Against the Wind

Standing at the sink doing dishes today I was treated to some winter birds I’d not seen before. The field guide indicates that I saw purple finches (pretty plain brown birds to my eye, but the description fits) something that looks like a blue gray Gnat catcher, but the description says smaller than a sparrow. What I saw is slightly bigger than the sparrows. But the ones that were most fun to watch were the Carolina chickadees. They have a distinctive flight pattern. They come to the feeder on an uptick, startling me as I’m doing dishes on the other side of the glass. They leave dropping down, motor up as the half cross the yard, and then perch on a branch or fence. No level flight paths for them.. they’re aerial acrobats. I sure do enjoy the feeder Pete left for me, and the field guide Mother had.

Tomorrow I’ll give my last lecture in math. The last lecture part is bitter sweet, but the “in math” part makes it a good leaving. Because, frankly, I’ve reached a point where I cannot be much bothered with caring whether anyone learns mathematics. If anyone wants to learn math, I can teach it, so I would consider tutoring if the right situation turned up. But this is the end of the road. Mother’s left me a little nest egg. If I can avoid spending it all before I have to be carted before the “death panel” (it’s a joke libs… I’m not worried about this) my long term goal is to have a little left for the girls after I’m gone.

With the markets shaky on Dubai news and nervous about the retail season, I’m glad I’ve got trailing stops under each and every one of my market positions. I may have a lot of cash later in this next week. Or we could float through and markets continue to hold value after a little bounce. Who knows. I’m using some of the lessons I’ve learned in the school of hard knocks through the skids of last Nov - March. In that season I wouldn’t leave money in a position overnight. I hope we don’t go there again! But some of the financial types are writing about “double dips.” So better safe than sorry.

Today I have done some bit of finishing on the RR from last year. I don’t know what the resistance is to just getting it done. But I keep piddling at it. I think by the end of this week I’ll have it done.

How are you using the long winterish nights of late autumn? Do you keep the tele going for background noise? I play bridge and am so glad to have my partners back online! Betsi was out for a couple of weeks cruising, and Sara went to Detroit for a family Thanksgiving. I positively got the shakes missing my habitual evening activity. I played with a couple strangers, but it takes a long time to get a partnership going. I’ve played this game to learn some about what it takes to be a partner, thinking I needed that skill if I was ever to have another partner in life. Now I’m slowly accepting that old ladies just get old alone, and need to find widow friends. It’s not the end game I want, but it’s the one that I have. Lemonade anyone?

Enough rambling. I want to learn to tell stories. I want to create a conflict and take it where it goes. I’m as afraid of conflicts as I was when my father would get testosterone poisoning and rage like a bull. Conflicts don’t suit me at all. But they’re necessary to make a story. Will I ever be able to face that fear, and write through it?
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After church one Sunday, I took the boys out to feed the alligators. I haven’t been allowed to take the boys to church lately, but I keep hoping we’ll get that habit going again.

Not far from the boardwalk there was this hawk just watching for his dinner. I heard on MPR the other day that these raptors are in trouble if they miss one day of catching a meal. After two days, they’re dead. They don’t usually let people get very close to them, but this guy was only maybe 20 ft away.
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So the next Proverb, 10: 17

The one who follows instruction is on the path to life,
but the one who rejects correction goes astray.

But for one bowl of turkey soup, the leftovers of the holiday are gone. I’ve had a day absolutely alone today. No kids no grandkids, no nothing. A bit lonely that. My head has bounced here and there. I keep trying to sort out vague memories and recollections.

My aunt Ann was the first girl born, or more accurately first surviving girl from eight children. She was the one who was her mother’s helpmate, because that’s what an oldest daughter did in a houseful of kids. My mother said her early memories of life at the Swifts was “Ann do this, Ann do that.” Ann graduated with a degree in Christian Music or whatever that degree is called, and directed choir at some church.

While driving to the service one Sunday, she spun out on ice in Mohawk park, and fell out of the car hitting her head. She was in a coma for weeks and months, and miraculously regained consciousness, but she never “was right” again. She had to relearn everything. Part of her recovery was at our house because she became so angry and bitter with her Mother that she had to go somewhere else to try to recover. Whatever mechanism she’d used to stay happy in her lot in life was gone.

