And Now We Are 4

Want to really confuse a dog? Follow my example.

Show up at the dog's house, a complete stranger. Take the dog from the arms of the only guy he has ever parented, put the dog in the car of the woman he loves but hasn't seen for several weeks, and drive him for 3 days to who knows where, for why. You'd be scared too.

This is Foo Dog number 3, Milo. Don't you love his collar?

Milo

Milo spent every inch of our 1287 mile drive right here or on my lap which was the only space available in our tiny car, which turned out OK as he claimed the floor under the drivers legs as his private querencia* long ago.

Although they have lived far apart for all but 7 weeks of their lives, Milo is Charley's big brother, same parents /different litter. At last, they are reunited.

Charley

You may recall when Pooh moved in,

Pooh Bear

it took a while for the 2 girls to determine a pecking order. Now, we've added an older male Foo to our mix, along with Ted the Wonder Dog who wants his say,

Ted the Wonder Dog

and every day is Christmas.

Toad

*The querencia (the word does not translate into English) is the location, inside a bull ring, a fighting bull believes to be its sanctuary.

Odds and Ends

I generally make some attempt to hide my more egregious flaws from myself and the public eye but periodically a public airing is necessary, not to rid myself of guilt (that's the lowest of all excuses) but to take heed and learn from the generous consul and tips for betterment, such confessions elicit.

Today is such a day, when I share my sins in order I may learn, and perhaps save another troubled soul. May the bridges I burn light your way.

I. I am a bounder!!!!!!!!!!!

My trip to Boston was an errand of mercy. My bonus daughter moved in with us soon after her college graduation. She came home for a family wedding (shown holding Joe)and never looked back, and I'm tickled to death. My job (is this boy work?) was to reinforce her goodbyes to her boyfriend (Ben Sidran's point #1), gather her belongings, load her car and drive it home. Easy Schmeesy. Unspoken, was the #1 admonition to bring her dog Milo, home safe and sound (more later). Which wasn't so schmeesy.

I made tres clear, before leaving home, to Mrs. T that I wasn't coming straight home. In fact, publicly and in advance, I rattled the green eyed monster's cage by informing her I had separate dates with 2 attractive, accomplished, vivacious women, who just so happened to live 500 miles apart. For a week I was target of the monster's velvet sheathed jest, butt of her jokes. So what's so bad about that?

Due to the vagaries of travel, I stood both women up.

Ladies, once again, I'm sorry. I'll regret this for a very long time.

2. Why don't I get Angelina?

An newspaper article caught my eye. Angelina Jolie and Sarah Jessica Parker are the two highest paid female actors in Hollywood. I have no truck with the either women or the sums involved. More power to them, but...

What flaw is in my character that causes Angelina Jolie to leave me cold? Not a scintilla of interest on my part.

3. What's wrong with this picture?

This photo is from Bill Cunningham's "On the Street" column "The Ponies" in the July 3, 2011 NYT.

Any number of us have the individual pieces to copy this look, but don't, for which I'm glad.

Is this one of those" if you have to ask" you'll never get it, sort of things, or may we simply credit advanced age on my part? There is something in me that doesn't get shorts, sports coat and tie, when not in Bermuda.

4: And finally:

While in Boston I had the opportunity to meet local bon vivant and raconteur Yankee Whisky Papa creator of the blog Boxing the Compass. Over postprandial cigars he captured a true rarity of a photo.

In the past 15 years you may count on one hand, having digits in reserve, the number of times I have worn a long tie. May be another decade before I do it again.

Boxing the Compass photo

I liberated the snap below from Manifold Destiny. It's origin, I now know to be Kiel James Patrick, but I don't necessarily disagree with its sentiments, in moderation.

Kiel James Patrick poster

Have a great weekend.

Toad

The gods mock me

Once again Fortuna has spun her Karmic wheel with my name coming up trumps. Armed with your suggestions I'm headed to Bean Town.

By a fluke of geography, Boston to Washington DC, then a quick right turn through the mountains to Mayberry is only a few miles further than than the MapQuest recommended Boston-Mayberry direct route. Knowing the calendar, and observing that the mileage difference is insignificant, I've added Gettysburg (the anniversary of the battle was last weekend) and Baltimore (soft shell crab season) to my itinerary.

