There’s nothing like the First day of Spring. So, special I’ll capitalize First. Twice.
Yeah, technically, it’s not the actual first First day of Spring, but here in south Texas Spring sprungs early.
This weekend was it. Warm sun. Cool breeze. Mosquitoes still asleep. Perfect.
I was all decked out. Gloves, old t-shirt with a peeling, snarky design that said “I’m with STUPID” over an arrow pointing to the right (love that shirt!), faded blue jeans and mud-crusted boots.
Let’s dig!
There was a lot to do. The compost needed turning. The trees needed trimming. The sheep were in the meadow and the cows were in the corn.
First. Day. of. Spring!
Humming to myself, I set out to greet the day. “Inna godda da vita, baby, doncha know my heart is true ...”
My reverie was broken by a shout from the garage.
“OMG! The sprinkler system, it no work!”
I was shocked, but pulled myself together and shouted back, “OMG! Your grammar, it no work!”
I thought about pondering a dirt clod I’d just dug up. Pretty little thing with what looked like half a worm hanging out. But that tiny part of my brain that keeps me from getting hit by a bus or doing things preceded by shouting, “Hey, y’all, watch this!” told me that I had better high tail it into the garage and find out what was wrong with the sprinkler system.
Or at least appear that I was concerned.
Yeah, that would do. “Concerned” generally involved “no work” and that was fine by me. Besides, a faulty sprinkler system wasn’t nearly as ripe as planting some shrubs, that, granted, might later dehydrate and die due to lack of aforementioned sprinkling, but already my cognitive resources were stretched to the limit and my brain was full.
One thing at a time.
Strolling into the garage I affected my best “concerned” with a hearty, “Wazzzzzzzzzzz?” complete with Jazz Hands.
“I thought I’d test out the lawn sprinkler system after that hard freeze and, so far, none of the zones work. I’ve tried them all. Maybe the valves are turned off.”
I heard most of that but it was along the lines of, “Blah blah sprinkler blah blah none blah blah work blah blah something off.”
Nodding my head knowingly I replied quite correctly and appropriately, “I’ll check into it.”
“I’ll check into it” is a phrase I learned many, many years ago and it has been a veritable timesaver. I can’t count the hours I’ve been able to go about my business, examining dirt clods or whatever, by the grace of “I’ll check into it.”
Occasionally, I have to provide an update and I can always get away with a couple of, “Still checking on it,” whatever “it” is. Maybe three times on a good day.
Today, though, as I was walking back to my shrub hole and that fascinating dirt clod I had one of those rare moments of insight.
If you pointed a Brain-O-Scope at my head you would have seen an old set of gears spinning into motion, engaging other gears and turning faster and faster until enough brainpower was generated to illuminate a small light bulb about a tenth as powerful as a nightlight flashing the word,
“E REKA!” (The “U” burned out years ago.)
From the dim past came a fragmented conversation. Somebody, I think it was the Sprinkler Repair Guy, telling me, “You have to drain the system for winter. Turn off these two valves and stick a screwdriver in here until the water stops squirting out. That will keep the back pressure valve from exploding in the Spring. Got it?”
I heard, “Blah blah blah two valves blah blah,” and I remember turning the two valves. I don’t recall no dripping thing after that.
Whatever.
I was quite pleased with myself that I had figured out why the sprinkler system wasn’t sprinkling: the water was turned off at the back pressure valve.
All I had to do was flip the valves to the “ON” position and we’d be in business.
I went around to the side of the house and was doubly pleased with myself to see the valves neatly turned to the “OFF” position. Next to examining dirt clods I love being right.
I bent down, grabbed the valve handle with my soft, little, inside-person hands and gave a mighty twist.
URRRRRRRRRRGggggggghhhhhhhh!
Nothing. I looked at my delicate palms and figured I’d have a nice bruise there in the morning. I lodged that away as my Excuse Number 55 for Not Doing Yard Work; should be good for a week. I needed a tool and I knew just the tool. This was a plumbing problem and every amateur plumber knows the best tool was a large pipe wrench.
