was a great dog except for a certain unreasoning attraction to skunks. I can tell you, there are plenty of skunks in the Boston are, so he had plenty of opportunities to make new friends. She discovered after living with a rather more fragrant than usual dog that a product called "Summers Eve" was especially effective in counteracting the effects of skunk.

He was a big dog and it took a lot of... er... feminine hygiene product to bath the dog. She found buying it in large quantities a little embarrassing, so she used to go to a convenience store in the dead of night. One night she just broke down and decided to buy a case. When she brought her purchase up to the counter the young man gave her a curious and slightly horrified look.

She had a skunked dog, a case of douche and I am guessing about all she felt like taking for that day because she looked him in the eye and just said,"I'm having a really heavy month, okay?"

Happy Father's Day

My daughter called me. I called my Dad. Done and dusted.

Goin' to the Chapel

I rarely comment on politics, but I have to give a shout out. The proposed referendum on same sex marriage was defeated in a 45-151 vote today, due in large part to Governor Patrick and his lobbying efforts.

The wingnuts are threatening to investigate for any possible irregularities.

While there are not enough microwaves and toasters in the world to tempt this Ganome down the aisle, I can understand why others find the idea attractive. Here's hoping that within the foreseeable future equal marriage becomes the law of the land and we can join our northern neighbor as well as Spain (not known for it's socially progressive ideas) and South Africa to mention a few.

Now, if we can just do something about national health care...

New Dawn

My rose is doing its thing. Pretty great, huh? The rose is called New Dawn and the Clematis is called Etoile Violet.

No if's and's or...

By popular demand. What? Did you think I was gonna drop my pants? Set up a Paypal account and we'll talk.




You can thank Monkey for the lovely photos of Ganome butt and flab.

Nice flowers

I woke up to a really dreary day this morning. It hardly seemed as though the sun had come up. Grey, dark, almost chilly, you get the idea. It would have seemed a bit more discouraging except I had some new plants I wanted to get in the ground and this is ideal planting weather.

So, there was I, trotting out of the house at 6:00 a.m., carrying a flat of flowering goodness, heading for the garden.

As I walked out, a couple of biker bears were across the street getting ready to go off to some pre-pride event. Or something. I'm making assumptions here. Anyway, they were in their own way, pretty tasty, so I was blatantly checking them out. They in return were giving me the once over. The taller of the two yells over to me, "Nice flowers!", in a friendly way. I smiled at them and called back, "Nice bike!". He then said something that sounded like "Wanna take a ride!", but I was on a mission and just smiled at them and kept moving.

There was a certain amount of rubber necking and as they started the bike, I craned my neck around, tall biker had climbed up behind his bear buddy and shouted as they pulled out, "Hey, nice ass!"

I smiled all the way to the garden.

Fer the birds

A couple of days ago, a sparrow got into one of the faculty offices. It seems that part of my job includes evicting unwanted wildlife from senior faculty office space. (note to self, anyone untenured can just take care of themselves)

We actually got the little guy out with a minimum of fuss by opening the window and shooing it out.

Working in academia is like living in a small town and word gets around. One of the senior academic administrators heard about this incident and was asking the Prof. and me about it.

Me: Once I found a baseball bat, things went a little better.

Prof: Yes, though in retrospect the hammer wasn't such a good idea. I think it was the way the wings kept flapping that got to me.

Me: I know what you mean.

Prof: Once we tipped the bookcase over onto it though that really seemed to stop all movement.

Me: Yeah, though we are going to have to get custodial services to come up and clean the rest of it out of the rug.

It was worth it, just to see the look on her face.

Disclaimer: No actual sparrows were hurt during this blog entry.

Have a cookie!

Last night Monkey and I were walking to the T together. We've both been having a tough week at work and I was bitching at length about dealing with various people pestering me with stupid bull%@#% while I was trying to get work done

Monkey: "We should have a bowl of cookies at our desks"

Me: Huh?

Monkey: "Yeah, when someone is being an asshole, we can say, 'Here, have a cookie'. We could even put little assholes on them in pink icing, they'd think they were stars."

I thought about this for a second.

Me: "We could put a raisin in the middle. And we should get some of those really bad cookies that are made mostly out of cardboard and taste mostly of nothing."

Monkey: "That's disgusting. I like it! And I don't even like raisins."

Me: "Yeah, but the cookies are for assholes."

Have I ever mentioned how much I love working with this guy.

Update: Last night when he got home, Monkey told Dabunny about our plan. Dabunny said something to the effect that none of the people we gave cookies to would get it. Some people just don't understand the beauty of a well laid plan.

I stopped at the garden on the way home last night. Much to my surprise, my neighbor Mike was in his garden. He works in his garden during the week between classes, so I rarely see him around that late in the day.



I took a picture of Mike, which for reasons unknown, didn't come out, so I am including a photo from the Ganome archives. Cute, huh?








As you can see, his garden isn't too shabby either. We yacked about things in general, and nothing in particular. As much as I needle Mike on this blog, he is a very nice guy and is always ready to provide a certain amount of silly conversation. This was particularly welcome after a rather trying day at work. Mike also keeps almost as interested an eye on my garden as I do, and suggested that I put pictures of my own peonies on my blog.






