Unearthing a life.....

Ladies of the NoApologies household, wish you were here. In memory of the rhubarb pie you gifted us with last year, I created this spectacular rhubarb and peach replica this morning.

Tell me I'm not an artiste!

Tell me I'm not a Pyrex Chef!

Okay, next time a quarter cup more sugar.......

And then we had a pie dinner ... just pie and a little vanilla ice cream. We were going to save the remaining half for breakfast, BUT I KNOW Bookworm is downstairs whittling away at it as I sit here typing this in.

Allie has received all the 'grandchild headlines' here ... because he is handy, local, and here in our home five days a week. There are others, but they live further away and we only get to see them during 'visits' which get fewer and further between as they get older. Clockwise from the upper left, they are: Jessica (Vancouver, WA), Michal (Ferndale, WA), Rachel (South Dakota State University), and Morgan (Woodland, CA).

Over the years they have provided us with many delightful moments of creative madness. Long live grandchildren .... and now it's time to oversee Allie's lunch, help him with his reading homework, and get him prepared for the school bus.

SleeplessInSudan closed down her Darfur BLOG last February 1st. She was a relief worker anonymously reporting on the on-going genocide being committed there. She closed down her BLOG when her emplyer transferred her off to another crisis (or was it really a forced relocation?). In the three months since her departure, the looting, raping and killing have gone on unabated.

This morning George Clooney was on TV with Katie Couric and another reporter (I didn't catch his name) trying to whip up some public attention on this new holocaust. The other gentleman remarked that this was a story that "had not been able to gain any legs" in the press.

If Darfur were sitting atop a major oil field, you can bet the story would have more legs than a millipede. Meanwhile a race of people, numbering in the several millions, is being systematically butchered into extinction.
And the 'story has no legs'.
Not in the U.S. of A.
Not in Kitsap County.
Not out here in the Rolling Hills Golf Club neighborhood.

What is it about Iraq that holds this fatal attraction for President George? What goes on in that dark cavern behind his eyes? What red thoughts of blood seeping into the sand?

What's going on in there?

What is it about a crisis that freezes him like a deer in the headlights? What goes on behind those wide open, frightened eyes? What red thoughts of planes exploding into buildings?

What's going on in there?

What is it about being caught in a lie that turns him into a banty rooster filled with crowing? What goes on behind those defiant eyes? What red plans for clouding the truth?

What's going on in there?

What is it about being President that turns him into a bombastic, power mad freak? What goes on behind those shifting, darting eyes? What red mushroom of death is he seeing?

What's going on in there?

*****************************

Will someone tell that klutz that his body language is continually ratting him out?
My thanks to Tom Waits for inspiring this post.

In its original Bookworm concept, this weekend at the ocean was all about me and my birthday. An opportunity to fulfill a longtime dream of teaching my grandson to fly a kite. When I was little like Allie, my Dad made me kites. He split the wood parts from a board and shaved them down thin with his pocket knife. He covered the frame with glued down newspaper and tied on a tail of knotted rags. Perhaps this worked when he was growing up on an Eastern Washington homestead in 1915, but it never worked when he tried to do it for me in 1941 or so. These homemade kites never attained anything remotely resembling flight. And now I know one of the reasons why. Good kite flying winds are between 7 and 20 mph .... our prairie winds in Eastern Washington were normally between 30 and 45 mph. No chance! Bookworm reports having had similar kiting experiences with her father.
But I digress extensively. This was MY weekend and let no one forget it. I took every opportunity (okay, one or two opportunities) to enjoy being a photographer. The shot above was of a sand drawing that Allie (can't get away from him) made when he and I first hiked over to the beach.

But on Saturday morning, when it was too early for my companion slug-a-beds to be out and about enjoying the cool salt air and marveling at the advertising ingenuity of remote beach towns, I took a stroll around Ocean City looking for my favorite subjects: oddities, graffiti, rust and disintegration, weather artworks, etc.,. Despite my expectations, Ocean City was not a treasure chest of such subject matter. Too organized. Too cleanly. Not enough junk!

