Great weekend around here, thanks. How was yours? I did garbage duties on Saturday. I let the cats lounge on me. I floated around listening to nothing. I found the weed eater, which I used this morning. Weeds needed to be ate, and the job was accomplished in the back yard and on one side.
Now I need to get some better line, something less fragile than dried, crystalized cotton candy, so that unwanted grasses and weeds can be removed from tricky spots with a casual waving of the magic device.
I found the manual to the weed eater, too. This was useful, because I could find the page telling me precisely which size line I need to acquire. We had a weed eater guy at our old house. He solved all of these problems easily, and efficiently. Also, that gentleman knew the intricacies of a weed eater. A craftsman know’s his tools. My weed eater’s manual also had a stamp showing the build date. It was manufactured in 2012. I know, for a fact, it has been used … not very often.
Also today, I checked on the peaches, deadheaded some flowers and showed a few pokeweed plants who was boss around these parts. I rescued a frog, discovered two electric outlets that apparently don’t draw power and watered the plants. And I vacuumed.
This evening we brought the first batch of peaches in. I think I ate four in the yard and three in the kitchen today? It was a warm day, the extra hydration couldn’t hurt.
We looked up things to do with peaches beyond cobblers and ice creams. We’re going to be making a lot of peach salsa. We’ll put it on everything.
Yesterday I did a triathlon. It was a backyard triathlon. No clocks, no medals. Which is to say I timed it, it was slow, and there were no finisher medals for me, because it wasn’t an official triathlon. But I did a swim-bike-run. It was my first tri since … the 10th. The 10th of October. The 10th of October of 2015. That was a half Ironman, and a lot happened after that, so I sat out the beginning of the 2016 season to save money. After which I started a new job, and that took up a lot of time.
Sure, the really devoted find the time. Make the time. I recall reading the inspirational story of one man who was an Ironman, a medical doctor, and a father of nine. He found the time. But me, and my old split 50-60 hour schedule and no pool time had no time. Which is to say I could have made the time, but there would have been no other time. And I didn’t want triathlon training to be my only hobby.
These are the things I told myself since 2016. Now, I have a little more time. And, one hopes, more motivation. And so it was that I had, just last month, my first swim(s) in years. And also running, which comes and goes for me due to apathy. (I see people riding their bikes and think I wish I could go for a bike ride. I have never watched anyone run by and thought, Man, I wish I could be jogging right now.) And so today, a backyard sprint triathlon. (Sprint in this case denotes distance, not speed.)
Counting laps in a pool is hard. The mind wanders. You lose track. Was that 15? Or 16? So, today, I used sticks.
I swam 800 yards, moving a stick from one pile to another. Then I did an easy out-and-back 20 km bike ride. It was a decent ride. I had six stop signs, and I was conscious of having to shuffle through a run after. So I took it easy-ish, but it was fun and I was pleased.
I was not at all pleased with the run. I was not surprised by that, either.
In July of 2015, when I was eight years younger and in a different kind of shape, I did a sprint tri 15 that was minutes faster than what I did today. The week before that, I did another spring tri. (Two weekends in a row. See? I was in a different kind of shape.) In that one, I was 12 minutes faster than today. I was proud of my bike ride in that one. I had the third fastest bike leg on the course. They were roads I rode every day and, it turns out, there’s a little advantage to that.
It was a brand new event put on by our old LBS. I miss those guys, and I wish we’d had the opportunity to do that one more than once. I wish for a lot of things.
Anyway, my fastest sprint tri was 22 minutes faster than today. I can find 22 minutes somewhere, right? Right?
Phoebe says the answer to my question may be just through this door.
Through that door is the garage. And my car is in there. And it does go faster than my bike and feet. So she’s not wrong.
She still loves sitting in boxes. Good thing we’ve kept a few kitty-sized bits of cardboard around for them.
Poseidon really doesn’t want me to write anymore about Phoebe. He’s jealous of her and whatever she’s doing, at most all times.
I love when I catch him yawning. Usually it makes him look angry or ferocious. Once or twice a big yawn has looked ludicrous. In this one, I think, he looks playful.
