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Monday

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6
Dec 21

A weekend in Savannah

Yes, this is Monday, but I’m writing about Monday. The next few days will be in arrears. It’s a vacation thing and I’ll somehow cope with the difficulty of the problem.

Spirits were high before the 10K. Here are most of us. Anne was on the course doing a 5K because she’s an awesome overachiever. The Yankee, Brooke, Andre and Stephen and I all did the slightly less ambitious 6.2 mile run over one of the tallest bridges in the southeastern U.S. We had to run the bridge twice.

Anne ran the bridge three times. (She also finished in second in her age group.)

This is at the starting line. Limited field by design. Everyone had to show proof of vaccination and all of that. Here, I thought, is a sign of maturation as a human and my bowing to inevitability. The joke I used to make right here was “Look at all of these people I have to pass.”

(Knowing I would never pass all of those people. I have landed on the podium in exactly two foot races as an adult. Both, you might say, were of a limited field.)

But, today, my joke was “Look at all of those people that don’t have to pass me!”

And here we all are, after weaving through many of the beautiful squares in the historic district we finally have our first good view of the bridge we’re about to go over.

And one of the views from atop the Savannah Bridge.

This is the largest single ocean container terminal on the U.S. eastern seaboard, and the nation’s fourth-busiest seaport. It is a cable-stayed design, and it’s 185 feet from here to the river below.

Off the bridge, around a cloverleaf, up one little kicker and around a little right hand turn you’ll find the finish line, and your medal, and some fruit and other healthy snacks.

Speaking of food … We tried a new place for dinner Saturday night, on account of the mileage we’d already enjoyed. Plus it got good reviews, and we’re going to give Cha Bella another good review. It’s a farm-to-table concept, a term that’s lost all meaning, I think, but Saturday night it meant tasty. We had a gnocchi appetizer.

I had a tasty grouper entree, which did not photograph very well, but it was tasty. We tried the cheesecake, which had a goat cheese blend. It was a super creamy dish, and every now and again, you got that hint of goat cheese.

It was a delicious outdoor dining experience. And we made everyone go back with us again on Sunday night. Because there were other things to try.

And, look, if you have different servers on different nights and they both react the same way when someone orders a specific dish, you get that specific dish. This is the hog chop.

And I’m pretty sure I don’t need to ever have another pork chop in my life. But I also wonder why everyone doesn’t make their chops like this one. Because they should.

And this weekend I also had the opportunity to enjoy a few ghost signs. This was one of the better ones. Everybody knows, Uneeda Biscuit.

That’s a 19th century brand, made it all the way to 2008, when Kraft (which took hold of all of the old Nabsico properties in 2000) discontinued it. The old original Nabisco, NBC (itself a product of three different mergers) rolled out the Uneeda campaign in the 1890s, when no one said things like “rolled out the campaign.” Within a year or so, NBC was selling ten million Uneeda biscuits a month.

I don’t think I ever had a Uneeda, which you’d, of course, today call a cracker. But I did have some good biscuits this weekend.

Tomorrow, we have to leave Savannah and travel back to Indiana. But I probably have two more days of content to work through here. Anything to extend the trip.

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29
Nov 21

I survived a Monday that should have been an e-mail

A nice, but chilly weekend. Perfectly delightful for late November. Any time around here that you can use the word “nice” around weather in late November, in any capacity, you count yourself lucky. And the skies were cooperating nicely.

Went for a run on Sunday afternoon. It was cold, but not too cold. It was hard, but not too hard. I was slow ~~but not too slow~~. Somewhere in the third mile my back locked up in a serious way. And after three-quarters of a mile trying to run around it a lot of other things went, too. Something to work on for the future. But I got a nice shadow selfie.

But look at that surprising sky!

Also, I had a bike ride on Saturday. That’s three this week! It’s almost a streak. This one was in a simulacrum of northern France. I did not notice Mont-Saint-Michel, must have been trying to catch my breath, but you can see the lighthouse.

The abbey, which is a UNESCO site, is one of the most popular spots in that part of France. It dates back to the ninth century at least, and you would see it in this brownish-orangish section just to the top of the map.

But you’re going to want to see the real Mont-Saint-Michel. It’s gorgeous.