I have even thrown in a picture of my poppies for good measure. Other than that nothing much to say, except that given my druthers, I'd druther be in my garden today than working.

Monday

It is turning into Monday with a vengeance! I got up in good time this morning after a fairly good nights sleep and simply wanted to go back to bed. Instead, I dragged myself out of the house, on time mind you, and headed off to the gym. I even remembered to bring my phone and all the other accoutrement that we seem to require in order to make it through any given day in the modern age.

Once at the gym, I had a really tough time making it through my Monday routine. My gym mojo was definitely MIA. Still, I made it through. I got the train to work in a timely fashion, and I somehow managed not to get soaked in spite of the unseasonably cold and drizzly weather.

I then tried to log onto my computer. Tried being the operative word here. Ol' Bessy, which isn't even that old, seems to be having some sort of major nervous breakdown. Happily, I had my laptop with me and I have all the certificates on my computer so that when push comes to shove I can work from home. IT Billy was responsible for this as one of his last acts before heading off to the more verdant fields offered by Google.

All in all it is just turning into one of those days. Nothing spectacularly awful is going on, just lots of small irritations. Our new IT contractor took it's time to get here and fix the computer. People have been locking themselves out of offices and desks. Commencement is in a few days and lots of last minute crap seems to keep popping up, and I am just not in the mood.

It is far from the end of the world, but whatever happened to the childhood dream of doing whatever you wanted once you were an adult. Maybe that's it. At 52, I still don't feel like a grown up.

Crazy making

I was over checking out Mangina Monologues new site. I noticed in his header he had "musings from the toothless wonder". In context, it brought to mind something my father does that drives my mother crazy.

When we were kids, if my old man cut the cheese he would blame one of us kids or the dog. But, occasionally he would come out with, "Speak to me, oh toothless one!" This. Drives. My. Mother. Crazy! After 60 years of marriage, it still gets a rise out of her. She can't just ignore it. She has to say something.

This caused me to reflect on habits of friends and loved ones that continue to irk me after many years of exposure. One friend I have known for 30 years now and is in every other way a wonderful human being, but I can't sit across the table from him when he eats. He chews with his mouth open. For me, it's one of those train wreck issues. I don't want to watch, but I can't help myself. Unlike Doris, I do not say anything, but it really does irritate me on some deep level.

What sends you off? Do you know someone who in spite of consanguinity or deeply held friendship or marital status have that one habit that makes you want to throttle them?

Caught with my pants down

My friend Mike is at it again. This time he took a movie of MY peony getting pollinated and then he posted it on YouTube. He really has to be stopped.

Community Gardening

While I was hanging out on Saturday afternoon in New York, I got the chance to meet Glennalicious, who introduced me to fellow Bostonian, Ready,Reset,Go. While we were chatting Glenn was asking me about my garden and RRG asked, "Which community garden?"

When I said I was in the Fenway Victory Gardens, RRG started laughing and enlightened Glenn as to the nature of this particular park. It is probably the premier cruising park in Boston. The amount of sexual activity that goes on in the bushes there makes the backroom of the Eagle look like a meeting of the DAR. Needless to say this creates it's own challenges for those of us who have more interest in the flora of the gardens other than the effects of massive quantities of semen on phragmites. (A less than scientific, anecdotal observation would be that it causes then to spread like kudzu.)I always feel as though spring has not really arrived until the used condoms begin to bloom in my own little patch of heaven.

Another harbinger of spring is the unknown denizen of the park that my friend and gardening neighbor, Mike, has designated, "The Mad Defecator". TMD comes in the night and deposits rather impressive loads in front of peoples gates, like some tooth fairy with a severe incontinence problem. In spite of the rather disgusting nature of this phenomena, we find ourselves, horrifyingly, impressed. Not merely by the volume, which I am at a loss for words to describe. Having grown up around farms, I can say that livestock probably leave smaller flops. What is really mind boggeling is the consistency. Mike and I compared notes, and I told him about one particularly fascinating deposit that arrived in front of my gate that looked as though TMD had managed to shit out an organ. We had thought that TMD had especially chosen aisle E as his designated poop drop, but speaking with another friend Rick, I have found that TMD makes the rounds in a democratic manner to all of the gardens. If it makes me feel a little less special, it is nice to know that TMD is willing to give his all to the entire gardening community in his al fresco crapping habits.

Another challenge is fence maintenance. Because as the Motels once sang, "the days are okay, but the nights were made for love." During the course of any given night, year round, some desperately horny 'mo will climb over the fence or kick in the gate of someones garden in order to get their mojo on. This has brought about some interesting ideas for dealing with the problem. Since we are gardening in a public park, we are not allowed to string up barbed wire, dig tiger traps, construct Rube Goldberg devices, or in any way produce any hazard that could endanger the general public. Except of course for roses.

I am not particularly fond of roses as a garden plant. They tend to the prima dona and are vulnerable to all sorts of pests. However I have been cultivating climbing roses on my fence, since they are natures barbed wire. So far my choices have hinged far more on the viciousness of the thorns than any actual consideration of aesthetics. At one point someone suggested a bourbon rose, that really was very pretty, and fragrant, and I was on the point of getting out the credit card, when the fateful words, "and the best part is, it has no thorns" were spoken. The 2 varieties that currently grace my fence could gut an elephant and I have just planted a 3rd that I have high hopes for. If they sold a plant that would assault intruders, I'd buy it.

