autumn’s thankful ducks build great wall of firewood
29-11-15 10:58 Thanksgiving,Family
Every autumn brings back memories of our time in New Hampshire. The forests were full of color, the nights cool and crisp..
“Cool?” Nazy asks.
“Cool or sometimes cold.” I corrected.
“Crisp?”
“Sometimes soggy,” I retreated further. “But you have to admit it was colorful.” I hoped that Nazy didn’t remember the times that the color was (snow) ’white’.
“Well..”
“And we always put giant chrysanthemum plants in the old whiskey kegs by the mail box.”
“True.”
“And we’d have roasted corn on the cob at one of the autumn festivals in Vermont.” I continued.
“And then you’d come home and stack the firewood for wood burning stove.” Now Nazy was getting enthusiastic.
“Hmm,” I replied as I recalled stacking…
“Remember when you made a full-size replica of the Great Wall of China from the winter firewood?”
Here in California, things are a little different. For example, although there is corn on the cob, I can confirm that Palm Trees do not change color in autumn. And what we call ‘autumn’ arrives around Thanksgiving. Daytime temperatures move from the high 70’s (Fahrenheit) to the low 70’s. Locals ditch the shorts for long pants…
“Which reminds, me Nazy,” I said. “What ever happened to my parka and anorak?”
“It must be in storage.”
“Ah!” I thought. “Storage: where useless collect to generate monthly invoices.” Veracity note: I have exaggerated somewhat. Temperatures here have dripped into the 40’s (Fahrenheit - which is singe digits Celsius). Nazy and I both wore sweaters. And the weather forecast is full of rumors of rain. Just last night, for example, Alan Rose, Channel 3’s Chief Meteorologist, said that:
“There is a slight chance of precipitation in Santa Barbara with widely scattered accumulation of as much as 3 hundredth’s (0.03&rdquo
of an inch of rain.”
Note that this paltry amount sounds better when converted to metric: it is 0.762 millimeters or a whopping 762 micrometers.
Alert readers may wonder why I’m writing about autumn when December is just around the corner. The answer is very simple. “I don’t know.”
So, let’s talk about Thanksgiving. In last year’s family Thanksgiving celebration, young Tiger, the Grand(est)son, tasted his first solid food. His reaction was mixed. He was unimpressed with the gruel made from banana and rice flakes, but he liked the Popsicle composed of frozen breast milk. His tastes have matured since then. Now he likes artichokes, pistachio soup, peanut butter, ketchup, sushi …
“You can’t list everything he likes, Dan,” Nazy notes. “It would take forever.”
That is true. We can summarize by noting that he likes to eat. And he likes to feed himself. His motor skills have progressed to the point that he is very good at getting the spoon from his dish to his mouth without an intervening stop in his eyes or nose. Getting food to stick to the spoon has proven to be somewhat more illusive.
On Thanksgiving Day, Mitra and Stefan drove up for dinner with friends (The Jones Famliy). Melika, Tom and Tiger joined us as did Tom’s Dad and many others. We met so many kind, wonderful and welcoming people since we came to Santa Barbara.
This weekend, Nazy and I took young Tiger to the park. He rode the carousel …
“I think you had as much fun on the Carousel as he did!” Nazy interrupts.
“Don’t be absurd, Nazy,” I replied. “I would have had even more fun,” I thought, “If the grand(est)son had let me pick the horse we rode.”
Thanksgiving, 2015 is also just about a year from the next US Presidential election. In most countries, campaigning would begin in about 9 months. Here in the USA, the candidates, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, feel like they need more time to make fools of themselves.
“Anyone who wants to be President of the United States,” I told Nazy, “should be immediately disqualified on the grounds that he lacks good judgement.”
The early campaigning is usually marked by a series of poll leading, flash-in-the-pan morons who get flushed into oblivion and obscurity once intelligent voters begin to actually listen to what they say. This year..
“…has been different, Nazy.” I remarked. “Either the voters have diminished intelligence or they haven’t started listening. Donald Trump..”
“Don’t mention that name!” Nazy interrupts. “If he was President when I came to America, he wouldn't have let me in.”
“If he were President at the time, my dear, you wouldn’t have wanted in. But it’s different now. Now many immigrants come to do the jobs that natives don’t want.”
“Dan..”
“For example, Donald Trump’s wives are immigrants — and they are clearly doing something that no native would do.”
“Don’t make jokes, Dan. It is ..”
“.. troubling. He has demonstrated an uncanny ability to bring out the worst in people. He’s showing that truth is optional, arrogance is rewarded and ignorance is glorified while at the same time fostering a personality cult approach that has a history of sad failure elsewhere. Our voters will eventually see him for what he is - a blowhard bully.”
“Cool?” Nazy asks.
“Cool or sometimes cold.” I corrected.
“Crisp?”