Today I was resorting stuff from my past and finding some odd, non fitting bits in there. Some of the memories if they correspond to reality, make me have to reconsider, relocate where my past really lies. There are some really good stories there, but I’ve got to get farther away from the resorting before I can use them as grist for the mill. I can only use them in fiction, because to be honest, I don’t know what really happened, I only see shadows in my behavior through my life. Writing has rather ground to a halt.

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One of the claims of the rightosphere is that the environmentalism has morphed into a religion. I always thought it a bit stretched as a claim, but this is an interesting explanation. Keep it down on kids level, and I too can understand. I’m still agnostic as to whether it rises to the level of a religion, but many of the practitioners are zealots.

Proverbs 10:16

The labour of the righteous tendeth to life: the fruit of the wicked to sin.

And in the Environmentalism, That says

The labor of the good cares for Mother Earth; the wicked strip mine.

My objection to Christianity was always the prosceletizing. It seems that telling people how they should and ought to do things is just to take their responsibility away from them. Environmentalist types sure do want to tell me what I must and should do. I’ve always objected to being forced or pressured. And don’t get me started on the food police! Ladies watch you like hawks and let you know what you should and shouldn’t eat.

Deb sent a link today to a Maxine, which shows our heroine with her apron saying, something like “I’d be a lot more thankful if I weren’t up at 5 am with my hand up a turkey’s ass.”

Being the great chef that I am, I didn’t try anything fancy for Thanksgiving dinner. I was up cooking at six, checking out recipes in Mother’s old “Joy of Cooking.” Here’s the part of the turkey cooking I didn’t really miss. *I did say old, didn’t I?*

“Poultry is usually plucked and drawn when it is purchased. If it is not pick the feathers from a bird. Remove all pin feathers–use a pair of tweezers or grasp them between forefinger and the tip of a knife, then pull.

To draw a bird, make an incision through the skin below the breast bone large enough to admit the hand. Draw out all entrails, giblets, etc. Cut off the head. Draw down the neck skin. Cut the neck close to the body. Leave a generous flap of skin. Remove the crop and wind pipe by making an incision at the base of the neck and drawing them out. Cut out the oil sac at the base of the tail….”

Suffice it to say, I’m very thankful to have found a half a bird seasoned and ready to put in the oven this morning. Vegans and vegetarians may now leave in disgust! But in all honesty, those were times when we knew the names of dinner. Our distance from a lot of these details make them seem quaint. We live like royalty!
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Last photo from the fast Winfield jaunt this year.

When I called Dana this last weekend he said he was not busy, just watching the most beautiful girl cook a hamburger for him. He didn’t have to tell me he felt that. I can see it in this photo. May it be ever thus!

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Proverbs 10:15

The rich man’s wealth is his fortress,
The ruin of the poor is their poverty.

The Old Testament has none of the Christian ambivalence about money and wealth. Material wealth is simply the just reward for diligence and hard work. But the contrasting second line of this couplet points perhaps to the wealth of wisdom, seeking for truth and justice. That wealth also is a fortress, and poverty is a ruination.

Before continuing, I have some old Thanksgiving relics. There’s a story about our forebearers, the pilgrims. This is a three page read from American Spectator maybe only for those with a little leisure between fixing the sweet potato casserole and stuffing the half frozen bird. It’s a great tale though. A brief excerpt to whet your appetite? “The Answerable Courage of William Bradford”

King James may have threatened to “harry” them out of England, but in point of fact, one needed the King’s permission to leave the country legally. Leaving the country, in those days defined as heading across the English Channel to Europe. Surprise, surprise — the King was not about to give them that permission. In other words, they were to remain in England and worship as instructed — or face prison. Or death.

To which the Separatists responded by making a series of covert plans to secretly leave without the King’s permission. They would, they decided, take off in the dead of night — and escape to the Continent.

