On my walk back from getting lunch today, I saw a dollar bill mixed in with some fallen leaves in the street. Didn't pick it up, though. Figured someone else could use it more than me.

Have seen a couple of interesting posts on parents' rights over the last day or so.

Come on, let's be reasonable: I don't go on benders at Chuck-E-Cheese, so what makes you think that you can turn, say, the 1369 into Romper Room?

Now, I, like most reasonable people without children, am not militantly anti-kid (How could I be? I worked in Child Welfare for years - yes, taking care of kids) or anything, but don't push me or others like me, okay? You have rights, but so do I. You infringe on my rights, I'm not going to be happy. It's not "hating," it's a natural response.

Mr. Smith goes to City Hall.

Norm's Poll Results are up! I see that two of my three choices made the top 20, anyway.

Okay, I've had it.

Over the past couple days, I've gotten well over twenty phone calls from everybody running for either alderman or school committee in Somerville. Since I don't believe that there are any Republican candidates running (come on, this is Somerville!), I don't know that I can do anything but not vote tonight. This makes me feel dirty and sick, though. What do I do?

Tormented.

Of course, Peter Schickele's having pointed out that you can sing "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" to the melody of "Hernando's Hideway" doesn't help matters any.

***

Oh, what the heck. Yes, you can sing anything by Emily Dickinson to "The Yellow Rose of Texas," as well, I've found. Idem for just about anything by Schiller to the final movement of Beethoven's Ninth.

***

And let's not forget that since Hal has taken to calling my lovely Marcroft ovenware mugs "Hero Mugs," I can't drink a cup of tea anymore without humming the overture to Die Meistersinger. Thanks, Hal.

Some more images from our impromptu Saturday afternoon idyll:



Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though;



He will not see me stopping here to watch his woods fill up with snow.



My little horse must think it queer



To stop without a farmhouse near



Between the woods and frozen lake the darkest evening of the year.



He gives his harness bells a shake to ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep of easy wind and downy flake.



The woods are lovely, dark and deep.



But I have promises to keep,



And miles to go before I sleep,



And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost

***

Though the Solstice is still another month an a half off, a combination of factors (Olmsted's design, a fog rolling in off Boston Harbor and the early sunset - 4:30 pm) created such an atmosphere that only Frost's poem could have provided the rhythm for my footsteps.

My Tuesday Morning flower is actually flaming fruits and foliage caught by Hal on our Saturday walk.



***

Where did we walk? At World's End in Hingham - one of perhaps a score or so of privately managed nature preserves on the Massachusetts coast alone. Interestingly enough, in spite of their being privately owned and managed, none that we've seen so far have featured NASCAR tracks or a Golden Arches.

Am still feeling a bit woozy, but probably should go out and get a little sunshine and fresh air, anyway. Besides, need to go take care of the cats and don't like dealing with Pablo's place in the dark (think Fingal's Cave or Ludwig's Castle in Somerville).

Of course, I couldn't not be bothered while trying to sleep. Received no fewer than six recorded phone calls from people looking to get my vote in tomorrow's elections. As if the flurry of collateral I'd received from everybody (at least five pieces from each alderman and school committee candidate) weren't enough.

You know what? Just for that, I am not voting for anybody. I will go in and vote against the damn economic divestment of Israel proposition, and then leave. Hate them all. Hiss.

Sunday's follies were apparently not enough. Monday struck my head with the force of a hammer on an anvil. Clang...Ouch! I thought my skull was going to explode from the force of the pain. I don't believe that it was a migraine, as there wasn't any flashing, although I did throw up a number of times. Judging by the fact that it's been kind of difficult to breathe lately and that the pain was a soggy, hot one around my eyes and temples, I'm thinking that this was sinus-related. Called work to tell my boss that I didn't think I could make it in, vomited again, felt my way back to bed. Found in my brain a place where it didn't hurt, so concentrated on having it soften the rest of me up. The effort of this concentration wore me out, and I managed to sleep for a good six hours.

Heavens!

Was all set to get the fall cleaning done yesterday when Chance decided to mess with me. While the fall curtains were in the washer, I went outside to muck around in the yard a bit. Pulled up a bunch of dead plants and potted the chrysanthemums, then figured that the laundry was done. Went to the door, which in principle is never supposed to be locked, and found that it had locked itself. So, there I stood, barefoot, in a tee shirt and no good supporting undergarment, mud on my face and hands. The drizzle started getting heavier, the sky darker and the temperature cooler. What to do?

Checked with the neighbors to see if anyone had a key; no one did. Borrowed a phone and called the landlord up nawth. He said that he'd not be back in at least two and a half hours, so I'd need to sit tight somewhere. The guy across the street loaned me a sweatshirt, so put that on and wandered over to Pablo's.

Thank heavens he was home. Amused myself with the cats for a bit while he was fretting over what to pack for the conference he's currently attending (Bjarne Strostrop speaking at some Microsoft group grope in LV - Pablo's guru/childhood crush/person he wants to be when he grows up if he grows up some day). When he finished with that, I made something for dinner, and then called the landlord again. Three quarters of an hour north of the City on I95...could I hold tight a bit longer? Of course. Waited with Pablo for his taxi, then took the long way home. When I got back, I found the house wide open and everything lit up like Christmas...hallelujah! Thanked my landlord and Mrs. Landlord for letting me in, then managed to get the curtains up. Much as I wanted to go to bed, couldn't do so until I had some privacy.