At some point this weekend I finished The Coming Fury, the first installment in Bruce Catton’s centennial trilogy of the American Civil War. Now I have to go buy and read volumes two and three.*

It’s a good historical tome, concerning itself with all of the major events in the year leading up to, and through, the First Battle of Bull Run. One part I might never forget is when someone writes to President-elect Lincoln and basically asks what should be done about the forts in Charleston if they wind up in South Carolina’s hands. Essentially, should we get them back? Leave them be?

Catton writes:

An interesting field for speculation opens just briefly here. What would have happened – how would the ever changing situation in respect to slavery, secession, and the preservation of the Union have been affected — if in December the South Carolina commissioners had won everything they asked for? Suppose that Buchanan had given them the forts and that Lincoln had announced publicly that as soon as he took office, the government would fight to regain what had been given away? What then?

At that point Catton has, over 193 pages, starting with the political conventions the prior spring, distilled this down to the decisions of Maj. Anderson in command of Fort Sumter and a South Carolina militia captain ordered to a paddle boat in the bay. Catton has put it before you that any of the decisions these two men made, for several days, meant war or peace at any moment — even as it was obvious the people wanted to play at war — and then asked you that rhetorical question.

This is December 1960.

James Buchanan is historically portrayed as ineffectual with Southern sympathies. Catton’s characterization feeds into that. Buchanan couldn’t make up his mind, he was a poor executive in desperate need, always, of his cabinet. Then late in the year his cabinet necessarily has its makeup changed and, suddenly, Buchanan resolves himself to be made of stern stuff.

As ever, there’s more to that guy than the one or two sentences you usually hear. Lincoln, meanwhile, was playing the cagey lawyer. He was insistent that he had to get in office and be credibly* seen as the president, before he’d do or say anything more than he’d already said.

It’s insight, but I spent hundreds of pages in this book thinking “You guys should be cabling each other constantly!”

Two more work days for me. Then it’s time for a long weekend vacation. But who’s counting?

*I have already started the bidding on e-bay.

**The credibility part was important because Lincoln was portrayed by many in the early going as a figurehead for William Seward, his secretary of state. Lincoln had to prove himself the president, even to Seward, and show that to the people, while juggling the border states, each according to their need, and starting a war. So the second book is probably going to be something.

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22
Nov 21

Seeing the big cats

We took my in-laws to the Exotic Feline Rescue Center. Really cool place with a great mission.

We provide permanent homes for exotic felines that have been abused, abandoned or for some reason have nowhere to live out their lives, while educating the public about these beautiful cats.

· We do not buy, sell or breed cats

· We do not allow public contact with the cats

· We give big cats a home for life

The EFRC owns approximately 260 acres of land in Center Point, Indiana where a staff of around 15 employees, as well as many interns and volunteers care daily for over 100 big and small exotic cats, give educational tours, sell and ship merchandise, construct and maintain enclosures, and many other tasks. We have cared for over a dozen different species throughout the years. There are just a handful of sanctuaries in the US that provide the same services that we do. We work and cooperate with many organizations including: Indianapolis Zoo, USDA, Louisville Zoo, Indiana DNR, US Fish & Wildlife and New York DEC.

Everyone loves visiting there. And if you’re ever nearby, you should definitely plan a few hours and make a visit for yourself. Here are a few pictures.

And more of those tomorrow.

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15
Nov 21

This went hours without a title, which is saying nothing

I was somewhat surprised and pleased to see the last of the day’s sun, and a fancy little glimpse about what was transpiring to the west. I stood on the top level of the parking deck on a not-too-chilly evening and watched the birds dance in the sky.

There’s a medium height campus building just to the right. A hotel-turned-sorority-house-turned office building which has been described as “a mixture of wit, whimsy, forgetfulness and hard deadlines,” and, if that miniature description is correct, regret.

The birds don’t care. The building affords them a nice big and flat roof with commanding views of the blocks around them.

And if the birds care about such things, they have a nice seat for the occasional sunsets so long as they stick around.

When was the last time you saw a giant flock of birds? Maybe it’s a migratory issue, maybe I am always just in the wrong places, but it might be predation or poison or cell towers or climate change. I remember a childhood filled with aerial armadas of birds flying overhead. Now they stand out in their very rare, and comparatively smaller appearances.

Another fortunate thing was that I got to the house in time to see the last of the burning sky.

And, of course, the cats, who are doing great. Phoebe needs cuddles.

