The Right Stuff

Hello World, Happy Summer! After a long and frigid winter around here, which lingered into a chilly spring, with bracing temperatures in the 40's on an all-too-regular basis, it was a blessed relief to finally have some lovely and warm days at long last, and in fact, according to the calendar, Saturday the 21st was the official first day of summer, and not a moment too soon, I'm thinking. Our old friends the dinosaurs and I are sure we can all agree that the Druids and their ilk would all have been out in force at the time, meeting in their secret places, casting their special mystical spells and performing their arcane rituals to greet the solstice in appropriate style. Of course, the way things had been going, three weeks earlier they would have been wearing their winter overcoats and long johns while they were doing it, but you can't have everything. I would expect after 5,000 years, it would be pretty difficult to discourage a Druid at this point. The previous Saturday was Flag Day, so I had our flags flying from the upstairs and downstairs flag brackets as usual. I put them out first thing in the morning, even though the Yahoo weather forecast on my phone looked like it might be changeable, and I was hoping that it would hold up for clear flag-flying weather all day. Fortunately, it did and in fact turned into rather a nice day all around. After dinner, I took the flags back in and hung them back up in the sun porch and library where they usually are - and this is nothing to sneeze at, with The Flag Brigade the way it is, and I ought to know. I have to admit, though, that I never do understand how flags can wrap themselves up around their poles during the day, all by themselves. It seems to me that the wind would have to be blowing around in a circle, or blowing from one direction when the flag is hanging down, and the opposite direction when the flag blows over the top, in order to get the flag to wrap itself completely around the pole. I do know that if I was trying to get the flag to do that, it would never happen. I have the feeling that somewhere, Betsy Ross, Francis Scott Key, and Barbara Frietchie are all having a great big laugh. It was only the day after Flag Day that Father's Day arrived right on schedule on Sunday, a time to honor dear old dad and all the men who have shaped, guided or supported us through the years. At home, the cats are always on board with the idea that their "Daddy Cat" is the King of the Castle, and deserves to be singled out for his tireless service and uncomplaining nature. However, they would certainly prefer sharing breakfast in bed with him on his special day, if the menu choices included Seafood Supreme or Tender Mini Chunks, rather than the hum-drum fruit or brownies that Bill tends to favor instead. If left to their own devices, all of his gifts would be catnip mice and bat-a-birds, with a few jingly balls and rattly critters tossed in for good measure. Of course, if what Bill really wanted was an assortment of catnip mice and bat-a-birds over the years, he has managed to hide his disappointment remarkably well, and seemed to enjoy whatever may have come his way on the paternal holiday in question. So three cheers for dear old dads everywhere, whether biological, hypothetical, or purely imaginary. Or as the cats so eloquently put it, "Hip, Hip, Meow!" Alert readers may recall that the most recent additions to our feline family are three black cats, and two of them - the regal Nubian Princess Inky and Truffle the tuxedo dandy - are out in general population with the rest of the thundering herd, much to the delight of some and the dismay of others, I dare say. At long last, they have started to come out of their shell, and finally spreading their wings, as it were, into previously uncharted territory where they didn't dare venture earlier. This includes the windows, now that it's gotten to the point that it's warm enough to leave them open all day, and they just love it. Several of the windows feature their favorite channel, which is Bird TV, and this may be old hat to the other old-timers around the joint, but like they say at NBC, it's new to these two. That’s where the bird feeders are located, and they can certainly put on a show. We usually get house sparrows, purple finches, mourning doves, starlings, titmice, nuthatches, woodpeckers, cardinals, blue jays, chickadees and cat birds, with the (more than) occasional 4-legged gray “birds” with the long bushy tails. Apparently no one ever told these individuals that they are not technically birds at all, although because they seem to spend all of their time in my bird feeders, one must assume that this is a common misconception on their part. At night, the opossums, raccoons and skunks invite themselves to my feeders and generally make a mess of things. Early on, I had to stop hanging feeders on regular cup hooks, and use closed-eye hangers instead, because they would keep climbing up to the feeders, push them off the hooks, and let them fall to the ground so they would break open. It was costing a small fortune in replacement feeders. It’s better now, although anything plastic is fair game for them to chew on, even if they can't use the force of gravity to bust them apart like they used to. Frankly, if I had known what kind of juvenile delinquent wildlife we were going to get in our yard, I can tell you that the dinosaurs and I would have asked Sir Isaac Newton not to invent gravity in the first place, and that's not just the Druids talking, believe me. Elle