I did get a couple dozen nice shots of decrepit boats decorating motel entrances and purposeful graffiti on the side of a surf shop.....

....and Mr. Porpoise here - on a metal plaque decorating a stone wall. So in between photographing Allie in the pool, on the beach, flying kites, riding horses, and flopping in the ocean - I did get some time for FossilGuy to wander around and do his thing.

I wonder what's going on with the pictures here? They were all the same height dimension (400) when I downloaded them ... yet two of them stretch across the entire available width(?).

We have survived the weekend at the ocean with grandson in tow. It is hard to keep up with the demands of a six-year old when you are seventy-two. While he was cavorting in the Quality Inn's swimming pool in two-hour stints, I was sneaking breaks in the hot-tub/jacoozi in hopes of easing muscle soreness. Here is Al and Bookworm in the swim .... he 'swims' in a lifejacket ... a living, thrashing cork! I believe he would have been happy to spend the entire time bobbing in the pool. On Saturday he acquired the courage to cannonball into the water from the pool's edge and that immediately became the prime activity. Eventually he got in the hot-tub with me and then discovered the delights of heating his body, then scrambling out and jumping into the cold (feeling) pool.

After that first crack at the Inn's pool, I lured him into a hike to the beach. We were about a long quarter mile from the beach and the terrain was very hillocky with grass clumps on the hill tops and occasional marshes in the low spots. From our third floor balconey we could see a number of trails going ever-which-way through this ... like a labyrinth. Turned out to be a twenty minute hike each way, what with all the backtracking we had to do to avoid the marches. When we finally hit the openness of the beach it was a bit on the blustery side, so we didn't stay long ... and wove our way back to a dinner of hotdogs and cold Boston baked beans.

Saturday morning, after the Inn's Continental breakfast (they are never as good as my own), I went for a walk around town alone with my camera and took shots of interesting odds and ends of town (Ocean Shores) decor. Like decrepit old boats used for motel landscaping, graffiti on the side of a surf shop, and a memorial statue to the town volunteers who clean the beach. These will appear over the coming week on my yaFro site (use the link found here to the right side). Later in the morning we went out to the beach and I helped Allie launch and fly a kite. As it turned out, this was an activity that he enjoyed mostly in his grandpa's imagination -- and not all that much in real life. He totally lost interest in it after maybe five minutes.

The abandoned kite gave way to a horseback ride financed by Bookworm. He loves riding horses and spent much of the time bragging to the girl escorting him about his prior horse riding acheivements at the 'Corey's Day on the Farm' held each Spring at the Kitsap County Fairgrounds. More pictures of this event and the others described here will be posted on the yaFro site. I took 160 pictures and half of them should make it to posting there.

After the horseback ride, we finally got him down to the water's edge to dip his rubber boots in the surf wash. He got into this in short order and there was the usual progression of events: 1) he got a small surge that went over the top of his boots and they had to be discarded, 2) the barefoot business was going along fine till a largish swell of wash caught him behind the knees and toppled him on his butt, 3) then I end up with a dripping wet boy with sand encrusted feet looking to climb into my car for a ride back to dry clothes. He says he thought the ocean was going to 'take him' ... and Bookworm says he tried to run and swim at the same time.

After a few more hours in the pool, we went to dinner at a Mexican restaurant. Allie really tore into the chips and hot salsa and commented to the waiter, "This is really good catsup you got here!" He had a hamburger and later complained that the food was too spicy ... Yah .... he was cleaning up the last traces of that hot salsa as we were preparing to leave the table. I thank you, Bookworm for the weekend at the ocean with Allie. It wasn't quite what I had imagined, but it was altogether enjoyable.

It's that time of year. The time of year when Bookworm and I take grandson Allie to the ocean beaches for a weekend of kite flying and etc.,. I didn't say "it's that time of year again" because we've not done this before. This will be a new thing. Hopefully a thing we might want to repeat next year. Or maybe not ... it all depends. See how it goes.

