CAMPING ON MURRAY

Spent the weekend with the boys and scouts camping on property at Lake Murray, practically in the center of the lake on an island owned by the Turbevilles. Although it was a bit chilly and windy on Friday night, with the leaves rattling as if being struck by rain, it was a delightful and enjoyable trip. The boys mostly fished and did a little hiking and such, but they all seemed to have a wonderful time. A few rough patches with them, but when isn't there when you are talking about a diverse group of boys. Chimo did very well, as basically an honorary member of the troop, and hopefully he will be able to work toward his arrow of light (sounds like a video game, no?) despite the pack he joined suddenly discovering it had no other boys his age, and another pack denying him entry (because he didn't attend the school where the pack met). If he could do it, he'd join the older boys in a second and would be off and running. Chimo will be a great scout, I think; when he arrived he was right to it setting up his tent, and although he was shunted off in many of the activities, he found a lot of fun things to do. It will be interesting to see the dynamic once Joey & Chimo are in the troop together. On Friday a racoon ate his late-night dinner next to my tent. No one believed me, and even mocked me; then on Saturday one of the boys saw the racoon. I felt vindicated. You could hear quite a number of birds. I placed my tent away from the rest of the group, right along the edge of the lake, and the gentle lapping of waves against the rocks was wonderful and soothing. The campsite was a bit on an incline, and I often felt as if I were slipping toward a watery doom, but I managed. Mostly I relaxed and chatted with the adults. I also got to read a little bit (Ishiguro) and even fished a while with the boys a while. No one was particularly successful with the fish, though we did observe turles. I instructed one boy on how to use a rapala lure, and I managed to do some cooking instruction with two of the boys. And I even whipped up a nice sauteed medley of vegetables for the dinner (the food was very good). I hope the others liked it. Joey and others who will likely be attending the upcoming jamboree did some sort of planning. We made a quick visit to a really well-done Halloween display at a nearby mansion. I hurt a little in the hip, but felt pretty well overall, despite sleeping outside. I was pretty cozy on Saturday night, thanks to the gift of an additional blanket.

CHIMO'S VIEW

I came across this drawing by Chimo in my desk, that I am sure is about two or so years old, having been done when he was mid-third grade I am guessing. In it he draws his family, but note the clear separation between Mom and the three guys. He draws himself between his older brother and me (why he gave me a tie and no glasses, I am not sure). Next to his mom he places "Mad man" (Chris Rossi), looking every bit evil with the huge single eye, creepy grin, and wispy ponytail. And his mom, wearing a dress (she seldom did) is looking at him with tears in her eyes. And note too how carefully he draws a line between his mom and madman, writing in the corner that this is the "sukee side". (sucky side?)

WHO SHOULD LEAD?

John McWhorter has it right when he writes: "The present-day Republican establishment, with its know-nothing ideology and blithe absence of concern for most American human beings, has become tragically similar to the famously inert, heartless Senate of the Gilded Age, which for decades killed almost all progressive legislation even when it had been carefully hammered out in the House." Do we really need another Republican leader of the Hoover mentality (which of course was after the GA)? I cannot abide for the anti-education, anti-regular folk, anti-freedom crowd that wants to push America back into some 1950s mentality.

AFGHAN STAR

Just watched a nice documentary, Afghan Star, about a television music-contest show akin to American Idol, designed to reintroduce popular music to Afghanistanis after their long dark ages under Taliban rule. It basically follows the attempt by four young singers to capture the hearts (and cell phone votes) of enough of their countrymen to garner nationwide fame and a sizable chunk of cash (no telling how valuable $5000 would be to them). The production is one step above amateurish and the quality of performances not what I am used to, but the singers all garner fervent support (often based along ethnic lines), and the show is a hit throughout the country and with just about everyone except religious fundamentalists. I must say that a few performers, especially the young woman who danced on stage during her farewell performance and incensed just about everyone, were extremely brave in challenging the restrictions they have encounter in recent times. Heck, even the fans who clamored for seats at the live performance struck me as brave, considering the possibility of terrorist attack. The documentary does remind viewers about the cultural blind spots in Afghanistan, but also reveals a diversity of viewpoints and a hope that the country can eventually, perhaps, join the rest of the world in enjoyment of the arts. I was shocked by just how dirty many people appeared. And I was surprised and delighted by the beauty of some of the buildings, especially the mosques, and how they stood out from the mud-colored towns and neighborhoods.

OAK

What I miss at this old age
is sitting high like some tree sage
in a stately southern oak
not thinking of being rich or broke.

DAD

Dad sitting in our kitchen on Keystone; must have been late, cause Mom looks like she is about ready to hit the hay. I think this picture was taken after the wedding of my sister Beth, so they may have been pooped from all the activities of the day.

Dad, with my brother Paul (who is about fifteen in this pic) goofing behind him.

GRANDDAD

My paternal grandfather Francis "Frank" Tidd. He was visiting the house on Keystone, probably around 1982 or so. He was professional caliber athlete (in tennis and golf) as a young man, and I believe he was a scratch golfer most of his life. WWII intervened and he trained for the D-Day invasion, but was pulled at the last moment to serve as an artillery instructor (much to his everlasting chagrin). For most of his working career, he was a Cadillac salesman in New Jersey, then retired with my grandmother to Clermont, Florida. He was a scary fellow---stern, taciturn---but I spent a few weeks with him not long before he died, and I liked him very much.