One-Twelfth Gone

It's the last day of the first month of the year, and a date when all those forms the government says you need to properly file your tax returns – all those W2s, 1099s, and such – must be in your hands so that you will have two and a half months to do what needs to be done by April 15.

The idea of having to file tax returns is not a pleasant one, never has been, and with all the talk these days about financial bailouts, and pork barrel spending, and expensive private jets, and wasteful social projects, it gets to be even more distasteful to think that our law-makers may not have any real notion where our tax dollars go.

My rant for today.

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The other observation for today is that it has taken 31 days for me to get used to the idea of writing 2009 on my checks. The good thing though is that I use few checks these days, as I am paying most bills online. So now the computer does the dating.

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House on an Alley

The sky is blue today, very blue, and the air is crisp and chilly. This little house sits in back of an alley in San Mateo. Nothing exceptional about it, except that I found the highlights and shadows intriguing enough to take its picture.

Whistle

You may well be asking yourselves, my friends, why is Georgius posting bits of trivia and other nonsense, when the world is undergoing a crisis of confidence such as we have not seen in a lifetime? Well, it's sorta like what Anna is telling her son in "The King and I."

Life's Little Pleasures

I can't rightly say, at this juncture (almost said 'at this point in time', an expression I decry whenever it is used, far too often as it happens, by newscasters on television, or by politicos of all stripes), that there have been, this past week, any project which I can lay claim to having completed, unless you are willing to count, as the committee ladies who attended a meeting hosted by my wife did when they took time out to enjoy it, that is to say, the platter of cheese toast that I had prepared for them, and that most were later kind enough to inform me was indeed delicious and certainly comparable to what they remembered having been served back in our younger days when we all were members of a certain club whose kitchen staff then had a consistently good reputation for this sort of snack, which, though there was no recipe for me to follow, I was fortunate enough through a series of trials and errors to closely approximate in our own kitchen, the project itself, though it was a simple one, requiring a certain amount of time and care in preparation, seeing that two different cheeses were involved, both finely hand-grated, blended with English dry mustard, milk, sugar, two eggs, a quarter cup of flour and a teaspoonful of baking soda, the mixture then being spread on sliced bread which had been diagonally cut into triangles, to end up in a broiler-oven (preferably one with a convection broiler for more even cooking) set at four hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit, where the cooking time would be in the neighborhood of a half- minute or so but you really must keep a close eye on the toast to be sure it does not get incinerated.

My recommendation for a beverage to accompany this snack would be Earl Grey or English Breakfast tea in which has been stirred a large dollop of condensed milk.

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More Weather Images

A weather front approaches from the west, bringing the promise of rain. But in fact, as today's newspaper reports, the Sierras were only dusted with a light snowfall, and there's no rain in the forecast for the remainder of this month.
The city of San Jose, the second largest in California after Los Angeles, lies spread out beneath a dramatic evening sky filled with towering cumulus congestus clouds lit by the setting sun as dark streaks of low stratus punctuate the billowing, cottony forms.

Drama in the sky

Seen from the hills above Cupertino, this cloud formation provides a dramatic backdrop over the metropolitan expanse of Silicon Valley. The sun is in the west behind the photographer; it is early evening; and a storm is approaching.

Verily a Shorte Storie

He was much disposèd, even as a Childe, to regarde Himsselfe as a Creature above ye Ordinarie, being brilliant in suche Matters as ye Mathematicke and Variouse Sciences. Few Friends hadde he, so that his Childhoode was passèd in a veritable Prision of Lonelinesse, the like of which no Personne of that Age should be permittèd to undergoe.

In due Time he grew to be a Man of Consequaince, and was held in high Esteeme in Society by his Fellowes, whose Opiniones he considerèd greately inferieur to his Owne.

Being yet of ye Temperamente of a Childe, he was oft immoderate in his Speeche, and in this wise causèd some Embarrassmente in Publicke, uttering Thinges that no One in his Positioun could be expectèd to say, and to Personnes who had the Meanes to do him Harme.

It came about that at a certaine Ball, he did rashlie rebuke a Man for being clumsie in ye Use of Knife and Forke at Dinner.

He was challengèd to a Duel, which upon the appointèd Day, he attendèd, but without ye Advantage of a Seconde, having no One willinge to accept that Honour. On this Occasioun, however, his aime was good, and he causèd his Challenger to be slightlie woundèd in ye Lefte Shoulder.