Clear As Mud

Hello World, Happy Friday the 13th! One good thing for the superstitious among us, is that June is the only month this year that starts on a Sunday, so this would be the only Friday the 13th to be seen in all of 2014, and once it's behind us, there should be smooth sailing the rest of the way. And speaking of times of the year, last Sunday was Pentecost, so we all know what that means. (Actually, very few members of the general public would have any idea what that means, and not just the godless communists and KGB agents monitoring my email, whose name is legion, heaven knows.) Like Epiphany, Ascension and the Transfiguration, most people have absolutely no idea when during the church year these festivals occur, even if they have some familiarity with them in the first place, which is not often the case. While the feast of the Ascension is observed 40 days after Easter, any theological expert worth his or her salt can tell you that Pentecost is celebrated 7 weeks (49 days) after Easter, hence its name, which comes from the Greek word for fifty. (Alert readers and students of geometry will recall that a pentagon is a geometric shape that has five sides - or in the case of the military fortress along the Potomac River, five sides and a bunch of spooks.) The season of Pentecost continues for 27 weeks, right up until the very doorstep of Advent, so there's plenty of time to enjoy all the delights that it has to offer, and don't spare the chocolate sprinkles and hot fudge, my good man! Well, there certainly has been no joy in Mudville around here lately, and the dinosaurs and I don't mind saying that's an understatement of epic proportions, and we ought to know. Last weekend saw the 146th running of the venerable Belmont Stakes, with a potential Triple Crown on the line, in the mighty hoof beats of the 3-5 favorite, California Chrome - the media darling whose hordes of loyalists were known to identify themselves proudly as "Chromeys." Alas, and as has happened so many times in the past, despite fine conditions and no accidents, the eagerly anticipated coronation came a cropper, once again dashing the hopes of a clamoring populace in the Belmont's remorseless tundra. Not to take anything away from Tonalist, who ran a strong race, but it was hard to watch the odds-on favorite finish in a tie for fourth, which was at once heart-breaking, while it also had an odd inevitability about it. Of the 31 total horses entered in the three races all together, only 7 ran in both the Kentucky Derby and the Belmont Stakes, while a mere three of them (California Chrome, General A-Rod, and Ride On Curlin') ran in all three races - and if limited to just the horses that ran in all three Triple Crown races, the fact is that California Chrome actually defeated the other two handily each time out. He managed to beat or tie 5 of the 6 horses who ran in at least two of the races, and might have easily left all of them in the dust, if the others had run in all three races as well, and not just the first and last. This was brought out by one of Chrome's justifiably irate owners, who made the point that to be fair, the Triple Crown should be limited to horses prepared to run in all three races, without fresh horses being trucked in for just one race, and skewing the results in favor of expediency over endurance. People can say what they like about sour grapes, but you can't help but admire someone who comes right out and stands up for his horse, when he feels it's gotten a raw deal, and frankly, I can't say that I blame him one bit. While there were no Chromeys in our house (hey, if nothing else, I ought to know better than to get on the wrong side of the evil spirit of Affirmed after all this time) we had our own disappointments to bear on the frozen front, in spite of high hopes to the contrary. After three grueling rounds of the NHL playoffs already under their collective belts, as it were, the plucky Rangers went on to lose the first 3 games of the Stanley Cup finals to the dratted Los Angeles Kings, before finally managing to scratch out a win in the 4th game, only have it all slip through their fingers on Friday night. It must be said that the Blueshirts played them tough every step of the way, with 3 of the 5 games going into overtime, but in the end, they simply couldn't hold back a relentless team that was destined to win its second Stanley Cup in three years. All along, it did seem as if the