"Je ris par peur..."

The upside to all this, according to Hal, is that now he doesn't have to buy the three disc set for Battle of Algiers. He can just turn on the news and see it for free.

I wouldn't blog this with a ten foot pole, much as I'd love to.

(Not for profit is NOT a mandate from God. It's a tax status.)

I do hope that mon ami du loin is doing alright. He's old enough to take care of himself, but a girl has a right to be concerned.

I see that there's been a silent march against the violence in Aulnay-Sous-Bois this morning, where 2000-3000 people walked the streets in a show of solidarity with authorities. The mayor of that particular suburb stated that the march was a sign that the laws of the Republic applid to all and that they were not going to give themselves over to violence.

Of course, then there's the "beurre" view: "Of course we are all opposed to the violence. Sarkozy, however, was the one who set things off, and he's not to be excused."

Sarkozy, in case you don't remember, is the one who called those who started the violence thugs. Seems like an apt description to me. If they happened to be maghrebin, well, there you go. Maghrebin and thug are not mutually exclusive terms. To try to shift the blame in this way is a great example of the decadence of PC, I think.

***
Here is a discussion as to whether the riots were organized acts (with a fair bit of prior planning), or 'crimes of passion' fuelled by emotion and the moment. As to the islamification of the movement: It can't be conclusively proven at this time, according to Paris's head prosecutor, Yves Bot. "At the moment, we can say that this is a movement directed primarily against the Republic and that it's not yet taken any sort of philosophical or ideological (communautauriste) turn."

The head of SOS Racisme called for a discussion that would go beyond simple investigation of the events and would address the futures of the urban ghettos. (Not a bad idea. A lot of these places are pits and tend to get ignored.)

***

Now I see that the rioting's spread across the country. Not good. What on earth's going on? Goodness. Denmark, too?

A UN auditing board conducting an investigation says that the US should pay $208 million back to Iraq for overcharges. A UN auditing board. Something tells me they really shouldn't be going there.

Of course, the cynical side of me sees this as a great way for some folks to attempt to get the spotlight off them, what with the recent release of the Volcker report and all. Also a great way to whip up some resentment against the US in Iraq and maybe get a few more troops killed.

Halloween's great, but November First is a pretty big day, too:

To my friends who celebrate All Saints Day, une joyeuse et benie fête de la Toussaint.



To those who pay homage on Day of the Dead, Feliz Día de los Muertos.



Of course we can't forget Diwali. Happy brightening up the night!

Halloween.

Roughly two dozen kids showed up: more than last year, but considerably less than what we used to get in Eastie (anywhere between 80-100). Mr. and Mrs. Landlord had all the good candy, like usual. I had slightly lesser offerings, but they were still gladly accepted.

Hal decided on a bat theme this year, no doubt inspired by the past weekend's film choice.





Isn't this a great Hitchcock-inspired view of Evil Incarnate?



I had put some green Christmas lights up in my front window - arranged them so that they'd look like glowing green ooze. Hal had fun playing with long-exposure shots in the dark. He mentioned that one of the results looked to him like music:



We left the front door open so that we could take a peek around the hall every now and again. It appears as though someone else was ver-y inter-ested in the goings-on around the neighborhood:



(I like the soft, out-of-focus effect. It makes the picture look like supernatural footage from That's Incredible or Ripley's Believe it or Not - two shows I watched faithfully as a kid, in spite of my not being able to sleep afterwards.)



I don't know what on earth transpired between Hal and Mamasan here. I think that someone was trying to mess both with the cat and flash photography.

Dinner was the traditional start of cold-weather fare:

Chicken Casserole (Chicken tenders with two cloves of garlic, a handful of soaked mushrooms, a couple diced carrots, a couple diced stalks of celery, a handful of chopped fresh spinach, a can of cream-of-mushroom soup. Covered it all, baked it for roughly an hour at 350.)

Stuffed Butternut Squash (One butternut squash, split and seeded. Put a pat of butter in each cavity, then sprinkled with a bit of nutmeg and cinnamon. Tossed this into the oven for about 1/2 an hour. When squash was soft enough to make me happy, filled the cavities with prepared boxed stuffing mix. Returned to the oven for another 15-20 minutes - until the stuffing was crispy on top.)

and pumpkin ale. This year's variety was Post Road Pumpkin. Very nice with a lovely nutmeg backwash. Lovely backwash? If you like nutmeg as much as I do, it is possible.

Dessert was leftover candy (very little left, mercifully). We got to try some of the inside-out peanut butter cups.

Since we were all pretty exhausted, the evening broke up early. Still, nice to have a little tradition to give a sense of continuity.

Past Pumpkins



Last year's, which did a world of good.



Three years ago was a cat theme.

(No luck finding the other jack o'lanterns yet: Two years ago, I did a smily face and four years ago, it was an anime-pumpkin. Hopefully will find copies.)

Today's my technical Monday, as yesterday was a complete wash work-wise.
At any rate, here's the 'Monday morning' flower:



Hal took this at what he called the "collective farm" up near Brunswick, ME last August. It's not really a Soviet-era farm where people are starved to produce food for other parts of the empire, though. More of a cooperative that grows vegetables and sells shares of whatever the crop is.