Scoffers

I have no idea what prompted this. I just took a look in the mysterious past that was Grit in the Gears, It was a thing of another era. This was in the drafts folder. 

“I can see it now, but not then. Maybe I was the only one. Maybe it is
my destiny to be a seer, to scry the fates, to see exclamation marks.
I wonder what it means though? Is it a warning... are the end days
here? is it time to start mocking? Hey, I'm already ahead on the
mocking, I could take time out from it, say a month or so and still be
ahead.
Or scoffing.  First of all, you must understand that in the last days
scoffers will come, scoffing and following their own evil desires.
The King James version: Knowing this first, that there shall come in
the last days scoffers, walking after their own lusts.
Scoffing, in English english is also slang for 'greedily eating'.
Hence I can't take these scoffers seriously unless they be provided
with ample sacks of iced cupcakes.

Thin Gnat Voices.

The Jolly Company
Rupert Brooke

THE stars, a jolly company,
I envied, straying late and lonely;
And cried upon their revelry:
"O white companionship! You only
In love, in faith unbroken dwell,
Friends radiant and inseparable!"
Light-heart and glad they seemed to me
And merry comrades (even so
God out of heaven may laugh to see
The happy crowds; and never know
That in his lone obscure distress
Each walketh in a wilderness).
But I, remembering, pitied well
And loved them, who, with lonely light,
In empty infinite spaces dwell,
Disconsolate. For, all the night,
I heard the thin gnat-voices cry,
Star to faint star, across the sky.

Finding You

Finding You

I love to find you in the night-time,
When your toes rest, child-like, upon my legs;
To be stirred by the warmth of your body -
Naked, smooth, slow-breathing, sleeping ...
The smell of your hair, your pillowed head
Sheltering under my arm.
So we cheat the waking, working hours.

The green-glow figures of time
Play gooseberry in the dark,
Unmasking each newborn minute
In the silence of bird-sleeping hours.

Time will not stand still for us
Nor life be more than earth;
Yet more ancient hearts than ours knew,
Like us, the intimate quiet of night.

Poet unknown.
From another time.

"When the Game is Over, the King and the Pawn go in the Same Box"

Those were the first words spoken by Cortana. Who? Ah. No, not the Microsoft one, the one in Halo.
What?
Oh. Well, I was idly wondering why Microsoft chose that rather stupid name for their lumpy attempt to create a virtual 'Personal Assistant' to rival Apple's equally stupidly named 'Siri'.
Google has one too, living in my phone, and it's somewhat more pedestrianly named 'Google now', I rarely use it in the sense in which it has been designed, because its voice recognition is less than stellar in performance, so it's usually easier to just type my queries.

Cortana, then. Googling 'Cortana' pulls up some interesting stuff, which I might have scraps of in the back of my brain, and I was wondering why it seemed such a made  up name and whether some product somewhere that I had encountered was called 'Curtana'.

Before we go there, and you're welcome to leave if you're bored, my brain has always tended upon random diversions, I'd just like to say 'Siri' is quicker, easier, and less stupid-sounding to say than 'Cortana'.  As would be 'Bozo', or 'Plonker'.

Googling, yes, googling, not Binging. Who bings? Hands up bingers? Oh. I see there are three of you... And you all work for Microsoft? Oh. And you've been told very bad things will happen to you and everybody you love.... including Fluffy, if you're caught googling, ever?

I see. It doesn't surprise me. Bing. Like google's needy sibling. Look, Microsloth, I neither want nor need tropical fish over coral reef pictures, when I'm chasing bits of information, I'm distracted enough already, without you showing me sunset over Ayers Rock.... Although its not permitted to call it Ayers Rock anymore, bit like Denali, isn't it.

