Wild Card

Hello World, Happy Independence Day! I certainly hope that your holiday is shaping up to be a red white and blue lollapalooza, just jam-packed with all manner of rootin'-tootin', brass-plated, double-barreled treats for youngsters and oldsters alike, and everything in between, by jingo. Along the east coast, the hurricane season got off to an early start, thanks not, rather than waiting until September like it's supposed to (apparently the hurricanes don't read the instruction manual, like the meteorologists do) with the result that the weather for the occasion was woefully inappropriate for any event that might have been expected to include parades, barbecues, swimming, picnics, fairs, concerts, historical re-enactments or fireworks - and let's face it, what's July 4th without plenty of rockets red glare, after all? In fact, this year is the 200th anniversary of the Battle of Baltimore, where the British bombardment of the ramparts inspired Francis Scott Key to write his stirring "Defence of Fort McHenry" poem which was later set to music that would become our star-spangled banner, and that's not just a lot of Yankee Doodle Dandy, believe me. And speaking of Old Glory, it must be said that The Flag Brigade did their level best to fly the colors for the nation's special day on Friday, upstairs and downstairs as usual, but thanks to the aforementioned tropical storm Arthur, and his unwelcome arrival 3 months ahead of schedule, the day was a wash-out and the beleaguered Flag Brigade had to step lively to yank the flags out of their moorings just ahead of the raindrops, and bring them back inside safe and dry. So the 200th anniversary of the flag's theme song turned out not to be the flag-waving bonanza that might have been hoped for, and more's the pity, I'm sure. Also at this time of year (and unlike Arthur, not only welcome but right on schedule) we have the most lovely sunny yellow flowers in our back yard, against the fence and waving in the breeze like happy little sunbeams. We can count on these to pop open every year, in spite of being neglected in an over-grown area of the south 40, as it were, where lesser plants would have long since been choked out by rampaging weeds of every description - and some that so defy description, that I am convinced their origins must lie in some far distant galaxy, where they have been specially developed for their unflinching tenacity and noxious habits. But our jaunty yellow flowers persist in the face of these obstacles, and although they look dainty and soft, they're obviously made of sterner stuff, standing the test of time against tremendous challenges on all sides. I'd be delighted to recommend them very highly to anyone - that is to say, if I could only remember what they are, alas. I almost distantly recall that one of our old neighbors gave them to us when we were first married over 30 years ago, and in my admittedly hazy recollection, she described them as "Texas sunbonnets," which I accepted at face value, and no reason to doubt it. However, nowadays even a cursory Internet search reveals that there is no such thing as Texas sunbonnets, so that tosses this theory right out the window, and my hopelessly faulty memory right along with it. Decades ago at a family gathering, I pointed them out to my sister (the horticultural expert from the nature center) as coreopsis, and she clutched at her heart with a stricken look, as if I had just flagrantly misused "lay" and "lie" in front of The Grammar Police with impunity. Someone else tried to convince me they were vinca, but I already know what that looks like, and I wasn't falling for a whopper like that one. I'm pretty sure that I did research them at some point, actually coming up with the definitive answer, based on petal count and leaf shape, and I want them to be some variety of primrose, but I really can't remember anymore. Now, I'm sure we've all long since seen enough horror movies to realize that intelligent plants can create more problems than they solve, heaven knows, but it would save a lot of time and trouble if you could just ask them what they are, and be done with it. For now, I'm just calling them Arthur. In other semi-local news, a friend of Bill's recently went through the process of buying a new house, and subsequently relocating from one side of Greenwich to the other (and for the longitudinally literate among us, I would hypothesize that the town's motto would be: "We're not mean, just mean time.") and with the added complication that they needed to clear out the rented house they were already living in by the end of June, or be forced to pay another whole month in rent, which they were obviously hoping to avoid. So they were understandably grateful for any and all help from their friends, Romans, and countrymen, lending their ears, and not to mention, also their strong hands, legs and backs, plus blood, sweat and tears to the efforts. Bill and I were glad to pitch in, separately and together, not that we have a lot of experience with moving, but hey, we can carry boxes with the best of them, and then some. There are two young boys in the family, and while they didn't have a lot in the way of clothes, they had so many stuffed animals that it looked like an explosion at FAO Schwartz, and more Matchbox cars, Happy Meal trinkets, and video game cartridges than you could shake a stick at, and don't think I didn't try. I said to Bill later that if there was some kind of award for picking up loose Pokemon trading cards, I would probably be right up there in the running for it, because I must have picked up 10,000 of them from the floor, the back of the closet, dresser drawers, boxes of books, backpacks, pencil cases, sleeping bags, and yes, even under the furniture cushions. There was so much Spiderman paraphernalia in every imaginable incarnation, that I half expected to turn around and find Peter Parker himself standing behind me in the room - but I wasn't terribly worried about it, because after all that time, my Spidey-sense would have really been tingling, believe me. And speaking of fun and games, while I was checking around for games that I could play on my phone, I stumbled across this curious tidbit from our friends at OnlineGamesZone.com: ======================================== You must find these objects and if you find one, click on it to earn pints ======================================== Now, I'll admit that I'm no expert on computer games, and I don't even play one on TV, as they say. But it's been my experience when it comes to these games, that usually players earn coins or tokens, as a reward for their gaming success, and frankly, the only thing I can think of commonly reckoned in pints is beer - which I don't mind saying, adds a whole new dimension to the idea of playing online games, and not necessarily for the better, by golly. Personally, I'm already so bad at computer games that I certainly don't need any more of a disadvantage, that's for sure, so beer is absolutely not the incentive that I might be looking for, and as a competitive edge, I can't see it having the desired effect at all. On the other hand, if they ever come up with a way to get chocolate out of computer games, that might be all the motivation it would take, and I could turn into a game wizard overnight. I call it "Candy Crush." Say, wait a minute ..... Elle