THE TEXAS SCRIBBLER

It was inevitable. After two years of forcing Mr. B. to write in cursive (essentially because his printing is sloppier and much harder to read) he has developed a signature. Looping and swooping at the end.

More Dionysian than his late grandfather's (which he has never seen) which was rather severe. Moreso even than mine ever was, even at his age. (Years ago I lost the flourish and went with a quick, neat signature that could be done in a hurry.) Interesting development, this. Or maybe it's just that the Y on the end of the surname encourages a loop and a swoop.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B.'s big item for his and Mrs. Charm's secular Christmas celebration was Guitar Hero. When he's older he may find the Afghanistan and Iraq campaigns more enlightening. Fortunately there'll be more available than the usual anti-American, anti-war movies that Hollyweird churns out:

Video "game makers aren't afraid to put players in situations where U.S. soldiers are unambiguously the good guys, while the combatants – often Muslims – are the bad guys."

Via Instapundit.

Re our secular Christmas at the rancho: This celebration of parties, presents and poinsettias has more to do with Saturnalia than Christianity. It is far older than the religious version. (Some nineteenth century Protestants found it so unnerving that they took to assuring their fellows that while they did mark the Nativity they did "not worship the tree.")

Christians still confuse the two, some of them whacking the secular version as ungodly. Well, to each his own. Mrs. C. would be lost without her favorite time of the year. And while he long ago graduated from Santa to understanding who the real gift-givers are, Mr. B. likewise would be bereft without packages to unwrap and goodies to consume. Good thing they needn't be.

Link via Power Line.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

On the last night of Chanukah, a miracle occurred! I discovered a really cool hip-hop Chanukah song written by the senior senator from Utah. Who also writes love songs. And this is also one of them. Hey!

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B. did his tryout this afternoon at the West Austin Youth Association. Last year it took an hour or more. Much better organized this time. In and out in twenty minutes, including the scrimmage (skirmish?) at the end.

One coach handling the layups noticed that he was dribbling left handed, and so had trouble hitting the basket when approaching from the right side. Shifted him to the left and he plunked it right in. Games start in January. Looks like it will be more fun than last year as Mr. B. has improved a lot.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So far, most of my shopping has been (as usual) online: at Amazon and Kodak Easy-Share. With a side trip to X-treme Geek. My one bricks-n-mortar buy was a unique toy at our local hardware store. Last up is Harry & David for my diabetic veteran friends, one of whom (Mr. Boy's godfather) also is allergic to nuts or he'd be getting a traditional Texas fruit cake from Corsicana.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. still doesn't know his multiplication tables. He has to think, for instance, about what 5 X 5 is. Sometimes he guesses wrong. I would have solved this last year by forcing him into the sort of intense memorization session my own father put me through in one evening. But Mr. B.'s teacher last year, when the tables were introduced, said it wouldn't be a good idea. He'd not know why they work as they do, she said, and I deferred. Little did I know she was programmed to say so, whether she believed it or not.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Mr. B's idiot school system has put a new requirement on parents of students: We now must have background checks, clearance before we can volunteer to help out in our child's classroom. Imagine that. The days of the volunteer cupcake-maker are numbered.

Mrs. C. says I am living in a fantasy. She says this is the way of the world these days. They already dislike cupcakes, she points out, because of the crumbs. The head classroom parent assures me that this is a pain, yes, but it's necessary for the safety of our children.

I say this is worse than a pain. It's pretend security. It's pretending that since all the good folks will obey the rules, the bad ones will, too. It will not protect the children and the bureaucrats know it. This is like the no-guns sign at the entrance, which is just an assurance to any criminal that this is a facility full of unarmed victims waiting to be slaughtered.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I enjoyed this 1992 scifi novel of physicist Charles Sheffield's, though it seemed unnecessarily complicated in the beginning. A little more action before establishing the seven main characters would have prevented me from putting it down so often. Sheffield died of brain cancer in 2002, which resonates because a good friend of Mrs. Charm's is struggling with it. Seems to have it licked for the moment, though the odds of that lasting are very low.

I bring up Sheffield to point out how easy it is to fall into these stories of ordinary life in the solar system, as if we had gotten off the engineering dime and were actually living in/on Luna, Mars, and the Asteroid Belt. A lot of Cold As Ice occurs on (actually, under the surface of) Ganymede, which recalls Heinlein's impossible young adult novel, Farmer In The Sky, which Mr. B. and I started as a bedtime story but never finished.