I returned to the garage in confident strides, found my large, red pipe wrench exactly where I left it hanging about eight years ago, and returned to the scene, soon to become the Shrine to the Sprinkler Fixing Hero.
I bent over the pipe, fixed the wrench to the valve lever and gave it a mighty pull.
The valve turned as if buttered. Easy Peasy. I imagined a Hero’s Welcome.
Then, several things happened more or less at once. Actually, they happened in sequence, but so quickly it seemed to me it happened at once.
This is the chain of events in slow motion.
City water at mains pressure surged into the back pressure valve cavity generating a lot of pressure. The back pressure valve tried its best to shunt the excess pressure through the orifice beneath the brass cover and nearly succeeded. Unfortunately, the structural components that hold the whole thing together, that had been weakened by excessive freezing temperatures (and probably by not having been drained properly) gave up the ghost and failed catastrophically.
“Catastrophically” is a word that is followed by a brass cover shooting into my jaw followed by a spout of water attempting to reach a height of ten feet through my nose.
Of course, my first instinct was to drop the wrench and I acted on that. My second instinct told me that the entire city water reservoir was draining through this pipe and I had to shut the valve.
What would Captain Kirk do?
Must. Shut. Valve. Save. Spock.
I bent over the open valve, the jet of water pounded my chest and I scrabbled in the gravel for the wrench handle. After what seemed like an eternity or three seconds at least I got the jaws on the valve handle and wrenched it Righty Tighty. The wrong way.
Of course I wrenched it the wrong way! Righty Tighty, Lefty Loosey, but I was bending over the valve and had entered Bizarro World where everything is backwards. With water pounding even harder I wrenched the other Righty Tighty and the torrent ended with an audible “Glerk!”
I stood up and wiped water from my eyes and face just in time for the Audience to arrive.
“Wow! What happened to you? You’re all wet and I think you’re bleeding from the chin.”
“Just a flesh wound,” I said gallantly, “a scratch. I found the problem. The back pressure valve is broken. We’ll need to get the plumber out here to fix it.”
“But, what happened?”
“Nothing,” I replied, trying to hide the wrench behind my back.
“I see you got out The Wrench. Remember the last time you used The Wrench. Cost us about $200. What’s this going to cost us?”
“About the same. I could have drowned out here, you know,” I said trying to change the subject, “as if you're concerned. Seriously!”
Then came the unexpected.
Laughter.
First a little titter, then a couple of ha-ha’s and finally a long, extended bout of guffaws and rib-holding hilarity.
“Your shirt! Your shirt! Look at your shirt!”
I looked down. The force of the water had washed off some of the old, faded lettering. It no longer said “I’m with STUPID.”
The “with” was gone.
In silence I walked back to the garage making a squelching noise with each step and made a couple of mental notes:
Call plumber.
Recycle shirt.
Srsly.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Proof in the Berry
For all you skeptics out there here's the blueberry farm ...
... and the blueberries in a little plastic box just like I said.
Ain't that right, Kink?
... and the blueberries in a little plastic box just like I said.
Ain't that right, Kink?
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Berry Blues
"Hey, back from the gardening center already? Wha'd you buy?"
"I got a couple of blueberry bushes and a fig tree."
"Nice going! Blueberry pancakes in the morning and pork with figs on Wednesday."
"Uh, how do you figure that?"
"Easy peasy! Blueberries are ready to harvest in 4 hours and figs take a couple of days max. I'll go upstairs and print out some recipes."
"Not so fast, Emeril, how do you figure blueberries grow to harvest in 4 hours?"
"Aw, come on! I'm an expert blueberry farmer on FarmVille. You know, that farm game on Facebook. And figs, too. I've got an entire orchard of figs. Never actually thought of planting a real fig tree. How tall do they get? Do I need to go out and buy a ladder."
"A ladder? What for?"
"To harvest the figs on Wednesday, silly! I guess I could wait until Wednesday morning, see how tall the tree is and get the ladder then. You're right, that's more prudent."
"Do you know anything about blueberries or figs? I mean, really."