Cortana. Well there it was in the back of my brain. Curtana! Curtana is the sword used in all of Britain's coronations.
Well, since A.D. 1236, anyway, in Henry the third's reign, when it was employed during the coronation of Eleanor of Provence.  Not so fast though... The one currently used was forged, so far as I can tell, in 1661, though it claims to be forged from the steel of the original Curtana, that was Cortana, going back to the ages of chivalry. There were three swords forged from the same steel, all were extraordinarily good swords, themselves vested with power beyond their steel.  The first of these was Joyeuse, the sword of Charlemagne, (which can be seen in the Louvre), said to incorporate the Spear of Destiny in its hilt,  the second, Durendal, carried by Charlemagne's right-hand man, Rolande, -Rolande was an unstoppable swordsman, and his sword carried magical powers, great juju, because it was made of magical steel, and had in its hilt a tooth of Saint Peter, blood of Saint Basil, hair of Saint Denis, and a piece of the raiment of the Blessed Virgin Mary. It was indestructible, and when Rolande was ambushed by Saracens, at the battle of Roncevalles, he tried to destroy his sacred sword by smashing it on the rocks of the mountain, but instead cut a great cleft, 300 feet deep in the ridge. But all was not lost, because he cunningly hid it beneath is gold-armoured body as he died, so the saracens wouldn't find it.
Which brings us back to Cortana, because that was the third, carried by the hero, Ogier, the Dane, son of  King Geoffroy of Denmark, who, defeated by Charlemagne, had to send his first-born as hostage, to live in Charlemagne's household as as a lowly page.
Ogier, howeverscorned he had been,  distinguished himself in battle, saving Charlemagne's life, and turning the tide so the Saracens were routed.
"The rest of the day and the next were spent in the rejoicings of the army. Turpin in a solemn service implored the favor of Heaven upon the youthful knights, and blessed the white armor which was prepared for them. Duke Namo presented them with golden spurs, Charles himself girded on their swords. But what was his astonishment when he examined that intended for Ogier! The loving Fairy, Morgana, had had the art to change it, and to substitute one of her own procuring, and when Charles drew it out of the scabbard, these words appeared written on the steel: “My name is Cortana, of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal.” Charles saw that a superior power watched over the destinies of Ogier; he vowed to love him as a father would, and Ogier promised him the devotion of a son."

Allegedly, this sword, gifted by Charlemagne to Ogier (also known as Holger), had previously been the sword of Sir Tristan, Knight of the Round Table. )

Anyway...

A Question for Adullamite.

Some time ago, Adullamite posted a picture of an odd little red car he'd come across on his travels. I'm a car buff, so I usually am pretty good at identifying old cars. (Cars from the nineties onward I generally have no interest in).
This time I was stumped. But I think I may have found the answer, or would guess that if I could find the original pic.... But I've been unable to remember when it was or the post title....

So, Adullamite, did it look at all like this?

If so, it was a Lloyd... A Lloyd Alexander, built by Norddeutscher Lloyd, the shipping company...

As I can't find the post, it's possible it was nothing like these. If so.... Sigh.  I thought I might have solved a mystery.

Tea!

In just a few hours it will be Veterans Day in the United States,

Armistice Day.

The 11th hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the time the guns were to fall silent, the end of the first world war. 

Who, I wonder, was shooting on that morning, and why? what did they hope to achieve?  A last kill before shooting season ends?

 Anyway, it was over, it marked the end of "The War to End All Wars",  at the end of which, humans kept on developing weapons and seeking wars in which to use them.

Nonetheless, we hold remembrances, we Brits wave our poppies, Americans their flags. Our neighbourhood is full of flags, very patriotic, these Americans. Veterans day is a holiday, and  retired service personnel will wear their medals, badges, uniform caps with pride, strangers will thank them for serving.  It's not all about the dead, the living are remembered here too.

The school does a yearly project, where each pupil is set to meet and interview a veteran of the forces, to photograph and make a poster featuring that person, on the back is the interview, dates served, nature of service etc. My step-son interviewed a man who's become a friend of mine , Troy is one of a group of friends who meet once a week  over lunch. They all have stories. I thought I'd post here some pictures I took outside the school.

So many are represented, from the humblest rank to the dizzying heights of gold braid, veterans from pre WWII to the present day. Some of these kids have dads, uncles, brothers, mothers, sisters, aunts, in the military, in harm's way, serving, prepared to give their lives if need be.
Whether or not I believe in the wars they are sent to fight, I have the greatest respect for them. The old guys I have lunch with on a thursday have so many stories, war cold and hot. And of tragedies too. 

Tomorrow, they are saluted. But here, as in Britain, there's another reality, of the veterans who failed to reintegrate, the PTSD, the alcoholics, the guys who hold up cardboard signs "Ex soldier, Hungry, Homeless", and I, like the other drivers, check my door is locked, try not to meet the gaze... And drive on by.

YAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YAYYYYYYYYYY!  

Big big big day, the gears of the U.S.government grind exceedingly slowly, but this day brought a bunch of official papers to our mailbox.

I'm  an alien, I'm a LEGAL alien...... Green Card!!!!!!!!!!! Yayyyyyyyyyy!
Of course, it's not without conditions... Carry this card at all times. (and don't lose it?) Well, like my social security card I'll laminate a copy and carry that, keeping the original in a safe place.
And it's only valid to 2016. Before then I have to become a citizen or aply to get restrictions lifted. No, I have no idea what that means, so don't ask.

All should be well in the home of the brave and the land of the free. None of that: "Papieren, Bitte!" "Show your papers boy!" stuff.

Seriously though, everybody's been quite welcoming. Well, a lot of people think I come from New England, that's those who don't think I'm Australian.

Shoulder Surgery.