We had the space probe pictures and details of Jupiter's radiation to consult, as Heinlein did not. Also life on (under, actually) Europa, which seems plausible, despite Sheffield's scientific realism of the dangers of Jovian radiation. I hope all this verisimilitude means humanity really will do these things and not just wallow forever in political corruption and the threat of war. But a posed result of the latter is limned chillingly in Cold As Ice as one of the spurs for continued colonization.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Oh, well. It's worse than our second place last year, even our third place in 2006. But much better than the sixy-sixth we had in '05. That was dead last. Result of some errant glue gumming up a wheel. We think we found the problem this year. Our wheels were crooked. Got to watch it when you drill those holes for the axles. Might even be worth drilling another one if the first one is bad.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We're having fun this year making Mr. B.'s fourth racer for the scouts' Pinewood Derby on Sunday. He wanted to go for a win, again, so we followed the speed rules: dimensions, etc. Then we made the axle holes too big, so the wheels are loose, and completely fouled up the camo decal. He was planning to go for wacky next year, but we already seem to be headed in that direction by default.

For all that, it's been fun, specially with him doing more of the work this time. He's finally old enough to hold a power drill steady and help saw the block of pine down to its speediest narrow shape. He practiced first, a bit shy at the noise the drill makes, but otherwise game. He's growing up. He also decided we'll take the car in Saturday for impounding, then go to his basketball game at the J on Sunday before catching the last hour of the derby and see what the car's been doing against the competition. If the wheels stay on.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Wasn't so long ago, indeed, it seems like only yesterday, Mr. B.'s teachers were complaining about his penchant for drawing knights fighting monsters with swords and machine guns. This horrible fixation on weaponry and violence, they said, was a bad, bad sign. Psychiatric help might be advisable, etc., etc.

Today he brought home a book from the school library on the Army's Bradley Fighting Vehicle. Huh? He said there were lots more like it in the school library and he planned to read a few more for his nonfiction reading requirement. After all, he got an A on a reading test on the Bradley book. High incentive there, as you might imagine.

Like a lot of other fourth graders he prefers fiction (generally fantasy) to nonfiction, so his teacher is constantly pushing nonfiction to balance it out. He said she didn't mind the Bradley book and he found it interesting. Wanted to know if me and his godfather, who fought in Vietnam together, had Bradleys back in those ancient days. Nope. I showed him in the book where it said the Bradley wasn't introduced to the Army until 1981. That was twelve years after our time.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

That's the name of Mr. B.'s "newspaper," a two- to three-page stapled collection of brief items, generally about favorite video games, bloopers at recess or clandestine food fights in the cafeteria. Some kids sell lemonade. Mr. B., being the child of two ink-stained wretches, is venturing into journalism.

I worry about possible angry administrators or even parents if some of his items wind up embarrassing another child. Mrs. Charm says I'm making too much of it. Mr. B. wants to sell his papers for twenty-five cents each at recess. He's got visions of more than a hundred potential dollars. I demur, figuring the school will not like him doing that. Mrs. C., well, you know. It's certainly not at this level, but I worry that the consequences could be similar. So far I'm losing. So we shall see what we see.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B.'s new cousin (shown here apparently discovering her hand) is in the hospital recovering from a sudden attack of an unknown disease that frightened her parents and grandparents half to death. She is, after all, only about seventy-five days old. A fever of 100.6 was the tipoff and subsequent tests showed her white blood count was seriously high. But, so far, the most awful diseases have been ruled out and she seems to be recovering.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy has recently discovered the telephone and how much fun it is to call a friend or get a call from him and talk for hours. For hours when I forget that's what he's doing. But even though this sounds amusing, and I must admit has a certain juvenile appeal, I have so far not allowed him to record the outgoing message. Then again, he hasn't asked to do it. But forewarned, as they say, is forearmed.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Giving a six-year-old a clasp knife is pretty stupid to begin with, even when it also contains a fork and a spoon. But suspending him from school (and making him do 45 days in the district's reform school as a further punishment) because he brought it to the cafeteria to show off and eat with is, well, about what you can expect these days from the Nanny State and its public school minions. They're experts in making Everests out of ant hills. No wonder school vouchers are so popular.