Rangers were playing way beyond their abilities, and whatever expectations their cadre of devoted followers might have harbored for them, so it was only by miraculous means that they made it this far in the first place. (That, and the fact that the evil spirit of Affirmed was already busy sabotaging the favorite at the Belmont, to be also using his nefarious powers to undermine a different group of hopefuls all at the same time.) So while the outcome was ultimately disappointing, it was probably as much as could have been reasonably hoped for, and would not have been improved if the series had stretched out the full 7 games, rather than being decided in five, I dare say. So now with the 13th behind us, as well as all of the Triple Crown races, and the NHL playoffs that the Rangers haven't won in the last 20 years, at least we should be finished with curses for a while, and it goes without saying, good riddance to one and all. Meanwhile in the NBA finals, the surprising San Antonio Spurs have been manhandling the Miami Heat, taking a commanding 3-1 lead in their series, in spite of "King James" LeBron and his court. Although this would be a so-called "three-peat" if Miami pulled off a win at this point, the fact remains that for the Spurs, this would be their 4th Larry O'Brien Trophy in the last 10 years, so they're obviously no slouches when it comes to winning championships on the hardwood themselves. For the rest of the country, pretty much the only real interest will be seeing if the winning (or losing) city erupts in riots, which seems to be turning into a time-honored tradition of playoffs these days, from the redwood forests to the gulf-stream waters, and from sea to shining sea - and not to mention, plenty of rockets' red glare to boot. In other sports news, of course, the World Cup has gotten underway, to the delight of its gazillions of rabid fans all around the world, where it seems it's never too early to start rioting, setting fires in the streets, throwing rocks at the Police, and turning over cars every which where. (And this is when the host country WINS, mind you, I don't even want to think what they do if their team should LOSE instead, ye gods!) There are 32 teams clustered now in Brazil, representing nations all over the globe, with non-stop coverage in every possible format known to mankind - and some that only aliens in far distant galaxies have at their disposal - so that even a person who has absolutely not the slightest interest in the proceedings would find it impossible to avoid the latest developments on and off the field. It can't be denied that the eyes of the whole world will be locked on every bounce of the soccer ball for the duration, although to be honest, in this country, it tends to be more of a ..... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ..... I'm sorry, where was I? Like a parade with no green beer, or a holiday with no fireworks, Americans tend to lose interest in low-scoring sports like soccer, and all of the media hype over the previous years has made few inroads into the massive national apathy that repels the game like a newspaper full of old stinky fish heads. Personally, my suggestion to suit the Yankee Doodle tastes would be indoor arena soccer, with plenty of beer in soccer-ball cups, scantily-clad cheerleaders, fireworks, and whatever rule changes it would take to juice up the offense to the max, so fans don't sit through a grinding 3-hour snooze-fest only to wind up with a 0-0 tie at the end, thanks not. You heard it here first, folks. Elle

This And That

Hello World, Happy June! While it doesn't seem remotely possible that the year could already be well on its way to being half over, there's no denying what we see on the calendar at this point, and the immutable truth of what is before our eyes as the reality of the situation. Besides the improvements in the weather (one can only hope!) and the colorfully burgeoning landscape, this month has much else to offer, from proms and dads to brides and grads, and a welter of other fun-in-the-sun activities that are sure to please every whim or fancy, no matter how whimsical or fanciful they might be. Everyone should definitely get out there and enjoy all the pleasures that the season has to offer, or make up your own as you go along. If you're strapped for ideas, may I suggest a luxury car for the prom, private jet for dad, a new house for the bride, and ocean voyage for the grad - they'd love you for it no doubt, and the President's economic advisers would thank you, I'm sure. For anyone who hasn't been living under a rock (which, I must say, would not be such a bad idea in these strange and dangerous times, come to think of it) there's no escaping the fact that June 6th is the 70th anniversary of D-Day, World War II's decisive invasion of Normandy, with its epic landing on Omaha Beach against entrenched forces above, that paved the way for Allied forces to reclaim Europe from the grip of tyranny. If not for all of the brave