So what does this have to do with the Ben Sidran recording? According to Ben, in these few short days I'll cover "the 3 simple constituent parts of Jazz Music in America". You need to hear the song to learn what they are though. While passing your neck of the woods I'll wave.

Remember, not all who wander are lost. Try to get on without me, I'll be home in a few days.

Toad

Happy Birthday to The Bikini

Two parters saved fabric during WW2.

In 1946 Louis Reard, auto engineer, and part time designer for his mother's Parisian lingerie store, in an effort to drum up publicity for his mothers shop, created the Bikini, first shown on this date in 1946. The newest fashion in swim wear was so scandalous no model would wear one, so Reard hired Micheline Bernardini, a local ecdysiast.

Named for atom bomb tests on Bikini Atoll in the Pacific 5 days earlier. The first's bikini's fabric was printed with news accounts of the blast. Louis Réard's second, and perhaps greatest innovation was his universal criteria for measuring it: “A bikini is not a bikini unless it can be pulled through a wedding ring.”

Brigitte Bardot was the first celebrity to publicly wear the reviled suit, but not until 1953.

The first American girl to publicly display the suit was famous sex kitten Annette Funicello, in 1963's Beach Party, much to the chagrin of furious Uncle Walt.

Thanks be.

Toad

Happy 4th

Have a great holiday, and many thanks for all your good wishes.

Toad

Patriots in Alabama

For good friend and Gulf Coast correspondent, David A. Bagwell Esq., a simple fishing trip isn't worth the bait, if he can't enliven his companionts with a bit of local folklore along the way. To suggest his tastes are catholic, his enthusiasms broad and knowledge boundless hardly does him justice.

In an effort to escape the office, David took friends and his cane pole to the northwestern side in his beloved home state of Alabama. While there he shared this story of other visitors to the same area, at the same time of year, only 200 years earlier. (If memory serves, this part of the world was then called Georgia, but that's another story.-Toad)

Patriots in the Tombigbee River Swamp in 1809

On July 4th, 1809, surveyors from the United States and the Choctaw Indian Tribe were mapping a line up the watershed between the Alabama and the Tombigbee Rivers, as a part of the survey done by the United States and the Choctaw under the Treaty of Mount Dexter of 1805. It was hot, sweaty work in the River Swamp of the Tombigbee. Their food went bad and they had bad water. Mosquitoes were everywhere.

The day before, on July 3'd, shortly before they surveyed westward across the Tombigbee, the survey journal says they were informed that some Choctaw and some Muskogee or Creek Indians who did not like the treaty, "had determined on taking the lives of the Chactaws Chiefs who have attended us on the Boundary line, and having reason from several suspicious circumstances in the conduct of [the Indians] to believe that the report is not entirely groundless. . .", they decided to wait on instructions.

The next day, July 4'h, despite all of these problems, Levin Wailes entered this in the Journal of the Survey, now in the National Archives, spelling unchanged:

Tuesday, 4th July 1809
The manner of our spending the Anniversary of our National
Independance will not, we believe, be likely to excite the envy of
any voluptuary; Nevertheless our Company, consisting of true
Patriots, and zealous Republicans, join heartily in the wish that
our posterity for ten thousand ages, may enjoy a Government as
free, and an administration as virtuous as we do at the present
day.

David A. Bagwell

David Bagwell lives in Point Clear, Alabama, and has his own "White Shoe Law Firm" in Fairhope. In almost six decades he has never lived outside the South, although he once spent most of a year traveling around the world on a Fellowship to study international business.

Should you have a genuine curiosity about the Treaty, get in touch and I'll forward David's history of the survey and treaty.

Toad

Hem

50 years ago this morning the leading light of mid 20th century American Literature was extinguished in Ketchum, Idaho.

Hemingway House-Key West, Florida

For a concise look at why Ernest left so suddenly, take a read at John Walsh's analysis in the Independent.

Toad

Travel Advice please

Friends, once again I come hat in hand seeking your advice. Today I have what I hope are hypothetical questions, concerning a drive from Boston to Washington DC.

