An inquisitive old fart with a camera
The largest of the volunteer squash, easily twice the size of the monster squash, ended up on the floor of our barbecoa because it took up too much counter space.
When the wife tried to move it, it – well, you can see. I dumped it with other refuse out front, and it reminded me of the endless carnage in Game of Thrones.
From one of a collection of notebooks lying around, which my wife wants to give our son, in hopes that somehow he’ll take notes [pay attention] and become organized or learn something, she gives me the sole used half page, from months ago.
Relaxing with the present moment, relaxing with hopelessness, relaxing with death, not resenting the fact that things end, that things pass, that things have no lasting substance, that everything is changing all the time – that is the basic message.
My goodness. When did I write that? Alas, I didn’t, not originally.
Last handwritten line: When Things Fall Apart, page 47.
When we went out for lunch with friends we hadn’t seen in a while, it occurred to none of us that it was Father’s Day – until we couldn’t get into the third restaurant, having made no reservations.
So we ended up at an empanada place: four adults and three kids. We found no lack of options, and noted with interest chicken with ketchup, corn with bacon (choclo con panceta), and one which appears to be potato chip and chocolate. We didn’t try it.
Nor did we stop at 14. The kids each got a pizza empanada (not impressed), and we got several dulce de leche/chocolate to go.
Most fascinating to me, was the answer to how do you know which is which, which was staring me in the face:
The Empanada Code.
“Uruguayan president Jose Mujica will send to Parliament a bill to liberate the production, trading and consumption of marihuana as part of a package of drastic measures to combat crime which he will discuss with security area cabinet minister before making them public.” Read more.
What? Instead of building a prison-industrial complex as in the land of the free, with not only the highest number, but the highest per-capita number of prisoners of any country in the world, largely based on the victimless crime of possessing a plant that grows naturally?
What if they end up acknowledging the health benefits of cannabis?
Could be a slippery slope into sanity.
I’m not much of a phone person normally, but this morning two people called me and the conversations kind of went on, and my fidgety fingers emptied the little glass container of all the little gems I’ve stuck in my pockets walking on the beach – most from when we first arrived – and starting arranging them. The long one on the left is ‘musical’ – it rings like some crystals. I think of drilling a hole in one end and making it a pendant.
Sticking pebbles in my pocket on the beach, to bring home, is one of those things about which I occasionally ask why do I do this?
The answers range from elaborate, to the most simple: because I can.
A year ago, I ‘upgraded’ our internet service with a modem/wifi router from AntelData, the only-a-half-decade-behind local ISP. Immediately it proved inferior to the previous modem with our own wifi router, dropping connections and assigning identical IP addresses to different computers. I went back to revert to our previous arrangement. Oh no, can’t do that, you have a one-year contract. So at the end of one year, I again went back to the office. Now it’s oh no, we can’t change the router. You have to call tech support. (You know, the phone that never answers.)
Sounds like a good time to rant about how things should be, and how they do it ‘back where I come from,’ no?
Well, back where I come from:
Of course, this is for a document we have ALREADY PAID the IRS for. Were they extracting money otherwise, I expect the approach might not be so casual. Just guessing.
The cold yielded yesterday: 100% saturated warm air that kept mopped floors wet all day, that condensed onto cold surfaces untouched by a mop. By afternoon thunderstorms rolled over, and we unplugged, plugged, unplugged again – everything, but first and foremost the phone line to the DSL modem. When that goes, you can’t just waltz by the office and get another. You wait and wait and wait on the phone along with everyone else, then you wait for a technician to come and swap the modem. Last time it took 11 days.
When the rain stopped, the low clouds remained, catching the light of the setting sun and turning everything incredibly yellow – then incredibly orange. We watched in amazement. I didn’t take photos. I knew they wouldn’t do it justice.
Then I was siting with my laptop at the kitchen island, and did an abrupt double-take. The yard outside the sliding glass doors had disappeared into black. One minute it was still day; only moments later it was night, as if someone cut off a light switch.
Had I been outside, I probably could have watched the shadow race past overhead, the line between light and dark on the top surface of the low clouds, lighting below as though through frosted glass. Next time, if ever?
Today we have just fog.
Saturday
Before I reach the dunes, I note the impressive swell lines. On the beach, clean left breaks with the tops thrown back by a gentle offshore breeze. 1-1.5 meters high, brown waves (alas), a couple of intrepid surfers doing their best. After a frosty-cold morning, the afternoon has turned out comfortable. Not so much that I would add to the fresh barefoot prints I see in the sand, but almost warm.
Sunday
Again pretty waves, this time a crystal green-blue color, again a clean break. And maybe 30cm high. Awesome – if you ‘re a surfin’ GI Joe.
