Slip-slidin' away

This time of year, during the dog days of summer, is not my favourite. This year especially, with most of the fun stuff behind us and the days dragging until our next adventures. Waiting for Charlie to come home on his last leave before deployment.


Did you ever wonder, "What ARE the dog days of summer and why do we call them that?"
Well, here I am, with a little help from Wikipedia, to answer the question.
Originally, the Dog Days were the days when Sirius, the Dog Star, rose just before or at the same time as sunrise. This is no longer true, due to some kind of astronomical change with a big name. Sirius is the brightest star in the sky, as shown in the above photo. The Romans sacrificed a brown dog at the beginning of the Dog Days to appease the rage of Sirius, believing that the star was the cause of the hot, sultry weather.
This image, of Sirius A and its little brother, Sirius B, was taken by the Hubble telescope.


Dog Days were popularly believed to be an evil time "when the seas boiled, wine turned sour, dogs grew mad, and all creatures became languid, causing to man burning fevers, hysterics, and phrensies" according to Brady’s Clavis Calendarium. Whatever that is.

Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say "evil," but the middle days of summer generally defeat me.
I lose control of my garden. Black spot engulfs the weaker specimens of rose bushes. Weeds win the war in less visible flowerbeds as my determination declines. The grass gets brown patches that highlight the inadequacies of our underground sprinkler system. Dead mimosa blossoms litter the front yard as I contemplate chopping the tree down for good. Watering the vegetable beds with the hose in the evening no longer charms me. Bees become somnolent and prone to sting.
Although here, in the centre of the picture, is one little bee who will enjoy these dog days no more. He is caught in a spider web. The spider was rushing in and out to the struggling bee from the shelter of the kabocha squash. By the time I returned with my camera the spider must have bitten the bee because its struggles were fading and the spider was merely biding its time.


On the other hand, the grape vines are laden with bunches of green, hard fruit. The lemon cucumbers are producing magnificently. Tomatoes are beginning to ripen and squash need only a few more weeks of sunshine to fulfill their destinies. Potato plants have been tested and found to be producing, even if not prolifically. Carrots, parsnips, and kohlrabi are producing modestly. Lots of little banana peppers are hanging from healthy plants. Most of the flower beds are behaving with decorum, hosting a minimum of weeds and nurturing colourful flowers. We survived the week of 100 degree plus temperatures and were blessed with a day or two of rain.

We can count the accomplishments of the summer so far:
Annie is happily (make that ecstatically) married.
Lots of memories made with Mum.
Lazy days in the back garden with the grandchildren.
A solid show of participation in Newberg Old Fashioned Days.
Several Tunes on Tuesday concerts.
A nice weekend in Astoria.
A kitchen remodeled.
A few trips to the Mustard Seed, with more to come.
Pizza cooked awesomely for the first time on the barbecue.
Oh yes, a new stove!
Several memorable barbecues with family and friends.

I shall just reflect on these triumphs and try to hold myself together until September.
And await Jonnie's corrections on the bee and spider story.
Because, you know, they will both arrive very soon.

Men's and women's brains

Sorry for all the videos lately.
Last one for a while, I promise.
Jeff sent me this one
It is hilarious and oh-so-true.

Blue Shoes and Happiness

Today's quote is from the seventh book in the series.
Today's quote, you say?
It didn't mean to be, but so it is.
Don't worry, only one more book to go.
Until I start the next series.
Which, I am sure, will be just as quotable.

Mma Ramotswe had been shocked when she had read in a magazine about a famous chef somewhere overseas who threw cold soup over the heads of his junior staff if they did not measure up to his expectations. He swore at them too, which was almost as bad. To use strong language, she thought, was a sign of bad temper and lack of concern for others. Such people were not clever or bold simply because they used such language; each time they opened their mouths they proclaimed "I am a person who is poor in words."

Amen to that.
I am reminded of a quotation which I cannot verify, but goes something like "Obscenity is the attempt of an inferior mind to express itself forcefully."

Do I have to stop saying "crap?"

In the Company of Cheerful Ladies

I am loving this series. Every now and then I crack up from the quirky wisdom that is uttered by the various characters. And sometimes, I am just plain awed by the wisdom.
Take these sentences from the end of this book, the sixth in the series:
She loved this country, which was a good place, and she loved those with whom she lived and worked. She had so much love to give - she had always felt that - and now there was someone to whom she could give this love, and that, she knew, was good; for that is what redeems us, that is what makes our pain and sorrow bearable - this giving of love to others, this sharing of the heart.

Grumpy Gus

We drove out to Stub Stewart Park by Vernonia on Sunday evening to visit Bethany and Chris, who were camping with their neighbours. It had been excessively hot all day (the story of our life here in the Northwest this week) and Natalie was in the middle of a long meltdown.
She was grumpy and grubby and NOTHING would appease her.


These photos were taken AFTER she had calmed down.
I had forgotten how loud that baby can scream.

The kids made some yummy fajitas.
And then we went home.

Love of Africa

I acquired a new piece of African art at the fair last weekend.
Jeff just chuckled when I told him.
For some reason, I am drawn to this primitive style of art.


My Africa room is going to run out of wall space soon.

I am also reading the No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith.


It is a delightful series that describes Botswana and its people in intriguing detail. As I read, I can hear in my mind's ear the lilt of the African speech and visualize the landscape and the characters.
Read this paragraph and you will see why I love it:
Mma Ramotswe accepted her large slice of cake and looked at the rich fruit within it. There were at least seven hundred calories in that, she thought, but it did not matter; she was a traditionally built lady and she did not have to worry about such things.

The author lived in Botswana for a number of years and visits the country frequently. His love of the country and its people is apparent. I was doubtful that his facts were accurate, so glowing did they seem, but after consulting Wikipedia (the source of all truth) I am convinced.

I think that I shall go to Botswana. Not only is it one of the few democracies in Africa, but since its independence from Great Britain, Botswana has had one of the fastest growth rates in per capita income in the world. Its standard of living is improving. Not many African countries can lay claim to that.

Maybe the orangutans will have to wait.

But first, Kangaroo Island.

More fireworks

Every year, on the last weekend of July, the city of Newberg puts on its Old Fashioned Festival. When we first moved here, I thought it was a very strange name, but I have become accustomed to it. We enjoy four days of live music, craft and vendor booths, an overpriced carnival, a parade, and FIREWORKS. It was very hot yesterday, but I knew if I chickened out and missed the fireworks I would regret it all year. I know of which I speak, because I have done it before. The July 4th fireworks in Astoria were nice but I love to lie down in the field and have the fireworks be directly overhead. I'm picky that way!
So, at about 8 o'clock, Jeff and I moseyed over to the old Renne field and found a spot next to friends and close to the Baby Boomers Band. Our kind of music.
And waited for Jon and Jenny and the boys to arrive. It was their first Old Fashioned Festival Fireworks.
Here they are, waiting for the show to begin.


I love the photo at the top of Jenny and Jeff. I caught them in the ambient light of the fireworks, no easy feat with the delay on my camera.
It was the best fireworks EVER.
Wait a minute, I say that every year.
But really, it was.

Earlier in the day, Jenny and the boys marched with me in the parade. Our friend, Rob Cornilles, has decided to challenge the long-incumbent Democrat, David Wu. He has a long and difficult row to hoe (farming metaphor there) so we marched to support him. It was my first time in the parade. Usually I sit on the sidelines with kids or grandkids and encourage them in their accumulation of candy. Snitching all of the good chocolate.


Jeff fell asleep towards the end of the parade. According to Jenny, the boys got up at 6am.