One more daughter picture (for now), because how can a father not post daughter pictures with some frequency?
Lilly, behind the wheel recently. Before we backed out of the driveway. I had to remind her to put on her glasses.
Sledding ’13
Now that snow’s on the ground, a few inches anyway, the girls wanted to go sledding. So I took them to the catchment where they’ve been sledding for years — except for last year, when snow covered the ground only for a few days, and they didn’t get around to it.
It made me recall fond old memories of sledding as a child… actually, no. I never did that. Snow was in short supply in South Texas from the late ’60s to the late ’70s. And so was the equipment necessary to slide down a slope, in case we ever got any snow.
Anyway, a Nashvillian friend of mine took me sledding for the first time ever when I was 22, in Nashville, during one of its snow events, which happened once or twice a winter. That was a good time, but probably not the thrill of being a small child on a sled.
I didn’t get any good pictures of the girls in motion, like I have before. But I did take one or two that I liked.
Seem a Saint, When Most I Play the Devil
I read today that Richard III’s bones have been located. I didn’t know they were missing. But then again, the story of Richard III pretty much always ends with, “A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse! Arrrrrrgh!” as some fearsome halberd makes contact with the king’s skull. After that, who cares?
Naturally, there are those who would rehabilitate the monarch’s evil reputation. The NYT article notes: “Among those who found his remains, there is a passionate belief that new attention drawn to Richard by the discovery will inspire a reappraisal that could rehabilitate the medieval king and show him to be a man with a strong sympathy for the rights of the common man, who was deeply wronged by his vengeful Tudor successors. Far from the villainous character memorialized in English histories, films and novels, far from Shakespeare’s damning representation of him as the limping, withered, haunted murderer of his two princely nephews, Richard III can become the subject of a new age of scholarship and popular reappraisal, these enthusiasts believe.”
Naaah.
I was also interested to learn that the king will probably be reinterred in Leicester Cathedral, against the wishes of those who would put him in Westminster Abbey or some such. Not that anyone’s asked me, but I’d go along with Leicester Cathedral. In London, he’d be just another king – albeit a hunchbacked, villainous one – among many. In Leicester, he’d be a star attraction. He’s served his country for centuries as an infamous villain of lore and literature, time now for him to promote tourism to the Midlands. If I’m ever anywhere nearby, I’ll go pay a visit.
Light Snow, But It Added Up
At last, snow worthy of the name. Or at least in the North. I’ve seen enough Northern winters (or, enough already), so I think I can call this one the first real snow of the winter — looks like an early December snow. Odd.
The deck, early February 2013.
The snowfall also meant the first snow shoveling of the season, hearing the rumble of trucks and their flashing lights entering your room in the middle of the night, and the buzz of snowblowers. I still do the snow manually.
More Bullwinkle
Sometime in 1987, I bought a Bullwinkle clock at a clock shop in Water Tower Place. It’s one of only a few things I ever remember buying at that mall on Michigan Ave. It was an impulse purchase. When I saw it, I knew I had to have it.
Note that the numbers are in reverse order. The hands moved counterclockwise, and the clock kept good time, only backwards. I hung it in my apartment in Chicago from ’87 to ’90, and more than one person commented on how confusing the clock was.
Near Bullwinkle is a copyright mark, “1987 P.A.T. Ward,” so I hope the $20 or so I spend provided a bit of income to Jay Ward (d. 1989), who deserved to profit mightily from Bullwinkle. On the back is “H.I. Enterprises, Milwaukee.” Not Frostbite Falls, but not too far away.
At some point (I think), a battery leaked and damaged the movement, so it doesn’t run any more. But years ago I hung it on the wall in my office over the large bookcase all the same. Recently I took it down for dusting, and had Ann pose with it.
New Media Moose & Squirrel
Not long ago, Ann wanted to see something on Hulu, and came to me for suggestions. I discovered that regular old Hulu, not the pay-extra Hulu, offers Rocky and Bullwinkle. I picked Season 2, Episode 1, the beginning of the shaggy-moose story about Upsidasium.
Upon further investigation, I discovered that as a story arc, “Upsidasium” has its own Wiki page. According to that source, it was the second-longest story arc for Moose & Squirrel, coming in at 36 episodes. The fictional metal also appears on this list.
Ann’s taken a liking to the show, and asks to watch it more often than I have time for, and we’re not done with the Upsidasium story yet. We have some Rocky and Bullwinkle on VHS (or, to be pedantic, The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle and Friends), but it’s been years since she’s seen any of those.
She’s also been taking pictures of some of the characters. I thought the one she took of Mr. Know-It-All (above, in a sauna) turned out well, considering it’s a shot of a video in progress on a laptop. This is a Mr. Know-It-All I’m particularly fond of.
Chance Encounter With an Elected Official
After attending an event this morning, I walked through downtown from Trump Chicago to Union Station, aiming to catch a 10:30 train. Time was a little tight. My route took me by the State of Illinois Building (Thompson Center), where I notice a large DHL truck parked outside. Glancing inside the building and its enormous atrium, I noticed a wall of DHL boxes.
Not something you see every day. Or ever, come to think of it. Train or no train, I had to get a closer look at that. On the other side of the boxes, I saw a small crowd of people, and a few TV cameras. Some kind of event was going on.