The whole challenge level has risen as well. In the advent of the crystal meth epidemic, we usually will find syringes in paths and our gardens. There have been nights when you could tell that some particularly good stuff was going around by the amount of vandalism. Hell may have no fury such as a woman scorned in love, but some tweeked out their mind queen, who ain't gettin' any is a force nine hurricane. The damage assessment on some mornings is enough to make you give it all up and find some other way to fill up your time in a way that you can find meaningful. However, collecting stamps doesn't have the same thrill. At least not for me. I am sure that philatelists enjoy the same thrill over their stamp collections as I do in my garden, it's just that stamp collecting and getting out in the healthy fresh air are not 2 things I would ordinarily put together.

Which brings us back to al fresco sex. I have no strong objections to people having it on in the great outdoors. While a Ganome would never in his life (oh crap, once you get that mud on your shoes it never comes off) dream of getting his sex on out in the shrubs, much less the dunes out on the cape, (thank god I am pretty nearly immune to poison ivy) a Ganome knows that other folks are gonna. That's fine. REALLY! I just want them to keep their dumb horny asses in the reeds and the hell out of my garden. I don't feel like I am asking too much. Now, if I can just find some of those man eating plants in the old B sci-fi movies I saw as a kid in the White Flower Farm catalog, I'll be all set.

Kitty Korpse

When the Ganome dragged his weary ass through the door Saturday night, after a day in NYC I was greeted by Alice. Not exactly greeted. She was at the door ready to tear me a new one. It's a good thing she can't talk.

"I was SOOOOOO LOOOOOOOONELY!!! I could have starved! Where have you been? I've wasted away from 15 lbs. to.... well, a little over 15 lbs, okay, but I've been really lonely! Did I mention I was lonely, and I was too upset to eat a thing. Well, of course I had to have a little something, ya' know to keep my strength up so I could starve to death. I was upset okay! It's not fat, I'm bloated from malnutrition!"

You get the idea. I don't know what it is about black cats, but I've never met one that didn't talk. And Alice can run her mouth in a way that makes my mother seem laconic. So I picked her up and walked her around like a fractious infant while she kept transforming back and forth between a hairy sack of liquid and a clawed limpet that wrapped herself around me sinking her claws into my shoulder down to the scapula. All the while either bitching or purring.

It doesn't get much better.

Anyone who says that cats are too aloof, are not as affectionate as dogs, have never met Alice. She is kind of like those nightmare dates, Pay attention to me, pay attention to me, no really, I love you, now pay attention to me. If you loved me you would throw the catnip mouse across the room so we could play fetch, and you'd get some kitty treats out, and the water needs to be changed, you call this a clean cat box, uh, I don't mean to criticize but my food bowl is empty, but really, I love you.


In the past any cat that has deigned to let me live with it has been happy to have me put food in one end, empty the results out of the litter box and alternate between sleep and destroying the furniture. Not this girl. She is a full time job.

I must say though, that after 17 years of bachelorhood, it is nice to have someone happy to see me when I get home. I just wish she'd learn how to do some housework. Ya know, even if she just did the dishes.

News from Russia

After spending a very nice day yesterday in New York for the express purpose of hanging out with some fellow gay bloggers and sympathetic straight folks, it was a little disturbing to read this. As completely screwed up as I tend to feel our own country is, it is a comfort to know we have progressed past this, though I tend to think our leaders would not be averse to seeing gays kept in their place like this, if they thought they could get away with it.

As it is, we still have plenty of ground to make up, as friend Mike points out in this post. I realize we have come a long way from when I was coming up, and judges would throw out assault cases brought by gays who were gay bashed, because they were asking for it by looking gay, but there is still a long way to go.

Bloggy Bears Picnic

Yesterday at around noon Monkey and I crawled off the Greyhound at Port Authority and after a quick phone call to our guardian angel, hopped into a cab and headed uptown to the Metropolitan Museum. No, not this angel.




This one! Fellow blogger RJ met us at the museum and treated us to a very nice lunch. It was the first time I have met RJ in person and all I can say is what a gentleman. After lunch, where various topics including the Met, the Christian Right, psychology, Edith Wharton and New York among others were discussed, Dan and I were ready to head over to meet the bloggers. RJ, who is kindness itself, offered his services as Sherpa guide, though he had not originally intended to go himself.

We managed to get slightly lost, due to rather vague directions and RJ a native of the city was a wonderful tour guide and told us about the history of the park as we wandered so it was no penance to meander our way around and it was a great opportunity to see some of the park, I don't think either Dan or I was upset by the fact that we wound up taking the overland route. Happily, we spotted Joe & Co. and RJ wound up staying and catching up with friends, which allowed us to enjoy his company some more, which we were quite pleased about.