Or some old humor? Take an Indian to lunch. Stan Freberg! I grew up listening to the one humor album my parents owned. It was Stan Freberg and the original cast. Featuring a photo of Freberg with a patently fake cast on his leg. I won’t mention how long it too me to “get it.” Here is a bit I never heard. “Take an Indian to Lunch.”

The canopy is up; scant evidence of its journey
Down the Walnut River with the effluvial tide
of ‘08. Ann is inspecting the lighting to see
the the dark of night offers no place to hide.

Don checks messages; an electronic moment of rest
While Lucille’s at her knitting of gloves and socks.
Molly’s passing by deciding, “Is it adult or kid suits best?”
Jess and Dana at musician’s rest before the night time rocks.

Another season at Winfield; friend and family gather
Remembering those who are gone, catching up on news.
Sara and Ina May are checking the kitchen larder
Ensuring there will be no hunger at a remnant party. No Blues

A week of bluegrass, old style country, hearty gospel songs
Contra, Irish jigs and reels. Feels like musicians tuning. Won’t be long.

Blogging has been a bit stuck in the end of semester nuttiness. The work load isn’t heavy, but I’m never happy ending a semester. So I played with a photo the other day. The idea of posting another sibling pic is not thrilling, either.

Unlike Cuz Sara, I’ve not had a car go airborn into my front drive. So for entertainment I drove to Picayune tonight to meet with their local writer’s group. Took two other ladies, and tried to wreck the car. Hope their nerves are ok.

“So glad you could come,” said Mr. Richard.
“Thanks, we enjoyed it.”

Especially the truly dreadful story of the cemetary with the cave reputed to be a portal to Hades. And the lesson on dialog, and the tags.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be coming back for more basic writing lessons.” I said.
“Do you think they ever critique each other’s writing?” asked Maggie.
“Were you just being polite to the young man?” queried Heloise.

Ugh. Tell your story. Just tell your story and be done with it.

Come into His Gates with singing

This is Winfield…Singing down the sun

I’d like to see some white collar crimes become “hangin’ crimes.”* Let’s start with these guys. Their moral cluelessness is painted well with their accepting of hush money. (*And this from a person who sees no need for capital punishment.)

Hat tip: Tigerhawk Size this! Click and then use the slider at the bottom.

The oddness I feel in typing about Ida is that my grandmother was Ida Fay, though she went by Fay. Much quieter day today. Ida blew through during the night. There was leave litter on the ground. But this is November. Everytime the wind blows the oaks drop more leaves, branches and acorns. Yesterday I was all day burning discs of photos. It was a minute at the computer and two minutes stitching. Then the boys needed feeding or some other bit of attention. A lot of time there, very little done. Today I had more useful time. I even bailed the lawnmower out of the shop and mowed (mulched) the back yard.

This clip on Powerline blog has had me sitting listening to the talking heads for quite some time. This is excerpted from five segments, of a discussion on the consequences and choices coming into play with a nuclear Iran.

I watched and had to go listen to all of the segments here. Admittedly, I’m a talking head geek. Always have been. I used to love watching William Buckley before we had a television set. I caught the first program of his I ever saw in Diane Hillshafer’s living room while we girls were playing some board game on the floor.

Betsi and I booked a cruise today. Unfortunately, after we booked, Betsi looked at the paper work, and it wasn’t the cruise we thought we had booked. So tonight she got our money refunded, and tomorrow we’ll see if there are places on the ship we wanted to go on yet. The agent she called had already sold their allotted parts of the ship, but tomorrow, the agent is calling to see if there aren’t some places left on the cruise.

Proverbs 10:13

In the lips of him that hath understanding wisdom is found: but a rod is for the back of him that is void of understanding. (King James Version.. translator’s note “of understanding:” Heb. of heart)

Understanding is related to compassion? Knowing is on many levels. But nothing here calling for wisdom ever invokes the sort of anti science stance you find in some brands of Christianity. That however is grist for another rant, another time.

I have a photo to share from Winfield again. My little brother. He looks so young. I guess that 11 years makes a difference when you’re getting as long of tooth as I am.

All that remains for me is to figure how to set the alarm to get up early enough to get a take home test written for the class that I missed on Monday. All breaks make it tougher to fit all the teaching in the allotted time.