Via Instapundit. And Best of The Web Today, which notes that the 45 days is "more time than Roman Polanski initially spent in captivity for raping a 13-year-old girl.

MORE:  The Waco schools are smarter. Zero tolerance is like the Army's old Zero Defects. Nonsense.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (7)

Well, spiritually, anyhow. My back and sides still ache from sleeping (or, trying to) on a malfunctioning air mattress and I can feel the start of a cold from the chilly rain we encountered with the Cub Scouts out there this morning. Mr. B., with the resilience of youth, shrugged it all off. I remember. This sort of adversity used to be fun when I was young. Everything is fun when you're young.

I did not actually climb the rock's pink granite dome this time. I took a nap in our tent, instead. The other older father, about ten years younger than me, did climb. He contrived to fall about five feet in a cave the boys were exploring. He landed on his back and spent the rest of the trip hobbling about. I expect to be fully recovered from my aches and pains by Tuesday night. Next year's trip, after which Mr. B. will be a Boy Scout, will be my last. The Boy Scouts don't mind if parents come on their campouts but it's not encouraged. Mercifully.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B. and I leave early tomorrow morning for the annual fall Cub Scout camping trip. This time we're staying at Enchanted Rock state park, the big pink granite dome north of Fredericksburg where Texas Ranger Jack Hays fought off a Comanche war party about 1844.

The boys will be hiking to the top at noon. Not sure I'm going to make it to the top this time, but have done it many times before. Fortunately the mail today brought my review copy of Mike Cox's new book, so I can read until they come down.

We've been advised to bring lots of bug spray, as all the recent rain in the Hill Country out there has vastly increased the mosquito population. Forecast highs in the seventies, lows in the fifties, however, should make long pants and long sleeves comfortable, as well as protective.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Our visit with the pediatric neurosurgeon yesterday left us all feeling better than we have since Mr. B.'s central precocious puberty problem became apparent in July. The lesion/tumor at the bottom of his pituitary gland under his brain turns out to be an apparently normal cyst with a ninety-five percent chance of being benign. As for the five percent uncertainty, we are to watch for symptoms such as severe headaches, vision problems and loss of coordination and get a second MRI in two years. Meanwhile, it's back to the endocrinologist to begin the hormone treatments to halt the early puberty until the normal time for its arrival, to ensure that Mr. B. develops to his normal height, whatever that may be.

MORE:  By unhappy coincidence the Seablogger also has a pituitary gland growth, though his is a tumor that is "very large but benign" and pressing on his optic nerve. We wish him luck.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Mr. B. will be livid if Barry's plan to extend the school year goes through. School in Texas already resumes in August, thanks to politicians grubbing for votes. And Mr. B.'s unhappiness would be as nothing compared to all those kids trained to chant the prez's name and slogans. But they all may be saved once the unintended (?) consequences become known. You know, the unusual downside to all that Dem social engineering.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. is a rising Webelos Cub Scout now, and the first requirement is for a citizenship belt-loop. Part of it is to do a public service of some kind. His den decided to have a bake sale outside Sam's Club and donate the money to charity. I had forgotten how long ninety minutes can be in retail, standing through most of it and smiling even when you don't feel like it.

Lots of generous people, though. One woman gave the boys a twenty without taking even a cup of lemonade or a cookie or a brownie. So after the ninety minutes, when even the boys were dragging and begging to have it over with, we gathered up what goodies were left, counted out the $139.75 we had made and took it to the Austin Humane Society. We got a nice tour of a nicer and cleaner place than I imagined it was. I held my breath for the adopt a dog or cat request but it didn't come. Whew.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Mr. B.'s fourth grade teacher wants empty 2-liter soda bottles for a classroom ecology study. Being a classroom parent, I didn't stop at one Coke Zero bottle for Mr. B. but have plunged on to get more. The only hassle is the label. Most of it can be cut off, but it always leaves some where the glue is.

The glue comes off easy enough with WD-40, something I discovered years ago trying to get dried glue off fiberglass. But the label residue itself, ugh, what a pain. Scrape, scrape. Mrs. Charm suggested immersing the bottle in hot, soapy water. I even left it soaking overnight. Didn't work.

This fellow managed it with slightly-cooled boiling water poured into the bottle. I may have to try it, though it sounds like a great way to ruin, or at least deform, the bottle's thin plastic. If there's a surefire trick here, I have yet to find it. Anybody have any suggestions?