and gallant souls who risked everything for freedom from oppression, we'd all be wearing our combat boots on the other side of the bed, as the actress said to the bishop. (Say, wait a minute, that's the punch line to a different joke altogether.) That reminds me of a war-related story I recently spotted in the newspaper, amid all of the voluminous features and coverage surrounding the anniversary of this pivotal event, where a battle-scarred veteran described an enemy soldier disparagingly as "a deserter and a trader." Since trading would scarcely qualify as a character flaw to be remembered decades later, one supposes the intended word should have been "traitor" instead of "trader," and heaven knows, the spell-checker is not going to help you with that, Sarge. Seventy years of technological advances, and frankly at this point, I'd trade you every gosh-darned spell-checker on the whole gol-danged planet for one old-fashioned honest-to-goodness editor from days gone by, and at least read the newspaper in comfort and peace of mind for a change. Anyone can tell you that this weekend is also notable in that it will tell the tale of whether or not we will be witnesses of history in the making, and all eyes are sure to be on the Belmont Stakes with a potential Triple Crown winner in the offing, as California Chrome takes off as the 3-5 favorite for his possible rendezvous with destiny. Over the years, 21 horses have been in the same position as the current favorite, but only in 2004, 2008 and 2012 in the last decade - all of the other years, a different horse has won each of the three races, which takes a lot of the anticipation out of the other races, especially the last one. This time around, the field of 11 horses includes Commanding Curve, General A Rod, Ride on Curlin and Wicked Strong from the Kentucky Derby, only some of whom also ran in the Preakness alongside California Chrome. For history buffs, the other horses who attained this lofty pinnacle are: 1919 Sir Barton 1930 Gallant Fox 1935 Omaha 1937 War Admiral 1941 Whirlaway 1943 Count Fleet 1946 Assault 1948 Citation 1973 Secretariat 1977 Seattle Slew 1978 Affirmed Between the 11 Triple Crown winners to date, there have been gaps of 11 years (1919-1930) and 25 years (1948-1973) and 36 years now (1978 to the present) which may or may not still be the case after Saturday. Of course, the history of horse racing is littered with contenders (50) who won 2 of the races, sometimes handily, but could not nail down that elusive third one, and the longer length at the Belmont track is often the deal-breaker that dashes the hopes of humans and animals alike in the galloping dust of despair. To paraphrase famous Olympic swimmer Mark Spitz (who knew a thing or two about winning races, I dare say) "Curses are meant to be broken," and that's not just a lot of lucky horseshoes, believe me. Only those of us who are "of a certain age" (and don't think for a moment that I don't know who you are!) will have any comprehension of this tidbit, which appeared on our Cat-A-Day calendar in an exposition about whiskers. I'm sure the young whipper-snappers at Workman Publishing probably thought they were the bee's knees (not to mention, 23 skidoo and all that jazz) with this trip down Memory Lane: ================================== Back in the 1950s and earlier, cars sported whiskers, too. Called "curb feelers" or "curb finders," they were long, stiff wires mounted on springs and installed low on the body, close to the wheel. When parking, and as the car came close to the curb, the "whiskers" would scrape loudly, alerting the driver in time to avoid damaging the hubcaps or whitewall tires. ================================== Mind you, my fabled Gremlin of lore and legend had curb feelers, and that was in 1973 and later, so it's certainly not beyond the realm of possibility for people to actually remember these devices during the span of human existence on this planet, or God forbid, actually drive a vehicle that had them attached for the very purpose they were designed, and what won't they think of next, by golly. But ya gotta love how the calendar kiddies took great pains to carefully pontificate on the subject, like they were some obscure prehistoric artifact from the mists of millennia past, so shrouded in mystery that archaeologists had to try and explain them to a disbelieving public like Stonehenge, enchanted amulets, or cave drawings. Next it will be poodle skirts, button hooks, and BetaMax, I shouldn't wonder. Of course, the dinosaurs will be more than happy to tell everyone that I am in actuality older than dirt, but I certainly didn't need my morning calendar to rub it in, and thanks so very much not. And in fact, the way cars nowadays are so over-dressed, with their bras and diapers and eyelashes and mustaches, I wouldn't be surprised if someone came out with some fancy new-fangled version of curb feelers again now, and acted like it was some brilliant innovation that they had just invented. You