So I peaked around the DHL wall and saw a man giving a speech. He was lauding a thing called Pizza4Patriots, which ships pizza to soldiers on occasions such as the Super Bowl, with the assistance of DHL.
He looked awfully familiar. Then it hit me. That was Gov. Quinn, doing the ceremonial part of his job. I’d never seen him in person before. Curiously, today’s the fourth anniversary of him succeeding his (now) imprisoned predecessor, Gov. Putz.
Ten Times Around for Ann
This morning I looked out and saw puddles of water. I was expecting ice. I didn’t bother checking any weather reports last night, so I was surprised. Actually, I’m still surprised, since this afternoon it felt like a post-rain day in March — not warm, but not freezing cold either, and a lot of soggy ground.
Ann’s 10th birthday is later this week, but she elected to mark the occasion on Saturday with some friends, cake and ceremonial candle extinguishing. Some of Lilly’s friends were around too, mostly to eat some food.
Have the last ten years passed quickly? Like the wink of an eye, or another cliche of choice? No, not really. It seems like quite a while ago, because it was.
Ten years ago: “I got back to the hospital at about 7:30 am, and things were moving along nicely, but I hadn’t missed the main event. Before long, though, the show was on. At about t-minus 10 minutes (in retrospect, I can call it that) the doctor asked me if we knew it was a boy or girl. I said no. Do you have any names? Yes, Ann and Alexander. Duly noted. And so the baby came — hard to find a verb here that really describes it — pushed out, squeezed forth, slipped through bloodily, noisily, suddenly. ‘It’s baby Ann,’ said the doc, which was a nice thing for her to do. When Lilly was born, there was much hubbub, the view was obscured, and no one mentioned gender until I asked.”
Boerne Ramble ’79
Sleet came down this afternoon, followed by heavy rain. It’s still raining, last time I looked. Or maybe that’s an ice-rain mix. There’s bound to be ice on the sidewalks and roads tomorrow, and probably ice on my old car. It’ll probably be a good day to stay home. A day on which the benefits of working at home are clear.
In early January 1983, not long before I returned to Tennessee to complete my formal education, some friends and I went out to the vicinity of Boerne, Texas, for the day. We might have passed through that town, but mostly I remember visiting Lester’s family’s ranch, which was out that way. We tooled around in a beaten-up van. At one point, we had to get out and push the thing to a downward slope, so that we could get it running.
Everyone ought to have that kind of experience with a motor vehicle sometime in his or her life. My experience was ideal: it wasn’t my vehicle, and there were a lot of other people pushing too.
Pictured: Stephen (RIP), Nancy, Debbie, Eric, Kirk, Tom and me. Lester took the shot and later sent us prints.
Thursday Salmagundi
While working on an article the other day, I came across a press release that said in part: “Seminole Classic Casino, the first Native American Casino in the country, today celebrated its grand re-opening…. Seminole Gaming CEO Jim Allen provided welcoming remarks and historical background of the casino, while Good Times television personality Jimmie ‘J.J.’ Walker warmed-up the crowd with Tribal and 1970s trivia.”
Jimmie Walker. Now there’s a name I hadn’t heard in a long time. I hope the Seminoles paid him a reasonable amount. Even has-beens have to make some kind of living. 1970s trivia? Such as, “What was Jimmie Walker’s catchphrase?” I’m not going to repeat it here. If you know it, you know it. If not, leave it be.
Snippet of recent conversation:
Ann: “Lance Armstrong, he’s the one who went to the Moon?”
Me: “No, that was Neil Armstrong. He was a test pilot, astronaut and explorer. Lance Armstrong is a guy who can stand riding a bicycle for hours and hours.” (Link includes salty George Carlin language.) (And if you’re going to sit on a bike for that long, maybe you need the drugs.)
I was toying with the idea of reading only books that I already own this year. Got a fair number on the shelves that I haven’t gotten around to, after all. But I was at the library the other day and that notion flew out the window. I was looking for The River of Doubt: Theodore Roosevelt’s Darkest Journey (Candice Millard), which is about TR’s expedition to one of the remotest of the Amazon’s tributaries in 1914, but it was checked out, so I checked out 1920: The Year of Six Presidents by David Pietrusza.
Not that there were six serving U.S. presidents in 1920, unlike the four emperors of AD 69. Just one: Wilson, a shadow of his former self by then. But the book promises to track TR (odd, since he was dead by 1920), Harding, Coolidge, Hoover and FDR and their involvement in the 1920 election. I’ve only read a few chapters. So far, not bad, but Pietrusza has a few annoying writing tics, and I’ve spotted a couple of small errors. The Armistice did not, for example, take place at 11:11 am.
I’m going to stick with it for now, because 1920 was a pretty interesting year in this country, besides for the election of Warren Harding and Calvin Coolidge: the last of the Palmer raids and the Red Scare, the beginning of Prohibition, the Wall Street bombing, the final push to secure women’s suffrage, and the first commercial radio station on the air, whose first broadcast concerned the results of the election. Among other things.
I just looked up salmagundi, long a favorite word. Never looked into its origin before. I’d have guessed it was one of those words the English language picked up in British India. Sounds like it, doesn’t it? “Sahib, the salmagundi is served.”
But no. My American Heritage New College Dictionary tells me it’s from French, salmigondis, and before that, origin obscure. Just another one of the French food words, then. Maybe next time I’ll call a jumble like this a gallimaufry, another good word that needs more use, also with a Frenchy origin.