Turning turtle

Or rather, turning tortoise.

going

going

still going

gone

Yours, still not over it,
N.

My problem with zoos

This photograph really captures why I feel bad about zoos. I had the camera on autofocus, of course, and it chose to see the cage and not the animal. And that is why zoos make me uncomfortable. I too see the cage, and I see the animal in the cage: and it makes me feel bad. And yet I go, and I give money to the zoo, and I support the system.

Yours, conflicted.
N.

Hallowe'en

So what are you dressing up as? Or are you? We have two little dressup artistes: Boo is going as a dog (she has a lovely costume which she picked out in the store) and Skibo as a knight in armour (a costume that he picked out as a toy as a reward for good behaviour a while back) with fairy wings on. Not sure why. His choice, and we are happy with that.
And then afterwards, we are taking Boo to dance class: the teacher has said that she can do ballet in her (way too hot) dog costume if she wishes....

Yours, pre-scared,
N.

We all went to the zoo on Friday....

Last Friday we all went to the zoo: the local city has a small, but nice, zoo: a couple of elephants, which are always among the more distressing animals to see penned up: some giraffes, just obtained, who are not on show yet: a really nice collection of monkeys and apes, panthers, giant tortoises, birds, etc.
It was a very interesting visit too: the siamang apes were stunning in their vocal displays -- I suspect that they were telling us all "get out of here: this is our turf" or some such message....
The tortoises -- there were three or four of them -- were rather livelier than some that I've seen in the past: especially one rather large male who insisted on climbing on top of another (female?) who objected very loudly. And I suspect that she started rocking or something, because the one on top fell off. And promptly rolled over, and landed on his back. The dozens of people watching this just stood there laughing at his discomfort -- I ran to the snack bar to get them to radio for the zookeeper to help him over again: when I got back about five minutes later everyone was still there just watching and laughing: it appears that LOML and I were the only ones who thought that it was worth trying to summon some help! We were, and are, quite disgusted with that attitude!

Pictures to follow when I sort some out.

Yours, overturning the odds,
N.

More dog pictures

Some pictures: three of Monty, the new dog, and lest you worry that we are neglecting our beloved Sojo, the sheltie, there's a lovely one of her at the end.


Yours, fourleggedly,
N.

Slicing and dicing

One of the online stock-trading companies here has an advertisement tag-line "what can you do with just one finger?" I'd like to point out the two options of "slice or dice it" followed by "put gauze, bandages, etc on it, and hold it in the air until the bleeding stops".
I speak from experience here. I've done it many times.
Unfortunately most recently this evening.

Yours, feeling stupid,
N.

Flour

When I make bread, I always consider basing it on a recipe, and then always, always, always adjust the flour content to get the texture of the kneaded dough right. Recipes can never predict what the moisture content of the flour will be, how much liquid it will require to get the dough soft, say, but not too sticky.
This is one of the most difficult things to learn when making bread: one has to learn to not follow a recipe slavishly, but to adjust to make things right.
LOML and I had noticed last week when making pasta that the recipe seemed way off in terms of the amount of flour needed (or rather, LOML, learning to make pasta, was surprised by how much less was needed than the recipe predicted: or rather, again, how the pasta took an extra egg and a bunch of extra half-teaspoons of water before coming together to the right consistency).
So yesterday I actually measured the flour out with scales, used the lower estimate of the amount of flour needed for the bap dough, and ended up having to add about 25% more liquid in spite of this. Apparently our kitchen is really dry, beyond the aridity of the current drought!

Today, LOML went and bought a humidifier for the kids' room: if it is that dry in the kitchen, perhaps this is making it harder for them to fight those nasty coughs!

Yours, dryly,
N.

Baps

It's been an odd few weeks: I went almost three weeks without baking a loaf of bread -- actually, strictly speaking, longer, since I didn't bake a loaf this weekend: rather I made a batch of flour-dusted scottish baps: they are a soft roll almost unknown outside the UK, and, back when I was last in Scotland, ubiquitous there. The dough is made with milk and a bit of butter, and is very tender: the crumb isn't expected to be too open: it should have some heft to it despite its softness.
A recipe may follow: and perhaps a photo. There was only time to take one. The rolls were devoured.
And delicious.

Yours, on a roll,
N.

Flu shots

LOML and Skibo were lucky enough to be able to get flu shots last week, at the school: however, since Boo was sick, she had to wait: and since I was driving my parents to the airport at the appointed time for the shots, I had to find another means of getting shot too.
Fortunately, the organization which provided the service was willing to give a raincheck on the shot for Boo, but it meant driving for 45 minutes to the big city (which is really only a small city, but it is the big city for us!) We decided to combine this with a trip to the zoo: and though I could have arranged to get a shot (actually yesterday morning!) through work, it seemed better that I go along and show Boo how getting vaccinations doesn't hurt at all.