"Yeah, I know everything. It's pretty simple, actually. You click to create a plot of fallow ground, then you click to plow it, then you select blueberries and click to plant them. Then you wait 4 hours for the blueberry bushes to grow, click to harvest them and you're done!"
"What happens to the blueberries after you click to harvest them?"
I had to ponder that one. It was outside my Facebook worldview, but shortly I made the connection.
"Somehow they get transported in little plastic tubs to Kroger's," I offered as a reasonable explanation."
My wife considered this revelation carefully.
"Tell you what," she said at length, "we'll plant the blueberry bushes this afternoon. By the time we're asleep the berries will have been harvested and by morning they'll be at Kroger's in little tubs."
I nodded. She's a genius, my wife. I jumped on the thread.
"And I could get up early, go to Kroger's before breakfast, buy the berries, which are technically ours to begin with, but who's to argue with the right for Kroger's to make a little profit along the way, and we can still have blueberry pancakes!"
My wife smiled at me as she does to bichon frise owners or Volvo drivers, but to be fair a Volvo may have just driven by.
I smiled, too. Because I knew that from here on I could go up to Kroger's at any time and pick up my very own blueberries.
It's good to be king.
Now, about those figs ...
"I got a couple of blueberry bushes and a fig tree."
"Nice going! Blueberry pancakes in the morning and pork with figs on Wednesday."
"Uh, how do you figure that?"
"Easy peasy! Blueberries are ready to harvest in 4 hours and figs take a couple of days max. I'll go upstairs and print out some recipes."
"Not so fast, Emeril, how do you figure blueberries grow to harvest in 4 hours?"
"Aw, come on! I'm an expert blueberry farmer on FarmVille. You know, that farm game on Facebook. And figs, too. I've got an entire orchard of figs. Never actually thought of planting a real fig tree. How tall do they get? Do I need to go out and buy a ladder."
"A ladder? What for?"
"To harvest the figs on Wednesday, silly! I guess I could wait until Wednesday morning, see how tall the tree is and get the ladder then. You're right, that's more prudent."
"Do you know anything about blueberries or figs? I mean, really."
"Yeah, I know everything. It's pretty simple, actually. You click to create a plot of fallow ground, then you click to plow it, then you select blueberries and click to plant them. Then you wait 4 hours for the blueberry bushes to grow, click to harvest them and you're done!"
"What happens to the blueberries after you click to harvest them?"
I had to ponder that one. It was outside my Facebook worldview, but shortly I made the connection.
"Somehow they get transported in little plastic tubs to Kroger's," I offered as a reasonable explanation."
My wife considered this revelation carefully.
"Tell you what," she said at length, "we'll plant the blueberry bushes this afternoon. By the time we're asleep the berries will have been harvested and by morning they'll be at Kroger's in little tubs."
I nodded. She's a genius, my wife. I jumped on the thread.
"And I could get up early, go to Kroger's before breakfast, buy the berries, which are technically ours to begin with, but who's to argue with the right for Kroger's to make a little profit along the way, and we can still have blueberry pancakes!"
My wife smiled at me as she does to bichon frise owners or Volvo drivers, but to be fair a Volvo may have just driven by.
I smiled, too. Because I knew that from here on I could go up to Kroger's at any time and pick up my very own blueberries.
It's good to be king.
Now, about those figs ...
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Valentine's Day - Sort of
(Editorial note: The previous post about Sin Zin was number 666. Oh, yeah, the Devil made me do it!)
Now, Valentine's Day.
I have a checkered past about Valentine's Day. OK, to be truthful a "checkered" past would be about even-steven good days and bad days, like a checker board. About 50-50. On even years, for example, I would have pulled out all the stops: dinner, dancing, cards, flowers, limos, livestock and the whole nine yards.
Odd years would be nothing. Nada. Zip. Not even a Hallmark "Roses are red, violets are blue ..." No, that would be Zilch.
But, in actuality I'm like mostly a black checker board with a few white spaces. Mostly zilch and little zap.
Alas.
So, for this year I decided to think ahead and managed flowers, an old cat and vegetable soup with dumplings!
Get it? Dumplings?
Check out the pics below. I think this is my lucky night!
Now, Valentine's Day.
