Uncategorized

Life’s Just a Bowl of Beer-soaked Skittle Cherries

Leave a comment

Here’s a bit of English idiom trivia I came across recently. The phrase “life’s just a bowl of cherries” is the title of a 1931 Broadway number. “Life is just a bowl of cherries. It’s not serious. It’s too mysterious.” I link to an Ethel Merman recording here because she’s the one who inflicted this song on the inmates of New York’s theater trade.

This phrase clashes a bit with the British saying, “life’s not all beer and skittles.” Some readers among us may assume that’s a reference to candy, and I would like to know how many people, if any ever, would drink beer while eating Skittles. (Wait. Since I hamstring myself through perpetual research while blogging on trivia, I found a 2020 report of a beer brewed with Trix and Skittles, which goes to show, children, that if you believe in something hard enough, even a very bad idea can become a real boy.)

But life, as they say, is not all beer and skittles, meaning it’s not the intoxicating wonderland of your local pub wherein you can procure a brewed beverage and play a game of nine-pins–the ancient and venerable game called skittles!

The Gardens Trust did some research and writes, “Amongst the earliest references I could find are a couple of 14thc manuscripts which show a skittles game in which one skittle is bigger, differently shaped, and in most cases positioned so as to be the most difficult to knock over.  According to a specialist website . . . the throwers in the pictures are about to throw a long club-like object at the skittles underarm.”

Life, having been around for as long as it has, gets credit for a lot of things. Oliver Wendell Holmes gave us these two:

Samuel Johnson tells us, “Life’s a short summer,” and you can imagine where the killjoy goes with that idea.

Let’s bring it back around with this suggestion from Joseph Addison. “I value my garden more for being full of blackbirds than cherries, and very frankly give them fruit for their songs.”

Life is much sweeter with birdsong. I’ve offered my neighborhood aviators club blackberries, and I’ve seen a few takers this summer. Maybe they prefer cherries.

Photo by Engin Akyurt/Pexels

Uncategorized

‘Area of Suspicion,’ by John D. MacDonald

1 Comment

It’s very good news in my world that the Murder Room Series is bringing out John D. MacDonald’s old stand-alone novels, and at a reasonable price. I flee from postmodern literature to these books like a cockroach from a kitchen light.

Area of Suspicion was published in 1954, long before MacDonald’s Travis McGee character was conceived. But it looks as if the setting of the opening must have stuck with him, because it’s right out of that series. Gevan Dean lives the life of a beach bum in Florida, in a community of beach and boat people who make a lifestyle of partying and casual sex. He doesn’t live on a houseboat like McGee, but the ambience is familiar. Gev used to run the family business, a manufacturing company, but he fled after he found his brother Ken in the arms of his fiancée, Niki. He went to Florida to forget. Lately, though, the party life has palled on him, and he’s been pulling back from his neighbors.

Then he gets word that his brother Ken is dead, murdered, apparently by a random robber. By the time he gets the news, it’s too late to attend the funeral. But there is time to attend the meeting of the company’s board, where the next CEO will be chosen. He’s going to go to that.

Back at home, in a fictional city, he is reunited with Niki, who’s as beautiful and seductive as he remembers. She tells him she made a mistake. It’s Gev she loves. All he needs to do is vote his shares for the current CEO, rather than for the old employee his uncle supports, and they can run off together and live happily ever after.

But Gev is suspicious. Something doesn’t smell right. The CEO Niki supports is a little too smooth, a little too ingratiating. And why has he fired all the best men Gev hired back when he was in charge? And was his brother’s murder really just wrong place, wrong time? When he starts asking awkward questions, Gev soon find himself facing physical threats. And a plot that’s deeper and more devious than he could imagine.

John D. MacDonald studied business at Harvard, so he writes about it with understanding and sympathy – something that’s rare in popular literature. He also had, even at this early date, an excellent way with his characters – they’re well-rounded and sympathetic, even the bad ones. Our hero Gev is smart enough to leave town for his own safety when the police suggest he do that(!) And the writing is evocative and spare, all at the same time.

Highly recommended. Cautions for sex scenes, though they’re pretty tame by today’s standards.