Cutting chopping and dicing set for tomorrow, Friday 29th August.
I'm so looking forward to it. The nurse told me not to expect to be able to sleep in a bed for some time... And told me the aftermath is notoriously painful. I replied that I have a good vocabulary of swear-words at the ready.
I also have a lot of books. At least half a week's worth.
After that Amazon gets my money or I watch all those rubbish movies I never got around to before.

And I confess I've been wasting time on Facebook, it has its uses,  but I hate to tell some of the people who pop up and try to friend me, that if we've not been in touch for years, I'm probably not going to want to see every little update....

Once, about twenty years ago I broke my left arm just below the shoulder. It was in a cast for a couple of months, set with a 90 degree elbow position. Never having bust a limb before, I glibly thought that the day the cast came off, life would resume as normal. What an idiot. The cast came off and I gazed at an arm so hairy I thought I was becoming a gorilla, and then... nothing. Elbow stayed at 90 degrees. Stuck there. Muscles disappeared tendons shrunk... No amount of force would straighten it out. And there was a bend where the bone was set.  Took another two months before it was moderately normal again.

Now I'm going to have to learn to live left handed.  It should keep me from boredom, but. Anyway, it's a minor problem compared to some, that others face. I'll try not to moan too much.

My blogreaders will barely notice the difference. I do mean to post stuff. just left handedly.
Sinistrally.

Humerus? Not so funny, really....

Today, I had an interesting experience.  Just before we moved from the old house, I had become aware of a shoulder injury, pain, ache, restriction of movement. so I treated it with ibuprofen, tried not to do the ouchy stuff, like lifting my arm high or rotating it outward, assuming whatever I'd done while shifting heavy boxes and furniture would heal on its own. 5+ months  later, I'm forced to admit that it won't.

So I went to see a doctor, and was referred to a sports medicine clinic, where after examination and x-rays, I was told I have a displaced shoulder joint, caused by a rotator-cuff injury.

So today I was having an MRI scan, to show the exact nature and extent of the damage.

First (well, after a clipboard worth of forms and an eye-watering financial transaction), I was

positioned under an x-ray machine, while a doctor pumped my shoulder joint full of a gadolinium contrast fluid. There was some anaesthesia too, so the needle sliding into the shoulder joint capsule was not too bad, but it's wearing off now and I'd like to bite somebody.

But the MRI.... Magnetic Resonance Imaging... Essentially, you're shoved into a very small hole in a large doughnut. And surrounded by a humongously powerful magnetic field It's certainly powerful enough to suck steel furniture in...

 Pictures via http://simplyphysics.com/flying_objects.html

You are carefully positioned, warned that it's noisy, given earplugs and industrial earmuffs, the operator leaves the room, and a noisy chaos begins. I was told that about ten percent of people are so claustrophobic they can't tolerate it. Well, I've been a plumber. I've gone through holes in floors, walls and ceilings, where there's no room to turn round or roll over.  And I've weaseled myself into tight spaces under vehicles and in engine bays, where despite not being able to move much, I've been trying to weld, or undo a gearbox's bolts. 

So, as the magnetic field oscillated my hydrogen atoms, for what seemed a long time, I was drowsing and comfortably musing about all manner of unimportant trivia.
This procedure was quite untroubling, if you're ever referred for one, it's not something to be scared of.

The scan results will go straight to my doctor, and in a couple of days I should get an appointment to find out what's next. But, he's already told me, it'll probably mean surgery. 

Sigh.

In the meantime, more ibuprofen and on with the painting of walls!

The Sirens of Titan.

"The Sirens of Titan" was the title of a science fiction novel by Kurt Vonnegut, first published in 1959... so are the days of future past.

Al Stewart

I was drawn by the sirens of Titan
Carried along by their call
Seeking for a way to enlighten
Searching for the sense of it all
Like a kiss on the wind I was thrown to the stars
Captured and ordered in the army of Mars
Marching to the sound of the drum in my head
I followed the call
Only to be Malachi Constant
I thought I came to this earth
Living in the heart of the moment
With the riches I gained at my birth
But here in the yellow and blue of my days
I wander the endless Mercurian caves
Watching for the signs the Harmonians make
The words on the walls
I was drawn by the sirens of Titan
And so I came in the end
Under the shadow of Saturn
With statues and birds for my friends
Finding a home at the end of my days
Looking around I've only to say
I was the victim of a series of accidents
As are we allI was drawn by the sirens of Titan (as are we all)
As are we all
I was drawn by the sirens of Titan (as are we all)
As are we all...

Curses! Foiled again!

via Laughing Squid...



("Curses! Foiled Again!" was a catchphrase for Muttley's sidekick, 'Rick Rastardly' Hehehehehe!)

I Preferred The Older Minute.

 If you're not British, you'll probably be better advised not to bother reading this post. Just as I often don't get the references my american blogger friends make to things have been  part of everyday life in the U.S.,  you probably will frown and think it's not funny at all.