I have a checkered past about Valentine's Day. OK, to be truthful a "checkered" past would be about even-steven good days and bad days, like a checker board. About 50-50. On even years, for example, I would have pulled out all the stops: dinner, dancing, cards, flowers, limos, livestock and the whole nine yards.
Odd years would be nothing. Nada. Zip. Not even a Hallmark "Roses are red, violets are blue ..." No, that would be Zilch.
But, in actuality I'm like mostly a black checker board with a few white spaces. Mostly zilch and little zap.
Alas.
So, for this year I decided to think ahead and managed flowers, an old cat and vegetable soup with dumplings!
Get it? Dumplings?
Anyway, here's the blueprint:
Flowers from 1-800-Flowers
Cat from the Animal Shelter, circa 2007.
Vegetable soup prepared from fresh vegetables simmered in vegetable stock with a bay leaf.
Dumplings from Bisquick with a cup of milk.
Check out the pics below. I think this is my lucky night!
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
The Sin of Zin
What is it with Zinfandel wines??
Back in the day the zins used to be the Wine of the Day, not something special.
Over time the zins got supplanted by the cabernet sauvignon and in turn by the pinot noirs, but the zins always hovered in the background as the wine to have if you wanted something more robust than a pinot but less heavy than a cab sav.
Zinfandels used to be labeled as Beringer Zinfandel, Simi Zinfandel, Mirassou Zinfandel and so forth.
Not any more.
Check out these labels:
I'm not sure what to think about these labels but the wines sure are good!
I especially like Flock by Smoking Loon which is quite different from other wines under that label. It has a rich, smooth, old taste with a nice finish and not much after-finish. That is, it goes down smoothly and doesn't kick you in the ass as a reminder.
Nice touch.
I approve this message.
Back in the day the zins used to be the Wine of the Day, not something special.
Over time the zins got supplanted by the cabernet sauvignon and in turn by the pinot noirs, but the zins always hovered in the background as the wine to have if you wanted something more robust than a pinot but less heavy than a cab sav.
Zinfandels used to be labeled as Beringer Zinfandel, Simi Zinfandel, Mirassou Zinfandel and so forth.
Not any more.
Check out these labels:
I'm not sure what to think about these labels but the wines sure are good!
I especially like Flock by Smoking Loon which is quite different from other wines under that label. It has a rich, smooth, old taste with a nice finish and not much after-finish. That is, it goes down smoothly and doesn't kick you in the ass as a reminder.
Nice touch.
I approve this message.
Sunday, February 07, 2010
Tamagoyaki, I go yummy!
Years ago I bought a Japanese omelette pan. I had no idea how to use it so I used it like a regular omelette pan. The results were not good. I fell back to my traditional omelette pan and forgot about the "square experiment."
Silly me.
Recently, a friend of mine showed me how to use a Japanese omelette pan to make tamagoyaki, a Japanese omelette.
"It's done like this," he said.
"Ah, so!" I said.
Now our weekend breakfasts have jumped a level. Last weekend we had tamagoyaki with sautéed talapia filets and this weekend we had experimental mushroom and cheese tamagoyaki with miso soup, rice and bacon. (On the theory that everything goes better with bacon!)
Here's the blueprint:
The key to tamagoyaki is oiling and rolling. The pan should be only lightly oiled using a paper towel dampened in oil. That's all you need. Use only a little egg and rely upon successive layers to build up the omelette.
Like this.
Step one, pour a little of the beaten eggs into a very lightly greased pan.
Step two, after the eggs have started to set, remove from heat and gently roll up eggs as shown.
Step 3 push the egg roll to the other end of the pan and regrease it lightly using the soaked paper towel.
Step 4 and beyond. Add more egg, Roll and push and regrease. Repeat 3-4 layers.
When you are done, dump the omelette on a plate to cool slightly and cut into chopstick bites.
The result.
Here's a Japanese YouTube that shows the process although I didn't do all the flipping stuff, I simply rolled it up using chopsticks!
At least you see here how it's done.
Silly me.
Recently, a friend of mine showed me how to use a Japanese omelette pan to make tamagoyaki, a Japanese omelette.
