Lexington, KY’s McConnell Springs Park. July 2014.
Sticking with the ten years ago thing, I saw this photo. It’s unretouched (though cropped). It really is that green. McConnell Springs is the neatest little park, barely one square mile if I recall properly. European settlers were here, damming a spring to power a mill. The park sits on the edge of an industrial park hemmed in by railroad tracks on the other side with residential developments beyond that. Yet inside the densely forested park you feel a calmness as you’re transported back to another century.
I gardened better ten years ago. My beginning consulting years actually weren’t about consulting–I hired out contractually. Technically, I earned more than I had as a manager in a pill manufacturing plant, but it was tough to compare. On the one hand, individuals working freelance pay all of their own Social Security and Medicare. On the other, I got paid for every hour I worked, unlike being a manager when 50 and 60-hour weeks occurred. The best perk in 2014? A strict you-can’t-work-over-40-hours-per-week limit. Free to work those hours flexibly, I usually rolled into Friday with 36, meaning I took off around noon. Nice Friday afternoons with my wife, time to run those errands that need to occur during a business week, and time to tend the garden haphazardly.
I don’t like to garden much but I’m entranced with the idea you can grow things, especially useful things like food for humans or birds. The sunflowers were for the finches. Didn’t work at that well, and in 2015 I started real consulting, traveling all over the country and beyond. Ah well. At least I can pay to have someone else do it now.
Melting on a mid-July afternoon. Benny, left, and Charlie enjoy the heat sinking into their bones. July 2024.
You know you’re in the sauna and That Guy insists on pouring ladle after ladle of water on the hot rocks? Your ‘dry sauna’ experience is turned into a nostril-searing cross between a Turkish steam bath and the original intent of the high-temp Finnish experience? Yeah, that’s our past week or two here in Raleigh, NC. The photo above captures Tuesday the 16th when we were somewhere around 100 degrees and the relative humidity made you feel like a water-soaked towel had been removed from a vat of boiling water and then wrapped around your body. I’ve been in worse–I’m looking at you Kansas!–but this turns most days into hot temperature versions of Snow Days, especially when a thunderstorm might occur.
Why two fur-encased creatures would want to spend hours melting into the planks of the deck in this weather boggles my mind. In No Banners, No Bugles by Edward Ellsberg, the Rear Admiral opens his book of World War II ship salvage with a description of him and his crew attempting to raise ships in the Red Sea where the temperature is in the 120’s (Fahrenheit). He goes back to his apartment and the poor A/C box unit has only been capable of cooling to 92 degrees. Nevertheless, it raises goosebumps on him due to the 30-degree temperature differential. I felt the same when I walked into a house being cooled to about 78, 79. (Ellsberg’s book is surprisingly readable and would make a good movie. I am not much of a history buff, but this book really held my interest when I read it.)
Benny got smart a day or so later, and spent his days in the basement where the temperature never gets higher than 70-72. Charlie finally succumbed today. He spent the afternoon in my office right up until I said I was posting this. Apparently he’s shy? Embarrassed? Ambivalent?
I attempted to explain that turning 90 degrees would align his body with the patch of sunlight, but Benny was having none of it. Either he’s indifferent or simply doesn’t understand geometry. I’m going with indifferent. July 2024.
6th grade was better…
About a month ago I posted about how 1966 proved seminal in my life for appreciating music, a year when I ‘woke up’ musically. Virtually every song in the Top Ten made me smile and say, “yeah…” and almost every one of them wound up on a 1966 playlist. Today I thought, “let’s see what 1972 held for me as I approached graduation from high school.” Holy. Crap. No wonder I felt adrift for much of the year–and I had thought it could be chalked up to teenaged ennui. In the Top Ten for the first week of January I encountered artists I still don’t like more than 50 years later: the really young Michael Jackson; David Cassidy; Donny Osmond. One song I had never heard before today: “Scorpio” by Dennis Coffey and the Detroit Guitar Band. I did get to add the top four songs to my new list: “Brand New Key” by Melanie; “American Pie (Parts 1 and 2) by Don McLean; “Family Affair” by Sly and the Family Stone; and “An Old Fashioned Love Song” by Three Dog Night.
By the second week of January the Top 40 contained two versions of “I’d Like To Teach The World To Sing (In Perfect Harmony)” now known forevermore as The Coke Song. A last gasp Sonny and Cher song, “All I Ever Need Is You” didn’t make the cut. Likewise anything by The Stylistics, Al Green, and who the heck is Betty Wright? Thankfully other artists were riding high or coming into their own: Van Morrison, Rod Stewart, Rare Earth, Three Dog Night, Bread, Grand Funk, The Who, T. Rex, and Elton John. Oh, yeah, and this group called Led Zeppelin put out its fourth album. “Black Dog” hit the January 8th chart.
It will be interesting to continue through the year. I distinctly remember Alice Cooper put out “I’m Eighteen” when I turned 18 myself. Just after graduation I picked up a free copy of The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars wondering who the heck this David Bowie guy was. At least there’s that to look forward too. Oh, and Neil Young…and Humble Pie…hmmm…maybe this won’t be so sad after all.
The annual lily surprise
Every year this lily pops out in the middle of a row of azaleas, bringing a surprised smile. July 2024.
We attended a wedding over the weekend in our old haunts around Philly. Our first ‘historic’ inn left a lot to be desired, but this one really delivered. Added plus: stupendous restaurant just to the right of this photo.
Your Tax Dollars At Work (and a 15-minute delay on the highway)
“And this was the artist’s Black Period, noted more for its playful use of browns and other earth tones than for the use of black which of course prevailed throughout his career.”
Lava still looks hot–don’t touch!
I think I saw Spock do a mind-meld with that thing.
