Cooler But Not Cold

Perfect for using the lawnmower to grind up leaves brought to the yard (from the neighbor across the street who doesn’t care to rake) by Old Mother Westwind.

Not our yard

Not our yard

Pax and I are very much enjoying the deserted campus. Great place to walk.

The Hunter’s Wooing
—Ruth Muskrat
Come roam the wild hills, my Cherokee Rose, 
Come roam the wild hills with me. 
We’ll follow the path where the Spavinaw flows, 
Dashing wild on its way to the sea, 
On its wearisome way to the sea. 
We’ll chase the fleet deer from its lair in the woods;
We’ll follow the wolf to his den. 

When the sun hides his face, we’ll rest in the woods;
Hid away from the worry of men. 
Hid away from the bother of men. 

And then we’ll go home, my Cherokee Rose,
Where the Senecas live in the heart of the hills
By the rippling Cowskin, where the Saulchana grows, 
We’ll go home to the Coyauga hills, 
To the sheltering Coyauga hills.

A Cask of Amontillado?

Probably found in a wine cave, which these days is a perilous place, at least politically. I probably shouldn’t admit to having actually been in one, quite some time ago.

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Dug out the Christmas carol sheet music today, and started practicing. Should be simple and straightforward, but oddly enough some of the pieces, those having accidentals and tricky fingerings, needed work.

And for dinner…pastel de elote.

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Nice Enough For A Bike Ride

Big warmup. Good for walking and riding.

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Vocabulary word of the day: quisling.

Not a nice word, and one not familiar to some younger people, but one that seems relevant today.
It’s actually the name of a person:

Vidkun Quisling was a Norwegian army officer. In December 1939, he met with Adolf Hitler and urged him to occupy Norway. Following the German invasion of April 1940, Quisling served as a figurehead in the puppet government set up by the German occupation forces. He was executed for treason soon after the liberation of Norway in 1945.

Mitch McConnell? Lindsay Graham? Will these names go down in history in similar fashion?

Single Digits

Morning walk a little hard on the face, though Pax found it to his liking. Ice is forming and thickening many places.

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Iceboats are sailing and a regatta is called on for this weekend, though not good timing for the Nies/Janowiec syndicate.

In principle, the founders opposed all political parties on the grounds that, as George Washington put it, they are likely “to become potent engines, by which cunning, ambitious and unprincipled men will be enabled to subvert the power of the people and to usurp for themselves the reins of government.” 

Snow To Shovel…

…and then errands which eventually led us to the Hen House in Eagle, WI, for something like brunch. Somehow, the rest of the day got away, until this evening when, right in the middle of making mushroom/barley risotto, Eric stopped by for my opinion on a sailboat he was thinking of buying. An hour later I had pretty much convinced him he would be making a mistake. Hard to beat a discussion of sailing with someone enthusiastic about it (and also a great opportunity to spin a few yarns). No time for photography, hence this shot from a few days ago.

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Things Being Various

While Sue was in Milwaukee Xmas shopping with Abby and then helping out at Fox Point, I worked on Great Lakes Islands stuff and Democratic Party stuff, along with several outings with Pax. Non-wintery weather, though ice remains on ponds and shallow lakes.

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Caught a fragment of the poem below on one of the episodes of Endeavor (which we are watching at present). Like many poems, it takes a few readings (even one aloud) before it makes complete sense, but eventually it does, and when it does, it’s good.

Say not the struggle nought availeth
—Arthur Hugh Clough

Say not the struggle nought availeth, 
     The labour and the wounds are vain, 
The enemy faints not, nor faileth, 
    And as things have been they remain. 

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; 
     It may be, in yon smoke concealed, 
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,
    And, but for you, possess the field. 

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking 
     Seem here no painful inch to gain, 
Far back through creeks and inlets making, 
     Comes silent, flooding in, the main. 

And not by eastern windows only, 
     When daylight comes, comes in the light, 
In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly, 
     But westward, look, the land is bright.