Suppose someone were to move from Boston to Washington DC in a fully loaded small car along with a small dog. All things being equal-ish, with neither time nor distance of the essence, but having no wish to stop in NYC, it feels like a good idea to avoid the area all together. Is this right thinking? Is this a situation where adding an extra 100 highway miles saves 4 hours in city traffic?

Option one is to drive south from Boston across Connecticut then to Scranton, Pa south to, Harrisburg, to DC.

Second is to suck it up and take the 90/95 route through the city.

There must be a preferred way? WDTLD? What do the locals do?

You're life savers thank you so very much.

Toad

My Old Canadian Home

Happy Canada Day!

Canadian entertainment at its finest, eh.

Toad

The Jockeys

My bride disparagingly refers to this as my race track suit and silently gives thanks that it has been too cool to wear it out this spring. Tuesday was glorious so I wore it to lunch, which is a long walk towards ADG's suggestion to follow up The Cricketers of Vanity Fair, with The Jockey's of Vanity Fair by the Russell March.

Vanity Fair's weekly prints were drawn by a several artists, the most frequent contributor being Leslie Ward, who drew as Spy. VF print purists memorize his autobiography "Forty Years of Spy". My copy, a 1969 reissue of the 1915 original, admittedly loses style points, but I have read most of it. We'll focus on Spy's drawings today.

I'm conflicted about horse racing. I love the spectacle of Derby Day, the women in their finery, the drunken bums in the infield, even the punters wagering the rent money at the local track. In better times I've even designed racing silks for our imaginary stable, and still I'm not completely convinced that racing isn't a step or 2 away from cock fighting. As with other beliefs you have it or you don't, and no amount of logic and rational discussion will sway.

One hundred years ago when Vanity Fair was in print no such qualms existed. The cavalry was the preferred military service, the ticket to higher postings, much like fighter pilots today. Gentlemen, owned turf and steeplechase thoroughbreds, polo ponies and draft horses. They knew horseflesh, and Vanity Fair which catered to the leisure classes was right there along with them.

Arthur Coventry

The Jockeys was a series of prints included over a 30 years span. The drawings were of the top jockeys of the season, always described as paradigms of Victorian manly virtue, who ride for Lord so and so, and never a hint of bad conduct ever suspected, unlike those other guys.

Tom Cannon

Remember that these prints were included in a weekly newspaper. The color and quality are remarkable, for which the artist was paid a pittance. The color sporting prints are the most sought after by collectors.

Captain Edward Rodney Owen

Captain Owen wouldn't look out of place on a London street today.

Fred Fletcher

The remarkable thing about the Jockeys is that they were, for the most part, not young men. When drawn most were in their late 30's and early 40's, and had been racing for 15-25 years or more. Careers were longer then, than now.

Toad

Thanks to Mister Mort for allowing me to use his photo of Ascot Chang's display as my summer header.

Silver Foxes

Paris Match photos

Rereading Lisa's (doyenne of Privilege) guest post at Rock the Silver on women transitioning to gray hair was timely. To my way of viewing the world the new head of the International Monetary Fund, Christine LaGarde has managed the transition very well.

Christine Lagarde

But then I'm a boy who started going gray in 8th grade who loves women with gray hair. Great post Lisa.

There must be something in the air, 3 cheers to all the women who have posted lately on their own transitions.

Toad

goggles and the drivers test

Vanity they name is .....

Missouri has an extra special birthday gift for its citizens. Your drivers license expires on your birthday. Mrs. T's drivers license was scheduled to expire Sunday, and her anxiety of passing the eye exam was something to witness. She fretted about it for weeks.

I've worn glasses most of my life, without them I can barely see the ground. My child bride has never worn goggles and although she is fighting an eye infection, and can no longer read a menu without strong light and longer arms, that counts for nothing. She find a reading eye dog before she would not allow her license to be besmirched by any "need for corrective lens" restriction.

Occasionally I'd hear her mutter, "I wonder what's on the test. Maybe if I listen closely to the person in front of me and memorize the answer..." I'd reply, "I believe you know the answers, A, B, C, D" Judging by the abuse heaped on me, I was not a help.