"It's done like this," he said.
"Ah, so!" I said.
Now our weekend breakfasts have jumped a level. Last weekend we had tamagoyaki with sautéed talapia filets and this weekend we had experimental mushroom and cheese tamagoyaki with miso soup, rice and bacon. (On the theory that everything goes better with bacon!)
Here's the blueprint:
For the tamagoyaki.
several eggs (I used 5 for two people)
oil (I used seasoned Wok oil)
For the miso soup.
small bowls
miso paste
dried seaweed
firm tofu chopped
hot water
The key to tamagoyaki is oiling and rolling. The pan should be only lightly oiled using a paper towel dampened in oil. That's all you need. Use only a little egg and rely upon successive layers to build up the omelette.
Like this.
Step one, pour a little of the beaten eggs into a very lightly greased pan.
Step two, after the eggs have started to set, remove from heat and gently roll up eggs as shown.
Step 3 push the egg roll to the other end of the pan and regrease it lightly using the soaked paper towel.
Step 4 and beyond. Add more egg, Roll and push and regrease. Repeat 3-4 layers.
When you are done, dump the omelette on a plate to cool slightly and cut into chopstick bites.
The result.
Here's a Japanese YouTube that shows the process although I didn't do all the flipping stuff, I simply rolled it up using chopsticks!
At least you see here how it's done.
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Happy Homecoming Day
Three years ago there was a new cat in the hood.
This little guy.
We fed him and watered him and made sure he got plenty of sun and the occasional, (OK, many!) cat snacks.
And he grew into this handsome guy.
Happy Homecoming Day, Kink, and many more!
This little guy.
We fed him and watered him and made sure he got plenty of sun and the occasional, (OK, many!) cat snacks.
And he grew into this handsome guy.
Happy Homecoming Day, Kink, and many more!
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Friday, January 01, 2010
Year of the What?
A friend of mine gives each new year a theme. She’s been doing this for about a decade. It’s a neat idea and I admire her greatly for her creativity.
So, of course, I do my best to be a copycat and I’ve set themes for the year for about three years running.
Unfortunately, I usually forget what the theme is by January 3rd and I’ve forgotten all about themes in general by January 7th.
Good while it lasted, I guess. If I could remember.
This year I decided not to have a theme. No Theme O’ the Year for me. Nope. Themeless. Goes right along with clueless and shiftless and, well, you get the idea.
Then Kink suggested (because he’s curious, you know) that I check out Beth’s blog and see if she set a theme. Maybe she gave up on themes. Yeah, that would be cool! I’d be one up on her, leading the pack, head of the class, advent guarde and then she’d be copying me ...
Alas, Kink old buddy, we were too late. The theme was set and true to form it’s imaginative and cool and creative and all that. We’re left with one choice and only one choice.
Copycat!
To help us remember the theme we’re going to pick a theme that reminds us everyday what it is. No longer will we have this conversation when guests come over:
“Why do you have signs on the wall that say ‘Year of the Plumber’?”
“I have no idea.”
This year is going to be different. This year we’re going to start each day remembering the theme, doing the theme, BEING ONE WITH THE THEME!
And the Theme for 2010 is (drum roll, please)
Now, before certain members of the household get all huffy and disappointed that their favorite themes weren’t chosen, like, Year of Getting Things Done Around the House or Year of Kat Snax let me point out all the merits of Breakfast.
Breakfast starts the day.
Breakfast sets the tone.
Breakfast is the most important meal.
Breakfast is lots of other things too obvious to point out.
Therefore, in honor of selecting the Theme of the Year - Breakfast, what better way to get started than to have
Breakfast!
And, here it is! The first Breakfast of the year, a New Year’s Breakfast of Champions!
Oatmeal, because it’s healthy and we’re all about healthy.
Coffee, because, well, DUH, it’s COFFEE!
Black Eyed Peas, because it’s New Year’s.
Chocolate Hazelnut Torte with Chocolate Ganache, because we can.
And, Bacon, because Everything is Better with Bacon.