heard it here first, folks. For anyone with too much time on their hands, and plenty of brain cells, I've just been notified that Word Jewels 2 is available free from our friends at Boy Howdy Technology, and as a loyal fan of the original Word Jewels, I'm happy to recommend it, and I don't mind saying, very highly would not be high enough. This combo of word games promises endless fun, and unlike most promises, this one really delivers. It builds on the same concept as the original game - making words from adjacent letter tiles - but adds several different variations, with something to suit every preference, and provide more interesting options than just the basic format. It still includes the Classic version, where you continue advancing through higher levels, and now features what they call an Endless game, where you aren't penalized for failing to complete a level. In Rally mode, you complete 10 levels that are not only all different from each other, but different each time you play, while in Blitz mode, you have only one level to score as many points as you possibly can. For the heavy hitters, there's also Challenge mode (I can already hear the derisive howls of laughter from the dinosaurs in The Peanut Gallery, thanks not) where the minimum word requirements increase every level from 3-letters to 4-letters to 5-letters, etc. I didn't think it would be possible, or in fact even necessary, to improve upon the original Word Jewels, but they made me a believer with this revamp, and I admit that I find it endlessly entertaining and addictive. They have plenty of other games - like solitaire, poker, sudoku, hangman, word search and bubble matching - and they're all free, so you should definitely check them out right now and be glad you did. Since they're free, you may as well also buy a few more smart phones while you're at it, and make the President's economic advisers glad at the same time. As for me, I'll be watching my BetaMax in my poodle skirt, before taking a spin in my DeSoto with the curb feelers - now what did I do with that button hook? Elle

Grand Old Flag

Hello World, Happy Decoration Day! May 30 has been traditionally recognized as a day of remembrance, in the annals of this great nation's history, since it was first designated in 1868 to honor the casualties on both sides of the Civil War. It goes without saying that you can't have a celebration anywhere in this country, at any time, for any reason, in any way, with anybody, and not expect to have controversy, so I'm here to reassure everyone that Decoration Day is no different, and I'm not just whistling Dixie, believe me. (Please don't even get me started on St. Patrick's Day!) Although officially instituted in 1868, the fact is that many cities in both the North and the South claim to be the birthplace of Memorial Day in 1866. Both Macon and Columbus in Georgia claim the title, as well as Richmond, Virginia. The village of Boalsburg in Pennsylvania claims it began there two years earlier. A stone in a Carbondale (Illinois) cemetery carries the statement that the first Decoration Day ceremony took place there on April 29, 1866. (Carbondale was the wartime home of Gen. Logan, the director of the veterans group that organized the first official observance of the day at Arlington Cemetery in 1868.) Approximately 25 places have been named in connection with the origin of Memorial Day, many of them in the South where most of the war dead were buried. So it must have come as an unwelcome surprise in 1966, when Congress and President Lyndon Johnson declared Waterloo in the wilds of upstate New York as the “birthplace” of Memorial Day, of all things. In a ceremony there on May 5, 1866, local veterans who had fought in the Civil War were honored. Businesses closed and residents flew flags at half-staff. Supporters of Waterloo’s claim say earlier observances in other places were either informal, not community-wide or one-time events. By golly, toss in some green beer, and you've got the annual St. Patrick's Day parade donnybrook all over again. Next thing you know, the Mayor will show up eating pizza with a knife and fork, and suddenly May 30 will start to look like Waitangi Day around here, with all the riots and political fireworks that New Zealand is famous for. Whoever said, "All's fair in love and war" wasn't counting on The Holiday Police, that's for sure. Around the old homestead, there was no such controversy, and the ever-vigilant Flag Brigade gamely ran up the colors on both Monday and Friday during the week, in recognition of both traditional Decoration Day, and Memorial Day when it is currently observed on the last Monday in May. Amazingly, the flags were not only put out in the morning amid glorious conditions, and I might add, a welcome addition to the landscape, but were remembered to bring back in later, which is not something we take for granted with the Flag Brigade around here, I can assure you. And speaking of landscapes, it must be said that ours