Joe, whom we had never met was in fine form, holding forth on favorite movie lines, including quotes from an obscure B film from the 80's, "Liquid Sky" which I remember seeing at the old Orson Wells in Cambridge. We also got to hear a brief history of Delta Burke's early career as a beauty queen. (She went to the same high school as Joe.) and the effects of the wind on a rather heavy application of make up. At the same time, Joe was also able to keep up a running commentary on the disco that the skaters were getting their groove on to. We were also supplied with all known gossip about various skaters. I also found out that the reason that I was getting hits on my blog from Bigmusclebears was because of this post.which Joe had created a link to on his profile. Hey, if it works, it works.

Next the Farmboyz arrived, and as I promised I got a picture of them together for Lynette, since I didn't want her coming up here just to kick my ass. (I mean the woman packs heat) Father Tony took a terrific group shot that is up on his blog. I like it because I am in the back, you can barely see me and my paunch is cleverly hidden behind Joe's head.



However, being a Vermonter, I did not ask them all of the questions that Lynette had supplied. We New Englanders are a reserved lot, and we do not ask searching questions the first time we meet someone. Sadly this photo does not do the boyz justice. They are far better looking than you can tell from this snapshot.

I also got to meet Glennalicious who was a pleasure to talk with. Unfortunately I did not get a picture of him, or David from Someone in a Tree. Actually I didn't get a chance to meet David. I did however go over and say hi to Mark and was introduced to Tim.

The instigators of this weekend, Mark and Brian showed up fashionably late and I said hello to them. I didn't get a picture of them either. I know, I know. Why did I bother if I wasn't going to get lots of photos. It all got a little hazy after that. I was introduced to several other people, who I can remember facts about but for some reason my brain by then had grown a teflon coating. One fellow was from New Haven and is computer consultant and I had a very nice conversation with him. Another is a fellow blogger here in Boston, yet another was a hanger on, who I can tell you is from Methuen, went to Northwestern and now lives in the West Village. However if you asked me to give you their names, I will draw a complete blank. They say you never actually forget anything, however I would require hypnosis to bring back much of anything else.

Finally, it was time for the provincials to head back to Boston, so I got one last shot of Monkey with Joe.



I learned several valuable things on this trip. 1: I am too old to take flying trips that eat up about 10 hours of my day in travel time. Next time plan on staying over night. 2: People who do not really drink anymore should not suck down 20 ounces of white wine in the summer heat, even if they are drinking it out of a Sprite bottle. 3: The people who work in Port Authority are asshats and if you are not careful you will be sent up 2 levels to the wrong platform, only to be sent back down to the level you were on in the first place to the gate on the other side of the platform. You will also be about 2 minutes too late for your bus. (As luck would have it, they had overbooked so we were hustled onto a less crowded bus that traveled express to Boston.) 4: Bloggers are really nice people and so even those of us who are very socially awkward wind up feeling at our ease in a very short time. 4: After far too long a time not visiting, I really love New York. It has a vitality and energy far different from my little town.

As you can guess, I had a great time. I will be heading back down for another visit with RJ, so that he can give the tour of the Metropolitan that he had offered after lunch. Next time though, I'm coming down the night before and I'm getting a room.

Some random garden photos

I have nothing to say. So I will just share some garden photos.







Snow in Summer, Hydrangea, Iris, Hosta and Bleeding Heart. So far it is promising to be a good year in the garden.

Floozy

While I love my pal Mike, I have to say I am a little disgusted with him at the moment.



He's blogging about how big his peony is. I mean, come on. Okay, I admit, just look on his blog and he has pictures of his peony and you can see for yourself how nice his peony is, but does he have to rub it in?

Jello food

I went up to my brothers house on Sunday. I had received the call at the beginning of the week. "Have you spoken with your niece?" It was my older brother. Easter dinner had been called off at the last minute when his 98 year old father-in-law had been rushed to the hospital. The prognosis was not good. The doctors were pretty sure Edgar wouldn't survive the surgery. He walked out of the hospital a couple of days later.

With this crisis behind them, my brother and his wife decided to have Easter dinner last Sunday. My niece and I couldn't come up with any good excuses so it was off to a family event.

I have lived in a fairly large east coast city for over 30 years, so I tend to lose sight of the fact that there is a huge culture gap between urban dwellers and the rest of the country. Every time I go up to Vermont, it is like stepping through some portal into an alien world.

The party ran largely to my sister-in-laws family, which is fine with me. I don't know them all that well, so it is easy to be polite and keep them at arms length. There isn't the history there that could escalate into some sort of unpleasant confrontation over some forgotten piece of history from the 1960's. Still a certain amount of decorum has to be maintained.

As we came in the door, my sister-in-law was setting out the spread. 4 kinds of potato chips! Garlic mashed potatoes. Plain boiled potatoes for the less adventurous. Ham and chicken. Green bean casserole, which I hate to admit I still have a childhood fondness for. 3 bean salad and Jello salads.

If you have never had or are too young to know about Jello food, it is a phenomena that struck I believe in the 1950's. Someone at the Jello company decided that to market more of the stuff, they should start making Jello recipes. It usually involves mini marshmallows and cottage cheese. Later Cool Whip would become a key component.