The lad will be (I hope) without TV Cartoon Networks for at least forty-eight hours. This isn't the place we usually stay, so maybe there will be a TV. Lord, please let there be no TV! Allie has expressed some concerns about being away from home and his Mom overnight. He thinks there are likely to be ghosts in the hotel and piranhas in the ocean. A couple days ago he suggested we take his imaginary brother instead of him.

The hotel/motel has a swimming pool and its been so long since any of us have been swimming that we had to buy a round of new bathing suits. And I know we're going to look just darling in them. There will be no photos of this aquatic element. Allie told us that he would not be getting in any pool without his life-jacket on. Sounds good to me. Wish I had one two.

I have my kite collection ready to go and will try to come back with pictures of Al flying a kite or two. Unless there's no wind at all ... or too much. The five-day weather forecast looks promising for Saturday.

Tomorrow (Friday) will be my 72nd birthday and this trip to the ocean to fly kites with Allie is Bookworm's birthday present to me.

Wee Georgie has finally burst from the closet and admitted to you, to me, and to the world, that he is the Decider. No bones about it, he IS the Decider. THE Decider, not one of the deciders, but THE Decider. A vociferous claim to one-man-only status as Decider-in-Chief. Glad that is finally settled once and for all, nailed down and ready for UPS pick-up.

As soon as I saw the clip on the news, I was reminded of that song from my early adulthood, "Oh, ho, ho, ho, I am the great pretender.....". Cum decider. Now he can claim credit where credit is due:

"I decided to lauch a meaningless war against Iraq."
"I decided to lie my butt off to the American people about the potential nuclear threat of Iraq."
"I decided that Colin Powell should go to the United Nations and repeat my lies on the world stage."
"I decided to have information leaked that would expose one of my CIA agents in order to show her husband where the bear shit in the bullrushes." "I decided that ol' Scotter should take the fall for my leakage."
"I decided to send Dick off on a hunting trip to create a diversion."
"I decided that Rummy should underman the Iraq invasion forces."
"I decided to declare VICTORY at the beginning of the war, rather than at the end."

Decisions, decisions, decisions.......

This has not been a good weekend for the business of dieting. The 'Doctoral Party' for Bookworm (on Saturday night) at Ann and Jan's was a gastro-gusto experience from the salad through the salmon and fluffy corn flounce to the wrap-it-up dessert. Good wine (good whiskey), a gathering of good friends, good food and good conversation .... formula for a great evening.

So we skimped on Easter breakfast and took grandson Allie to the services at the Kitsap Unitarian-Universalist Fellowship (and the subsequent indoor - due to the rain - egg hunt). Turned out to be one of those 'inter-generational' services where the kids stay thru the whole thing .... which, in this case, was seventy minutes of worship service hardly aimed at the six year old level. If it were a movie, I would give it two stars ..... one for not going eighty minutes and one because no one went into a coma (that I'm aware of). Allie was very well behaved throughout. At that age, I would not have been.

At 6:30 that morning, I'd put a five pound picnic ham in the slow cooker ... on a bed of baby carrots and sliced parsnips, with a mix of apple juice, Dijon honey mustard, and apricot preserves poured over it all. A couple friends came by at 5:00 pm and we served it up with salad, buns, Italians green beans and mashed Yukon Gold potatoes. Plenty of wine. Vanilla ice cream for dessert with Frangellica liquor poured over .... and coffee.

Bookworm got on the scales today. I didn't. Maybe along about Friday -- just before we head for the ocean with Allie.

Do you ever feel like a tourist in your own country? Just passing through? Amazed and often aghast at the strange governing culture that grips the nation by its scrawny neck? All these generals parading forth to drop the dime on Rumsfield puts one in mind of Argentina. We've got the makings of a Junta there. These are strange goings on. The French should come over here and replace the Statue of Liberty's torch with a sword .... and then bore a hole into her head and pour some brains in.

And speaking of 'tourists', I have the TOURIST album (Blue Note label) by St. Germain on my ghetto-blaster.

