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Happy August! (August? Somehow? Already?)

There’s this ~~superstition~~ very real phenomenon where, if I pick a restaurant, something will go wrong and the dining experience will turn into a big dramatic nightmare. I first noticed this anti-superpower when I said, on a hot summer’s day many years ago, “Let’s go to Dairy Queen,” and so me and a college buddy went … and they were out of ice cream.

I suggested they lock up and go home, because what’s the point? And on the basis of that very true story, and a lot of other incidents that are far more consistent than random chance — one time, for instance, we went to a suburban Outback and they were out of steak! — I carefully avoid most restaurant-making decisions. To the chagrin, it must be said, of anyone that I’m dining with. The burden of the decision is on the other person or people, but we all have a much better chance of getting a reasonable meal.

Since we hardly go out to restaurants in a Covid world, this has become less of a problem.

Today …

Today I wondered, for a few moments, if that whole restaurant thing (which is very real, I assure you) would carry over to bike routes because, today, I picked the road we rode.

It was a simple out and back. Leave the neighborhood, head north until the road ends because, on the other side of that hill, there’s the river. Turn around and head back. There were two stop signs and one tiny little community along that road. And there were also several cars parked on the road along the way for one unhurried reason or another. But the route turned out fine. It was an easy little spin, and it was pleasant and I’m ready for a lot of rides like this.

I did get a close pass by a guy in his work van. This is an odd thing to do because, I know who that guy works for. There’s a particular local HVAC company that will get a little email about it.

Everything else on the ride was just fine. I may repeat part of the route tomorrow, just for fun.

Elsewhere today, we marked a significant moment in the house move. The last three boxes of our things, part of an advanced shipment, were finally brought into the house. Cleaning supplies and the like. The things, basically, that the moving company didn’t want on their truck. My god-sister-in-law (just go with it) has been holding onto these things. My lovely bride retrieved them today. Two boxes went into the basement. The other was quickly unpacked.

But that’s not the significant moment, no. I noticed, the day we moved in, that the stairwell to the basement had a light burned out. Owing to the way things have been organized, today was the first opportunity I had to carry the big aluminum ladder downstairs, extend it to almost its full height, and bring light to what was once darkness.

You don’t count how many lightbulbs you’ve changed in life — probably for the best, after a certain level of achievement the notation would make you go mad — but despite the great many light bulbs I’ve changed, this one gave me a certain feeling of satisfaction. Can’t quite put my finger on why.

It isn’t the first one in this house. It might not even be the last one I change this week, so flush with the feeling of momentum am I.

Also in the day’s list of boundless achievement I have watered many plants, studied the baseboards and vainly attempted to tighten an electrical outlet cover. Oh, and we determined which outlet in my lovely bride’s home office is a switched outlet. We have at least three of those in the house. One in each office and one in the living room. While that last one is fairly convenient, I have an unexplainable disdain to the entire concept of switched outlets. That I spent two or three minutes plugging in a table lamp and flipping switches today is the least of it.

I also watched a video on DIY drywall, so if you’re ever interested in a productive day or two, and appreciative friends … I have a project.

The most productive thing of the day, aside from that light bulb, was when we lazed about in the water this evening. That was a fine end to an easy summer’s day.

Did you know that, when we drove 11 hours across some 20 percent of this great nation on the move that I listened to CDs? I listened to a lot of CDs. What that means for us, now, is that I am still playing catchup in the Re-Listening project. That’s the one where I’m listening to all of my old CDs, in their order of acquisition, and padding out blog posts for my own amusement. I am very far behind, so let’s get to it. Remember, these aren’t reviews, but an excuse to post some videos, and maybe dig up a memory or two along the way. It’s good fun, come rock out with me now.

I load these into the CD player blind, which is to say I often don’t know what is coming next. Sometimes I remember the order — since this album just ended, then thaaat one is next, and so on. More likely, and more fun, is when I don’t recall. There’s that little pause as the CD changer pulls one CD away from the laser eye and slides the next one into place. It’s like watching a movie fanfare on TV and wondering what you’re about to see. And when the first plucked strings of this CD sprang to life I said, and I quote, “YESSSSS!”