“Sometimes soggy,” I retreated further. “But you have to admit it was colorful.” I hoped that Nazy didn’t remember the times that the color was (snow) ’white’.
“Well..”
“And we always put giant chrysanthemum plants in the old whiskey kegs by the mail box.”
“True.”
“And we’d have roasted corn on the cob at one of the autumn festivals in Vermont.” I continued.
“And then you’d come home and stack the firewood for wood burning stove.” Now Nazy was getting enthusiastic.
“Hmm,” I replied as I recalled stacking…
“Remember when you made a full-size replica of the Great Wall of China from the winter firewood?”
Here in California, things are a little different. For example, although there is corn on the cob, I can confirm that Palm Trees do not change color in autumn. And what we call ‘autumn’ arrives around Thanksgiving. Daytime temperatures move from the high 70’s (Fahrenheit) to the low 70’s. Locals ditch the shorts for long pants…
“Which reminds, me Nazy,” I said. “What ever happened to my parka and anorak?”
“It must be in storage.”
“Ah!” I thought. “Storage: where useless collect to generate monthly invoices.” Veracity note: I have exaggerated somewhat. Temperatures here have dripped into the 40’s (Fahrenheit - which is singe digits Celsius). Nazy and I both wore sweaters. And the weather forecast is full of rumors of rain. Just last night, for example, Alan Rose, Channel 3’s Chief Meteorologist, said that:
“There is a slight chance of precipitation in Santa Barbara with widely scattered accumulation of as much as 3 hundredth’s (0.03&rdquo
of an inch of rain.” Note that this paltry amount sounds better when converted to metric: it is 0.762 millimeters or a whopping 762 micrometers.
Alert readers may wonder why I’m writing about autumn when December is just around the corner. The answer is very simple. “I don’t know.”
So, let’s talk about Thanksgiving. In last year’s family Thanksgiving celebration, young Tiger, the Grand(est)son, tasted his first solid food. His reaction was mixed. He was unimpressed with the gruel made from banana and rice flakes, but he liked the Popsicle composed of frozen breast milk. His tastes have matured since then. Now he likes artichokes, pistachio soup, peanut butter, ketchup, sushi …
“You can’t list everything he likes, Dan,” Nazy notes. “It would take forever.”
That is true. We can summarize by noting that he likes to eat. And he likes to feed himself. His motor skills have progressed to the point that he is very good at getting the spoon from his dish to his mouth without an intervening stop in his eyes or nose. Getting food to stick to the spoon has proven to be somewhat more illusive.
On Thanksgiving Day, Mitra and Stefan drove up for dinner with friends (The Jones Famliy). Melika, Tom and Tiger joined us as did Tom’s Dad and many others. We met so many kind, wonderful and welcoming people since we came to Santa Barbara.
This weekend, Nazy and I took young Tiger to the park. He rode the carousel …
“I think you had as much fun on the Carousel as he did!” Nazy interrupts.
“Don’t be absurd, Nazy,” I replied. “I would have had even more fun,” I thought, “If the grand(est)son had let me pick the horse we rode.”
Chase Palm Park, with the Carousel, also has a Duck Pond, We came prepared with bread for the ducks. At the beginning, Tiger wanted Nazy or me to throw the bread to the ducks, but he eventually got bold enough to toss the crumbs to the rowdy and cacophonous flock or brace or badelynge of ducks.
“Badelynge?” Nazy asked.
“It’s a word for a group of ducks,” I replied. “I saw it on the web.”
“Too bad (elynge).” Nazy thought.
Thanksgiving, 2015 is also just about a year from the next US Presidential election. In most countries, campaigning would begin in about 9 months. Here in the USA, the candidates, in spite of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, feel like they need more time to make fools of themselves.
“Anyone who wants to be President of the United States,” I told Nazy, “should be immediately disqualified on the grounds that he lacks good judgement.”
The early campaigning is usually marked by a series of poll leading, flash-in-the-pan morons who get flushed into oblivion and obscurity once intelligent voters begin to actually listen to what they say. This year..
“…has been different, Nazy.” I remarked. “Either the voters have diminished intelligence or they haven’t started listening. Donald Trump..”
“Don’t mention that name!” Nazy interrupts. “If he was President when I came to America, he wouldn't have let me in.”
“If he were President at the time, my dear, you wouldn’t have wanted in. But it’s different now. Now many immigrants come to do the jobs that natives don’t want.”
“Dan..”
“For example, Donald Trump’s wives are immigrants — and they are clearly doing something that no native would do.”
“Don’t make jokes, Dan. It is ..”
“.. troubling. He has demonstrated an uncanny ability to bring out the worst in people. He’s showing that truth is optional, arrogance is rewarded and ignorance is glorified while at the same time fostering a personality cult approach that has a history of sad failure elsewhere. Our voters will eventually see him for what he is - a blowhard bully.”
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