One would think that one of these creations would be enough, however there were 4. 2 green, one orange and one in a pink that I have never seen occur in nature. As luck would have it I was filling my plate at the same time as one of my nieces uncles wife put down her offering. It was nominally green, with mini marshmallows in it. I am not sure what else was involved, but the consistency was... runny is the kindest description that comes to mind. Anything else runs to the graphic. With her husband standing there I had no real choice. I glopped some onto my plate and was then urged to try the pink. This at least seemed to have some sort of integrity and didn't ooze when I plunked some onto the plate.

I remember when I was a kid that my mother bought canned peas. I hated them and we ate a lot of canned peas. The only way to conquer peas, was to shovel them in and try and swallow them with as little chewing as possible to avoid tasting them. It was a good technique and in this instance turned out to be very helpful. The Jello food was dispatched down the pink highway with as little contact with my taste buds as I could manage.

It's easy to make fun. But it also misses the point. In all of this Jello and potato chip variety was a generosity that I miss about the country people I grew up with. There was a lot of food and of its kind a wide variety. A hospitality that spoke of a true desire to insure that there would be something to please all of the guests. People had taken the time to bring something, to share in the gathering. It was an impulse of good will to commune, to gather as a family. And it was a family gathering of the country style. The old people, my parents and my sister-in-laws father sat together in one group, the middle aged people talked among themselves. We are all in late middle age now, and my niece was the only representative of her generation, all of the others too busy with their lives and children to come. I am a bit of an odd man out myself. I am single. I am gay. I live in the city. Always the same question, "So how do you like Boston?" Over 30 years later, and it is still asked. An incomprehension that anyone could give up life in the country, even while they see their own children moving away because it is increasingly difficult for people to make a living in rural America.

It is a world that has really already faded away. The people who remain behind do what they have to stay there. The farms don't pay, most of my cousins who still farm also work at outside jobs to support the farm. In another generation the idea that people can lead the type of life I grew up around will be a distant memory. Will people still get together as extended families, bring food, eat hot dishes and jello salads and for an afternoon maintain some kind of connection as a group. If so, then I don't think even jello salad is too high a price to pay.

Rain station

The Salem commuter rail station on Sunday evening.

GB:NYC04

Mark at Zeitzeuge has asked that the itinerary for GB:NYC04 be posted in as many places as possible. I wanna do my part for what sounds like drunk and disorderly conduct. I will be heading out for Sheep Meadow on Saturday myself. Looking forward to meeting people and embarrassing myself in public! (In the spirit of laziness, I cut and pasted the list directly from Mark's blog and I ain't taking the time to edit, so view it as a message from Mark and not the grumpy midget.)

FRIDAY 25TH
What: Bloggers, Fans and Stalkers Meet and Greet
Where: Therapy on the 2nd floor.
348 West 52nd Street, New York, New York 10019. Phone: 212.397.1700
Time: 9:00pm until whenever we decide to stop

SATURDAY 26TH:
Where: Sheep Meadow (aka Bear Hill) at Central Park
West side, mid-Park from 66th to 69th Streets
Time: 1:00pm
Why: Watch the Roller Disco Skaters, eat lunch, drink and enjoy the sun, weather permitting. (No alcohol, but I hear you may smuggle it in through cleverly designed sprite bottles)

Saturday night alternatives:

The Eagle
Many bloggers could be found at The Eagle on the Rooftop
554 West 28th Street (between 10th & 11th Ave)
http://eaglenyc.com/
Time: 10pm?

Theater Night:
Crash from Crash and Byrne will be going to see Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind at 10:30 PM in the East Village. The tickets are $11-16 each. After the hour long show, he will be going to hit the East Village gay bar(s), probably Urge and Eastern Bloc.

Marie's Crisis
I wanted to make sure I took Brian and Steven to check out New York's infamous piano bar, Marie's Crisis.

SUNDAY 27TH:
Where: The Dugout for the Bear Beer Bust followed by Joe.My.God’s infamous Blarp (Blogger Bar Hop) in Chelsea.
Dugout: 185 Christopher St New York, NY 10014-2815 (212) 242-9113
Time: Meet at The Dugout at 5pm, end at The Eagle Beer Bust by 8pm. Bars would include the Dugout, Gym, View, Rawhide and the Eagle.

MONDAY 28TH:
A BBQ on Monday (Memorial Day) starting at noon, has been added for those who would like to attend and is being hosted by Marc and Jess. Both are wonderful host and incredible cooks, not to mention great people. Anyone wanting to attend will have to email them to let them know so they have an accurate count of who's coming. If you don't have their email address, please contact me and I will get it for you.

Summer Reading

With summer coming I am putting together my summer reading list. I am in the mood to go back and read a number of things that I have not read in a while that are crying out for a re-read, as well as a few new books.

Revisit:

American Gods by Neil Gaiman.
The Good Soldier by Ford Maddox Ford
Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackery
The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer
Emma by Jane Austen
Pattern Recognition by William Gibson
*A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson
Constantinople, City of the World's Desire 1453-1924 by Philip Mansel

New reads:

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris
The Sons of Heaven by Kage Baker
Spook Country by William Gibson

Why so many books I've read already? In part I am anticipating summertime inertia. A resting object remaining at rest. In equal part, I think they all deserve a second or in some cases third and fourth look.