Still feeling bad for NoApologies and her partner for their loss of The Mighty Chester. For several weeks after we had to put Dakota down, I kept expecting him to be there and would catch myself doing things like shuting the sliding glass door behind me so's he couldn't escape the house. Expectations become habitual - ingrained.

Graduation party this evening to celebrate Kay's getting her Ph.D. We did have a party out at the ocean a month ago, but that was a small select group .... tonight will be more inclusive, yet small-bodied and quasi-personal with just a touch of wild cherry and cinnamon bark.

(I found this amazing patch of horsetails yesterday while I was doing some photo shooting at Old Mill Park in Silverdale, WA)

Got a postcard from 'Mom' today ... dated April 5, 2006, Isle of Skye, Scotland. Down at the bottom it says "See you after the 10th." So perhaps she's home from the Scotland Adventure with her mother and oldest daughter. The postcard is a picture of Glencoe ... where the Campbells slew the MacDonalds. I remember that place from when I was in Scotland 35+ years ago. I didn't make it to the Isle of Skye. We got to the ferry on a Sunday and discovered that it didn't operate on Sundays. Woe! So - 'Mom' - get on your blog and tell us about it.

Grandson Allie, like a lot of only children when playing alone, has a tendency to address remarks to the air in front of him. I was in the kitchen this morning, making his breakfast, when I overheard this: "I am NOT a pipsqueak - well, maybe - NO! I'm NOT a pipsqueak! I'm a vicious animal!"

When I brought him his food (English muffin with a round of Provolone cheese and a round of Canadian bacon), I asked who had called him a pipsqueak. It was his school nemesis and chief competitor through two years of pre-school and now in kindergarten.

A disturbing imbalance where one President can face impeachment proceedings for giving a young lady a toke on his personal cigar and the next President faces nothing after lying his socks off to send our Nation to war ... and ordering the leak of classified information as a means to harrass one of his in-country non-supporters. I think this speaks to the sorry state that the Democratic Party has sunk to ... ineffectual, unorganized, useless as cigars on a boar.

I got my new natural gas furnace installed and it's running so fine, but on the downside, Federal funds have been taken away from the National Theatre of the Deaf and it is fighting a losing battle to stay in existance. Bookworm and I attended a performance of the N.T.D. in Seattle some twenty to thirty years ago. It was a wonderful theatrical experience. I suppose we needed the money for Iraqi peace-keeping purposes.

This is Chester. Beloved of NoApologies and her partner Ann. A dog who has secretly dined from my hand under the table at Thanksgiving. Here's to Chester!

Bookworm and I did break our half-portion diet this evening and had broiled steaks, baked potato, and asparagus. I bought small steaks ... and we shared one potato (the biggest I could find at the grocery store), and I snapped off half the asparagus stalks, instead of the bottom third. Still looked like a big meal on the plate and was sure a damn joy to eat.

Otherwise - not much cookin'.

Monday morning early the furnace folks will begin replacing our furnace with a new (and hopefully problem free) one. The one we're replacing has a vacuum tubing problem and this port gets clogged up with something inside the fan apparatus which I have to work out by running a heavy wire into it and trying to ram out the obstruction. Been doing this two or more times a day for weeks now .... barking my knuckles and cuting the outside edge of my wrist on the sheetmetal.

Monday morning will herald the return of Grandson 'Nightsnake' Aleister after his week off for spring break. I did have him Thursday morning so's I could be sure he made his speech therapy appointment at Silverdale. It was nice to re-discover that life can be pretty nice without a six year old to look after days. I'll be glad to have him back. After all, he is my official sidekick.

So Judas got a bad rap .... just doing Jesus' bidding. A lot of that sort of thing going around these days. Especially in Washington, D.C. Like Scooter Isocrat there. The littlest leaker takes the biggest fall.

My dietary plan is to lose (on the average) two ounces a day for the next 350 days. Sound reasonable? I hope so.

I couldn't resist posting this fine foto of Dr. Bookworm and I out at the ocean .... taken by our dear friend Katy (or was it Steve?)