has been much improved with a veritable sea of meadow buttercups, gracing the lawn in all areas, and cheering us with their sunny yellow faces waving jauntily in the breeze. At last the azaleas have finally come along, and even the mountain laurel has covered itself in pearly pink blossoms that are a joy to behold. Early roses have just started to pop out, while in the back yard, the hydrangea is all set to burst forth in a multi-color extravaganza of its own. Someone recently sent me a note that said, "Nature smiles in flowers," and I can't find any way to argue with that, even if I tried. Just before Decoration Day during the week was the Feast of the Ascension on Thursday, and many of us dutifully took our places in church at a special evening service for the occasion. It was very nice, and featured many joyful hymns reminiscent of Easter, so you can believe me when I say that a good time was had by all. That reminds me that the Pastor recently expressed concern that nobody pays any attention to his sermons, and he could just stand up and blather whatever he wants for 20 minutes, with no one having the slightest interest in the timeless wisdom he was attempting to impart. Au contraire, I assured him. (That's French for "You can't sleep in this pew, your snoring keeps waking me up!") Every Sunday I count the offering and take it to the bank, where they invariably ask me what was the day's message from the pulpit, and I've got to be on my toes and come up with something on the spot. After all, I can't just blithely say, "Oh, I don't know, probably something about God - he was in favor of it ..... " and still expect to be taken seriously as an upstanding member of the congregation, who should be entrusted with its weekly collections, however paltry they might be. So I can't speak for anyone else, but I can certainly say for myself that whatever he says really grabs my attention, because I don't dare get caught flat-footed at the bank's weekly pop quiz, looking like some unregenerate heathen straight out of the pagan netherworld, and a social pariah that would never be accepted in polite company - or heck, even the prehistoric dinosaurs roaming the vast unformed land masses in the primordial ooze, who had famously low standards, and I ought to know. And so now we find ourselves with Memorial Day weekend come and gone, by jingo, and the Indianapolis 500 right along with it, I dare say. This year's winner, Ryan Hunter-Reay, completed the 200 laps with a blistering speed averaging 186 MPH throughout, just barely holding off 3-time winner Helio Castroneves down the stretch, and marking the first time since 2006 that an American-born driver has won the race. In fact, the margin of victory was a mere 0.0600 seconds, the second closest in Brickyard history. The weather was not an issue, and even the inevitable crashes were relatively unspectacular, making it possible to achieve the winning speed of 186.5, just off the pace of 187.4 set last year, making them the fastest two races in the previous 25 years for this event. In a crowded field of 33 starters, England's Pippa Mann was the only female this time around, compared with last year, when 4 women drivers hit the bricks to battle it out with the boys. This year's contest was a nail-biter to the end, with the first 5 cars all crossing the finish line within about 60 seconds of each other, and the checkered flag up for grabs right down to the wire. The Flag Brigade would have been so proud. Also on the local scene, in a staggering turn of events, the Rangers' improbable season continues, believe it or not, all the way to the Stanley Cup finals for the first time since 1994, as they eliminated Montreal in 6 games before thousands of the Garden faithful, who remarkably did not all succumb to hysterical heart failure en masse at the outcome. The scoffers may scoff, and the nay-sayers may say what they like, but there's no denying that the franchise has done much more this season than anyone could have expected, defeated teams that were bigger, stronger and better, and made it all the way to the finals while 14 other clubs fell by the wayside, one by one. That's an accomplishment that speaks for itself, and they have no need of me leaping to their defense at this point, like some gawky teenager at his first dance. They may still dance badly, but at least they'll be there when the music starts. Out west, the Kings had a commanding 3-1 lead in games, but let that advantage slip through their fingers by allowing the Blackhawks to storm back and knot the series up at 3 games each, so it all came down to the final game in a hard-fought series that pundits are calling one for the ages. Of course, we've all long since learned that anything can happen in a short series, heaven knows, and past performance is no guarantee of future success, so there's no predicting how things might turn out when the time comes to drink Champagne out of Lord Stanley's fabled Cup. Personally, my money's on Affirmed. Elle