The best laid plans of mice and breadmakers... we had timed everything perfectly: a quick trip to a fast food (yuck, I know, bad N, etc. etc. etc.) for early lunch, 45 minute trip to the city, appointment there at 12:30, then to the zoo.
First problem: although kids want to eat, they don't want to eat.
Second problem: Skibo has a splinter in his foot -- after eating, we drive back to the house to pick up implements of foot-torture: needle, bandaids, antibiotic cream, etc.
Third problem: Boo needs a potty break: I run her into the house.
Fourth problem: we've left stuff at the restaurant: swing back there, the stuff is still all there (including a little cash.... we got lucky!) We get on the road at last: thanks to starting out early, we are now just a few minutes behind: and LOML is driving, because I "drive too slowly".
Fifth problem: Skibo pipes up "I need to go potty". Pull over to gas station, run into the restaurants carrying him (his foot still has a splinter -- he can't walk fast), whip him in and out, and back on the road.
Thanks to LOML's driving and the complete non-intervention of any speed-checking law enforcers, we actually made it to the facility only a couple of minutes late. No problem.

We fill out forms, I pay for my shot, and go first --- the best nurse ever: I hardly feel a thing. Boo, on the other hand does her "I'm going to squirm and whine my way out of this if I can" act -- and eventually needs to be held firmly and bawls her poor little heart out. Fortunately after a couple of minutes she forgets why she's bawling, and settles down.

Off to the zoo, on which I'll have more to say in a separate post.

Yours, feeling shot,
N.

Goat farm pictures

We were met at the farm by Sophie

inspected the goats: nubian

socratic?

shady?

and the real reason to visit the farm: the egg production units.

Yours, in pictures,
N.

Getting my goat

No, not really: there is unfortunately an anti-livestock regulation in town: not that we'd get goats, but we might get chickens if we could.
And no, I'm not referring to Resident Bush either, "My Pet Goat", as it were.
No, I'm talking about taking the children to visit nature. And not nature as it was intended to be, nature as in a farm.
A goat farm.

We are very lucky to have a very nice facility nearby: a well kept, almost-organic, humanely-treating, goat farm, about three miles from our house. They sell home made cheese, goat's milk, eggs (they keep chickens too: the goats' eggs are less palatable) etc. And best of all, they welcome visitors, any time they are open!

So Boo and Skibo and I left LOML to get some work done yesterday afternoon, and headed over to the farm. We were met at the gate by Sophie, a Great Pyrenean Mountain dog, gentle as a (rather huge) lamb: she came up and demonstrated that her actual breed was "lovehound": her main interest seemed to be in leaning on me hard enough to push me over:-)
We checked in at the store, just to let the folks know we were wandering around, and visited goats, pigs, chickens, donkeys, dogs: almost like being at a petting zoo --- except that it was so open and free-ranging: even though the animals were penned in, it felt less zoo-like...

After visiting all the animals we returned to the shop, bought a couple of dozen eggs -- fresh laid, we know where they are from, they taste great: how can we go back to store bought eggs? -- and a few other things: including postcards with pen-and-ink drawings of Sophie and of one of the goats, to pin up in Boo and Skibo's bedroom, to remind them of the trip!

I'm uploading photos now, and will post some of the visit later. Especially of Sophie:-)


Yours, just farming out the work,
N.

Perhaps the greatest speech in Shakespeare

Perhaps: perhaps merely one of the greatest. Wherever it stands in the pantheon of great speeches, it is surely one of the best, perhaps by anyone.
It begins with persuasion: don't ask for more to be with us, for then we'd have to let them share our glory: and follows with a promise of glories yet to come, to be celebrated, drunk to in years to come. And it rises to a crescendo with the lines we all know: "We few, we happy few, we band of brothers", promising that those not present will pale in comparison, even in their own minds. I can't listen to Olivier or Branagh's versions without a shiver.

Today is the feast of St Crispin and St Crispinian, a day that will live beyond any knowledge of the day, the saints or the reason to celebrate. Other than, of course, the following:

King Henry V:

What's he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmorland. No, my fair cousin:

If we are marked to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honour.

God's will, I pray thee, wish not one man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,

Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;

It ernes me not if men my garments wear;

Such outward things dwell not in my desires:

But if it be a sin to covet honour,

I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:

God's peace, I would not lose so great an honour

As one man more, methinks, would share from me

For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more.

Rather proclaim it presently through my host,

That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart. His passport shall be made

And crowns for convoy put into his purse:

We would not die in that man's company

That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the Feast of Crispian:

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a-tiptoe when the day is named,

And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall see this day and live t'old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say "To-morrow is Saint Crispian":

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars

And say "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."

Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words

Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,

Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.

This story shall the good man teach his son;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,

From this day to the ending of the world,

But we in it shall be remember'd;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition:

And gentlemen in England now abed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. (IV, iii)

This always gives me goosepimples!
Yours, ashiver,
N.

It's beginning to look a lot like

It's (unfortunately) beginning to look a lot like deja vu all over again. Back in late 2002 and early 2003, when Boo was just a few months old, it was clear to both LOML and to me that Bush was determined to attack Iraq. At the time, as now, we were not sycophants of Bush. As such, we could see that some of his claims were questionable: there were plenty of sources, credible sources, questioning whether Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass distraction, not least the IAEA, who wanted most of all for their inspectors to be allowed to do their jobs. Boo got to attend quite a few vigils in a stroller in her early years: unfortunately none of them had any effect.

Today we learn that the Revolutionary Guard (boy, I bet they are wishing they had called themselves the Republican Guard right now) in Iran are officially being designated a proliferator of weapons of mass destruction. By the US, that is, in case there were any confusion. Its elite forces are being designated supporters of terrorism. These designations are accompanied by sanctions: this all sounds like a precursor to a drumbeat for attack.

The difference is, five years on, even in this country people are sceptical of anything that Bush or his administration says. And this time round that might even apply to the majority of democrats, perhaps even to a majority of those in Congress. If so, there is some hope that this inexorable swell to agression can be stopped in its tracks.

My suspicion is that if the administration wants to beat this drum, even here in the conservative south, they're going to discover massive opposition to their plans.

Yours, alarmed by the drumbeat,
N.

Not new to dogs

Awareness welcomed us earlier to dogland --- and I thought that perhaps I should point out that we are not new to dogs: we've had a dog now for more than 10 years --- our Sheltie/Chow mix was probably 5 years old when we adopted her in 1997, so she is really old now: unfortunately, it is beginning to show. I should point out that these photos were taken about 5 years ago, when they were both merely middle-aged or so!
We had to say goodbye to our Golden Retriever this past summer: we adopted him in August 2000, and he was probably already 6 then: he was definitely very old when he died this year: his face had a ton of grey and white in it. Thirteen years old is very old for a retriever, I gather, and I hope that we made his life fun for the years we shared with him!

Yours, doggedly,
N.

They call it fall because that's when the leaves turn

Wait, that doesn't make sense.
Anyway: the leaves have only just started to turn colour this week or so, and since we had an incredibly late harsh frost, and incredibly hot drought conditions through most of the summer, the predictions are that the season for vivid colours will be short and not particularly good.

Such is life --- if I can't post a picture of the leaves turning on the trees, at least I can present a fallen beauty. This was lying on the ground in a parking lot last Friday, and I had to pick it up and save it!

Yours, turning,
N.

It's not still summer

It really isn't still summer. It really isn't. The fact that it was 80 degrees Fahrenheit today (yes, that really is about 27 Celsius!) and it is nearly November is ridiculous. As was the sunset last week. Ridiculously beautiful.

Yours, rapt,
N.

Integrity on the right

I suggested a week or two ago that there were a few running for the Republican nomination for Resident of the White House who I think have some integrity. Some small integrity. One such is Mike Huckabee.

The following is an example --- I really believe he believes what he says is true. It is also incorrect. He says of the signers of the Declaration of Independence,
"most of whom, by the way were clergymen". I'm sure he believes it. And the fact that he believes it is exactly why someone like him shouldn't become President. He is willing to subvert facts to his beliefs.

The truth: perhaps as many as several were or had been clergymen. Nowhere near a majority. Probably not as many as 10 percent.

Yes, I think that he has integrity, and to Republican voters, especially those who want to believe the founders were ministers, it will probably serve him well. But his beliefs on so many issues are so far from reality that he is a really scary prospect.


Yours, getting ready for Hallowe'en,
N.

Political comedy

Just watching The Amazing Mrs Pritchard -- a wonderful satire on politics. Humour, drama, it's got the lot. It's amazing to see some old names from British politics appearing as cameos, and the impersonations of other voices like Blair have been very good too. For a political junkie like me, a royal treat:-)

N.

First photo of the new arrival

First photo of Monty

Fostering first

Well, LOML arrived home this afternoon with a lovely little cocker spaniel.
As yet unnamed (Boo wanted to name him "Boo", but that would just be too confusing!) So far, Monty looks like a possibility. Suggestions greatly appreciated (if probably ignored!)

Photos to follow -- they're taken, downloaded, being uploaded to be downloaded then uploaded.

Yours, still dogged,
N.