Botticelli

About 600 years ago, give or take, the Italian painter Botticelli composed this masterwork - Primavera - spring.  A hundred years ago, another Italian master, Respighi, composed a piece of music inspired by the Botticelli work.

It is a heavenly morning; cool, crisp, blue and a day to think thoughts of great things, beauty and good will.

Have a nice one.

...a little rain must fall....

Looks like our heat wave is over for a bit.

We were talking this a little while ago, during the midst of the thunderstorm, that there was something very reminiscent of childhood when it storms in the morning. Not so much the lightning but the rumble and vibrations of thunder. We like the echo as well as it seems to roll on forever.

We were watching the History Channel over the weekend and with the 4th of July coming up it is 149 years ago this 4th that the battle of Gettysburg came to its climax and Pickett's charge and all that senseless gallantry and wasted courage. War brings out the best and worst in man.  Anyway, prior to Pickett's charge, Lee had lined up a huge group of artillery to fire on the Union's positions to soften them up for the charge. The sheer number of cannons exceeded anything ever in the history of continent and supposedly the ground shook and the sound made it to Philadelphia.

My father fought in the South Pacific and remembers being on a ship before the landings and having all the battleships (seemingly) on earth go ker-pow all at once and it striking him that there was never on earth such an infernal noise. To the day he died he said he never could hear a rumble of thunder without thinking about that event.

I think about thunder in my mind's eye at a lake cabin in northern Minnesota 50 years ago, not being able to go fishing because sure as shooting we would get hit by lightning, and it being so dark we had to turn on the kerosene lamps as there was no electricity except that in the air.

Moonglow

It has been reputably reported that the moon is covered in dust.  Not our dust. Not our tumbleweeds in the unswept corner dust, nor the dust the mother in law finds on every visit try as one might. This is the finer stuff - little nano-grains of dust caused by the surface being pelted with meteors.

The astronauts of  nearly half a century ago noted that when they tromped around on the surface this nano-dust floated up and because it had so little mass it just floated for a bit like when you shake your rugs on a airless summer day.  The moon's "room dust" is chock full of little pieces of glass - again the work of the meteors smashing things with such force that they pulverized the moon rocks and the heat made something like glass.

We have no idea why this little factoid is of interest.  Perhaps because it was so close last month or just because - well just because. The adventure of landing on the moon seems utterly remote to us now; to think that an entire generation has never seen it live.  Instead of moving forward, our moon-heart skipped a beat.

Belling the Cat

We all come from a long line of "if onliers", as in "if only he/she would do this or that".  Catching ourselves in one of these wish lists is fine as far as it goes but to dwell endlessly on the "if only I would win the lottery" thinking is...., well it reminds me of a fable:

"Long ago, the mice had a general council to consider what measures they could take to outwit their common enemy, the Cat.  Some said this, and some said that; but at last a young mouse got up and said he had a proposal to make, which he thought would meet the case.  "You will all agree," said he, "that our chief danger consists in the sly and treacherous manner in which the enemy approaches us.  Now, if we could receive some signal of her approach, we could easily escape from her.  I venture, therefore, to propose that a small bell be procured, and attached by a ribbon round the neck of the Cat.  By this means we should always know when she was about, and could easily retire while she was in the neighbourhood."    This proposal met with general applause, until an old mouse got up and said: "That is all very well, but who is to bell the Cat?"  The mice looked at one another and nobody spoke.  Then the old mouse said:

 "It is easy to propose impossible remedies."

Corvus Corvidae

We have more than a few of these birds in our neck of the woods.  We wonder if their song were a bit sweeter to the ear that we might like them around a bit more.  Doubtful but possible although since they are omnivores (think: eat anything they can get their beaks around) they do a lot of good;  that fine line between cleaning up and scavenging.

We learned today that a group of crows is called a flock but also that it once was called a "murder" as in a murder of crows.  It is somewhat poetic but a distinction without a difference.

We were intrigued so we looked it up in the dictionary - (the last place anyone ever looks):

crow 1 (kr)
n.
1. Any of several large glossy black birds of the genus Corvus, having a characteristic raucous call, especially C. brachyrhynchos of North America.
2. A crowbar.
Idiom:
as the crow flies
In a straight line.

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[Middle English croue, from Old English crwe; see ger-2 in Indo-European roots. Sense 2, from the resemblance of its forked end to a crow's foot or beak.]
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crow 2 (kr)
intr.v. crowed, crow·ing, crows
1. To utter the shrill cry characteristic of a cock or rooster.
2. To exult loudly, as over another's defeat; boast. See Synonyms at boast1.
3. To make a sound expressive of pleasure or well-being, characteristic of an infant.
n.
1. The shrill cry of a cock.
2. An inarticulate sound expressive of pleasure or delight.

Well now we are getting somewhere!

If you don't get the point of this little ramble, it is that there are crows that fly and there are folks who crow.  Both travel in flocks and the noun/adjective "murders" is apropos to both.  They also make a great deal of unpleasant noise and are, to our ears, inarticulate.

