As Arnold Says, I’ll Be Back
Bill and I are leaving this weekend for a big adventure, one that should generate a few blog stories. We are ultimately heading to visit our family in Vermont; however, we are taking an interesting and, hopefully, a fun route. We will fly into NYC, spend a night in the city, and then get on a train – the Vermonter – to travel directly to Montpelier where our family lives. I am mostly telling you all this because there is a likelihood – though not a certainty – that my blogging will be hit-or-miss. I have been quite faithful about my Monday – Saturday blogging, except for rare occasions that mostly involved hospital visits. But I might take a day or two of vacation. Don’t worry. I will be back! In the meantime, I will be kissing and hugging our two Vermont grandchildren.
August is a busy birthday month for us. Not only was Court born on August 8 and Jll on August 17, but we have a total of three – count ‘em – three grandchildren’s birthdays in August. Dagny opens up the festivities on August 7 (this year she turned 10); next comes Micah, who turned 4 yesterday (though he’s pretty sure he’s 5; quite insistent, in fact); Kaiya finishes off the celebrating on August 22, when she will turn 8. This year I have a perfect trifecta of being absent for the birthdays. I was in Estes Park for Dagny’s, Micah was in a car yesterday driving back to Vermont from a Chicago visit with his parents, and I will be in Vermont for Kaiya’s celebration. Dang. Still, they are all special……
Wrap it Up
Every year about this time, I lose my will to live when it comes to my garden flowers. They start looking leggy. Rain is scarce, so they require more watering. I am totally fed up to here of hauling hoses and watering cans back and forth. This year, in particular, I have given up. I will give my flowers a good soaking before we leave, and then will see how they fare in the week we are gone. Survival of the fittest and all. If God wants them to live, he will send rain. My vegetable garden is kind of sad. It was going great guns until a hail storm a few weeks ago pretty much did it in. My cherry tomato plant looks pretty good, but the tomatoes are scarce. My jalapeno plant has been providing peppers for a few weeks. My other pepper plant has peppers, but they are supposed to be orange and still aren’t. I might ask my neighbor to throw some water on my vegetable garden just to prove I’m not the Hannibal Lector of the garden world. Despite my crabby attitude, my petunias are pretty….
God of Wine: Who Knew?
Bill and I, in an effort to not produce any leftovers a couple of days before we leave, dined out last night. (I’m putting a good spin on the motive because the fact of the matter is that I simply didn’t feel like cooking.) As we waited for a table to come available at our neighborhood Italian restaurant – Piccolo’s – Bill noticed a Roman bust hanging on the wall in the bar area in which we were seated. “Who do you guess that is?” he asked me. Not knowing the first thing about Roman history, I guessed the only Roman I knew who might be on a bust – Julius Caesar. “I think it’s Alexander the Great,” Bill said. I would have been satisfied at that point, but he, of course, looked it up. “Nope, I’m wrong,” he said. “Alexander the Great isn’t shown with a beard.” “Really?” I faked interest. “Whatevah,” I actually thought. One would think it would be over, wouldn’t one? But while we were dining, the restaurant’s proprietor, Vince Canino, walked by. Bill called him over and asked him about the bust. Rather than looking annoyed like I suspected he would, Vince instead laughed and said, “I will give you one hint. He’s the god of wine.” Without missing a beat, Bill said, “Oh, Bacchus.” He was, of course, correct. “How did you know?” I asked him. “Oh, everyone knows that,” Bill said, at which point I wanted to dump my wine over him and let the god of wine clean it up!
Finally, on our way home last night, we spotted the most beautiful full moon you can imagine. With my World’s Worst Phone Camera and my World’s Worst Photography Skills, I attempted to capture the image.
It reminded me of a poem my grandmother used to say when there was a full moon. Pardon my misspelled German words:
Mund, du bist so glucklich; glucklicher als ich.
Eins war ich glucklicher als du.
Er kusste mich, and du sas zu.
Which loosely means
Moon, you are so lucky; luckier than I.
Once I was luckier than you.
He kissed me, and you only watched.
Don’t ask me why I can remember that poem because I can barely remember what day of the week it is. However, Grammie recited the poem enough to us that when Bec was a little girl, whenever there was a full moon, she would tell our parents, “Look, the moon is glick glick. Last night’s moon was glick glick.