One thing you never think of as a fundamental, perhaps integral, part of modern life is garbage removal. This is strictly psychological, but no less important because of it. As I think I mentioned last week, the company that used to do the garbage pickup here closed the other account and immediately decided they don’t service this area anymore. Despite having done so previously, and working throughout the little neighborhood.
So I finally found, last week, a new company that services the area. We opened an account with them. Great! First order of business, getting new cans delivered. That was supposed to happen on Thursday, Friday, or today. This, you see, is important because the pickup is supposed to begin tomorrow.
You want that to happen, the normalcy of it. The expected routine. Wheeling the cans down to the street, wheeling them back up the next day. Knowing there’s a can out there to put your carefully sorted things in. It’s just normal.
Using an old storage bin to put a bag into, and then carrying it to the transfer station is less normal. We’ve been doing that for a month. The good news, I guess, is that we are somehow pretty efficient. In a month we’ve only done that twice, accounting for three kitchen-sized garbage bags. (Plus the recycling.)
Just as I write that we learn that the new company has stopped servicing the area. Despite what their website, and their customer service reps, said. Two databases queried; two misses. Also, we’re surrounded by towns and cities, and yet, in no service area? (Despite, again, the previous and existing … service.)
Hopefully these companies are better at doing business with the customers with whom they do actual business. They’re proving themselves lousy at working with potential customers.
It is once again time for the site’s most popular weekly feature. Time to check in on the cats. Phoebe is working on her camouflage game.
She’s making progress.
She’s also still discovering new spaces. to sit. I suspect she’ll come to like that little ledge.
It commands the room, has corner windows and will give her evening sun.
Speaking of discovering new space, Poseidon was genuinely surprised that he wasn’t wanted up there. Which is odd, because if he wants to be there, he probably isn’t wanted there.
The more familiar places are better, though I’m not sure he’s buying what I’m selling.
In other words, the cats are doing just fine.
We went for a bike ride on Saturday, and there is video to prove it.
Also, on these really sunny days, the photos amuse me. It’s all constant motion, of course. And The Yankee is easing back into her tri-bike now, which means we’re about to go even faster. (Which means I’m going to have work harder to keep up. Which means I need to get faster, and better fitness, so I can keep taking cool photos like this.)
The alternative to keeping up is catching up. Some days that’s possible. On the days that it is impossible, I just slow down and enjoy the ride, and take other photos.
Also on Saturday we headed north for a 75th birthday party. It was a surprise party for my godfather in-law. (My lovely bride’s godparents. Just go with it.) There was his family, his lifelong friends (my in-laws) a handful of his work friends, Italian foods and a homemade cake. We sat with a man who was pushing 90, and loved to talk about his grandchildren, and old handyman projects. Nice fellow.
After the dinner we repaired to the godparents’ home, and watched the kids swim. I coached one into doing flip turns. No doubt owing to my masterful teaching techniques, she had the basics down on her third try.
We left just before the rain. Drove for a bit in the rain, but then we were rewarded with some beautiful views.
And the front behind this storm system (which was in some places, dangerously breezy) is what broke the heat wave. Also, those windshield views.
We were back in the 80s on Sunday, today, and all this week. And because it felt comparatively mild yesterday, we spent the afternoon sitting outside, reading.
I finish May Sarton’s “Journal of a Solitude.” It’s an actual journal the poet kept for a year.
On the last entry, she talks about the coming New Hampshire fall, writes obliquely about breaking up with her partner. (Sarton, from what I’ve gathered from other places, was apparently a challenging person to be around. She wrote more about that part of herself, and its impact on this relationship, more than the relationship itself.) She seems to be coming to the realization that this breakup was a long time coming, and that she was meant to live alone.
She also sent off her latest collection of poetry, “A Durable Fire,” her 10th collection of poetry and her 26th book, the day before this final entry.