Angie Aparo, out of Atlanta, is indirectly, come to think of it, probably my first experience with radio payola. The owner of the station I worked for when this record was released in March of 2000 “encouraged” all of his employees to attend a performance Aparo was putting on at a small venue in town. Record label people wanted to see a big turnout and somehow, this was our concern. I went to the show, pressured as I was, and only later did I make the connection.

What’s important is the show was good. This record is stinking amazing. This was the single, all futuristic and almost from a different planet.

I knew that song before the station gave me the full CD, because it was programmed a lot, but what is pleasantly surprising is how deep this record is. You most likely know this song from Faith Hill’s cover. (Her cover isn’t as good as his original.)

And maybe you know this one from a cover that Faith Hill’s husband did.

The thinnest pop tune on the whole disc will stick with you for hours. So here’s that.

They aren’t all radio pop songs, but they’re all great in the car, great to singalong with, and, if you are in the car, good for a good hand dance.

Angie Aparo put out six more albums, then had some life-and-death health problems. After he recovered, he’s put out one more album, in 2018, and is still playing around the southeast. I’ve only seen his show that one time, in early 2000.

Somehow, around that same time, I picked up Bobby Bradford’s “No Saints Walkin’.” It’s perfectly acceptable blue-eyed blues, if you’re looking for that. I never played it a lot, owing to all of the good music surrounding it in my CD books, I’m sure. And nothing really stood out this time through it, that I recall. Here’s the title track.

I think his label released that album three different times across seven years. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it found a lot of success abroad.

Speaking of success, this is where I get to tell the radio success story. My campus radio station was one of a small handful across the country that reported their song counts to some influential charts and labels. The easiest way to explain this is to say that important music executives sometimes used that data to determine who they should push. “If it is a hit on low-powered stations with college kids, we should mainstream it!” And, friends, someone (not me, in fact, this was just barely before my time) at my station liked one guy a little too much. That person wrote down the performer’s name in the playlist affidavits a little too often. And, I fear, my college radio station is responsible for making Kid Rock a thing.

I don’t own any Kid Rock albums, mind you. I always changed the station if I heard him on the radio. I was doing that long before he started experimenting with three-sample lifts and chorus quotes in the hopes of being noticed by legacy performers. If someone at my station was an early trend setter, I was an early avoider. But then I stumbled on Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise. This band is amazing, even if Kid Rock is all over the first track.

It’s an odd thing to say, but he adds something invaluable to the song.

Now, before we go any farther, a little backstory is required. Robert Bradley came up out of Alabama. He sang at the Alabama School for the Blind. He was a busker in Detroit. And, there, four white guys decided to work with him, forming Robert Bradley’s Blackwater Surprise. This record, their second, was a refined step up from their debut. RBBS’s fans noticed the difference, sometimes critically. And if you feel the same way about Kid Rock, here’s a version with out that guy.

I don’t recall which song I heard that prompted me to pick this up. But there’s a great deal here. This, after all, was an instant modern blues classic. Maybe the first in a generation.

(Also, that song sounds better live. This feels like the most real thing in the world, somehow.)

This one, this might be the song that got me.

Also, this record … it’s autobiographical.

RBBS produced four more studio albums after this one, and a double live CD, which I may have to pick up one of these days. Bradley ran a vending machine business for a while, returned to busking, and then put out another album on his own in 2018. I’m not sure what’s become of him since then. I hope he’s still out there around Detroit’s Eastern Market, singing and writing.

So now we’re three CDs closer to being caught up. I think I’m only nine behind, now. And, in the next round of the Re-Listening project, we’ll go back in time to April of 2000 to listen to a record that was released in 1994.

It’ll make sense when we get to it.

Happy August!

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31
Jul 23

Too far removed for a basic service our neighbors get weekly

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.

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28
Jul 23

Roasting near the sun

My first job, at 14, was landscaping a surgeon’s mansion. He was highly successful. He also married old money. They had an early model Rolls Royce Ghost in the garage. On each of the sweeping staircases there was an oil painting of their beautiful daughters. These were the people you saw in movies who didn’t exist, except that they did.