On my sidebar, there's a link to Adullamite's blog. Recently he was bemoaning the decay of the BBC Radio panel-game, "Just a Minute".
The idea is simple. A panel of four guests  are challenged to speak for 'just a minute' on some diverse subject, without 'Hesitation, Repetition, or Deviation'. It's harder than you might think. Back in the days when I regularly listened, regulars panellists were Clement Freud, Derek Nimmo, Kenneth Williams.
Current ones, Paul Merton, Julian Clary....
I listen occasionally via the BBC's web app.

And I agree with Adullamite, I think the current crop of contributors are sadly lacking,  and would be pulverised if they were to play against their predecessors.

Here's a little vintage British radio:

Nifty!

Every Saturday night, just north of Houston, Texas, there's a car gathering called 'Niftee 50ees', at the junction of Kuykendahl and Louetta.
It's open to any vehicle from before 1979, I think. Everything from an Oldsmobile Curved Dash of 1902 to the great muscle cars of the seventies, plus custom cruisers,  hot-rods, chopped and channeled sleds,  trucks, vans...

Having an old, square, Land Rover, of course, I like to take part, -though really the emphasis is on home-grown metal, there are a few foreign imports.
I open the bonnet....(hood, for my American readers), to show my non-chromed, non V8, non-hemi-headed, non 427 cubic inch, trivial 4 cylinder engine. I see it as a refreshing palate-cleanser, akin to a glass of cold home-made lemonade, for all those poor folk overdosed on detroit chromium.

 People think my Land Rover is a Jeep... No, these are Jeeps....

They raise money for charity, the local fire crew brings a truck for kids little and large to goggle at, the height of excitement for many a child is to be allowed to sound that big chromed bell.

 

Entry for the public to browse: Free!

To show a vehicle? $10:00.

I'm not there every week, because because even a knucklehead like me would get bored.  But the number and nature of cars there is ever varying.

Then there's 'Cars and Coffee', at Market Street in The Woodlands, every first Sunday of the month, from early o'clock to Eleven a.m.

I'm amazed at the number of people who own old cars here.

The Last Leviathan......

Siggy Stern, singing a beautiful song, by Andy Barnes, recorded and better known by the Dubliners, Siggy, to me, does a better job.

Not a recording artist, she has uploaded a few songs to YouTube.
This song came to mind when I was viewing a post by 'Nag on the Lake' about a dutch painting, that in restoration was found to have originally featured a beached whale.

The Lost Whale

And It Has Little Handles That Fold Out For Pushing.

Brazilian Furniture

I was going to buy, but then I realised that it would always be in need of waxing......

The Curtain Rises. And Billows.

The Scene: centre stage: darkness, a bedroom,  a bed.

3 a.m.
Silence.
A sleeping couple.

Loud farts... Several. In quick succession. 

Him: I can't believe you did that!

Her: What?

Him: You just shattered the silence with a barrage of bottom-burps!

Her: Wasn't me!

Him: Who then?

Her: Sam Houston did it.

Him: Sam Houston was in our bedroom?

Her: Yes.

Him: And he got here how?

Her: In his buggy.

Him: So you're saying, Sam Houston, (first president of the Republic of Texas), who died in 1863, resurrected himself, and harnessed up his ghostly horses, drove in his buggy to our bedroom, where he let loose a trombone solo in the vicinity of your rear end, then got in the buggy, flicked the reins, and trotted off down the stairs and into the night?

Her: Yes. That's right.

Him: Oh.

They go back to sleep.
Outside, ghostly hooves and creaking of harness fading to the distance.

In the morning he asks her about Sam's visit. She has no recollection. And no shame at trying to pass off her farts as those of a hero of the Texas revolution.

From now on, mystery occurrences in this household, from trumps to empty ice cream cartons in the freezer, will be blamed on Sam Houston.

Sam Houston at the Battle of San Jacinto

(When we first met, back in 2007, and she visited me in England, as we were carrying her compendious baggage into the house, somebody farted, and it wasn't me. She looked me in the eye, and with a straight face, said "did you hear that?" "I did, I heard a fart."
"No", she said. "A bark.  -it's the barking spiders."
She persisted in trying to tell me the sounds I kept hearing were made by barking spiders, a subset of arachnid I had never previously encountered. And they had followed her, from, she thought, the airport in Atlanta, Georgia, perhaps stowing away in her baggage.)


More from the bedroom: The Morning After.

If This Blog was a Delivery Company...

JohnnyExpress from AlfredImageworks on Vimeo.

Shock News!: Grit in the Gears Written by Robot!

Picture found by Red Dirt Girl on Pinterest, this is an assemblage by Brian Marshall.

As is this.

The author of this blog sometimes feels like he's a machine, and right now he's got a cramp in his left side rib actuators. He identifies with these fellows.
Un-grit my gears, gimme oil!