UPDATE:  Have noticed several visits from folks seeking info on this subject. Therefore will add that I wound up doing in the neighborhood of twelve bottles and this process works best: cut off the label and spray the label residue with WD-40. Let it soak a while and then use a razor blade in a holder to scrape it off. Corner of the blade works best. Once the label is off, spray more on the glue, wait a bit and then wipe it off. Wash and dry the bottle to get the WD-40 off. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I figured when Mr. B. starts on algebra, either in late middle school or early high school, that my ability to help him with his homework would be at an end. I never understood it and have happily ignored it ever since.

Then Mrs Charm and I got into a mild dispute the other night trying to correct his math homework on decimals. We realized that neither of us was entirely comfortable with fourth grade math, nevermind the harder versions to come.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

China's experience with the unintended consequence of their one-family, one-child edict is quite amusing. We've struggled with some of that with Mr. B., of course, as probably any parent of an only child can attest. I took to calling him "your lordship" when he was a Terrible Two. But he's improved.

Via the Seablogger.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

The results are in and we have an early October appointment with a pediatric neurosurgeon to hear what he wants to do. Mr. B., who is nine, has central precocious puberty, which is not uncommon in girls but rare in boys. Blood tests and ultrasound ruled out problems with the other pubertal hormone producers in his body. Leaving the pituitary gland at the base of his brain to be examined. Hence the MRI.

Indeed, it found a small lesion/tumor at the bottom of the gland apparently forcing the pubertal hormones early. His prediatric endocrinologist doesn't think the neurosurgeon will want to remove it, but merely do another MRI in six months to check whether it's grown. Monthly hormone shots for Mr. B. in the meantime (and for a few more years) of a type to reverse the condition until he's the appropriate age, about thirteen. We hope the PE is right and not merely avoiding being the bearer of bad news. Doctors, being human, do that sometimes. We'll know in October.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

His fourth grade class watched the president on the television in their room. Nobody opted out. He thought it was pretty good but that it was way too long. "When it hit [fifteen] minutes, I thought 'Time to wrap it up, dude.'"

Instead, he said, it went longer. It was twenty minutes long by most accounts, a long time for a kid to pay attention. Instapundit's teenage daughter's class, for some reason (unexplained), laughed at it. Mr. B.'s class consensus: they liked it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's strange that a president would do this, especially during the school day instead of in the evening when kids are at home. But it's probable it'll just be boilerplate: "Stay in school, study hard, contribute to your world, etc." Austin schools, picking up on the scattered protests elsewhere, are telling parents they can opt their kids out, if they want. What will the kid do? Go wait in the hall until it's over?

The schools already are plenty political. In Texas, as early as second grade, they teach global warming as a crisis, not a controversy. It's made for some interesting discussions with Mr. B. I remember the schools trying to indoctrinate me and my peers with this or that bit of politics years ago. By high school, our b.s. detectors had become pretty sensitive.

Eisenhower was president when I was in elementary school. He famously preferred golf to almost anything else. His successor, JFK, was too busy with extramarital affairs to speak to us directly. But if either of them had wanted to, I'm sure the schools would have made arrangements for us to listen. Probably forced us to listen. There was no opting out in those days.

UPDATE:  Dan Riehl ponders whether Barry is uniquely unable to do this without controversy or if any president could do it peacefully anymore.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

One of Mr. B.'s best buddies is back from his annual family trip to see the in-laws his grandparents in India. So we'll thank the Hindu remover of obstacles and hope we can have a little bit of that rub off on us.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B.'s homework assignment spiral notebook has a spot on the first page for his parents' phone numbers. He dutifully wrote in Mrs. Charm's office phone. For Dad he put the home landline number and wrote under it: "Never answers the phone, so don't bother."

Smart kid. Wish the sales callers would get the message, but they continue to call and I continue to ignore them. We've debated getting rid of the landline but are keeping it for the older relatives who don't have cell phones.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

He had one this morning, at the Dell Children's Hospital, in search of something that might, or might not, be wrong. They put him under anesthetic so he could hold still inside the hole of the big donut for thirty minutes to an hour. He came out of it okay, just groggy and dehydrated. They gave him a popsicle and let him sleep a while. At home he lay on the couch and watched cartoons all afternoon.