Uncategorized

Norway Journal, Day 6

Leave a comment

June 15: I experienced a certain measure of distress this morning, when I found that the zipper on my jeans had broken. Einar convinced me that there was no shame in wearing my Viking pants, so that’s what I did. I greatly missed my pockets, however.

We used Einar’s girlfriend’s car, and they drove me to Stavanger. We left right on time. It was a pleasant drive, interrupted by several tunnels of varying lengths (under fjords) and a ferry ride. We arrived in Sandnes, home of Mari Anne, a local historian, and her family, precisely on schedule. We were treated to a tasty lunch. To my amazement, we had buns to make sandwiches with, and no knives or forks. So everybody ate their sandwiches with their hands. You’d have to know Norwegians to know how surprising that was to me. In my experience, Norwegians always cut sandwiches up with a knife and fork. I can only assume they were going the extra mile to make me feel at home. (Only the same thing happened everywhere I went. I can only conclude it was a conspiracy. The idea that I’m mistaken about Norwegian eating habits is obviously absurd) I got to meet their nephew who is staying with them, and who is keenly interested in Vikings. This gave me ample opportunity to hog the conversation.

They took me to a store called Dressman (“Dress” in Norwegian means “suit,” so don’t get the wrong idea). There, in spite of the fact that you rarely see a Norwegian as fat as I am, we were able to find a pair of black chinos that fit me. This was a great comfort to me in my old age.

Then they took me on a tour. We saw the ancient stone circle popularly called Erling Skjalgsson’s Thingstead, though it’s certainly much, much older than Erling. A sort of Stonehenge thing, but the stones are much smaller and there are no capstones. Its original purpose is a mystery, but it provides plenty of scope for speculation.

“Erling Skjalgsson’s Thingstead,” as it’s called.

We went to Sola Ruin Church, which can plausibly be considered the site of the place where Erling worshiped (though not in this building, which must be later). If this is where Erling’s church stood, I’d wager he must be buried under the floor. Nearby, I assume, his farm lay, though no archaeological evidence has been found in that well-worked soil. So I greeted Erling again on his home ground.

The Sola ruin church. The Germans actually dismantled it during the war, but thoughtfully numbered the stones. So after the war it was simply reassembled, like an Ikea kit.

Then they showed me the two stone crosses at Tjora, whose age is uncertain but which are certainly among the earliest memorials of Christianity in Norway. There were originally four, but now only two stand, and their location has been moved a bit. Still and all… they are unquestionably early medieval.

The stones at Tjora. Unquestionably Viking Age. Certainly dating to Erling’s time; perhaps to Haakon the Good’s.

We also saw a weathered petroglyph near a farm fence.

Then back home for a delicious supper. They brought out a bunch of books about Vikings to discuss. And I tried to book bus tickets to Haugesund on the Norwegian mass transport web page, with great frustration, as I discovered that my credit card, which I made sure to be acceptable in Norway, is not usable over the internet (validation issues). A resolution was found, but not one that pleased me greatly.

Uncategorized

‘But Mr. Adams!’

Leave a comment

On this Independence Day, I interrupt my celebration of the Old Country to share this clip of my favorite number from the musical “1776.” William Daniels and Ken Howard were wonderfully paired as John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, and Howard Da Silva milked the Benjamin Franklin part for all it was worth. Fun and educational. Holds up well.

Cautions for some mild (by today’s standards) profanity.

Uncategorized

America, Imperfect as We Are

Leave a comment

Darrell B. Harrison notes Douglass’s words on the Fourth of July, saying the great abolitionist had more to say.

“Notwithstanding his well-founded criticisms of the prejudicial climate and construct of mid-nineteenth century America, Frederick Douglass never viewed America as being unique in that regard. . . . ‘I admit that during many years to come the colored man will have to endure prejudice against his race and color, but this constitutes no problem to vex and disturb the course of legislation. The world was never yet without prejudice.‘”

America was not unique in its mistreatment of immigrants and minorities, and we should not allow people today to make us believe it was. In fact, the holiness of the Almighty may be the very impossible standard to which we are comparing ourselves–many making this comparison without Christ in view.

