Yet Another Blog

Hello there, all you flatlanders,

To avoid the onus of playing favorites, the addresses of the recipients of this note are listed as Bcc.

SignsOfLifeFromTheMountain.BlogSpot.com

This lead will take you to yet another blog. It contains thoughts uttered in the stillness of Townhill in Vermont, random thoughts that mean more to the writer at the time they are written down than to anyone else, including the writer, after he wrote the closing line. This is not intended to be a public site. Hence, the Bcc.

I say 'yet another blog' because it appears to me that if you have red blood in your veins, you already have a long list of other plugs you follow. This one, however, is different. It will not suffer regular updates and new postings and thus it will not put high demands on your time.

The credit for the creation of this spot belongs to Laurie.

Enjoy, if indeed you can find enjoyment in this. You got on my list because I am thinking of you. Instructions for getting off this list are posted 'at the spot.'

Rich, aka Isa, aka Opa

Not A Chance

The temperature on the deck is 53 degrees and the sky is flecked with white feathery clouds promising a continuance of this wonderful NE mountain summer weather. Great days behind us, great days ahead. And a great day just starting.

Up here, house and surroundings in VT have gone very quiet again, more quiet, it appears, than it was before your arrival up here. I find myself thinking about the possibility of just simply locking up and cruising south again. But then I think of the constant hum of the heat pump on Riverbend, and the feeling of being held captive indoors, and I say 'not a chance' out loud, a sound which mingles with the song of birds and the rustle of the leaves in the linden tree.

The Proof of the BBQ

We agreed a few days ago that the acid test of a BBQ's capabilities shall be the outcome of a chicken breast cookout. Well, I did it. I sliced three breasts flat through the middle and brushed the thin halves with a paste of olive oil, sesame oil, paprika, sage, garlic salt and pepper and some soy sauce 'lite'. Put the six pieces on the searing hot grill with applewood in the smoker bowl, but turned the heat down to 'rotisserie' immediately. Turned each piece after perhaps two minutes. Beautiful grill marks,  no sticking. Closed the lid and let them sizzle in the decreasing heat for as long as it takes to enjoy a 12 oz Copper Ale. Turned the pieces once more to get cross marks at least on one side and shut off the fire. Simply let everything cool down. 

Remarkable result, tender and juicy, not to even mention the taste. That sesame oil really lights the fire on all the other spices. This grill really is the best I ever had!

XLVIII

Reading Jane Austin's Sense and Sensibility, this being not the first book I have added to my library from this author of two centuries past, and becoming quite disturbed by the never ending single-mindedness and, yes, divisiveness of the female characters so obviously preferred by the author, seeking a favorable anchoring place for themselves or someone they love, as well as, I must add in correcting the impression of my apparent sexist bias, the men who have nothing on their minds but horses and shooting while accepting the need of entering into a relationship with a female only on the attending potential source of income and wealth, I prompted a 'look-up' of the above Latin numerals signifying the count of chapters at which I had arrived at that stage of my current reading.

 

The dictionary on the level of the book had no record answering to my inquiry, so I forwarded my request for enlightenment to the Wikipedia.  Please google the subject line!

 

Knowing, of course, the translation of these numerals to their Roman equivalent, I was nevertheless exceedingly surprised about the wealth of content locked into these symbols, and I refer this to your kind attention, hoping to stir at least minimal interest in the possibility to refer to the same article in Wikipedia that has gained my own deep awareness of the wisdom, nay, intelligence our civilization was capable to raise itself to during the past many centuries since the age of relative innocence in which our ancestors, many generations past, were condemned to pass their time on earth.

 

In my style of writing, you may immediately detect a very imperfect imitation of the style favored by the above mention author. You will also be prompted to reflect on the unfair criticism today's English linguists raise against German writers: they construct interminable sentences, sometimes covering the entire page of a book or more before the reader obtains any conclusive meaning of the sentence through the knowledge conveyed by the one and only defining active verb which is invariably placed at the very end of the said sentence.

 

I rest my case. I came to the USA to learn English as it is used in conducting global business, and in the pursuit of the Engineering sciences, and never would I have thought that my search for technical and practical learning would get me lost on a path such as the one I am following now - and this is not the first time I experience this sense of distraction from my original goal. I'll never be the same again.

Travel Planning, Opa Style

For long distance I always guesstimate the total travel time on the basis of 50 mph overall average.