Lessons learned. Case solved. Noted.

Ray Penney - only in America

Mr. Penney is a well known and highly regarded guitarist and performer/entertainer.  His presence has graced the East End for a long while and we are better off for him.  Mr. Penney is also very, very ill with leukemia.

Peconic Bay Winery is hosting a benefit for him tomorrow night (the 8th of June at 6pm).  The first reason should be for everyone to "pony up" to say thanks for what you brought to us.  The real reason is that Mr. Penney's illness has depleted bank accounts and created hardship.  The performers for this event are all good and it should be well worth going to on the music value alone. That you could be doing something to help out is the icing on the cake.

A few decades ago, one of us was in Stockholm, Sweden for work and the stay was extended.  As bad luck would have it, a short stay in the Karolinska Hospital was called for and when check out came, our friend was presented with a bill for 100 kroner, about $8.50 back then. 3 days. $8.50.

We mention this in regards to the partial title of this thread; "only in America".  The observation is correct that of the major industrialized and perhaps civilized nations on this earth, only in America would someone have to have a benefit concert to help a contributing citizen lessen the stark choices between treatment and food/shelter for his family.

"Oh, but it would cost too much" is the expected outcry.  But the question would then remain that creating a situation where "health care VERSUS food/shelter" costs us a lot more. Infinitely more.  It costs us our moral compasses and our souls.

Go enjoy the music. Do a good thing. Thank Peconic Bay for stepping in and helping out.  Until Washington "Comes to Jesus" as the saying goes on this, the community who has enjoyed the fruits of this man's labors is all he and his family have.

Once and eagle, always and eagle

A pretty fine example came to light Sunday when one of the young men of our Village was recognized as an Eagle Scout in the Court of Honor ceremony.  It is a very big deal not only for him but for his scoutmaster and for an interval we should think about this.  Landon Emmanuel Doroski attained this level of achievement by dedication and service.  His scoutmaster, Robert E. Waldon, Jr. of Troop 51 (the troop's home base is the Episcopal Church on Main), presided and obviously had more than a little to do with Landon earning this honor. 

We were discussing this the other evening with a friend who has a spouse involved with Scouts and who made the observation that both Misters Doroski and Waldon really are from the same cloth. Eagle Scout Doroski attained the honor by his good works, not only mastering skills to earn merit badges but in being first in line to do things around the Village and the area; essentially whatever he found that needed doing.   His Eagle project centered around the nature trail in Moore's Woods which is in the condition it is in because of Mr. Doroski's efforts (although he always uses the editorial "we" in describing it).

Mr. Waldon must be what we would call a community gem, obviously taking time that the rest of us have as well but not spending like he does, and applies it to these young men. The fruits of his efforts and sacrifice are realized in victories great and small, Mr. Doroski's being one of the major ones, but we doubt that Mr. Waldon would assume any credit. He appears to be a selfless man to do all this and would probably blush with the credit.

Point is that both of these gentlemen are the same.  One helped the other achieve something that is quite remarkable in this day and age and in turn, the honoree recognizes the leader for what he helped him and essentially guided him to accomplish.  When Mr. Doroski puts the flags on soldiers graves, cleans up a nature path, probably picks up litter on the street, he does so not because Mr. Waldon asks him to but because he probably felt that it would be something that Mr. Waldon would do and expect, but not demand, of others.

We need to revisit this some in the next while as we are in a Village where some inhabitants start every sentence with "me or I" and have frequently lost sight of the greater good. These two Scouts are a treasure of an example for us to follow.

Good for you Landon. Well done Mr. Waldon. We have the hope of being better for what you do.

die Pfütze

We loved that word from our German grandmother. Spiel! Pfütze!  Go play, the puddles await. We would gain our yellow raincoats with hoods and out we would go with never a question.  We aren't so lucky anymore as die Pfütze (puddles) have grown to be an annoyance at best and now that there is a soaking rain "afoot" we will have plenty to choose from today. So why this?

Into every one's life a bit of rain must fall and you either make the best of it or give in to it.

Our little village is full of those who jump in puddles and others who make the rain.  These "rainers" are the ones who poo-poo everything; to whom every inconvenience is a personal attack and for whom every response borders on all out war.  They are so perpetually gloomy that, as the saying goes, they would make a hyena cry.

We have been someone outspoken of late about these gloomy Guses, growing tired of the endless whining and faux-suffering.  True to form, they look at such observations as personal attacks.  The more one prodes and pokes at their seemingly endless strings of ill-logic the more they rain down on everyone and everything.

So we have made the decision that if they insist on making puddles, we are simply going to go play in them. Give us lemons and we will make lemonade. No one is going to rain on our parade.

Une barque sur l' océan

It has been a week since HMS Bounty sailed in and 4 days since it left. Watching it cast off was one of the magic moments and the swan-like exit from the pier was - well it was magic.

It is well to have seen sights like this. If just once.

Bon chance.