It was a summer job, I was working for one of my junior high teachers. My mother would take me to a McDonald’s parking lot to meet that teacher each morning, and each morning it was already hot. Even in a little cooler there was trial-and-error about what would survive until lunchtime. My teacher and I would drive over to the really nice part of the nice part of town. And she worked all day, and taught me to work all day. She taught me a lot that summer. I learned how to wrap towels, like she had in the Peace Corps, to keep cool. I learned the best places to take breaks. She talked a lot about music and her kids and other normal things about life, too. It was one of my first instances of interacting with a teacher beyond the classroom model.

It was very, very hot that summer. Almost dangerously so. And these people’s property was large. By the time we worked from one end of their property to the other it was time to start over again. If I didn’t mention this already, that was a hot, hot summer.

I use that story, kind of as a joke, to explain how I knew I wanted to go to college and get a nice, comfortable indoor job. Really, I’d already realized I wanted to be in an office, looking sharp in a coat and tie. But that summer, and some later ones that involved a bit of real work, only reinforced the idea.

I was thinking about that, when I spent an hour or so late this morning doing very, very, light work, mostly in the shade, but still under a heat index of 100 degrees.

People out there doing real work in the heat deserve breaks and water and shade. It’s easy to forget how demanding some conditions can be. Whenever we have people in to work on something, I’m constantly bothering them about needing air or heat or ice or … whatever.

I think of all of those people I see harvesting crops in the fields. When I ride by them on my bike I slow down a little bit and try to see if I can pick up any conversation, prepared to wave if anyone looks my way. But, absorbed in the details of their work, they seldom do. We’ll go down to one of the farm markets this weekend, or next week, and pick up some fresh produce. We’ll enjoy it, of course, knowing it is up from the soil right around us. But I’ll also wonder how many breaks the hands get. Hopefully, these last few weeks, they’ve been getting enough. Hopefully that becomes the norm when the conditions call for it.

Fortunately, this heat wave is forecast to break at the beginning of the next week.

Until then, stay cool as best you can. Pool floats are good for that.

And since the weekend is upon us, I’m giving you permission to unwind. Here’s 60 seconds of wavy clouds from four feet under water.

It’s Friday; don’t forget to breathe.

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26
Jul 23

Ray Stevens was an overdue mention anyway

We started this morning with a bike ride. OK, I started this morning with a PB&J, and then we went on a bike ride. The first 10 miles felt great, just following my lovely bride, jumping ahead on the little hills because I can, but sitting up and waiting for a second or two for the red flash to come through.

The corn is nice and tall. The sun is high. The roads are quiet. Everything is going great.

Somewhere around mile 13 my legs reminded me that they have been underused of late, and they stopped pedaling well in protest. It was squares from there on in, and I have to ride more, I know it, and my legs do, too. But the views were lovely.

And even though my ride was feeling clunky, I did remember to take a photo of this sign which surely means … something.

I think it’s recounting the local legend of the bird that celebrated the building as a deity, and brought it fish sacrifices, in the hopes that the building would give plentiful thermals in return. Silly bird.

Around mile 18 my legs rallied, if only for a moment, and then they stopped being productive at all. There was no more hanging on the wheel. No more catching up, not even on the gentle rollers. I was merely dropped. I managed to set four PRs on Strava. She set PRs on five Strava segments.

After that, The Yankee went for a run.

I sat in the shade.

Today was, I think, the first day I didn’t do anything involved with house settling. That’s about the tasks, not the mentality. That may take a while, I guess. But I did make a list of things to do tomorrow. And a long term list of things we might want to do, one day. Also, I did some paperwork for work, but there’s not really a good tale emerging from paperwork. Not one like this …

Late this afternoon we took some garbage to the garbage taking place.

The waste people decided they don’t manage service in this neighborhood anymore, despite having just closed a contract with the previous owners. And despite evidence — actual garbage cans that will go out tomorrow — of all of our nice neighbors receiving said service. We called this company twice on different days and times, just to see if that was a fluke, but it was not. Not sure what’s going on with that company, but I invoked Smith’s First Rule of Economics.

Don’t make it hard for me to spend my money with you.

So I found another company. Feeling very proud of myself, I shared this information. I didn’t know what the relative rates were, but it turns out this contract will save us a few bucks. They’ll start pickup next week, and deliver one of those giant cans later this week, supposedly. Which meant we took a few bags and some recycling to the transfer station today.