I’d say I’m off to a splendid start and I can hardly wait to see what tomorrow brings!
So, of course, I do my best to be a copycat and I’ve set themes for the year for about three years running.
Unfortunately, I usually forget what the theme is by January 3rd and I’ve forgotten all about themes in general by January 7th.
Good while it lasted, I guess. If I could remember.
This year I decided not to have a theme. No Theme O’ the Year for me. Nope. Themeless. Goes right along with clueless and shiftless and, well, you get the idea.
Then Kink suggested (because he’s curious, you know) that I check out Beth’s blog and see if she set a theme. Maybe she gave up on themes. Yeah, that would be cool! I’d be one up on her, leading the pack, head of the class, advent guarde and then she’d be copying me ...
Alas, Kink old buddy, we were too late. The theme was set and true to form it’s imaginative and cool and creative and all that. We’re left with one choice and only one choice.
Copycat!
To help us remember the theme we’re going to pick a theme that reminds us everyday what it is. No longer will we have this conversation when guests come over:
“Why do you have signs on the wall that say ‘Year of the Plumber’?”
“I have no idea.”
This year is going to be different. This year we’re going to start each day remembering the theme, doing the theme, BEING ONE WITH THE THEME!
And the Theme for 2010 is (drum roll, please)
Year of the Breakfast
Now, before certain members of the household get all huffy and disappointed that their favorite themes weren’t chosen, like, Year of Getting Things Done Around the House or Year of Kat Snax let me point out all the merits of Breakfast.
Breakfast starts the day.
Breakfast sets the tone.
Breakfast is the most important meal.
Breakfast is lots of other things too obvious to point out.
Therefore, in honor of selecting the Theme of the Year - Breakfast, what better way to get started than to have
Breakfast!
And, here it is! The first Breakfast of the year, a New Year’s Breakfast of Champions!
Oatmeal, because it’s healthy and we’re all about healthy.
Coffee, because, well, DUH, it’s COFFEE!
Black Eyed Peas, because it’s New Year’s.
Chocolate Hazelnut Torte with Chocolate Ganache, because we can.
And, Bacon, because Everything is Better with Bacon.
I’d say I’m off to a splendid start and I can hardly wait to see what tomorrow brings!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Happy New Year!
Once in a Blue Moon you'll see a picture like this.
Happy Blue Moon!
(Nikon D60, 200mm Nikkor VR, f11, 125/sec, handheld!)
Happy Blue Moon!
(Nikon D60, 200mm Nikkor VR, f11, 125/sec, handheld!)
Friday, December 25, 2009
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Ten Pack
It's December 20th.
In two days it will be Twelve Two Two and there will be Fondue. Watch this space for a live video feed of the festivities starting Tuesday afternoon.
Meanwhile, have you had enough of the Ten Best lists yet? Not me! Those lists save time and are non-fattening. Great combination.
Here's a selection of stories from Twelve Two Two Fondue past. I call it a Ten Pack rather than a "top ten" or a "best of" because I just picked them myself.
I hope you enjoyed them.
In two days it will be Twelve Two Two and there will be Fondue. Watch this space for a live video feed of the festivities starting Tuesday afternoon.
Meanwhile, have you had enough of the Ten Best lists yet? Not me! Those lists save time and are non-fattening. Great combination.
Here's a selection of stories from Twelve Two Two Fondue past. I call it a Ten Pack rather than a "top ten" or a "best of" because I just picked them myself.
Lightly Toasted
Social Dis-Ease
Pick Right
Crab Redux
The Giver
Casa Bonita
Go-Te-Bo
Lawnmower Man
Manchester 0, Dragonfly 1
Home Again
I hope you enjoyed them.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Ten Years Ago
I thought it would be fun to post our annual Christmas letter from 1999. Party like 1999, Garth! Also, we had a recent "Nobbs Sighting." Yes, the old boy is still kicking around the neighborhood.