Lots of cuddles. The joke is that I come in and she tells me she has been neglected all day and needs pets right now and, of course, that’s patently false. She gets playfully scolded for the fibs I’m applying to her pet-me-pet-me-pet-me body language.

Sometimes she curls up on me and I think about when we first got these guys. She was, for whatever reason, standoffish with me for many many weeks. I would tell her then that she was missing out on some great cuddles and she’d figure it out. And she did!

Poseidon never had that concern. He’s been needy and cuddly right from the start.

He’s quite in-your-face about it.

And as the weather gets cooler, he’s returning to form. It’s purely about body heat, I’m sure.

This is the last week of classes before Thanksgiving break. Things are speeding up, rather than slowing down. But before you go today, how about some sports talk?

Here’s The Toss Up, which is slashing their way through a great episode on the early part of the NHL season …

And this is a brand new show, the TV people and the radio people are producing a new simulcast project. We’ll have them work on the framing of the shots a bit, and maybe get a second camera in there eventually. And hopefully have them add some pep to their morning step.

That’s episode one. And another new sports talk show is being launched this week, too. That’ll make four sports talkers. Three of them brand new this semester. People do like to talk about sports.

More tomorrow, another show, a new podcast and more … but probably no sports.

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8
Nov 21

Catching up through the mirror

Back to that maple tree I found at the entrance to the neighborhood on Friday. It’s still lovely, for now.

I’m just a big fan of that little batch of red right in the middle of the tree. This guy has character, and I should pay more attention to it through all seasons.

Because I like the smudge of colors in blurry photographs, this is how I’ll wind up remembering the tree:

And because this is my site — my name’s right there on the top, and everything! — here are a few more pictures of that tree.

It has a lot of character.

How can you not love that punk rock red?

Back to my backyard. I’m thinking of making a custom jigsaw puzzle. Would anyone like a copy of this one?

All of those leaves fell out of this maple. Like it sneezed, or brushed some crumbs from its coat.

The evening light on an evening walk. The Yankee has started running in her post-surgical recovery. Next Tuesday is four weeks, and we did an easy mile on Sunday evening.

I spent the rest of the weekend on the sideview mirror right project.

You see, our garage is shrinking, and for the second time my lovely bride has clipped the side with her mirror. The first time, eight years ago this month in our old house, she just shattered the glass, which, it turns out, was easy enough to replace.

Recently, she tore up the plastic mirror assembly. It hasn’t sat correctly since and the power mirror function was ruined. To use the mirror you had to hunch down from your normal driving posture. I wanted to fix this, because I like vehicle safety.

Buying the mirror was the easy part. I found a perfectly matched after-market mirror assembly for $39. It was black. (Her car is not black.) She did not want to drive around with a mismatched mirror. And neither of us wanted to pay a body shop for even a small job.

So I … got to paint the mirror. It started as shiny black plastic. I had to hit two stores on Saturday to find the can eight-ounce can of the matching stuff. I sanded the plastic. I applied three coats of primer.

Then I put on three coats of paint — lunar mist, is what the manufacturer calls it — and too much top coat.

Somehow, this is the first thing I’ve painted since childhood.

I found a seven-minute video on YouTube teaching me how to replace the driver’s side mirror. The length of the video encouraged me, because of course the actual process is much easier after the helpful mechanic over-explains it all. The process requires a flathead screwdriver, a socket wrench and three nuts and bolts.

Now it’s time for the two respective moments of truth. They came at me quick, almost too fast to process, let alone celebrate. First, I kept the glass clean from all of that paint. (I’d also only painted my thumb once, and made three small errors throughout the application process. We’re calling this a win.)

The next big victory was seeing the power mirror action working again. When she hit the garage it severed the cables inside the old assembly. The new assembly, of course, has its own wiring, which is in great shape. All I had to do was plug it into the car. And the mirror moves just as it should.

The paint job, for someone who never paints, isn’t bad. Maybe I’ll try to buff it down next weekend. Right now, it’s safe, and that’s what counts.

And that it matches.

I told The Yankee that I’m saving the old mirror for next time. But, hey, if you have to whack a mirror in this car, now I know how to do it. I built up a great deal of confidence in my ability to do the job.

Which makes me dangerous.

Like her backing up.

I also told her I’m cutting a notch out of the garage wall, like the old cartoons leaving a body silhouette when they went through a wall, so the mirror can pass right through.