"The Canterbury Tales" is great because you don't have to sit down and read if from beginning to end. It is easy to pick up and put down as you work through all of the characters individual stories. Though this time I will not be reading it in Middle English. I have enough trouble reading standard English these days, figuring out archaic spelling is too time consuming and probably seemed like more fun when I was 25. I don't feel like I have to show off now.

I remember loving "The Good Soldier" when I first read it, and I know I have reread that book at least twice over the ensuing 25 years.

"Vanity Fair" is one of my favorite books, in large part because of Becky Sharpe who is one of the most vivid fictional characters ever created.

"American Gods" is just a wonderful book. It is scary and dark and a compelling portrait of what Americans really believe in, which is the con game. For all of this countries protestations of Christianity what the average American believes in is the advantage.

"A Short History of Nearly Everything" is Bill Bryson's non scientist guide to science. I have heard that it has been criticized for not giving in depth enough explanations of the topics he covers, however, Mr. Bryson is not a scientist, he is a travel writer and commenter, and so goes out and meets scientists to explain the universe to non scientists. I found it to be a great guided tour filled with enough interesting tidbits of science that the book excited me enough to read more on some of the topics he sketches out in his quick tour of this vast dangerous, hostile universe where by all rights it should be impossible for life to exist on this odd little rock that circles a rather uninteresting and unimportant star on the ass end of the universe.

If you feel as though you need to justify reading Jane Austen I suggest you refer to Eudora Welty's excellent essay on Austen in her book of criticism "The Eye of the Story", which now that I think of it may go on the reread list.

I have loved reading William Gibson ever since I read "Neuromancer" lo these many years ago. I remember hearing "Pattern Recognition" called Gibson's bleak future shock view no longer needing the trappings of science fiction because the Orwellian future he envisioned a quarter century ago has arrived. Needless to say, I am anxious to read his latest offering.

The final installment of the Harry Potter series I just have to read. I started out with the first book when it hit the stores 10 years ago, after hearing Rowling read a section of the book on NPR, prior to its American release. Like everyone else, I have to see how this all turns out.

The other series that is going to reach its denouemont this summer will be Kage Bakers series of Company Books with the final title, "The Sons of Heaven". It is a blackly humorous look at corporate greed and political correctness gone mad. I've been following along with this for the entire series, so I am really looking forward to seeing how this all turns out.

"Constantinople" is a history of the city under the Ottoman's and is responsible for me dreaming of one day visiting Istanbul. If I remember, it is rather lush and offers some interesting insights into the differences in culture between Europe and it's eastern neighbors.

I am going to read "Then We Came to the End" on R.J. Keefe's recommendation. It sounds like a fun read and being summer, I feel like I should have some fun.

That about covers it for the moment and depending on how much time I get I will see how far I can get, or if I need to go out and buy more books.

Re-gift

My niece so rocks! She received a notice that a gift certificate that she had sent to a certain ingrate who shall remain nameless never got used. The gift certificate was for one of this 'mo's favorite nurseries and they in their letter suggested that the niece either use the certificate or pass it along to someone who would use it.

Ever thoughtful, she passed the info along to her Uncle Ganome. This is what I got, honey! Thanks again.

Ann Peebles - I'm gonna tear your playhouse down live 1989

I ordinarily avoid posting about politics on this blog, but I heard this morning that Paul Wolfowitz resigned. I wonder if the Decider in Chief is hearing this song?

New Arrivals

Just to prove that gardeners are in fact crazy. These are my newest plants, pretty huh? Yeah, well you just wait. I am very excited.

Day Camp

Monkey and I have talked it over and we are going to hop on the Chinatown bus and head off to the big city for GB:NYC4. Well, actually we are going down for the day on Saturday to attend the picnic (weather permitting) at Sheep Meadow in Central Park.

The weekend long event is being planned by this guy. Aside from being a real looker, he is a very nice guy. I've never met Mark and Brian, but he has written back to me and said, come on down, and in general has been very welcoming.

So, we are getting ready to pack our picnic hampers, I am going to get a bucket of zinc oxide and a brush for Monkey. (he makes Betsy Saxe-Coburg look like she's from the 3rd world) I on the other hand, as it has been pointed out, tan if I stand in front of the refrigerator with the door open. We are hoping to bring along La Simpatica. (she who was formerly referred to as the office babe, but that moniker just doesn't do her justice) La Simpatica is not a blogger, but she's a girl who has a good time wherever she goes and I have every confidence she will be a welcome addition, though I'm not sure about the 3 inch heels in the grass.

While in the city I am planning on seeing this character, and I am also hoping to meet my hero, who assures me I'll really like these guys. It's a little overwhelming, as a Bostonian I feel pretty provincial. However, I'm pretty sure if I don't have a good time, it will be my own fault.

And Lynette, honey, don't you worry your pretty head, I'll take lots of pictures, though I think you should come on up. I've got a feeling you'd be a hit at the Eagle.

Now I have to start putting my outfit together, striped shirt and checked shorts or checked shirt and striped shorts. Decisions, decisions. At least I know I can never go wrong with black socks and sandals.