1999
It makes you wonder if something is wrong when the cat chooses to live on the streets rather than stay at home. Granted, the Farrell’s moved in June but only about a mile from the old place, certainly not justification for Nobbs the Cat abandoning pretty nice digs with a swimming pool and an endless supply of Cat Chow for a life of sleeping in doorways, eating out of trash bags and picking up aluminum cans for spare change. He hitches a ride home every so often for some fresh shrimp to eat and clean clothes to sleep on, then he saunters back to the mean streets of Sugar Land where he is king. Well, so long as he’s happy.
In fact, his is not unlike the kid’s lifestyle. They use home as a place to eat, sleep, make phone calls and catch a lift to the next of their never-ending activities. If the van could talk it would describe its year as a continuous, frenetic journey between soccer games and tournaments and referee clinics, basketball games, driving lessons, Boy Scout meetings, campouts and adventures, orchestra and band concerts, birthday parties, and emergency shopping trips to purchase school supplies on Sunday nights at 9 PM. Oh, yeah, and picking up Nobbs every week or so for a hot meal and a delousing. Life in the 90’s.
All journeys have their highlights and this year has been no exception. It got off to an exciting start with soccer goalie Helen breaking her wrist trying to defend against a hard kick. The score: wrist 0, soccer ball 1. Today, Helen’s wrist is as good as new, in fact, even better. Helen knew that when Nobbs broke his toe last year it had to be amputated, so, all in all, she’s feeling pretty good about how her wrist turned out. She now has the uncanny ability to predict changes in the weather, a handy skill to have here in south Texas, and she manages to get out of activities that require heavy lifting because of her “poorly wrist”, don’t you see. Nobbs can still climb trees to murder birds, so everybody’s happy.
Still in January, Bill ran his first marathon, yes, folks, that’s 26 point two miles, and to this day he’s more than a little irritated at whoever tacked on that two-tenths of a mile at the end because after passing the big 26 mile marker the finish line is way the heck down the street. It just doesn’t seem fair. On the bright side he gets to do it again in a few weeks. It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since he was limping around the house on sore feet whimpering “Oh!”, “Ah!” and avoiding stairs. Houston Marathon, January 16th, 2000. He’ll be there.
Spring was a blur of soccer games and referee clinics. Helen, Sarah and Claire qualified as soccer referees and actually got paid for strutting around in nifty, black uniforms, waving flags, blowing whistles and generally looking officious. Claire also played on a team, as did Chris who complained about bad calls made by whistle-blowing, officious-looking referees. Soccer generally involved being three places at once with two vehicles, and occasional trips to San Antonio which introduced Claire to the art of map reading at night and caused Helen to “lose it” only a few times. Soccer was interrupted, briefly, for a skiing trip to Colorado to visit the Day’s in their splendid mountain home. Everybody returned intact and well-fed.
In June the Farrell’s moved to a spacious new house gaining a swimming pool, two extra rooms, an enormous kitchen, and losing, to some extent, one ungrateful cat. Summer was punctuated by a few short trips with people going in all directions: Sarah to Bartlesville, Chris and Bill to Scout camp, Claire to Las Vegas (doesn’t it just figure) leaving Helen with a magical week of being “home alone”. We won’t count Helen’s sojourns to Rio de Janeiro on “business”. The whole clan descended upon Phoenix for a few days in July to visit the senior Farrell’s who celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in December followed shortly thereafter by Farrell Senior’s 80th birthday. A fine way to end the century by any account.
Life became less hectic as Sarah earned her driving license in September and was able to perform chauffeuring duties when Bill and Helen were stuck in traffic on the way home from work. She serves as a taxi for Nobbs, Chris and Claire. Nobbs seems the most grateful.
And, that, as they say, is that for 1999; end of the year and, as far as we’re concerned, end of the century. Claire (who else?) is in charge of the New Year’s Eve party. We’ll have champagne, set all the clocks in the house to go off at midnight, pick up Nobbs and feed him shrimp until he barfs on the carpet. It’ll be great! See you next century!
Postscript
Born this day in Billings, Montana, to William and Maddie Farrell, young William Farrell (b1919-d2005), Architect, Army veteran, friend to many and my father. He would have been 90 today.
