Civic Calories

I voted yesterday in our city's non-partisan open primary for mayor and one council seat. It was a pathetic turnout, only 8%--seriously 8%--bothered to turn out. I think more than that write in to the newspaper every week to complain about the mayor and city council; they just won't get off their lazy butts to actually do anything about it.

One of the advantages, as I see it, to participating in a low-turnout election is that, proportionately, my vote carries more weight than it does in the general election (when people do show up to vote on the candidates already selected for them in the primary). Even so, my candidate for mayor came in second behind the incumbent although my choice for council member did win (the right to run in November).

The other advantage to a low-turnout election is that, since the polling place is usually stocked with edible goodies as a little reward to voters, the poll watchers still had mounded plates full of cookies, doughnuts and brownies when I came in a half hour before closing time. They insisted I take large quantities with me when I left. I obliged.

Free snacks are always a good thing as they go but the cookies at the hospital blood center are objectively better. And since I am scheduled for a platelet donation tomorrow . . ..

I Am Legion

I have lived most of my life under the assumption, based on anecdotal evidence, that I am, in fact, only one of an indeterminate number of identical clones, although I like to flatter myself by thinking I am the original template and all the others merely copies.

My awareness of this situation began shortly after I went off to college. On my first trip home, Mom reported that she'd seen me in the local supermarket three weeks earlier and, wondering why I was AWOL from school, had approached to within six feet before realizing whoever it was was not me. Six feet! My own Mother! It happened again a couple of years later when she almost stopped to pick "me" up hitchhiking along the highway before remembering I was over 500 miles away. (I do hope that clone eventually got to wherever he was supposed to be.)

There were a number of times, when I had my game company, when I was mistaken for the owner of another game company and I do have to admit, at the time, the resemblance was uncanny.

I have been accosted on the street more than once by friends of my clones, calling out to me in their names, and inquiring as to the latest news. I have invariably both disappointed and fascinated them.

It happened again today. A woman with a gaggle of young children coming down the hallway in the library tried to shepherd them aside to make room for me and as we passed she called out, "Hello!" and then to the kids said, "That's Mister So-and-so." I was so startled I turned the corner before realizing her greeting had been addressed to me and when I turned around again she and the flock had moved on.

I hope, when she finally sees the "real" Mister So-and-so, he has the chance to explain why he was so rude as to ignore her today.

I wonder how many of me there really are?

That Time of Year

Well, we're finally recovered (mostly) from our Labor Day bacchanal.

My brother managed to get the lawn mowed and the bunting up along the fence by the path to the front door but the rain threatened and although it never did pour like it has every other day for the last two weeks, we wimped out and ate indoors.

I barbecued way too many ribs on the assumption my brother's new girl friend would be joining us which she didn't because she had apparently already made a commitment to her own kids' picnic (which was just as well because we didn't have enough corn on the cob, otherwise) so he and I ended up with basically a rack and a half each and, although we had left overs of the chips and dip and beans and potato salad and Cole slaw, we killed those ribs. (I suspect there may have been some Valium in the sauce because my brother collapsed and slept for six straight hours right afterward.)

So now Summer is unofficially over and Rainy Season is almost over and mango season is definitely over although its going to be next mango season before we manage to eat up all this year's harvest. What's next? Oh, look!

Catalogs.

Redneck Studies: Deadly Deja Vu Department

My brother called me last night to come out and rescue him. It seems he'd been turning into a customer's driveway when the left front of his truck collapsed onto the pavement.

Again.

Fortunately, he was only going about 5 miles an hour as he made the turn so he was not injured, but the left front still hit hard and looks like it might have bent the frame since he can no longer close the driver's door. I met him out by the side of the road and we waited for the tow truck to drag his vehicle back to the same guys who "fixed" the exact same problem (which only occurred after they "repaired" a different problem) barely four months ago.

He uses these jokers because he's a sucker for an underdog sob story and the owner claims to have quit the garage my brother used to use (and I still do) in a righteous fit because the other owner was doing something shady although he hasn't given any specifics. He now claims the old shop is in financial trouble which I certainly haven't seen whenever I've been in there. All this is hearsay and only one side of the story. My theory is bozo got fired for incompetence. He claims to have quit in a huff without giving notice. I say he was fired on the spot and told to get out immediately. Considering the quality of his work in my brother's case, I feel pretty confident in my assessment.

My brother does not take advice well. Nevertheless, I attempted, as diplomatically as possible, to explain to him that these bozos had already had all the chances they should be allowed and that he really ought to take his truck somewhere else lest they get another chance to kill him because, sooner or later, they might well succeed. I think I might have got through to him. At least, he was talking about going somewhere else and sending these idiots the bill. Whether he does or not, we'll see.

At leas it wasn't raining last night.

Saturation Point

Yesterday's thunderstorm may have put us over the edge.

It came on very strong with violent, close lightning (the power went out--briefly--before the thunder hammered through) but didn't last all that long. Nevertheless, it poured while it was here and, for the first time, we have some semi-serious flooding.