The Monkey and the Ganome

This is what Monkey and I look like first thing in the morning, before the juggernaut of the department has crushed our souls beneath its iron wheels. (You can't see it, but their are puppies and unicorns and rainbows and tweeting bluebirds)

Crap

I was foolish enough to gloat that I had never been tagged with a meme. Thanks a lot Tom!

Here goes.

PART 1: ON THE OUTSIDE
Me: Short, not small, I hate that!
Date of birth: The first half of the Eisenhower administration.
Current status: Alive more or less, oh you mean.... single
Eye color: Brown
Hair color: What hair?
Right or left handed: Sinistral
Zodiac: Aquarius
PART 2: ON THE INSIDE
My heritage: French Canadian/Scot
My fear: That someone it going to read this.
My weakness: Bald men or dark chocolate. Whichever turns up first.
My perfect pizza: Huh?
PART 3: YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW
Your first thought waking up: Crap!
Tomorrow: Work,work,work
Your bedtime: Early
Most missed memory: Uh, I forget.
PART 4: YOUR PICK
Pepsi or Coke: I'd rather gargle with battery acid.
McD or Burger King: Can I have some ground glass with that battery acid?
Single or group dates: What's a date?
Adidas or Nike: Whatever is cheapest at Marshall's
Lipton Tea or Nestea: Lipton
Chocolate or vanilla: Are you really that limited?
Cappuccino or coffee: They are both coffee shitwit! Gimme and Italian roast.
PART 5: DO YOU...?
Smoke: I depends on who you ask.
Curse: What kind of fucking question is that?
PART 6: IN THE PAST MONTH, HAVE YOU...?
Drunk alcohol: Yes I usually get drunk on alcohol.
Gone to the mall: I've gone to the dogs.
Been on stage: Stage of what?
Eaten sushi: At every opportunity.
PART 7: WHAT WERE YOU DOING...?
1 minute ago: Working on this stupid meme. Next stupid question, Geeeeez.
1 hour ago: Leading a blameless, meme free, life.
4 1/2 hours ago: Basking in my ignorance of memes.
1 month ago: You actually expect me to remember that far back.
1 year ago: See above.
PART 8: FINISH THE SENTENCE
I love: Fattening food
I feel: Silly
I hate: GWB, he is the source of all evil.
I hide: Under the bed.
I miss: The point
I need: A drink

Stormy weather

Yesterday I checked the weather before I left the house and was assured it was going to be sunny and in the 80's. Not so much, until well into the afternoon. So, this morning when they were predicting a fairly dramatic drop in temperature and rain, I was all, "Oh, sure." I headed out of the house in a short sleeved shirt and it was plenty warm, even at 5:30 and the sky was less than threatening. By mid afternoon, black clouds had rolled in and a thunder squall, complete with some rather showy lightening and torrential downpours put in an appearance and the temperature dropped like a rock. Then as quickly as it started the rains stopped. Being one for dire predictions, I assumed that the weather gods would wait until I was half way across the Mass. Ave. bridge and the heavens would open again. To my surprise, the weather held until I had made it safely to my door.

If the prognosticators are to be believed, it will continue rainy and chilly over the next couple of days.

I imagine you are waiting to hear me start complaining bitterly about the weather. Sorry kids, I just can't do it. While the rain is going to impinge on my short term enjoyment of the great outdoors, a) we need the rain, it's been a very dry winter in old New England, and b) more importantly my garden could use a good drenching.

By the time late summer, early autumn rolls around I will be about gardened out. I will have become tired of dealing with weeds, vandals, insects of the bloodthirsty variety as well as those insects that will be trying to use my horticultural experiments as a buffet, and just the obligation of it all.

But it is spring. Plants that were mere shoots struggling out of the ground a few weeks ago are racing skyward. Tiny dry seeds I planted less than 2 weeks ago are already shoots. I am in the first joy of discovering new volunteers (what we call plants that arrive in our plots courtesy of avian alimentary tract.) and which annuals have graciously reseeded themselves.

Among the things that seem to be coming up in abundance right now are lupine, shirley poppies, california poppies and portulaca.

There is also the bane of my existence, bindweed as well as wild garlic which I will once again vainly engage in combat against.

All of my spring bulbs have already bloomed and faded, In their place perennial geraniums and bachelor buttons are getting ready to put on their modest show, my climbing roses that I like to think of as natures barbed wire, which will help thwart entry into my garden by the nocturnal cruisers in the park from trampling my flower beds are budding with clematis twining its way through the canes.

Spring is really here. Rainy or sunny, all working in concert to promote this fecund, even randy season. Renewing, promising, bringing hope.

The hot days of summer are ahead, bringing its own mood and agenda. Picnics, lazy days when it is good to just sit in the sun and be alive. But for now it is a busy time. Weeding, editing, visiting, renewing seasonal friendships, enjoying the seemingly unlimited possibilities that the time of year brings with it.

It has been a rather tough 3 weeks here in Ganome land. I have been a little stretched and patience is rather thin on the ground, but days like today give me hope. It may just be the time of year and the mood of renewal, watching as nature reasserts the reproductive prerogative. Whatever is keeping me buoyed up, I am willing to take it. Because it's spring and I have hope.