She says “When I began writing those poems I had had the dream that I would celebrate my sixtieth birthday with a book of joys, a book speaking of fulfillment and happiness. But on the final re-reading I saw clearly that it is an elegiac book, and that the seeds of parting were in it from the beginning. This where poetry is so mysterious, the work more … ”
Mystery of poetry? If the poet says so. The biggest literary mystery I can concern myself with right now is what to read next. There are many, many options.
So many options.
Just not for garbage pickup.
Monday / photo / swimming / video — Comments Off on The one with the Kraft dinner reference 24 Jul 23
No point in making you wait, let’s jump in to the most popular feature of the week, after which everything will be a big letdown, but that’s the risk I run on Mondays. If I run this part late, you might skip everything else in disgust, or just go elsewhere. If I do it early, everything else has to be compared against this cuteness.
I mean, really.
I’d like to know what it is about the landing Phoebe likes so much. Good vantage points to both parts of the house? The ability to stop foot traffic? Because that stops traffic every time.
I understand, at least, the naps and stretches in the sunlight.
Most of our windows face either east or west, so they get good daylight. Not quite as good as being outside, though, right Poseidon?
He got outside once this weekend, and in the garage several times. He’s pretty good at timing his sprints. He has no idea what to do when he gets outside, but he makes a big effort. And he’s judgmental when he fails in the effort.
But he’s also trying a new tactic. If he can hide in the grocery bags, maybe no one will see him, and when we move them back to the car, that’s when he’ll make his break.
He’s hidden so well, no one can possibly know.
How can anything else compare to all that cuteness?
Saturday we played in the water. Scrubbed and treated and vacuumed, anything to stay out of the sun and heat. Also, some of it was easier to do in and under the water than above it. And, when all of that was done, I spontaneously decided to go for a swim.
And so it was that I slowly accumulated enough laps in the pool to be able to tell you that I swam 1,650 yards. This was my fifth swim in the last two weeks. It was also my first mile since the 17th. Of November. November 2015. Somehow, I was still able to move my arms afterward.
On March 19, 1776, John Barnes petitioned the judges of the Gloucester County Court to license his house, at the intersection of five main roads in Mantua Township, as a tavern. “An Inn at this said house is much wanting,” he stated in his petition, “as there is not one on said road nearer than eight miles on one side and five on the other.”
[…]
In Barnes’ honor, the community, originally called Lodgetown after an early settler, Benjamin Lodge, was renamed Barnesborough, later shortened to Barnesboro. For reasons not wholly clear, the settlement at one time was known as Lousetown.
The Tavern itself has undergone name changes during its nearly 300-year history. It was known as the Spread Eagle, the Crooked Billet Inn, and the Barnsboro Hotel before its present designation as the Barnsboro Inn.
Lousetown: one of those names you’re glad you learn about after your visit.
We had ice cream at a local overpriced ice cream place, and then caught dusk in the car.
We lounged about the rest of the weekend, visited a farm market and got some produce. I walked through the pretty things in our yard. I pulled weeds and started studying up on peaches because …
Later, I’ll learn all about grapes.
Also, the hibiscus just exploded seemingly overnight.
And I killed three lantern flies. You’re welcome, America.
Last night we dined on the sidewalk in front of place called The Red Hen. We were sat by perhaps the most aggressively no eye contact person I’ve ever met — and we just moved here from the midwest. To make up for it, the waiter was full of eye contact. I had the chicken sandwich … it was right there in the name … and it was good. Everyone enjoyed their meal and the pleasant evening temperatures and it was, all around, just a lovely little weekend.
Before I share a few more clips from the concert we attended last weekend, let’s look at the sign on the side of the venue. A classic.
I bet that came with the 2018 renovation. The Metropolitan Opera House was built in 1908. At the time, it was the largest theater of the sort in the world. A big handful of opera companies used it into the Great Depression. At times it was a movie theater, a ballroom, a sports venue and, from the 1950s to the 1988, a church. Now it’s a concert venue. This sign is definitely original.
And since the name is right there on the sign, let’s hear some music. Here’s the classic, “If I Had a 1,000,000.” Sing along.