For instance, the distance from Riverbend to Parksiders is 194 miles. At 50 mph that will take a little less than four hours.  If I don't stop at McDonalds in Emporia, I can make it in about 3-1/4.

The longer the distance the more dependable it gets.

For you, depending which way you come up here, it'll be some 600 miles, so count on 12 hours. For me, it is close to 800 miles and it took me 14 hours, but that was time dedicated to nothing but getting it behind me. The more 70 mph unbusy highway, the better it gets.

Note, this 50 mph average allows for gas stops and eats and comfort stops and an occasional  10 minute shut-eye etc, but no bed-time or detours to visit a museum or watch a ball game in the ball park :-)

Abend Brot

For breakfast I had eggs and bacon, pan fried tomatoes and toast. The calories lasted me all day. In the late afternoon, I went to Greenville to the Home Depot for some more hardware for the mast raising rig. That boat will sink if it ever gets into the water :-)

The breakfast, however, lasted me all day until I came out of Home Depot and perceived my last chance for a quick dinner. Big Y across the street sold Celeste Supreme Pizza, single servings, five packages for five bucks. I bought.

I had one of those pizzas with Paisano and wished for more. 330 calories, not counting the antioxidants of the wine, was just not enough. But I was tough! I sat out on the deck and let the cooling evening breezes envelop me sensuously and read Emma.

There was suddenly a loud crash. Out of the corner of my eye I had sen some light blinking, but it was the thunder that tore me out of poor Emma's confused sentiments. I watched the clear blue sky overhead and saw not a cloud. Then I saw the tongue of vapor  crossing the edge of the roof to the west. It advanced, and while resting over the horizon at Chips' house, it slowly developed a black belly and I suddenly saw a lightning like I fiery tongue licking out of the cloud towards earth.

I counted, it took about five seconds for the sound to reach me. That means, since sound travels at about 340 meters per second, that lightning struck under two kilometers away from here. Precariously close over Wilmington.

I went inside because I expected the storm to suddenly break overhead and I did not want my iPad to get wet; nor the pillow on my chair as I would rush and stumble to rescue everything.

I went inside and still felt 'hungry'. I poured the last of the 'rethink your pretzels' into a basket and got the Brie out of the refrigerator and another glass of Paisano and set to work while continuing to follow the life of Emma.

Can you imagine opening a tightly wrapped Brie fresh out of the refrigerator and within minutes, literally!, it starts running all over the cheese board? I never in my short life experienced anything like it and the only explanation I can give is that, when I originally brought it home, I left it out on the counter, wrapped up in its original wrappings, and when I finally put it in the refrigerator it felt like heavy cream; very heavy cream, with a crust. Oh, it was so ripe, so very good. Emma got pushed aside. Even the Paisano was forgotten.

But that heat inside the house in anticipation of that storm to hit . . . I'm back on the couch under the ceiling fan. The only pace where one can experience wind 'chill'.

The storm has not hit yet. I suppose it never will; not this one. I just felt like chatting with you guys.

Good night, all.    Love, Isa

Linden Leaf and Flower Profile

http://www.mountainroseherbs.com/learn/linden.php

Try this for size. I did not send this to the boys because I don't think they have time to bother. But for you, the section enumerating the constituents might be interesting. After reading this, who wants to try that tea? In the liqueur at least one gets the disinfectant qualities of the vodka :-)

I did a search under the search word 'lindenblüten" and found much more direct information from German speaking sites than in the English sites. For instance, the Wikipedia states that there is much folk knowledge (do not read 'old wives' tales) and proof about the positive healing properties of linden blossoms, but that there is no formal scientific research published. I suppose the pharmaceutical industry would suppress that kind of endeavor by simply not funding it. I remember we had linden blossom tea just as soon as there was a sign of a cold. It must have helped, because Mims always had it handy, or got it immediately when it was needed for us. That was way, way back when. I also found a statement that it is most effective on young and old people. You gals would still, but not yet benefit from it :-0.

Lindenblüten

The linden tree at the west side of the deck is in bloom. I was looking at it yesterday, thinking that I once again was too late, because all the blossoms had little seed-looking pebbles. But today they turned out to be blossoms that opened almost with a bang - well, many of them did.
I read on the web that one harvests those blossoms for tea and liqueur and even jelly shortly after they break open. The best time to harvest is in the afternoon. And this year, I am at long last 'on location' at the right time. The harvest will be dried in the sun and then crumbled for tea and I will read up a little more about the making of the liqueur and then decide if that is something to have, or avoid. Do not expect to be served any when you come, because like Lulu's rum-topf, it has to ripen over a period of perhaps six months.

