Tempus fugit

SOME REASONS NOT TO COMPLETELY DESPAIR ABOUT THE DEPLORABLE STATE OF COUNTRY MUSIC

These days when I accidentally tune in to a country station while driving, I am nearly driven to tears and occasional nausea. So much of it is … actually, crap would be a euphemistic way of describing it. But then I catch myself and think, hey, there are real country singers singing real songs out there, they just aren’t being played as much. Songs by Patti Griffin, Amanda Shires, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Brandi Carlile, and Emmylou Harris. For whatever reason, only female names occur to me this morning.

Way too many of the guy singers are of the sleeveless shirt, pickup truck, flag-waving, and let’s get blitzed variety. They also tend to reduce women to objects, but hey, that’s what guys do when they are drunk, don’t they? You know, “locker-room talk” and all that.

So today we are dropping in a couple of tunes by one of the most thoughtful singer/songwriters out there – Mary Chapin Carpenter.

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Our leaves are beginning to turn color now, here in the valley. The Canada geese are getting together in small groups and practicing flying from field to field and pond to pond. Judging by the amount of honking they’re doing, they are pretty excited about the whole process.

Each fall for the past several years we’ve had a two-day “Salute to Aviation” at our local airport. The armed forces fly in a handful of planes, park them near the terminal, and allow the public to come by and walk around the aircraft.

Of course at this point in life I don’t need to experience those big-time G-forces while pulling out of a dive in a fighter jet. All I need to do to lose consciousness is stand up.

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From The New Yorker

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I don’t know if I’ve ever described my morning routine to you. Once I’ve had my first cup of coffee and am almost fully awake, I walk to the bathroom and turn toward the mirror. I plant my feet firmly about 24 inches apart and square my shoulders.

Only then do I raise my eyes to regard my reflected image and say: “Okay, what you got for me today? A new bump or lump? Something else will stop working? Breaking new ground in the sagging department?”

If I can’t see any new damages I count myself lucky and go on with the business of tidying up the ruins of the Adonis-like creature that I once was. Who knew how important gravity would become? I suspect that if I woke up in the International Space Station I wouldn’t recognize myself in the mirror at all, absent the wrinkles and bags.

Tempus seems to fugit faster and faster every day.

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A couple of days ago I was taking off on my e-bike to ride to the gym when I made some error and ended up dumping my self and the bike on the ground. A quick damage assessment showed only a scraped left knee and a sore spot on the opposite quad.

That wasn’t what was most bothersome . It was when the bike righted itself, backed up a few feet, and took another run at me. Like a toreador, I dodged to the right and grabbed the handlebars as it passed, avoiding further injury.

Now this episode will come as no surprise to long-term readers of this blog, who are familiar with my belief that inanimate objects are not. Inanimate, that is. How else to explain so many oddnesses?

For instance, the car keys that you know you put in the drawer where they belong but are now in the pocket of the jeans that just came out of the washing machine.

Or the jar lid that simply will not come off even with the proper cursing and sweating, but then twirls off like a ballerina when your wife takes her shot at it.

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From The New Yorker

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Let me take a moment to praise the homely apple. Available in scads of varieties, the number of which is added to every year, delicious eaten raw or baked into some of the best comfort food in the universe, and handsome to look at, I think it may not be getting the respect it deserves.

Our local market tries to interest us in dragonfruit, papayas, and kiwis, which are all commendable fruits. But they ain’t from here. Apples don’t like the tropics, requiring colder climates to do their thing. If you’re looking hard to find a blessing in cold country living, the apple is one you might consider.

Yesterday a friend who has a small orchard gave us a large bag of Honeycrisp apples, and we are presently gorging ourselves on them (at least I am). it is also entirely possible that there is an apple crisp in my future.

And no matter which variety you choose to eat, you are almost guaranteed to be happy and satisfied. Almost. We need to be warned that there exists that paradox of fruits. The only apple variety which has none of the attributes we cherish. With its thick skin, mushy interior, and uninteresting flavor, the only thing it has going for itself is that it looks good. But its name itself is a lie.

So how did we get stuck with this loser? Here’s a young man who seems to know the answer. You don’t have to watch the video if you aren’t curious. Just don’t buy the dratted apple.

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