FAMILY FUN

Recently I have been missing New England. Maybe it's the change in season or the rain we've been having...whatever it is I have been thinking more about New England and the folks back east than normal. I miss things about Vermont which I have trouble explaining without sounding trite. I miss it with all five of my senses, and this time of the year is always the worst for me. This past Monday night Sarah and I had planned a family fun night for the kids including a movie and a campout in the living room, but I spontaneously added a walk around nearby Lake Fulmore to the agenda partly because the place vaguely reminds me of Vermont and Lake Champlain.

When we left Idyllwild it was sunny with relatively clear skies. One of the oddities of living so high in the mountains is that quite often it may be sunny at the top but the surrounding valleys are socked-in and overcast. We were unknowingly above the clouds and storm. As we drove down to the lake we descended into the clouds, and by the time we got to Fulmore we were right in the midst of a fine mist which necessitated the sporadic use of the van's windshield wipers.

We tried without success to get some group shots of the kids. Here are the many attempts. It is funny how usually three out of four of them look fine, and one of them is being a goof. It's almost like they plan it. "Okay, it's your turn, when he says cheese do something to ruin the picture."

Ah well.

We explored a rocky overhang which was used by Cahuilla indians as an encampment in ancient times. The mortar holes where they pulverized acorns are very clear. The kids busied themselves cleaning out the holes.

The overhang. "Look like Indians, kids."

Soot from their campfires.

Lake Fulmore is truly more of a pond, but it is beautiful. Especially on a misty day like this one. There are are paths bordered by low stone walls all the way around it as well as bridges and docks out over the water.

Walking in the clouds

Goldenrod! I miss Vermont.

After our walk around the lake we zipped back home and cooked hot dogs over a fire in the fireplace.

I'm not sure why Bowden looks so fierce here. Do you like his snake tattoo?

Maccaroni and cheese too!

Then, while Sarah took the kids upstairs for their bath, I got things ready for the big surprise- a movie and campout in the living room. They thought that all of the fun was over, but No!

We had just finished reading "The Wind in the Willows" at bedtime so I ordered the movie through the library. After hooking up the DVD player,  I set up camp, chucked another log on the fire, and popped some popcorn.

The kids were excited!

They loved the movie, which was fairly faithful to the story. I really enjoyed it too. Wasn't there an animated series based on the Wind in the Willows at one time? I seem to remember that.

Lucy did not make it to the end of the movie.

After the movie, Sarah and I herded them into the tent, and I sung them a few songs before they passed out. Despite all of the excitement they fell asleep really easily because it was quite a bit past their normal bedtime.

This is me pretending to be asleep.

A CONSERVATIVE'S PREDICTION FOR THE ARTS

The artistic/creative community is marked more than any other that I know by a desire to stand out and be noticed. What is the point of expressing yourself if nobody notices? I can feel the objections of my artist friends as I type- "It's not about that for me personally," they might say, "It's catharsis," or "telling a story," or "representing a cause," or "speaking for those who have no voice," blah, blah, blah...I'm as much a student of the human scene as anybody and, in my opinion, that's all a bunch of hooey. It is my personal opinion that this burning desire for an audience, recognition and, frankly, attention is the engine that keeps pushing the arts out ahead of society's norms. Artists just aren't content in that thick meaty center of the bell curve. (See my post from May, 2006) The artist's heart is drawn to the edges that taper to rarity- to be exceptional...bad or good, beautiful or ugly, famous or infamous...it's no matter so long as it is excpetionally so. So the question is what will artists do when the last frontiers of decency have been trammelled? What new territory will they be forced to pioneer in the pursuit of staying novel and worthy of notice? How will they shock people? My guess is that as our society sheds the last vestiges of its ability to blush, artists will be forced to swing back to the right to escape getting lost in the the clutter and crowd of all these crazed envelope pushers. That's my prediction. In the coming years I expect to see a new wave of artists who will escape irrelevance by charging hard to the right, and will find an audience and surprising success in their efforts to stand out from all of the Madonnas and Lady Gagas of the world ('cause standing out is what it's all about), but I expect it to be a shallow, revisionist or all-too-extreme picture of conservativism that they paint. I doubt I'll agree with them either. So if you are an uber-conservative artist from the future reading this post, I want you to know I was not shocked, surprised or impressed. I saw you coming.

BEARDS OF IDYLLWILD

Last night my Lucy-Goose was very sick. It was a long night, with much wretching and splattering into bowls. So 7:00 pm found me driving across town to fairway market where I would eventually drop $3.29 on a quantity of purple gatorade, which we, in my family, believe contains medicinal properties.

But before I could purchase said gatorade I bumped into a man outside fairway market who possessed a hoary beard of the finest quality! I think you will agree that it simply had to be photographed. Although I did not ask him to do so he struck a pose that he insisted would make him look like a viking (above).

This is his attempt at Santa Clause, likewise unsolicited.

Viking looking off the starboard side. Before returning to my nursing duties, with a sufficient supply of purple gatorade, I gave the good man a ride home. He was a good sport. 