Our property does not abut a canal, but there is one at the end of the street. That end of our street was flooded and the entire next street over was as well. I don't know how deep because I had already driven through an intersection which I had never believed to be in a depression of any sort but which was covered by a 50 foot wide temporary lake that rose over my axles and I wasn't about to tempt fate again.

A couple of the canals near us were topping their walls and flooding onto the lawns of the houses backing up to them. The swale around the front two sides of our property has become a moat and the low spot in back is now a pond of sorts. Virtually all of our cherry tomatoes are splitting due to all the water being taken up after the fruit sets. (They still taste better than anything in the store.)

This morning, the streets were clear and dry again although low-lying grassy areas are still covered in standing water. The canals are back within their banks, barely. The ground is squishy to walk on.

One thunderstorm has rolled through already this afternoon but it was a light one. Another one like yesterday's just might be one too many.

How It Came To Be That Alfred Hitchcock and I Had the Same Housekeeper

Recently, a friend posted on his Facebook timeline the anniversary date of Nixon's resignation from the presidency. Normally, I do not comment on Facebook except for birthday congratulations but this prompted me to remark on how I happened to be in Lafayette Park, across the street from the White House, standing by Connie Chung and Dan Rather, partying with a few thousand others that night.

Which got me thinking about some of the other events/happenings/coincidences in my life.

It was in the last century, while Nixon was still president, and I was studying political science at a small private university in New Jersey. Our school, despite its size, offered several off-campus semesters including United Nations (International Organizations), Brussels (European Community), Washington D.C. (U.S. Government) and London (Comparative Government). I eventually took all of the off-campus semesters except Brussels thereby spending my entire junior and half my senior years away.

This story is about London.

There were about 40 of us on the semester, including about a dozen students from other schools, plus three of our professors and another handful of local professors and lecturers including a sitting Labour M.P. All of us, except the locals, lived in a five-story white stone Victorian townhouse in South Kensington a short walk from the Royal Albert Hall. The owner would occasionally lurk about in the corners with serious second thoughts about having American college students running loose. (Rumor had it a few years later he sold the place to some African country for an embassy.) In addition, this being London and all upstairsy-downstairsy, we had a full staff: cook, whose specialties included Brussels sprouts, ox-tail soup and eggs drowned in lard; three live-in maids, two homely Spanish girls who looked enough alike to be sisters and one incredibly cute Australian whose nickname was "Rabbit" and who has her own story possibly titled "How I got the Maid Fired for Fraternization," due in a future post. And the housekeeper. Mrs. Yardley.

Mrs. Yardley was in charge. Mrs. Yardley set the schedules for the maids and inspected their work. She kept the owner from freaking out. She could do nothing to improve the cook. She was barely five feet tall, broad in the shoulder and hip, with thick stubby fingers and a voice like a trumpet. Think short Julia Child with a working-class English accent. And, unlike the owner, Mrs. Yardley was intrigued by Americans.

One day four or five of us were sitting around one of the bedrooms enjoying a little afternoon sweet vermouth when Mrs. Yardley knocked and entered. She had a question regarding American timekeeping, specifically: Did the phrase "a quarter of the hour" mean fifteen minutes before or after the hour? Being Americans, it had never occurred to us that this could cause confusion but, after considering for a moment, we realized that, yes, someone unfamiliar with the Americanism could misunderstand and invited Mrs Yardley to partake of some vermouth while we explained. (It means before.) Turned out Mrs. Yardley liked vermouth. We had two bottles that day. We guys finished one and Mrs. Yardley did for the other.

Towards the bottom of her bottle Mrs Yardley started to reminisce about her experiences during The War. She'd been in London during the early part of the Blitz but late in the war got a position out in the Essex countryside as a housekeeper. In fact, she was on her bicycle, peddling home from market one day, when one of the first V-1 buzz bombs exploded in a field less than half a mile from her. She said her employer out on the estate was "Mr. Hitch-cock." That's how she pronounced it, with equal emphasis on both syllables as if it was two words.

We asked her if he was, you know, the Mr. Hitchcock. Oh, yes, indeed, she said. Himself. We asked what he was like. Mrs, Yardley turned her glass a bit, examining her vermouth, perhaps contemplating the propriety of discussing personal details of a former employer.

"He was a very quiet man," she said, finally. "Strange. But very quiet."

Well, of course.

What We Have Here Is a Failure to Mitigate

(A Fairly Typical Juncture of Two Canals)

I have noticed on certain trips about town, when crossing over some of our numerous canals, that the water level on one side (the inland, or "upstream," side specifically although they are all pretty far from either the river or the gulf) is significantly higher than the other. One in particular is so high it completely covers the culverts meaning any increase in water level is going to flood that area.

(Hmmm . . . Potentially Blockage Inducing Flotsam, There)

My assumption is the openings under the bridges I am crossing have been blocked by flotsam of unknown provenance. I do not know if the people living in the immediate vicinity of these choke points have noticed or notified the city. I do know I have seen no one doing anything about it.

The water is already up to the lip of the seawall in many places.

And look! It's raining. Again.