Empty house

There's something strange about coming home, expecting everyone to be there, ready to say "welcome home", only to discover that the house is empty. So when this happened this afternoon, I of course called LOML's cell phone, to find out where they were, and when they'd be back. But the phone just rang in another room --- left behind, another not-so-silent reminder.

They phoned a little later --- they had gone for a walk in a state park an hour or so from here, and were on their way home. And all was fine.

But it was still disconcerting.

Yours, off kilter,
N.

Two years today

It seems a lifetime ago, and yesterday.
I recall a stunned silence, much like in 2001, fear for my family --- my sister was travelling across London that day, it turns out --- and friends. And then I sent emails to lots of people. Only to realize afterwards that all the people I knew in the UK were taking things very differently from those of us, even of citric extraction, in the US.
You see, as a matter of culture, when I was growing up bombings were not uncommon occurrences -- not every day, but not rare. In the US, bombings happened every few years, and were the action of a madman, not a terrorist group, and the country was soft to their threats. In the UK, one had to continue life, daily routine and daily grind: you just had to. In the US, they hadn't developed that resilience. And I had lost mine.
I think that it is similar today: the panic on American television about a car crashing into Glasgow airport (hurting nobody but the occupants of the car!) and failed, flubbed bombing attempts, reflect the fact that Americans don't yet know how to get on with life. I gather that the BBC even spent some news time covering Wimbledon last Saturday: not so CNN!


I really do not wish or intend to minimize the horror of July 7, nor of September 11, for those were truly horrific events. And the people who died, mothers and fathers, daughters and sons, were loved and are missed.


But at the same time, there were floods this past month in Britain causing horrible devastation, and not on just an isolated scale. And here in the US, I recall July 7 for another reason: the following day, gas prices went up over 15% --- I stormed in to the gas station to rant about profiteering in the face of a national tragedy in another country, only later to discover that the reason that prices had spiked was a storm hitting the gulf coast of Florida, causing refinery problems. Little did anyone realise that day that two months later there would be more national mourning, another avoidable disaster allowed to happen. For that storm foreshadowed Katrina and New Orleans.

Yours in reflection,
N.

Hi Ho, Hi ho

It's off to work we go.... or in my case, already gone...

Yours, arduously,
N.

What I'm listening to...

or rather, what the sprogs were listening to a little while ago: as most nights, part of our bedtime routine is either LOML or me reading a story to Boo and Skibo (one each, short, usually at least one of Bob the Builder or Dora or Diego these days, unfortunately: but sometimes something more interesting like "Big Mama Makes the World") followed by me reading a poem or two and singing a song or two.

The past couple of nights (as often recently) Boo has asked for christmas carols, but she surprised me too by wanting "the quiet song that you sing to me" --- I finally figured out that she meant a song that I sing in French --- she doesn't realize it, but she is requesting an old anti-war protest song by Boris Vian!
It's a gorgeous gentle song, and I've loved it for years --- and now, Boo is growing up with it too:-)

Yours, in peace,
N.

Le Déserteur (The Deserter)

par (by) Boris Vian et (and) Harold Berg

Monsieur le Président, je vous fais une lettre, que vous lirez peut-être, si vous avez le temps. Je viens de recevoir mes papiers militaires pour partir à la guerre avant mercredi soir. Monsieur le Président je ne veux pas le faire, je ne suis pas sur terre pour tuer de pauvres gens. C'est pas pour vous fâcher, il faut que je vous dise, ma décision est prise, je m'en vais déserter. Depuis que je suis né, j'ai vu mourir mon père, j'ai vu partir mes frères, et pleurer mes enfants. Ma mère a tant souffert, qu'elle est dedans sa tombe, et se moque des bombes, et se moque des vers. Quand j'étais prisonnier on m'a volé ma femme, on m'a volé mon âme, et tout mon cher passé. Demain de bon matin, je fermerai ma porte au nez des années mortes j'irai sur les chemins. Je mendierai ma vie, sur les routes de France, de Bretagne en Provence, et je crierai aux gens: refusez d'obéir, refusez de la faire, n'allez pas à la guerre, refusez de partir. S'il faut donner son sang, allez donner le vôtre, vous êtes bon apôtre, monsieur le Président. Si vous me poursuivez prévenez vos gendarmes que je n'aurai pas d'armes et qu'ils pourront tirer.