And there was also a Harry Styles, a-ha, Rodgers and Hammerstein medley. There’s always a medley, I just want to know how they get from A-B. Soundcheck must be amusing.
I’ll put the last couple of videos from the show up tomorrow. For now, I should find something to be productive about.
Saturday afternoon I went out to explore for a bit. I needed to drive my car, basically. Also, I wanted to make friends at a nearby SCUBA diving shop. It serves you well to know all of the nearby people in your many interests. Plus it was a lovely day and so on.
So I stopped in at Ocean Spirit Aquatics, where I met Joan, who runs the joint with her husband, Jim. She was a lovely woman, happy to chat about the local dive scene. She was not able to help much with my main reason for stopping by, but the world wide web can pick up the slack. She told me about a SCUBA diving flea market that takes place each spring — buy and sell used gear! — something I would have otherwise overlooked for some time. I’ll be there next March.
I glanced at one of the little shelves I was standing next to while we were chatting and there were the goggles I do pool swims with. I had two pair of these in my Amazon cart, but the dive store were selling them for $10 less a pair. So I bought two pair from her for taking up her time, and now we are friends.
Setting out for my second errand, I was following the map app and winding my way through a residential area when I thought, Double check and see if there’s another dive shop nearby.
Good idea, me! Let me find a parking lot.
A car was following closely behind. Took every right I did. Took every left I did. Finally, that car turned off, and I found a lot for some quick map searches. I was correct, there wasn’t another dive shop conveniently nearby. But, I looked up, and the sign on the building said Aldi. I surmised I was in a grocery store parking lot. And my incredibly well-honed powers of deduction, I further determined that I was in an Aldi parking lot.
It just so happened that my next stop was an Aldi, but not this one. I figure, though, I’m here. I’m parked. Let’s see if they have what I’m after. Walk in, turn left to the far wall, walk halfway back through the cooler section, and, yep. Grab the goods, self checkout, and back to the car.
The next stop was back home. The map told me to retrace my steps. This, in the scheme of things, saved seven miles. And finding those goggles while talking with the nice people at the dive shop (but I repeat myself) means I also saved 20 bucks.
Serendipity!
Before we go any farther, let’s check in on the cats. It is, of course, the reason you’re here on a Monday, after all. (I watch the site data. And, remember, I have incredibly well-honed powers of deduction.)
Poseidon has progressed from sleeping in a cardboard box …
… to standing on the side of a cut up cardboard box.
I’m over cardboard boxes altogether, at this point.
Phoebe, for her part, has upgraded to plastic bins, because she is smart.
Also, she’s enjoying this bird on her traditional spot, the staircase landing. The bird makes tweeting, chirping noises when you move it. The cats like that.
It’s probably not as satisfying as catching the real birds outside, but these two wouldn’t know what to do with a real bird if they could grab one.
Saturday morning we went for a bike ride, of course. I feel like my legs are starting to come back, if only a little bit, and if only for shorter rides.
It was just a 20-miler; the last five miles were faster, thankfully. In that section, a couple caught up to us as we waited on the one red light on the route. The guy said hello. I said, “Welcome, join us,” and, jokingly, “Which of you can I draft off of?”
The light turned green, I told The Yankee to go ahead, as is our custom. The guy told his riding part to come along. And my lovely bride … dropped those people in about four pedal strokes. That probably looked gratuitous, but everyone is on their own ride, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Not everyone is as strong as The Yankee, or as determined as I am to stay on her wheel, and that’s OK, too.
Also, they could have just turned quickly, for all I know. I glanced back once, and they were gone.
Maybe I should save this graphic of the route that we pedaled that day.
It already has a home roads/default route feeling to it.