Transfer station being a term that sounds better, but isn’t necessarily an improvement in the olfactory region.

Being a warm summer day, we enjoyed our evening outdoors, and then had a fine steak dinner. It was a wonderful day, thanks for asking. I also introduced my lovely bride to Ray Stevens today. It was a topic that just evolved from a regular conversation. To my great relief, she found him funny, too.

I don’t know what comedy track we’ll get into, but tomorrow could be even better!

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25
Jul 23

Shocking! I felt shocked! (Because I shocked myself … )

The people that sold us the new house had a giant corner wardrobe in their bedroom. They didn’t take it with them. Left it right where it was. The day we moved in, we moved it to the basement. I had to take it apart, disassembling it around the hard-working movers. They had to carry it, in four pieces, into the basement. Down the stairs, out the front door, around the side, into the garage and downstairs. They strained. They struggled. They did it with good cheer. We felt bad. We tipped them pretty well. We were going to do that anyway, but after that we huddled and agreed to tip them a bit better still. They earned it.

Only, they didn’t reassemble that wardrobe in the basement, where we will use it as off-season clothes storage. So, late last night and early this morning, I did that work. (Sorta?) It had been three-plus weeks (time flies) since I took it apart. I was in a rush to tear it down back then and I didn’t document where in the MDF all of the little metal parts went. Also, IKEA doesn’t have it listed anymore, and I’ve no idea what they sold it as, so I can’t easily find the manual online.

Today, though, the giant four-part wardrobe is reassembled as three individual pieces. Maybe I’ll make it a two-section wardrobe later this year, when I swap out the clothes. But at 2 this morning, I felt like I’d done enough with it.

Today I raked up the grass clippings from the lawnmower, and stuffed them and a bunch of weeds, mostly pokeweed, in a lawn bag. I also discovered we have an electric fence. Every day there’s something new to discover, and that’s fun. Still don’t know what the extra light switch in the hallway does, but I digress. I was out at the shed and found a small solar panel, pointed west, with a little red cable running to a white cable that runs around the shed, right about at big toe height. It is energized, and it’ll give you a nice, moderate, shock. Not as many volts as you’d get grabbing a hot wire in the house, but a little more than static electricity. No pests in the tool shed, then.

I called the company that makes the solar panel. A nice woman there said this little unit could power a fence that covers three-quarters of a mile. Electric fences don’t take a lot of power, of course, but that’s just remarkable.

Soon after, someone came by to take all of these bad boys off our hands.

It only took three tries to give them away. A guy who came out last week to do some work on the house carried some off to use in his flowerbeds. I advertised them on a Facebook group. Move! Store things in them! Build forts! Put them in your flowerbeds!

A woman agreed to swing by, but she disappeared. From the chat. She disappeared from the chat. I’m sure she’s fine.

So I found another woman who needed boxes. She took them in two trips today. In between, the sky looked like this.

And then, almost magically, those clouds moved on, burned off, disappeared. It was all but instantaneous. The sun came out, bright as ever. And then it rained through the sunshine. I stood in the window and watched it. And, after the shower had passed, I glanced in the large room where cars are normally parked. The boxes were gone. We no longer have a squished warehouse. We now have a garage. About the same time, my lovely bride finished setting up the gym. (Can’t wait to renovate that one of these days.)

We’re making progress every day. So much so that we feel confident in having a bike ride tomorrow. It has been so long since I’ve been on my bike I’m mildly curious if it is, in fact, just like riding a bike.

I need to make some progress on this front as well, closing tabs in my browser, that is. Good for me, then, that it is Tabs Tuesday. These are a few links that I’ve kept open for too long. They might not rise to the level of making a bookmark — which comes at considerable cost, if you read this sentence wrong — but they could be worth memorializing. So I put them here. Let’s see what I’ve been holding onto.

Sometime back I learned about the Artisans Cooperative, which emerged as something of a maker’s revolt from goings on at Etsy. Or, at least that’s what I seem to remember about it.

Artisans Cooperative is crafting a “better” online handmade marketplace, run as a values-aligned, member-owned cooperative.

OUR VALUES
1. Member-owned co-op …

2. Free and fair marketplace …

3. Inclusion …

4. Authentically handmade …

We are in the final stretches of development and getting ready to launch to the public in October 2023.