Mr. President I'm writing you a letter that perhaps you will read If you have the time. I've just received my call-up papers to leave for the front Before Wednesday night. Mr. President I do not want to go I am not on this earth to kill wretched people. It's not to make you mad I must tell you my decision is made I am going to desert. Since I was born I have seen my father die I have seen my brothers leave and my children cry. My mother has suffered so, that she is in her grave and she laughs at the bombs and she laughs at the worms. When I was a prisoner they stole my wife they stole my soul and all my dear past. Early tomorrow morning I will shut my door on these dead years I will take to the road. I will beg my way along on the roads of France from Brittany to Provence and I will cry out to the people: Refuse to obey refuse to do it don't go to war refuse to go. If blood must be given go give your own you are a good apostle Mr. President. If you go after me warn your police that I'll be unarmed and that they can shoot.

On television this evening

are more programmes I want to watch than have been on the tube for the past several weeks combined! Two episodes of the latest series of Dr Who to be shown over here, and two of the quirky but silly and fun Gil Mayo series from the UK, plus an episode of Numbers I missed in the spring. The first day that I really appreciate Tivo!

Yours, goggle-eyed,
N.

Any given Saturday

except tomorrow, I'd be sleeping in. But no, since I had July 4th off, I have to work tomorrow.

Yours, missing some gruntles.
N.

Suggested recipes for

a Bastille Day meal? LOML and I, in an effort to raise our sprogs with an appreciation for the world, have a tradition that we try to celebrate special days: for Chinese New Year we made longevity noodles and other traditional dishes: for Canada Day we had pancakes with Nova Scotian maple syrup: for St George's day and Shakespeare's birthday, of course, it was a standing rib roast with Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes and gravy.

Saturday a week from now it will be Bastille Day: we're planning a breadmaking day for the little ones plus some friends (bread is wonderful for involving kids in measuring, mixing, kneading, etc...) and are thinking that we should turn it into a dinner party afterwards. So: any suggestions for food for a Bastille Day celebration? Or kid-friendly activities?

Thanks in advance!

N.

Average is mean

I am sometimes struck by the mediocrity of my life: I have done a few things over the past umptythrix years that I am very proud of: and a few that I am not proud of too. And I try, by and large, to leave a positive impact: I think that we are doing a pretty good job of raising two wonderful, smart, beautiful, kind children: we are gentle to pets, and save new ones that come along on occasion.
And when I look around me, to the people I know well, and afar, to the people I know at a distance, I usually feel quite ordinary. This is good.
And then I hear distant whispers, catch a glimpse, hear a rumour of what someone I know is doing: someone I have known well or less well in the past, doing something truly outstanding, something with a real impact, on a few people or a lot.
And I feel mediocre.


Yours, at par
N.

I believe I owe a great big thank you

to the good folks at Blogger, who have now removed the offending comment for me. Without, unfortunately, telling me how to do it myself... At least it is gone. I'm going to leave comment moderation on for a few days, and if I don't see more problems, I will turn it off again (I really don't want to stop anyone commenting legitimately!)
And as for the word verification, as much as I hate that, I'll leave it for a bit too.

Yours, unredirected, and apparently at my hundredth post!
N.

Eating habits

The sausage rolls went first. As always. Of the desserts, the roulades were inhaled. As always. Something about the cylindrical shape, the fact that they are rolled up? Who can say?

Yours observantly,
N.

A sensibly fun party

Well, that went well:-)
A sensibly timed beginning --- people came between 4 and 5 --- and ending --- people recognize that parents of small children don't get to stay up partying beyond 8 or 9, and the last guests to leave did so at about 8:30: I had the children asleep by 9, and LOML and I collapsed a little later.

A long day, the cooking was done in time, but only just sort of; the food was great, if I say so myself (especially all the stuff that I had no hand in!), and a wonderful time seemed to be had by all.