Huh! Next time I won’t pre-heat the cast iron on the BBQ before I put in the cornbread batter.
A simple tale...with apologies for contributing to the millions and billions of cat photos on the Internet.
Once there were two kittens: Bayou…
Bayou. Christmas Day 2015.
…and his brother Chingu…
Chingu. Christmas Day 2015.
Bayou and Chingu were brothers. They were born in June 2015. They did (almost) everything together.
Bayou (left) and Chingu. December 2015.
One day in August, not long after they quit drinking milk from their mother, Bayou and Chingu were put up for adoption. This meant they now lived together in a small cage at a local animal shelter until someone would adopt them. They lived there almost four months. Finally they were adopted by a couple who spoke Korean. They named the pink-nosed one Friend (Chingu). They named the black-nosed one after the ancient kingdom Buyeo where the ancestors of all Koreans lived.
Or maybe the people who adopted them weren’t Korean. Maybe a nice person at the shelter spoke Korean and thought, “These cats need special names because they’re really special.” But if so, they didn’t know how to spell Buyeo. Or maybe the first story is true and the shelter just didn’t hear it right. Whatever the reason, the black-nosed cat became Bayou.
Bayou visited the animal shelter in 2014 when he got sick, but in May 2015 he and his brother were given back to the shelter and put up for adoption again. Their human “mother” had developed allergies to cats. They soon found another home with a man who already had two cats. He tried to like them, and maybe his other cats did too, but when it came to cats, Bayou and Chingu only liked each other.
December 2015.
They beat up the man’s cats. Worse, they ganged up on them. In August 2015, just a couple months later, they were back at the shelter again. They started beating up all the other cats in the common room. “What should we do?” worried the volunteers. Their supervisor said, “We must put them in foster care. It will only be until we can find new parents for them.” But four months went by, and no one wanted the two brothers who liked each other but no one else.
The calendar turned through those months: September. October. November. And halfway through December, I spotted their photograph. “They look spunky. They look like fun. They look like they need a home because who wants three-and-a-half-year-old-cats as a package deal?” My wife agreed. We went to the shelter just before Christmas and asked to see them.
“Oh, they don’t live here,” said the person at the desk. “They weren’t very well behaved so we put them in foster care. We will have to get them for you. Come back tomorrow.” We went home both happy that we still might get them and sad because we hadn’t seen any other cats we would want to be friends with. What if they didn’t like us? Or what if we didn’t like them?
On December 20th we came back with a great big carrier. We met Bayou and Chingu. They were friendly but in different ways. They didn’t indicate if they wanted to go with us, because they were just happy to be out of the large cage where they had been living for four months. We took them home and showed them the room with the dirt, which is very important for cats. They had different reactions. Bayou wanted out of that room immediately. “Okay, fine, I’ve seen the dirt. Now let me explore,” he said.
Bayou meets the neighborhood. December 2015.
Chingu said, “I see dirt but right now I need a very dark place.” He chose the linen closet. A little later he discovered a bed.
Chingu eyes his situation. December 2015.
Today I only know two Korean words: Buyeo and Chingu. Eight years ago I didn’t know any. I said, “We have to change their names.” My wife nodded. “I know!” I said, “this black-nosed one is so open and friendly, he’s got to be a Benny!” “Yes!” she agreed and asked, “but what about the pink-nosed one who likes me?” I thought about how he raced around the house, especially when he seemed scared. “Well…we could call him The Jet.” My wife frowned. “You know, Benny and The Jet?” I grinned. To my surprise she agreed to try it. We didn’t like it, and neither did Chingu. “His name should start with a C-H anyway,” I admitted. “Let’s call him Charlie. He seems a bit neurotic, kind of like Charlie Brown.”
We got them a big condo to play on, but Charlie indicated he mostly would be sleeping there…a lot.
Charlie at rest. March 2016.
They had spent their previous year in cages for much of the time. They seemed to delight in finding new places to sleep:
Benny the audiophile, appreciating a fine stereo amp. March 2016.Charlie demonstrates his lifelong passion for freshly-dried laundry. January 2016.
Benny likes bags and baskets:
Benny prefers baskets. Charlie (L) doesn’t totally get it. April 2016.Square or round, makes no difference to Benny. January 2016.
Mostly, Charlie likes sleeping on Benny:
Benny (L) and Charlie. April 2016. [previously published]
In their first eight months with us, Benny and Charlie spent two vacations at the vet (in tiny cages again), and then they endured a move to a new house. Benny, of course, enjoyed it and helped out:
Benny supervised the move and checked boxes for food. September 2016.
Charlie got very stressed. First he hid under the kitchen sink. Then he climbed on top of the cupboards and stared at us and panted.
Charlie hides out. September 2016.
It had three floors. They liked to race around in it and slide on the throw rugs covering the hardwood floors. We didn’t tell them this house was temporary. Eight months later we moved again. Now they have fewer windows to look out of, but they have…..a screened-in deck!
Charlie (L) and Benny thank their human servants for buying them a deck. June 2017.
The boys have settled in over the past seven years. Charlie can’t believe he now gets to eat almost every time he wants to (which is often). He has gained five pounds. Benny still weighs the same. Benny licked off his fur in patches, spent years on medications, and finally decided to stop. It might have been allergies. It might have been a psychological problem. Charlie started licking off his fur in patches last year, so there’s that. They’ve settled down now that they’re 12 years old.
They hope Dad keeps taking their photos and making them famous, so long as it pays for the super-expensive cat food they’ve insisted is the ONLY BEST kind. Their story isn’t over, but this tale is. Benny and Charlie would send you their best, but they only like each other–and now, Mom and Dad.
all the voices in my head 