HOME STRETCH

Unless the Sky Falls, in one week we shall have a momentous election result which should have the salubrious effect of bringing the excesses of the last eight years of federal lawlessness to an abrupt end. And, it is hoped, we shall see something of The Second Son, the one who has spent, in addition to the time he spends at school and with friends and sleeping in, between 25 and 40 hours a week working for the Democrats. Driving, calling, organizing, campaigning. I hope he doesn't suffer Post Election Let Down, but we'd be glad to see more of him about the house.
But we're seeing a little less of Number One Son, who has just finished his yurt, and so is now spending his nights in the back yard, at one with the nomads and the itinerant. Well, sure, fine, whatever.
And we're also bearing down on Halloween, which coming on a Friday, will be especially sweet-- no homework looming for the next day. The pizza will be ordered, the trick or treaters will come, and the weather forecaster types are predicting cool but decent air for the night. Fingers crossed that they get it right....

TELEPORTION

I was cleaning the kitchen table-- not a trivial matter when you consider it hasn't been excavated in weeks, and it's around 40 square feet of surface-- and came upon a bamboo tea caddy. Wondering whether anything was in it, I unscrewed the top, and spilled out some dark, crisp woody tea leaves. I stuck my nose in, and sniffed and
Was instantly transported to a remoter than remote Laotian village in January about five years ago. It was cold in the morning, and damp and grey. The roosters had been making steady racket since maybe 3:30, and sleep had been a challenge. In a raised pole hut with no walls, just a railing to keep the family's small children from accidentally falling to the ground below, the night time temperature was probably in the low 40s. A bunch of villagers and the village head man had caroused past midnight, the floor under the sleeping bag was hard, and animals both domestic and wild seemed to be trying out for some sort of animal noise competition.
So when morning officially came and the fire was started and some water boiled, we were all ready for tea. Stiff, chilled and groggy, we huddled around the fire and made tea, a dark and smoky brew, Green Parrot Brand, imported from Vietnam but ubiquitous in Laos (and something we had never encountered while actually in Vietnam itself). There is tea, and then there is TEA and this stuff is the latter. Just the thing to get one's engine started on a chilly morning in the jungle a long way from anywhere...
And then I was back in my kitchen, looking down at the tea and shaking my head and it was Maine and it was now. And, I thought, it was just about time for a nice pot of tea...

July 19th, Post Game Ice Cream

The Ticking Time Bomb Comes Home

Agley is how Number One Son's plans might have been said to have ganged, but I don't think even he feels that way. Yes, it's true that in June, the mortar board and gown had seemingly just been doffed when he headed west to The East, there to seek, if not his fortune, at least a job in the Middle Kingdom, at to dwell there at least for a while, perhaps a year or so. But though there were several small successes and some adventures of the pretty cool sort, pushing and shoving came to pass, largely from The Visa People, and rather than dance madly around the robins, he packed his kit back and headed home, where he landed with all wheels touching down at the same time, a soft landing and a welcome back, and to stay for a while again he is here once more, and there is general gladness and tranquility.
Then again, there is the urgent need upon him to built the yurt (or ger, as he would (admittedly more accurately) insist upon calling it) in the back forty, but this burden can be born and endured, and it is to be hoped that the thing is a success. Time, that great tattletale, shall tell.
Meanwhile, the calendar hints that Fall is fell once more, and the Soccer Schedule confirms the fact, as we sit in our folding chairs in the cold, drizzle and damp, watching Sons Two, Three and Four sally forth and back over sodden fields, all the while attempting to chivy the defenseless leather orb past the unfortunate goalie of the hostile opponents.
If one thought about it too much, one might think, "Wait, if this is Fall, Winter might be coming soon!" and shiver in anticipation and think about thoughts of preparation. Luckily, no one has time for such things, we're all too busy keeping up with today, which is fain upon us....