A Day At The Races

Hello World, And so here we find ourselves at the very tail-end of yet another month, ye gods, and what do we have to show for it, I ask you that. Of course, the observance of Memorial Day was on Monday, and it can't be denied that the somewhat unpredictable Flag Brigade did a creditable job of running up the colors for the occasion, upstairs and downstairs like we do, and also remembered to take them in again later, which is no trifling matter around here, I can tell you that. With that milestone out of the way, the stage is set to usher in those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer, and I know that somewhere, there's a pitcher of lemonade and a hammock with my name on it, by golly. As a matter of fact, they had a front page story in our local newspaper (admittedly a slow news day, I dare say) that because June started on a Monday this year, and September on a Tuesday, it set in motion a chronological anomaly that only occasionally occurs, although this is the first that I'm hearing about it. With Memorial Day being on the May 25 (which is the earliest it can be) and Labor Day coming on September 7 (which is the latest that it can be) it creates a scenario that actually adds 2 extra weeks to the unofficial summer season, compared to ordinary years when the holidays are in their usual times and places. They tell me this last happened in 2009, and they expect it again in 2020 and 2026, so that tells you something right there. Of course, it doesn't change the actual seasonal indicators, with the summer solstice and autumnal equinox cropping up right on schedule, as they always do, as any old Druid worth his or her salt could certainly tell you. But off the record, the span between the two holidays that mark the bookends of the unofficial summer season are farther apart than they usually are, meaning extra summer for everybody, and how awesome is that! Speaking of awesome, nobody could have asked for more glorious weather around here for the duration of the long holiday weekend - every day was more perfect than the last, with blazing sunshine and low humidity. This was good news for my sister's annual BBQ blowout, still going strong in its 43rd year, and which she throws every May for hundreds upon hundreds of her closest friends, relatives from far and wide, total strangers sucked into the aggregation by its gravitational pull, and not to mention, space aliens from far distant galaxies, who have perfected the science of interstellar travel, but still can't play a decent game of horseshoes to save their lives. (The Klingons and Romulans have finally gotten the hang of volleyball, while the Vulcans go in more for the arts and crafts side of things, and they turned out some very nicely painted bird houses and tie-dyed T-shirts, sure to please all of their pointy-eared friends back home.) It's fun for all, and everyone is welcomed with open arms, plus campsites for those adventurous souls prepared to stare down the perils of overnight in the woods. (Although since her property has turned into something of a migration route for immature black bears in the spring, enthusiasm for camping out there has dropped off to a precipitous degree, I must say.) On the other hand, it would be fair to say that the black bears wouldn't stand much of a chance against Darth Vader, compared to your average happy camper, for instance, but I heard he wasn't coming until Monday anyway. And speaking of Monday, I thought it was nice to have a day off from work, especially since at my last temp position, they didn't close for Martin Luther King or Presidents Day, so this was a nice change of pace. And speaking of pace, it reminds me that we can't neglect to mention the venerable Indianapolis 500, now a whopping 99 years old, and lucky to have some good weather there for a change. Oddly enough, the good weather wasn't much of a help to the crowded field of 33 drivers, in a race that was marred with crashes from the first lap, including one multi-vehicle pile-up that stopped the action in mid-stream, as it were, while the debris was cleared from the track. In the end, it was the unheralded Juan Pablo Montoya who came through for Team Penske, winning at The Brickyard for the second time since 2000. The important thing is that everyone came out of it in one piece, and a good time was had by all, especially the petroleum companies and beer sponsors, it goes without saying. But it certainly makes me wonder what three-time winner and odds-on favorite, Helio Castroneves, ever did to get on the wrong side of Affirmed - and we can only hope that whatever it was, he learned his lesson if he ever hopes to win again, that's for sure. It would take much more than an alert reader to recall, after all these long years ago, when I mentioned about one of our old top-heavy wobbly wood tables, situated in the living room next to the baby grand piano, tottering on three spindly legs, and all too easy to lose its balance, for no particular reason whatsoever. In fact, the cats kept knocking it over on a regular basis, so that everything on top of it would go flying in every direction, thanks not. I finally got so tired of picking everything up all the time that I used some of my camping bungee cords to secure it to the piano legs, and put an end to this tomfoolery once and for all. Not so fast! It seems that for the old bungee cords, age finally caught up with them, and they simply disintegrated into nothingness and crumbled remnants on the carpet, and all that's left are the metal hooks attached to nothing whatsoever, alas. I discovered this one morning when I was already late for work, and didn't have any more time to come up with a stop-gap solution in the meantime, and I was sure that it was only a matter of time before the kittens had their way with the old wobbly table, and everything that was on top of it would be scattered every which where, as only kittens can, and I ought to know. When I came home later, I was more surprised than anybody to find the wobbly table in the same spot, still standing, and with all of its various bric-a-brac intact, which caused me to blurt out what I considered the only possible explanation: "Why, these aren't our cats, I must be in the wrong house!" And while we're on the topic of things going wrong, at the job where I'm working now, I go past one particular intersection where one busy street cuts through the middle of a divided highway, then toss in a bus stop and an enormous high school, plus the Post Office, and you're well on your way to a classic recipe for disaster. Every day I stop at the traffic light there, along with many dozens of other motorists, cyclists and pedestrians, and watch the world go by until it's my turn to go forward. A person spending any time in this intersection at all, can't help but notice the signs hanging from overhead wires with this screaming announcement: ========== WAIT FOR GREEN LIGHT ========== And if you're anything like me (heaven forbid!) you find yourself wondering, as well you might wonder, just exactly what sort of wild and woolly post-apocalyptic frontier outpost of a God-forsaken wasteland this is, that they actually have to put up big signs on the street so that people don't just drive right through the red lights. That might be the type of flagrant disregard for moral rectitude that I would expect from our diabolical kitties, or neighborhood juvenile delinquent squirrels, or perhaps even our old friends the ill-mannered dinosaurs, but I didn't realize that ordinary citizens had become such obstinate scofflaws that municipalities were reduced to putting up signs in an effort to keep them in line. One shudders to think what sort of free-for-all it would be without those signs, and while I like a good demolition derby as much as the next fellow, I prefer to watch it from a distance, rather than be part of it on my way to work, believe me. After all, like it says on those NASA bumper stickers, "I NEED MY SPACE." Elle