It makes you wonder if something is wrong when the cat chooses to live on the streets rather than stay at home. Granted, the Farrell’s moved in June but only about a mile from the old place, certainly not justification for Nobbs the Cat abandoning pretty nice digs with a swimming pool and an endless supply of Cat Chow for a life of sleeping in doorways, eating out of trash bags and picking up aluminum cans for spare change. He hitches a ride home every so often for some fresh shrimp to eat and clean clothes to sleep on, then he saunters back to the mean streets of Sugar Land where he is king. Well, so long as he’s happy.
In fact, his is not unlike the kid’s lifestyle. They use home as a place to eat, sleep, make phone calls and catch a lift to the next of their never-ending activities. If the van could talk it would describe its year as a continuous, frenetic journey between soccer games and tournaments and referee clinics, basketball games, driving lessons, Boy Scout meetings, campouts and adventures, orchestra and band concerts, birthday parties, and emergency shopping trips to purchase school supplies on Sunday nights at 9 PM. Oh, yeah, and picking up Nobbs every week or so for a hot meal and a delousing. Life in the 90’s.
All journeys have their highlights and this year has been no exception. It got off to an exciting start with soccer goalie Helen breaking her wrist trying to defend against a hard kick. The score: wrist 0, soccer ball 1. Today, Helen’s wrist is as good as new, in fact, even better. Helen knew that when Nobbs broke his toe last year it had to be amputated, so, all in all, she’s feeling pretty good about how her wrist turned out. She now has the uncanny ability to predict changes in the weather, a handy skill to have here in south Texas, and she manages to get out of activities that require heavy lifting because of her “poorly wrist”, don’t you see. Nobbs can still climb trees to murder birds, so everybody’s happy.
Still in January, Bill ran his first marathon, yes, folks, that’s 26 point two miles, and to this day he’s more than a little irritated at whoever tacked on that two-tenths of a mile at the end because after passing the big 26 mile marker the finish line is way the heck down the street. It just doesn’t seem fair. On the bright side he gets to do it again in a few weeks. It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since he was limping around the house on sore feet whimpering “Oh!”, “Ah!” and avoiding stairs. Houston Marathon, January 16th, 2000. He’ll be there.
Spring was a blur of soccer games and referee clinics. Helen, Sarah and Claire qualified as soccer referees and actually got paid for strutting around in nifty, black uniforms, waving flags, blowing whistles and generally looking officious. Claire also played on a team, as did Chris who complained about bad calls made by whistle-blowing, officious-looking referees. Soccer generally involved being three places at once with two vehicles, and occasional trips to San Antonio which introduced Claire to the art of map reading at night and caused Helen to “lose it” only a few times. Soccer was interrupted, briefly, for a skiing trip to Colorado to visit the Day’s in their splendid mountain home. Everybody returned intact and well-fed.
In June the Farrell’s moved to a spacious new house gaining a swimming pool, two extra rooms, an enormous kitchen, and losing, to some extent, one ungrateful cat. Summer was punctuated by a few short trips with people going in all directions: Sarah to Bartlesville, Chris and Bill to Scout camp, Claire to Las Vegas (doesn’t it just figure) leaving Helen with a magical week of being “home alone”. We won’t count Helen’s sojourns to Rio de Janeiro on “business”. The whole clan descended upon Phoenix for a few days in July to visit the senior Farrell’s who celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary in December followed shortly thereafter by Farrell Senior’s 80th birthday. A fine way to end the century by any account.
Life became less hectic as Sarah earned her driving license in September and was able to perform chauffeuring duties when Bill and Helen were stuck in traffic on the way home from work. She serves as a taxi for Nobbs, Chris and Claire. Nobbs seems the most grateful.
And, that, as they say, is that for 1999; end of the year and, as far as we’re concerned, end of the century. Claire (who else?) is in charge of the New Year’s Eve party. We’ll have champagne, set all the clocks in the house to go off at midnight, pick up Nobbs and feed him shrimp until he barfs on the carpet. It’ll be great! See you next century!
Postscript
Born this day in Billings, Montana, to William and Maddie Farrell, young William Farrell (b1919-d2005), Architect, Army veteran, friend to many and my father. He would have been 90 today.
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