The Man never forgave him and ever after sought Vengeance.

I fear I must end here, as there is no Moral to this Storie, whiche I am setting down forthwith here at my Computer on a fine Sunday Morning before Breakfast.

A Thought for Today

It's not a very pleasant thought, but it will surface from time to time, I know from experience, whether you like it or not. It is the ominous reminder that our numbers are dazed, and always have been, from day one. (Sorry. Couldn't resist.)

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Renee Fleming at the Inauguration celebration

My friend Luis clued me to this one. Renee sounds wonderful as always.

What's new?

It's been a week since my last post, and much has, or has not, happened in the interval. We have a new President, the first non-white ever to attain that high office. The world's financial problems appear to be deepening. Peace in the Middle East is ever more unreachable. Ceasefires are ignored. California seems to be in for another drought. Its government can't seem to get its act together. Confirmation hearings are going on in Washington for the new President's cabinet. In the face of much bleak news, we had one good uplifting story. A passenger plane crashed into the Hudson River in New York, miraculously with no loss of life, because of the skill of its captain and co-pilot.

Choosing a Chooseday

Chooseday. That's today. Chooseday. The second day of the week, if we don't count Sunday as the first. Some strange calendars do that – they start with Monday instead of Sunday. We have a plastic pill-holder made in Japan: seven compartments, one for each day of the week, and it starts with Monday. Takes a bit of getting used to. Chooseday is here. Happens to be a lovely day. Clear skies, perfect visibility. Mild temperatures.

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Last night I made a dish for a potluck dinner with some old friends at their house. Indonesian beef curry, rich and spicy, made with lots of coconut milk and shallots, garlic, and onions in the sauce. Yeah, I know, saturated fats, not good, but what the heck, you gotta indulge once in a while.

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Intersection in B & W

Taken from my car window, as I waited to make a left turn onto South Norfolk Street from East Hillsdale Boulevard in San Mateo. Late afternoon sun to the left outside the picture frame. (I added the red traffic lights.)

Last Night, Again

Last night, again. Dreams, perhaps a series. Details vague upon waking. A sense of disquiet. Something contrived, impossible to unravel. Others involved, but unrecognizable. Crashing waves on a barren shore. Rocks. The cry of birds. The color blue, but not sky. A yearning to discover. The word 'forever'. Being singled out. Borges and 'Forking Paths'. Clouds over the horizon, in parallel layers. A slowing of time.

Books

For a long time now I have abstained from lending books to people, unless I was sure they would take good care of them and return them in as pristine a condition as when removed from my library. Sometimes I have to make my reluctance so apparent that the prospective borrower gets the message and withdraws his request. This may sound uncharitable on my part, but from knowing the reputation of the borrower either personally or through hearsay, this may be the only way I know to avoid disappointment when it comes to preserving the integrity of my beautiful and rather extensive library.

The worst sort of book borrower is probably the one who defaces the book, and I mean one who does so deliberately, by writing in it. A printed work is not a scratch pad. One does not use end-papers for memoranda or doodles, no matter how desperate the need for recording a telephone number or a making a shopping list. I have had several experiences with borrowers—relatives often are the worst—that have left an indelible mark upon my psyche. Never again can they be trusted with one of my books.

Some people regard paperback books as disposable, and have been known to carry them around in jeans pockets, where the curvature of their posteriors will give the borrowed book a broken spine, and loosen the pages from their binding. I knew someone who, on finishing a few chapters, would tear off the part of a paperback novel already read to give to someone waiting to read it. For me that’s sheer sacrilege.

We have an obligation to return books to their owners, but too often this obligation is not taken seriously. For some, it would appear that a book is nothing more a newspaper, to be read once and then discarded. They have no regard for the beauty of the book as a work of art and a thing of value, sometimes even of a value beyond price. Bibliophiles they are not.

Books should be physically cared for. Dust seems to collect on books more readily than on other surfaces. Which of us has not had occasion to blow away the dust when taking a book down from a shelf. A regular sweep with a duster along the tops of books should be a regular part of one's cleaning chores.

(All right, already. Enough of this pomposity at the start of a new year, wherein so much of greater importance than the care and preservation of old tomes await our attention.)

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