Music

Sunday Singing: Eternal Father! Strong to Save

Leave a comment
“Eternal Father! Strong to Save” sung by a congregation in St. Paul’s Cathedral, London

With this being a Fourth of July weekend, I remembered the strong hymn the Navy claims for its own. Hymnist William Whiting (1825-1878) was born in the London area and served for many years as the Master of the Winchester College Choristers’ School. This is the one hymn of Whiting’s that has won everyone over. The tune was composed by Englishman John Bacchus Dykes in 1861.

1. Eternal Father, strong to save,
whose arm doth bind the restless wave,
who bidd’st the mighty ocean deep
its own appointed limits keep:
O hear us when we cry to thee
for those in peril on the sea.

2. O Savior, whose almighty word
the winds and waves submissive heard,
who walkedst on the foaming deep
and calm amid its rage didst sleep:
O hear us when we cry to thee
for those in peril on the sea.

3. O sacred Spirit, who didst brood
upon the chaos dark and rude,
who badd’st its angry tumult cease,
and gavest light and life and peace:
O hear us when we cry to thee
for those in peril on the sea.

4. O Trinity of love and pow’r,
our brethren shield in danger’s hour;
from rock and tempest, fire and foe,
protect them wheresoe’er they go;
and ever let there rise to thee
glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

Blogs, Socials, Fiction, Non-fiction

Debunking Electrifying Hobby, Oversharing, Blogrolling

Leave a comment

I subscribed to a video service in order to watch a movie last month, and since then I’ve tried to catch a few more in the package before cancelling. So far, it’s been a buy-one-get-four deal.

This week a couple of us watched the original Top Gun for the first time. I’ve heard it’s a frequently quoted movie. It can’t be more than any other well-received flick of its time. Only a couple lines stood out to me from the scant story that links the flying together. But the flying is cool. Dog fighting is cool. Faux drama about possibly running out of gas so you shouldn’t try to help a couple teammates return alive is not cool.

The F-14 Tomcats they fly in the movie have co-pilots, radar intercept officers (RIO). From what you see on screen, they appear to be only a second set of eyes, so I had to look up what they could do in the air–navigation, radio, electronics, and some weapons. Dave “Bio” Baranek, a Top Gun himself, has a book on it.

I don’t plan to watch it again, but then I rarely rewatch anything anymore.

Both sides: “The American body politic, Mamet tells us, is fundamentally diseased, and is slowly being consumed by an ideologically radical political class which, left unchecked, is sure to consume it.” A Playwright’s Life – (lawliberty.org)

Banned by YouTube: Ann Reardon has many great videos on cooking and other videos that debunk “life hack” videos that purport to demonstrate a cool, new time-saver, often food related. Her recent video exposing the dangers of fractal wood burning (“34 deaths”) was removed by YouTube, because somehow the artificial intelligence judged the debunk to be more dangerous than the how-to.

Star Rating? Tyler explains the reasons he doesn’t like Goodreads.

Uncle Tom’s Cabin: A book that changed the world.

Social demands: “Learning to say ‘no’ can be difficult; learning to not reveal one’s conscience on every single issue that hits the news can be even harder, especially in a society where it is seen as good and noble to have a ‘take’ or a strong moral stance on practically everything. . . .”

Stormy Sea with Sailing Vessels by Jacob van Ruisdael

Feature Photo: Christie’s Restaurant sign, Houston, Texas. 1983. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.

Fiction, Reviews

‘Beast,’ by Paul Kingsnorth

Leave a comment

I want to like Paul Kingsnorth, the critically acclaimed English author who has recently converted to Romanian Orthodox Christianity. So I have read and reviewed the first novel of his trilogy, The Wake. And I have now read Beast, the second book. I’ll be honest – it’s a challenge.

In my not-critically-acclaimed novel, Troll Valley, I created (and killed off) a pretentious young novelist who insisted on reading aloud his manuscript, in which the main character describes being in darkness and silence, doing nothing, for pages on end. I was reminded of that character as I read Beast. I’ll admit more happened here than in my parody story, but still it was a challenge for a middle-brow reader.

This book, unlike the first of the trilogy, is set in the present (apparently). The main character, who we learn is named Edward Buckmaster (thus probably a descendent of Buccmaster, the hero of The Wake), has apparently run away from his wife and daughter to spend time living in a shack in the wilderness, pursuing a spiritual quest for meaning.