Good for them. And some of the merchants, the ones I’ve clicked through so far, anyway, do some amazing work. Like, East Ruin.

East Ruin is an archaeology-inspired art & design business for eco- and socially-conscious consumers who value alternatives to extractive production methods.

For a different sort of thing, there’s Maple Creek Vermont.

I started Maple Creek Vermont in the fall of 2020 as an outlet for my creative energy. For as long as I can remember I have had a passion for creating, building, crafting and making. As the son of a carpenter I have been around wood working my entire life and I worked to spend as much time as I could in the wood shop during all levels of my education. From the closet turned wood shop in my kindergarten classroom to the well appointed wood shop on my college campus, I have always felt at home making sawdust.

And check out StellaNCWorks. I’ll definitely be shopping here.

Pottery was the souvenir my parents brought back from every place we went, each piece chosen to represent that place, with the potter’s mark on the bottom. Embracing my home in NC is reflected in my own pottery. It seems appropriate, forming a chunk of the very land itself, through an intimate, engaged process, into a practical object that reflects the plants and animals that share the land. I am inspired by these plant and animal neighbors, by the idea that memories and heirlooms connect us to our loved ones, by things that are made by someone’s hands, and by shared humanity. I explore these ideas to create themes that celebrate the personal connection with nature and with other humans, and often use artifacts of these things—plant leaves, animal footprints, heirloom lace—to shape my work.

When I first started making my own pottery, it was driven by the need for a perfect vessel for a particular food: a plate for sardines with a line of mustard, bowls for pho, a big tea mug. Making clumsy pottery taught me lessons about making things better: about handle shape appropriate for leverage on a big mug, flat bottoms that don’t retain dishwater when drying upside down, shapes and edges that are comfortable for hands and lips. I make pottery for people who love the art in the practical, who love useful things made by someone’s hands.

(It also happens to be beautiful work.)

I discovered a bramble vine in the yard the other day. So now I’m reading up. Brambles: Pesky garden weed or delicious summer treat.

Brambles are bush-like, thorny plants with arching canes that are all in the Rubus family of plants. This includes the common blackberry, raspberry (including red, black and yellow) and the less common dewberry and thimbleberry. Many of these species are grown or bred for their wonderful fruit, and there are many wild-growing brambles as well. Wild bramble fruits are generally smaller than their cultivated, on-farm cousins, but are more packed with flavor! It’s almost “brambleberry” foraging and harvesting time now; if you see anything in the woods that looks like store-bought raspberry or blackberry, it’s safe to eat! There are no poisonous look-alikes to worry about.

There is good news and bad news about plants in the bramble family. The plants root easily, they spread out, and they give off fruit every year. If you are trying to establish them in your garden, you’ll likely be successful; they are quite vigorous. Another plus is that they are an incredibly rich (and common) source of pollen for pollinators of all types. Expect new plants to bear fruit in their second year.

And there’s always something new to learn about peaches, too. There’s so much to learn about peaches. They aren’t at all intimidating.

Less intimidating: the 54 tabs still open on my browser.

Just two more clips from last week’s Barenaked Ladies show. I didn’t include the encore. These days BNL brings out their supporting acts (Del Amitri and Five For Fighting on this leg of the tour) and they do a cover. They’re doing Steve Miller Band’s “Jet Airliner.” (It’s fine, I guess. Last year, though, they did “Handle Me With Care.” It was much better. Here’s the version they did in Cincinnati. And this is the version they did in Indianapolis.)

There was a freestyle rap, an Ed Robertson staple. And they mixed it into a medley with a Taylor Swift song. I am counting this as having attended a Taylor Swift show.

Tyler Stewart came out from behind the drums for the big finish. And it’s a pretty robust singalong. Think of it another way: this is a 40-year-old song, a staple of another band’s catalog, and everyone, or at least the guys, are all singing along.

When Joe Elliot screamed it in 1983 “Rock of Ages reached 16 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and number one on the Top Tracks Rock chart. No one forgets Def Leppard — who are playing seven dates across the U.S. next month.

But enough about music. There’s a lot more of that to come. Tomorrow we’ll dive back into the Re-Listening project, because I am very behind, and that’s making me itchy.