Her big day came Friday. Armed with 3 forms of identification and a passing knowledge of her ABC's, Mrs. T arrived at the DMV office prepared for battle. The examiner verified her address, took her photo and check, printed her new license and never once administered an eye test. Instantly, the sky cleared and all was right with the world.

She lives a charmed life.

Toad

Ken and Thelma

To paraphrase Mark Twain, I used to be a good boy, however, lately, I must have become a very good boy. I know this because I received a surprise in the mail, a book from one of my favorite people picked up at one of my favorite book stores, Faulkner House in New Orleans.

The book was a copy of Ken and Thelma by Joel L. Fletcher, late of Fredericksburg, Virginia.

Joel was a buddy of Ken Toole, author of A Confederacy of Dunces, and later befriended Ken's mother Thelma, becoming her whipping boy in her later years. Ken and Thelma is the story behind the story of the creation of "A Confederacy of Dunces", Mrs. Toole's struggles to have the book published after her son's death and her constant fight to preserve Ken's legacy.

The book is truly Thelma's story. Thelma wanted what she rightly believed was hers; respect, attention and the opportunity to sit at the head of the table wherever Ken, his book or his literary legacy were considered. She expected much and was often disappointed.

It's a good read. I've passed my copy onto another unsuspecting soul who I hope enjoys it as much as I did.

Toad

Mrs. T's birthday extravaganza

Lest there be any misunderstanding, let it be known I adore my bride. Paraphrasing Auden (180 degrees out of context) she is my North, my South, my East, my West. I cherish our life together, and can't imagine any other life which would be any more worth living. Today, the anniversary of her birth, I am especially grateful, because I get to share my story.

As with most husbands, I'm the burr under her saddle. As long as opposites attract, we are opposites in everything that doesn't matter, and joined at the hip at those that do. Together we are indomitable. She's taught me to take the long view, I've taught her not to take the little things so seriously. They have been gifts from the heart, each to the other.

Mrs. T is not my best friend, she doesn't complete me, her life would be full and satisfactory without me. I on the other hand would be totally lost without her. She's my reason, she's my why and I adore and cherish her. Because of her I want to live forever. I'll need at least that long to convey what a lucky guy I am, how happy I am being married to her, how I treasure her love and each moment we are together, and how I love her mostest.

Happy Birthday my adored.

Toad

The more things change....

Long time visitors may recall I mentioned the fellow holding up the post last July

Some thought I was in jest, that no one would really be allowed to travel in this day and age so attired. I wasn't then and I am not now. Our buddy is back in the news. Sayeth The San Francisco Chronicle:


"PHOENIX -- A man who flies US Airways in women's skimpy clothing, including little more than undergarments at times, said Wednesday that he does so to make business travel more fun, and complies with employees' requests to cover up - though they rarely ask...."

Follow the link above for the rest of the story.

Toad

Why its called self evident

View out our back/front door

I'm aware several designers, architects, developers and creative types stop here periodically. It's to them I write today. Like the architect for our last house who failed to include HVAC in his building plans, some things should be self evident, but often are not. A pleasant reminder, while unwelcome, is occasionally necessary. Consider our present house, a mid century brick farmhouse with several subsequent additions.

The most recent addition was an extension of the kitchen and family room. The designer had a clean slate to work with, as the owners brief was simple. Make a room. Put it there. Make it fit with the rest of the house, make it usable. Save my favorite tree. The owner liked the tree, what can I say? Looking at the photo above guess the favorite tree.

I'll grant it sounds simple enough, but execution is what earns the big bucks. So how did he do? The back door is THE entry to the house. Our front is a facade with no foot or automobile access. While custom says put the door in the middle, a creative mind understands problem solving involves getting the questions right.

To the right of the door is the kitchen, left is the family room.

The distance straight out the door to the all important tree is 4 Topsiders. About the same as your reach across a double bed. Perfectly positioned to aid furniture movers, Christmas tree haulers...

Building that door 2 Topsiders to the right would have made a world of difference.

Toad

cricket anyone?