Here is another snowey beard for you to enjoy. There is something about a well-kept, white beard that looks dignified. Am I right? This man, who was here at Camp Maranatha this weekend, advised me that he might have shaved once or twice, but otherwise has been bearded for the past thirty-three years.

"LET HER RUN!"

I was asked my opinion recently about something in the news, and although I have a clear, well-reasoned opinion on the matter I sidestepped the whole issue and changed the topic. The reason for dodging the debate/discussion was not that it was touchy or controversial, in fact I think the person asking already knew my position, or at minimum could have deduced it if he had tried. And it wasn’t for fear of damaging a relationship that I looked for the exit either. No, it wasn’t that at all. The truth was that I had simply grown tired of the sound of my own voice. It seems that my days are full of debate and discussion, and sometimes I just wish for relationships that were easier and required less diplomacy. It would be refreshing to have a group to retreat to that sees things as I do, like-minded. Maintaining a posture of persuasion is a taxing business. Even ships have their harbor, but at times I feel constantly at sea, and a choppy sea at that. So with no harbor in sight I’ve got to pace myself. You can’t turn the bow into every storm that presents itself. So sometimes I give the command, “Right full rudder, give me every inch of canvas!,” and I let her run before the storm. “I’m going below for some shut eye.”

TOM PING ON ASSIGNMENT IN THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

To follow Tom's adventures in China click on the image above.

COMMERCIAL IDEA

I am a complete teetotaler myself, but if a beer company wanted to avail themselves of my marketing genius I would give them this gem of an idea for a series of commercials to be run during the upcoming election cycle. As more and more americans turn to the news channels for information on the state of the elections I would recommend running a series of ads called "The Beer Party" on FOX news or something. We've all heard of the rise of the tea party, well in the commercials Americ would be introduced to "the beer party" and some of their hilarious policy positions. They might even nominate somebody for president- perhaps Bo Duke for President and Luke Duke for VP (...or vice versa? I can't keep those guys straight.) Can't you just see the secret service trotting along next to the General Lee?

SECRET SPOT

The house at 1580 Cranberry Street had been inhabited by five different families in the 27 years of its existence. First came the Taylors, newlyweds at the time, who oversaw the construction of the house in 1968. After nine years on Cranberry Street the Taylors moved into a larger place over on Mittner Avenue, and, and in the ensuing years, they rented the house to three more families in succession- the Fennicks, the Wades, and the Fascos. Then, as Amy Taylor was planning to head off to college, ownership of the place transferred to a retired couple, Mitch and Helen Dumbrowski, who moved in during the Spring of ’94.

By then, the once trim little house, had fallen into a sorry state of disrepair. The most pressing need was the roof, which leaked. There were other things too, little things mostly, and overall the house presented a neglected and shabby appearance to anyone who might be passing by on the Street. Mitch was handy, Helen was enthusiastic, and retirement afforded them both plenty of time to devote to the home’s rehabilitation. The Dumbrowskis were that sort of people who felt that the appearance of their corner of the world constituted a direct reflection on their character. So no sooner had they been handed the keys then they fell to the formidable task of setting things to right at their new house.

While Mitch prioritized and attended to the house’s maintenance needs, Helen tackled the yard. Her special passion was gardening. In fact, that and the price, had been the determining factor in their purchase of the house. The spacious backyard, half in the shade of a towering maple, half in full sun, and fully enclosed by an eight-foot wooden fence had sung a siren song to her as she and Mitch deliberated over the move. During escrow, Helen had filled her days diagramming hypothetical gardens and landscaping the front yard on pieces of scrap paper while Mitch lined up contractors and coordinated the assault on 1580 Cranberry Street.

One day in early May, as Helen was hauling away an old, tumble-down dog house from the back yard, she discovered the top of a thermos protruding from the ground under where the dog house had stood. Using the hammer she had been using she dug around the thermos until she was able to free it from the ground. It was a normal thermos, the sort a man might take to work with his lunch, and when Helen gave the cap a turn she was surprised to find that it turned easily. Inside she found two playboy magazines. They were folded in half and rolled up so that they could fit entirely within the thermos.

"Mitch," she called toward the house.

"Yes, dear?"

"Come look what I found."

Mitch appeared at the back door covered in saw dust, and walked across the backyard to where Helen was crouched over the thermos and its contents. She quickly recounted how she had found the thermos buried underneath the old dog house. Mitch was careful not to glance too long at the magazines and instead turned his attention to the dog house. He flipped it over and observed drawings and graffiti scrawled across the plywood interior of the house.

Pointing at his finding he said, "I bet it was some boy's club house."

"More like a hideout," said Helen disgustedly.

"Yeah," said Mitch.

 "I'll never understand boys fascination with this stuff," said Helen, "I'm glad you've never been that sort."

"Yeah," said Mitch.

FEDERAL COURT TAKES THE PEOPLE'S REPUBLIC OF VT TO TASK

JN36TN

Recently Read with sarah

from Roger Scruton, quoted in The Murder Room by P.D. James, page 263
The consolation of imaginary things is not imaginary consolation.