Mid 60s with a gentle breeze. A few horsetails of high cloud in a blazing sky. Going to be ice tea weather in a few hours.
This year’s wild blackberry crop is enormous and right on schedule. The dogs and I enjoy handfuls of sweet berries on our morning walks. I’ve so far done no serious gathering as I don’t have a stove to make jam or syrup (and a hotplate is too tippy). I’ll soon head out with a bucket and grab some berries for the freezer.
The dogs wait patiently for their share. They could easily gather their own from the low vines, and they do when I’m not picking. But the moment I stop to grab a handful they stop, stare, and wait for the meager share I dole out even though they could get more, faster, on their own.
No doubt there’s a message about the effects of the welfare system in there somewhere.
Though the berry harvest is exactly on schedule, the September spider crop has arrived early. I have to be careful when I step out my back door or when walking in places where vegetation presses close on the logging roads. Ick! To get a faceful of spiderweb — or worse yet, a mouthful of spider!
First sign of fall — too soon. What with the conspiracy of minor disasters that kept May and June so unproductive, it seems more as if summer should just be beginning.
I finished that one segment of ceiling Friday (pix later) and am now plunging in to delayed spring cleaning.
One might wish he addressed the economic realities more clearly. Or at all. But he waxes lyrical about the delights of doing nothing.
(I can wax lyrical on the subject of creative idleness, too. And no doubt will do so after I’ve finished the ceiling, met my next deadline, caught up on my email, and spent some time contemplating how I’m ever going to get the house foundation repaired and the plumbing replaced.)
This has been one of those weeks when craziness piled 20 tabs high in the browser. It’s one of those weeks it’s especially clear that the world out there is not only rapidly going nuts, but is fragmenting into specialized segments of insanity, all threatening war with each other.
Sorry I don’t have much for you at the moment. Been a weird week. When not feeling inert (probably lack of sleep + gray weather) I’ve been busy beginning or resuming long-delayed spring projects.
Picked up another 75 pounds or so of broken glass and rusted metal from the lot across the street. Scrubbed stale cigarette scuzz out of Old Blue. Am gradually de-nailing, cleaning, and sanding 150 pieces of beadboard for my ceiling project.
It feels good coming to life again.
If I do too much my ankle reminds me to slow back down. And unfortunately the ankle’s idea of “too much” is still way less than the rest of me is ready to handle. (I’m ready to tackle that complicated ceiling; the ankle says it’s not getting on any kurflussed ladder for hours a day.) But we compromise.
You might be surprised to learn that single-family housing is nothing more than a racist, classist plot. In Seattle, anyhow. (Sigh. Another formerly livable city is about to complete its spiral down the tubes.)
I’ve lost count. How many “anti-violence” activists and “anti-violence” groups have been busted now for weapons violations, assaults, or homicides? A big number.
The fedgov can’t manage to charge a single mega-banker for wrecking the U.S. economy through fraud and malfeasance. But the state of New York (via the ever-present, ever-righteous Cyrus Vance, Jr.) can manage 184 counts against a tiny, family-owned bank that was apparently just trying to police itself.
Uh oh. No surprise. Sandra Bland, that young woman who “committed suicide” in police custody last week was reportedly a vocal activist against police brutality. Well, guess they showed her, didn’t they?
The science behind introversion and extroversion. (Yes, this subject fascinates me; you can tell.)
The house that saved their marriage. Most of us don’t have the resources, but I’ve thought this sort of living arrangement would be great ever since, as a teenager, I read about writer Mary Wollstonecraft, who (clear back in the 18th century) had a similar living arrangement with philosopher William Godwin.
Joel already blogged this one, but it’s too good to pass up. This wannabe robber survived, but if there’s a non-fatal runner-up category for the Darwin Awards, he’s a shoo-in. (I read in another article that, in addition to everything else, the helpful customer was a high school wrestler.)
Upon his 85th birthday, Thomas Sowell looks back on the uneducated people who helped raise him above his roots.
People who radically change their spending habits via radical rethinking. They’re inspiring. Entertaining. Great examples. But how come they always seem to be young urban dwellers without, you know, gigantic house remodel projects going on? Or six kids to feed? Don’t get me wrong; giving up a daily Starbucks or buying fewer cosmetics can be a big thing to a yuppie & it’s a great mind change. But the rest of us …