Michael Harrison-Bonhams

I apologize to my Anglo friends and visitors but I must admit upfront that I know positively NOTHING about cricket. Couldn't name the who's who, don't know the temples of the sport (everyone knows Lord's right?), haven't a clue who the teams are, have no idea what ashes are, couldn't save the gods of the sport if discovered in a police lineup.

In Mayberry, the only hope of seeing cricket played is to wander into the Indian neighborhood, or behind the Hindu Temple on weekends. I rarely stop, unless the food fair is going on.

Knowing nothing is not the same as disinterest. At a garage sale this week I picked up several copies of Cricketers of Vanity Fair by Russell March, not for love of the game, but simply for the clothes.

ADG could wax nostaligic and intelligently about Vanity Fair prints, I'm merely a poser, but a bit of history I do know. VF was published weekly in England from November 1868 until January 1914. On January 23,1869 it was announced that beginning the next week a full page cartoon of an entirely novel character would run. The ubquitous VF prints are its linear descendants.

From Mrs. Blandings

Most of the following photos are taken from the book and were included in the original print run of the newspaper. Most are Victorian.

You have to appreciate any game adult males (is that an oxymoron?) play that has a dress code. Players trousered in white flannel with the ADG sanctioned 2+ inch cuff.

I'd sell my soul to find a pair of vintage cap toed cricket boots in some ancient relative's closet. Your soul too if they fit. Till then it's bucks for me, unless you have a pair to share. The jacket may be a bit much however.

A striped linen jacket would be nice however.

100 years on even Ralph has gotten the hang of it. Not so sure about the club collars. Is the young lad wearing girl shoes? At his age I would have been whipped like a rented mule before donning white sandals with socks. Even for money.

Toad

Chick Magnet

That is my buddy Joe. He's 4 weeks old and good for drawing a crowd. Mrs. T and I were at a wedding Friday night in which his parents and siblings were attendants, so Joe's dad asked Mrs T if she would watch the little guy. Who wouldn't right, and he was good as gold.

Mrs. T had him for half, I for the other, which was fun since I had the pleasure of escorting Joe and my best girl out of church, while being on the receiving end of all the smiles and ohs and ahs directed at Joe.

After the ceremony, an attractive woman in bridesmaid regalia hunted me down and insisted upon my giving up the child. I told her to get her own.

She did get her own, his name is Joe. A most beautiful evening.

Toad

Summer Solstice

Our family has long been blessed by having its own Astronomer Royal, Dr. Richard Schwartz, my son in law's step father. We've relied upon the good Doctor to scan the night sky, visiting distant galaxies on our behalf, informing us of the exact arrival of each solstice to our backyard. The photo above is of the Richard D. Schwartz Observatory located at the the University of Missouri, Saint Louis, the academic home of Dr. S.

Today's solstice most likely marks Dick's celestial farewell. He's been in declining health for several years, fighting above his weight, far too long with science, technology, dignity, and smarts on his side, yet still the bad guys are winning. Having spent countless hours looking out into infinity, it's nearing time for Dick to learn whatever there is to learn from the perspective of the other side. Ever the teacher, with a little boy's wonder in his eyes and joy in his heart, I fully expect Dick will be reporting back with his new discoveries before we know it.

Remember, The Day the Earth Stood Still? The remake with Keanu Reeves.

ferdy on films

Picture John Cleeves and his office, that's Dick Schwartz. Curious, dryly funny and fully engaged. I'm going to miss him a great deal.

Toad

Marine Week

It's Marine Week in Mayberry.

After WWII, for beer money, my father joined the 3rd Marine Infantry Battalion, the Thirsty Third as a reservist. He had so much fun he talked 3 of his wife's brothers, each a WW2 vet, into joining up as well. Free work clothes was his sales pitch. The fun lasted until Reserve Summer Training Camp at Camp Pendleton in 1951.

While training in California, the unit was activated and the 3rd Battalion was quickly shipped to Korea. During hostilities the Battalion won the Presidential Unit Citation, each member of my family picked up 2 Purple Hearts, and I was born.

My dad stayed on as a drill instructor until his enlistment was over. My oldest memory of my father is his Marine dress uniform.

To absent friends.

Toad