Today, I gathered the first hand full of blossoms, but it is slow picking because so many of the buds are still closed.perhaps tomorrow afternoon, or Sunday?

Read up on what linden blossom tea is good for and then be prepared to call on Doctor Opa for your remedy come winter with its coughing and sore throat and cold, or for your stress headaches, or almost whatever ails you.

All responsibilities for any undesirable side effects etc. etc.

With love to all, Isa

Good morning, dear one

I was sitting in front of my 'big Mac' when I heard the distinct bleep of a message coming in. I performed an increasingly frustrated search for the message center on the Mac. There is not any. Then, much, much later I realized that the iPhone was sitting on the night table across the room. So there it was: a 'good morning' from you. Thanks!

Next came the chore to produce an answer. I tried to do that on the iPhone, but those keys on the keyboard are so very small and editing the results of trying to type is so frustrating. So here I sit with the iPad. There was a time I believed in all that talk that computers will eventually simplify our lives. Then, much more recently I was sold on the idea that Mr. Jobs had an outstandingly good idea to develop a system by which all his gadgets are connected. And I bought into that - and look what it did to my simple life!

It used to be two or three pens and two or three pencils in the shirt pocket and little note papers strewn all over the place, sometimes stuck to the desk with Scotch tape so they would be safe from accidental loss. And the telephone actually worked! It either connected you with your targeted partner or it did not, but it told you if the line was busy or the target did simply not answer for whatever personal reasons. Those remained private. So, if the call did not go through, one simply tried later again.

Now, look at what we are getting - message centers answering all calls with long explanations of how important our call is to the recipient, etc, etc. and then an undetermined wait for the return call that is supposed to come right away.

But what am I griping about? I obviously have the time for all of that . . .

Sad News

Just talked to the guy from Trans Canada, the company that owns the Harriman reservoir, a.k.a. Lake Wilmington. He gave me the name of the secretary of the local sailing club and I called him. He was at home, on a Tuesday at 9:00 AM. Sailors don't work, you know, and when it rains, like today, they stay close to their phones. We chatted a bit, and he asked me what boat I had, and he said that they had an agreement with Trans Canada that they would not anchor any boat over 20 feet in that cove. There is no other mooring place on that lake.

It is not supposed to rain today until 3:00 PM, said the weatherman. But it is pouring now.

Well, my contact was no longer active in the administration of the club, but he was nice enough to give me the name of the current secretary and I called him. He also answered the phone right away, which gives credence to my opinions about sailors. During our brief talk, he too asked me about the boat I had and he confirmed the sad news about the size restrictions.

What a bummer! The lake, so they consoled me, has two launching areas, both in the vicinity of Wilmington. And there is lake Champlain, too, you know! About two hours away.
I should have bought that 17 foot Lightning!

What this means, my beloved family, your first lesson in sailing will be in rigging a sail boat. There is much to learn. There are stays and shrouds and halyards and there are several of each and each has prepositions such as fore and aft and port and starboard jib and main sail and some of them are called sheets although they are ropes, or lines and there are spreaders and shackles and - and - and. Do your search on the Internet and then show me off and put me to shame because I don't know them all. I will point and shout things like "pull that one - no! not the green, the blue".

But when you come, you'll find the boat in the driveway and when we want to go for a cruise on the water we must haul it to the launching ramp, step the mast and slide the boat into the water. Reverse that activity before dinner.

I am quite shattered! I thought, whether you are here or not, on a nice afternoon with a freshening wind I go for a spin until moon-up and then come home and have a night snack of bread and butter and cheese and wine and let the glow of the sun slowly seep into the night breezes on the deck. What a bummer. Almost makes you want to forget all about sailing. The essentials- the 'I'm at His mercy' are missing
My alternative, of course, would be to go live on the boat and simply drop anchor somewhere along the shore when I don't want to sail anymore. But I think I would loose control over the grass up here on the mountain.

So there! Now you have all the sad news of the day.
Love, Isa
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Tuesday, July 2, 2013 at 4:08 PM

Discouraging, sad, but NOT TRAGIC!  The restriction is for mooring not for sailing, so with extra hands, you'll have no problem unloading the trailer (thanks to Steve, we know how to back that baby down the ramp and slide 'er off), having someone help the raise the mast, brace the mainsail and keelhaul the naysayers!

Aaaargh!  Drink up me hearties, YO HO!
iivo