Primes

We were talking this afternoon and a coworker mentioned Monkey's birthday was coming up.

Monkey: "That's right, I'll be 31."

Me: "Oh, you'll be a prime number this year."

I have spent far too much time around nerds.

Apple blossom

I was walking over to my garden this morning to get some weeding in before I headed off to the gym for my daily dose of torture. I noticed that the rain we’ve had over the past couple of days has knocked a lot of the blossom off the apple trees in the park, and it was making me a little wistful about how fleeting this season is. The breeze picked up and I was engulfed in the sweet scent of apple blossom.

It was like a time machine and suddenly, I was in my fathers ’53 Ford and it was 1962. We were driving back from the family farm. All of the windows were down in the car and as we started to drive past Ellis’ Orchard there was the smell of apple blossom.

My dad stopped the car and took in a deep breath. “Will you smell that!” and imitating my dad, my older brother and I took a deep breath of what seemed to be pure spring. The orchard in full bloom seemed to fill the world with its perfume. The trees on the rolling hills of the orchard covered in a pinky white snow, the early spring mountains in the background still a winter purple brown with a haze of green and the sky that odd china blue of late afternoon, early evening. For a moment the world was magic. It was like being transported for one perfect moment into an illustration by Arthur Rackham or Maxfield Parrish.

I don’t remember why we had gone to the farm that day. No doubt my father was helping my Uncle Eugene. Doing what I don’t know. It was spring so it wasn’t bailing. Late summer had it’s own scent of fresh mown hay. The air would have had a metallic edge, not the damp softness of spring. The sky would have been a different blue, hot and coppery during the day, purple in the evening. I don’t suppose it really matters. It was just a moment of no great import.

Maybe it remains in my mind simply because it was a happy moment. They were to become fewer and further between as the years progressed. Certainly any memories that involved my dad and being happy were doomed to disappear.

But there is was, this perfect moment, like an insect preserved in amber, a sweet moment with no greater significance than the fact that it existed and in some way still exists, floating loose from time, able to be made present at any time with the magic scent of apple blow.

Thanks C.

The first year I gardened in the Fenway, my friend C. gave me this lilac. C. has no personal interest in gardening. He claims to have a black thumb and kill all plants with the exception of the orchids he has in his condo. He does however seem to enjoy seeing what I get up to and willingly trots me around to garden centers to buy plant, peat moss, fertilizer and being a true friend even lets me haul bags of cow manure in his car.

The lilac was all of 12 inches high and most closely resembled a twig when I planted it 5 years ago. Lilac takes a few years to mature to bloom, so there were a few years where is was a foliage shrub. Last year it bloomed for the first time and this year it is really lovely. It is a syringa arnoldia from the arboretum and unlike the Persian lilacs one sees most often is a looser form and somehow more airy looking. At this very moment it is easing the pain of weeding by wafting a heady perfume through the garden. A gift that keeps on giving.

Vector

I went to Bigezbear a few days ago and wound up taking the Tarot survey. Since then I have noticed it popping up everywhere. I thought I'd do a little scientific sleuthing to see how this thing has spread around.

It seems Glenn got it from Daniel. I posted it and then Belle took the survey. Then it moved on to Farmboy Tony at Perge Modo. Where will it turn up next?

So, as far as I can tell, it started with Daniel in the Desert, where he found the survey I don't know. I imagine it will die down soon enough. The novelty factor will wear off and the next meme will come along. I would be interested however to see what cards Alexander and Mike come up with.

Oh, for the record Lynette, I'll trade your Devil for my Hanged Man.

Hudson River School

I was out of the house a little later than usual and the clouds were looking a great deal as though they had been created by a member of the Hudson River School. Lots of clouds rolling in after several days of sunshine here in New England. I am actually looking forward to some rain out of pure laziness. It will save me a half an hour with the hose out in my garden after work.

Imaginary fat

I was working with the trainer this morning.

Trainer: You've lost some weight.

Me: No, I'm still at 160.

Trainer: No,you're probably going to maintain that weight. You've lost some fat.

Me: Oh!

Either living on protein shakes, oatmeal and green vegetables for a couple of weeks helped more than I thought, or I am so far around the twist about my weight that I am beyond help.

The Hanged Man

I saw this "What Tarot Card Are You" on Bigezbear. I took the survey. I don't think so. To keep the record straight, they claim Glenn is "The Sun". Who knew?

You are the Hanged Man

Self-sacrifice, Sacrifice, Devotion, Bound.

With the Hanged man there is often a sense of fatalism, waiting for something to happen. Or a fear of
loss from a situation, rather than gain.

The Hanged Man is perhaps the most fascinating card in the deck. It reflects the story of Odin who offered himself as a sacrifice in order to gain knowledge. Hanging from the world tree, wounded by a spear, given no bread or mead, he hung for nine days. On the last day, he saw on the ground runes that had fallen from the tree, understood their meaning, and, coming down, scooped them up for his own. All knowledge is to be found in these runes.

The Hanged Man, in similar fashion, is a card about suspension, not life or death. It signifies selflessness, sacrifice and prophecy. You make yourself vulnerable and in doing so, gain illumination. You see the world differently, with almost mystical insights.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.