A storm damages the hut and leaves Edward with amnesia. And probably delusional. Through a stream of consciousness narrative, we follow him trying to find out where he is and who he is, and hunting for the only other living thing he can find in his world, a black panther.

I have some vague idea what this book is about, but I couldn’t really say for sure. I’m not sure I’m supposed to.

I’m going to finish the third book of the trilogy, Alexandria. Maybe it will illuminate its forerunners. If not, I’ll admire Kingsnorth as one of those authors who’s too smart for me.

Uncategorized

Norway Journal, Day 5

Leave a comment

June 14: I got up in good time to leave at 9:00 a.m., in spite of getting very little sleep. Our goal: Etne and Hardanger, two of the most picturesque areas of Norway.

Einar and Tore Ravn with King Magnus Erlingsson. Note the “Tinghus” in the background. I’ve told you about “Tings,” right?

At Etne we stopped at the statue of King Magnus Erlingsson, who was not the son of Erling Skjalgsson but of a later magnate, Erling Skakke (“Erling Wry-neck,” due to an old injury incurred during a Crusade-adjacent raid in the Mediterranean). Norwegian law said that only a king’s son could inherit the throne. The problem was, there were no acceptable kings’ sons available at the time. So Erling Skakke, who was married to a daughter of King Sigurd the Crusader, managed to get his son Magnus crowned. In order to wangle this, he agreed to have his son crowned by the archbishop in Nidaros Cathedral (Norwegian kings had always been elected by the Things up to that point). This was the first time a Norwegian king was crowned and anointed in a religious ceremony, and it won him support from the Church. Resistance to this innovation led to generations of bloody civil war in the country.

We also stopped at the ancient church on Erling Skakke’s one-time estate.

As we drove through the Etne area, I realized I had to tell my sister-in-law, whose maiden name was Frette, that she absolutely must visit the land of her ancestors. The Etne area features stunning mountain and valley landscapes, made doubly dramatic by the misty weather today. I thought it was some of the most glorious scenery I’d ever seen.

Langfoss

We stopped to photograph the Langfoss, one of Norway’s largest waterfalls. I don’t have words for it. Dramatic and powerful.

After passing through a long tunnel we reached the area of the Hardangerfjord, even more dramatic than Etne, though I might not have believed it. The drama was increased by the ridiculous precariousness of the road we took. It clung to the shoulders of the mountains, often only one lane wide. In some places, if you encounter a driver coming the other way, one of you has to back up into one of the periodic pull-over spots. Farms and even small communities teeter on mountain ledges high above you, and sometimes when the rock ledge falls away on your right, you catch a glimpse of an isolated clearing where someone has built a smallholding, in a valley or a fjord cove. It all took my breath away. I came home drunk with beauty.

The ferry to Skaanevik

We were delayed returning by a one hour wait for the ferry going to Skånevik, which used to be the address of the farms across the fjord where my Swelland ancestors came from (because before cars and road-building, the water united rather than divided). But that governmental arrangement has been changed now.

Viking ships docked at Kopervik.

After we returned, I was taken to visit Gerd, who I think is the oldest of my relatives on Karmøy, by Cousin Tor Bjørn. He also took me to the docks at Kopervik, where most of the Viking fleet was docked. Tomorrow they’ll head for Stavanger.

And so will I.

Non-fiction, Reviews

‘The Great Clippers,’ by Jane D. Lyon

Leave a comment

During the early 19th Century, a class of ships called packets sailed all over the world, carrying goods and passengers at ever faster speeds. Eventually, ship designers made discoveries in hull configuration and rigging that made it possible to carry larger cargoes faster than anyone had thought possible. Thus were the clippers born, first with the special purpose of facilitating the tea trade to China, later servicing the gold fields of California and Australia. British and American ship builders competed in improving this technology, but the Americans always dominated. Their black hulled ships with snowy white clouds of sails were familiar sights all over the globe, until the steam ship inevitably replaced them.

Jane D. Lyon has produced an excellent introduction to the age of the clippers in The Great Clippers. It’s almost perfect of its type – not too long and very well-written. I learned things from this book and enjoyed reading it.

The Great Clippers requires no long review. I’m glad I bought it. Highly recommended.