It rained Sunday afternoon, so we spent the time listening to the rain and reading. It was lovely. I got back into a May Sarton book, though I think it sounds better if I say, “I am reading the journal of a Belgian poet.” It’s titled Journal of a Solitude, and that’s apt. The book started in September of a particular year. I am now through April, and there’s a big meaty section of spring and summer to come. But, sitting under a July rain, trying to picture a rugged Maine January …
I love how she hints at the difference of manipulating words or concepts. Because she is a poet, one is always weighed more heavily against the other. The W.B. Yeats poem she refers to there is, perhaps, “The Circus Animals Desertion,” where he narrates that he labored on the theme for six weeks. Any number of literature shortcut sites will tell you he’s, late in life, trying to square his own life with the times and mores of his native Ireland, and how that impacted his inspiration. It’s Yeats, so just say it is full of modernism or postmodernism; people will nod sagely.
I think she’s referring to “The Snow Light.” The line she went with:
In the snow light,
In the swan light,
In the white-on-white light
Of a winter storm,
My delight and your delight
Kept each other warm.
What do you want to happen in a poem after that? For Sarton, the love had to be lost.
She had published a book of poems just before that journal entry, and the rest of winter breezes by in the journal. So, much of spring and summer will be filled with her gardens and flowers and her descriptions of those things, but she’ll sneak in all manner of powerful observations about being alone, femininity, sexuality and then, near the end, something absolutely unexpected will happen.
This is my second Sarton book — My second of four Sarton books. I discovered her through Ray Boomhower, Indianapolis-based historian, who shared a quote of hers, “Keep busy with survival. Imitate the trees. Learn to lose in order to recover, and remember nothing stays the same for long, not even pain. Sit it out. Let it all pass. Let it go.” that sounded very much like something a cyclist would say. So I was intrigued. I then found a site that recommended four of her books in particular. After that, I found a used bookstore online that had each of those four books, plus free shipping. I bookmarked that store immediately. — so I know for certain there will be much about flowers and weeding and the spring and summer chores. The other three themes are all over this journal. And I’m hoping for another “Huh. How about that?!?” moment, that brings it all together, just as in Plant Dreaming Deep.
Belgian poets, man.
After the weather cleared, we took a little swim, unleashing an impressive array of splashy dives that created great splashes, even if they weren’t terribly splashy. I decided to do a few laps, because Sunday was a rest day, but by that time I hadn’t exercised in more than 24 hours and Saturday morning seemed a long time ago. So I did a few laps, and then a few more. And then I decided I’d just swim until I was tired. This being my fourth swim in just 10 days, and, also, my fourth swim since November 2015, I was curious to see what that looked like.
It looked like 1,120 yards. I feel a bit of that in my shoulders today, but in a good way.
So, naturally, we went for a run tonight. I did 2.91 miles — and I feel that in my feet — just to keep an easily reachable goal out there.
We return to the Re-Listening project, where the goal is to listen to all of my old CDs, in the order in which I acquired them. Since I am writing a bit about them here, and as I am woefully behind, the immediate goal is to … catch up. These aren’t reviews, but an excuse to pad out the blog and embed a few videos on a trip down memory lane.
Gran Torino, was a Knoxville-based band, that started with a rhythm-and-blues, soul and funk feel and shifted pretty effortlessly to a pop formula. This is their second album, the one that had a minor hit, mostly on college radio and the like. A lot of horns, a lot of fun somewhere between game show themes and Earth, Wind & Fire.
If you weren’t around Knoxville, this was probably how you were introduced to this band.
Infectious!
Gran Torino put out only one more album before they disbanded in 2003, but they have played the occasional show, often for a fundraiser, here and there.
Jimmie’s Chicken Shack dropped their second album in August of 1999, a time when almost no one used the word “dropped” in that way. I picked this up in a giveaway bin at one of the stations I was working at, and I am so glad I did. This is a fusion of slack rock, entry-level ska, acoustic pop and some sort of blue-eye hip hop and new wave sounds. Now, as I type that out, it sounds ridiculous, but this record is so, so great.
Track one feels like a nod to their early work before they diverge into that odd collage.
I did not understand this when I first heard it, but I liked it straight away.
And this was the low key hit. “Do Right” peaked at number 12 on the Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart, helping to push the album to 153 on the Billboard 200.
Really, almost every song here has something to offer. How it didn’t get a bigger push is a mystery.