Yours, satisfiedly,
N.
PS thanks for the anonymous comment here: to all others, please do not read the comments section as it will autoforward you to some other site. If you can tell me in a comment to another post how to delete this comment without deleting this post, I'd be greatly grateful.

N.

PPS thanks to blogger for removing the offending comment. You may now safely comment here again.

N.

Happy "y"

Happy 4th of July to any who celebrate it! (and a happy 4th to everyone else, too:-)

Yours in celebration,
N.

Drinkgress

Got to run to the grocery store for wine (how did we forget that? probably some each of Turning Leaf Reserve Merlot and Yellowtail Chardonnay --- inexpensive enough for a party, palatable enough to drink) and other goodies, like propane for the gas grill. As for the drinks

Beer --- selected (perhaps we can get rid of the bud/miller lite that was brought to our last party: we have real beer too)
Wine
Non-alcoholic punch: 70's retro fruit punch with a cranberry ice ring and raspberry ice cream/sorbet floats
Pimms Cocktails

Yours, hic
N.

Foodgress

Progress on the food front:
Sausage rolls in the freezer: need cutting and baking
Hummus in fridge
Bread dough rising (white country loaf for eating, whole wheat pesto for pizza)

Ribs and chicken marinating
Lamb coming over this afternoon (thanks to B&P)
Brisket coming over this afternoon (thanks to R&L)
Vietnamese chicken salad, chicken on the side: salad in the fridge, chicken to be
cooked...

Cream horns need filling
Cherry bombe in freezer: needs coating with chocolate (thanks to LOML)
Roulade needs making
Lemon/lime squares need making..


How did I forget to do the sesame noodles and pickled cucumber???


We may actually be ready on time again!

Yours in preparation,
N.

Libby decision is "rich"

Conservatives who are criticizing Bill Clinton's pardoning of Marc Rich, in an attempt to defend Bush's commutation of Libby's sentence miss an important detail. They should read about Rich's lawyer's vigourous defense of his client. That lawyer's name? Libby.
Yours serendipitously,
N.

Welcome to a new blogospheroid

Welcome to the newest member of the blogworld! Congratulations to Kim and all of her family!

Yours, with a welcome mat,
N.

One of those better days!

Just found out that we received a small, but not insignificant grant to run a conference this fall: I had not expected this grant to come through, so this is fantastic news!

Yours in gratitude!
N.

One of those days

I think that it is going to be one of those days. We have a visiting speaker at work,
a recent acquaintance of mine, and so I am committed to lunch and dinner: I woke up this morning to discover that the clock radio had run its full hour of news and switched itself off again: in other words, I was, not late, but later than I intended to be. And then I arrive at work only to find I've left my cell phone at home: usually just an inconvenience, but occasionally, and today, a reason for me to get right back in my car and drive home again to pick it up. Oh well, just call me a left handed screwdriver in a right hand world.

Yours, gauche,
N.

One of the sentences below is made up.

In a sign that they are in touch with the people, and that they know that they have the moral upper hand, the White House this evening shut off its phone lines for comments from the public. A spokeszombie released a statement that "Since we've been wiretapping everyone anyway we know who likes what we've been doing, and in our book, those three people are everybody".

Yours in disbelief!
N.

Food, finally

Well, I finally managed to get down to preparing some of the food for Wednesday:
yesterday, as I said, I got the hummus out of the way: this evening I rolled out the (pre-prepared) puff pastry, and locally produced sausage for sausage rolls: I've also got the marinade cooling down for the ribs and chicken (cider vinegar, grapefruit juice, ginger, garlic, molasses, brown sugar, soy sauce, mustard, ketchup: simmered to reduce for a while then left to cool: marinate at least overnight in the fridge). So I've made some progress. Since I would usually just do everything on the day, I'm probably well ahead of schedule, even though it feels like the reverse, given that we had intended to give ourselves an easier time of it on Wednesday!

That's life. We will get it done in time, it's just a question of when.

Yours, or at least I'll try to be sometime in the future,
N.