Oh. Wikipedia tells me that Elton John had a record label and Jimmie’s Chicken Shack was one of their acts. They apparently did not often see eye-to-eye. Also, it was “marketed” by Island Def Jam, this would have been before IDJ really figured out they were supposed to be a major entity.
Jimmie’s Chicken Shack put out two-independent records after this one, and now they’re releasing things on Bandcamp. And they’re touring now, too. Good for them.
Tomorrow I’ll put four more big plastic bins in the basement because this weekend I prepared two fo them for storage. Also this weekend, and today, I emptied six more bins of books. Tonight I finished placing them on their shelves. First, all of the Gloms are now back in order in their bookcase. (One of the bins of Gloms got dropped when we were moving things into the house. It, of course, was the bin with the 120-year-old books. They seemed to do OK, the ancient books, but that was a stressful moment.)
The Gloms are going to pop back up in a photo capacity in the not-too-distant future.
After that, there also two other bookcases, filled with dozens of books I’ve yet to read. Last night I organized them into two stacks. On my grandfather’s bookcase, right next to my desk, are the books I’ll read first. There are about fifth books placed there, and perhaps about the same amount on the other bookshelf in the far corner.
Tomorrow I’ll set up the audio equipment. After that, it’s just reducing clutter, and then making plans for how I’ll actually use the space.
Anyway, most of the house settling is coming together. I’ve got two other bookcases to fill downstairs, and there are some odds and ends to figure out, but soon we’ll be on the way to trying to figure out where to hang things.
Which is good, because talking about how you’re unpacking for days on end might be the most boring thing on the web, am I right? So, starting tomorrow, back to the other riveting things I usually talk about here.
Here’s the important part. The most delicate things have been removed from balled up newspaper.
First one, then the other.
Phoebe and Poseidon are ridiculous, and they’re doing well. Quite settled, I’d say.
We had a nice little bike ride this weekend, which allows me to use the new bike banner once again. It was a lovely pedal through farmland and close to the lower basin of the Delaware River estuary.
We rode by crops ready to be pulled from the vine, cornstalks ready to soar and over a bit of the marshy river itself.
On this particular route, I think we only passed one church, watching over the fields and the people and the carefully planted trees.
It wasn’t a hard ride, but it was not without its challenges. It wasn’t especially fast, and at one point everything hurt. I am, I reminded myself, recovering from a move, Also, despite my lovely bride’s best efforts, I still got us off to a later-than-desired start, so the sun was ready to bake us in the last few miles. But the scenery was nice, and the company was wonderful.
I’m ready for the next ride, and maybe after a few more I’ll be ready for them to be a bit faster.
We took some time out for gymnastics. Tthe former All-American still has the Focus Face and the fingers and toes do what a gymnast’s fingers and toes do. I doubt she’s even aware of them, but it always amuses me.
She stuck the landing, several times.
Today, there were laps.
I swam some laps as well. I’m easing back into this, having now my second lap swim in just under eight silly years. In a few more pool sessions I’ll be up to a respectable warmup distance.
Also, I really need my shoulder to stop spasming. This is a Memorial Day weekend thing, followed by the stress-of-a-move thing. But, hey, I can still carry things. First, heavy boxes, then books by the armload and finally, when that got old, moving entire bins of heavy books. I’m sure that has in no way contributed to this running issue.
Yes, I am going to get one more week of videos out of the concert we saw last month at The Ryman. I recorded it, you get to hear it. “Shame on You” was a 1997 single from the “Shaming of the Sun” record. Love that album, love this song, love the banjo.
There’s a reference to the year 1694 in the song, fit in as rhetorical rebuttal. Not a lot seemed to happen in colonial America in 1694, but it doesn’t make the point any less valid, but the migration was underway. These sorts of things happen slowly, until you one day look around and everything is different, and new challenges and realities are emerging. I suspect that’s what was happening in the 1970s and 1980s and early 1990s when David Zeiger released his documentary, “Displaced In The New South” which has a theme that inspired the song.
The opening line of the documentary is the title of the post. I suppose it has always been that way, as well.