The worst part, for us, was waiting in the outpatient-surgery waiting room. There were several other couples, presumably waiting out something more serious than an MRI. One couple I remember especially. The woman looked stunned. The man looked angry, which I took to be anger at fate. Another man was crying. He had his head down by his knees, trying to hide the fact. The woman was stroking his back. Tough morning. Tougher for them. We got off easy. This time.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy's newest cousin, born to one of his first cousins, which makes Ella Rose his second cousin.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Biggerize. The opposite of Minimize. You know, those symbols in the upper right corner of your browser. Previous entries.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

One of the favorite games of Mr. Boy's cub scout den, especially in the woods on camping trips, is to each get a stick and go hunt for aliens. Not the illegal sort, but the outer-space variety.

Most of it, of course, is spurred by Star Wars and similar epics. But it's not as if scientists haven't given it some thought. In fact, a lot of thought. For instance, the SETI program.

Three good essays on the subject are here, here, and here. I think they're out there but, like most of the humans and the aliens in Poul Anderson's Starfarers, they may well have long since turned inward in favor of exploring themselves.

Via Instapundit.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Mr. Boy's spirit animal, this stuffed elephant, recently had her first bath in nine years. Followed by a tumble dry. It was Mrs. Charm's idea. Get rid of her familiar smell, the thinking went, and Mr. B. would be less inclined to carry her about and sleep with her. Not that we mind that, especially, but he still sucks his fingers, despite our best efforts to stop it, and her comfortin presence seems to play a role in it. Anyhow, it didn't work. The precocious pachyderm, Miss El, remains immortal. And the rising fourth grader's finger sucking, alas, continues.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It wasn't a brownout for the rancho, just a cutout this afternoon that came back on in less than a minute. Took an hour more time for some people, maybe. Crashed the main computer, of course, in the midst of Mr. B. playing, as he said, "an important duel" in Wizard 101. So he was upset to tears.

This Austin Energy release is from July 18, so it doesn't speak to what happened today. It doesn't even say why the "small piece of equipment" at a nearby electrical substation caught on fire to cause 17,000 customers to lose power. But it's not surprising, given the heat wave (now 23 days above a hundred degrees for July) and the whole town running a/c to the max, not to mention more of everything else electrical because it's not very inviting to go outside. I suppose the brownouts will be here soon enough.

UPDATE:  Mrs Charm says it seems to have half-busted the microwave. Again. Still cooks, but the fan doesn't come on anymore. Durn thing is only little more than a year old. Fortunately we know better than to try and get it repaired.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

A remarkable, very readable Web-centric piece on Thomas Jefferson, warts and all. His Aunt Judith, his father's sister, was Mr. B's seven greats grandmother.

Via In Search of Jefferson's Moose.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy went off to four weeks of day camp at the JCC this morning. He rebuffed Mrs. Charm's offer to help him find his group at the flag raising. Being a rising fourth grader he's too big for nanny stuff. He was looking forward to a hot game of Ga-ga, an Israeli form of dodge ball. With a forecast high of 102, it definitely will be hot.

Meanwhile, I was honored to have two posts linked in the new Haveil Havalim, a carnival of Jewish blog posts founded way back when by Soccer Dad. It is, appropriately, the Hot and Humid Edition. Haveil Havalim means Vanity of Vanities, a reference to King Solomon's discovery that materialism for its own sake is a dead end. Or something like that.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Mr. Boy was having a crisis of confidence for about three weeks running over the Counterweight East portion of the Dungeon on multi-player Wizard 101. Over the weekend, he and four online friends finally conquered it. So happy he gave me a hug. Now he's on to Counterweight West and Big Ben.

Reminds me of his first computer game play with Harry Potter software and some moving blocks in a canal. He kept jumping and missing the blocks and falling into the water and having to start over again. High frustration, lots of anger. But he stuck to it and, boy, was he happy when he finally beat it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. got even with Eleanor on Saturday. Eleanor, which is not her real name, is a classmate who has a tendency to tattle. After he knocked her out of first place in the reading competition, back in the spring, she specialized in getting him into trouble with the teacher. Saturday they were at the same swim birthday party for another classmate and when it came time for the water balloon battle, he made sure to burst a couple on her head. Satisified him enormously. Heh. Three days of school left. He can hardly wait for the last day on Wednesday. I can, but there's no hope for me now.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It's about time young men stopped being wimps and starting speaking up for themselves in the overly-feminized world of "higher" education. Mr. B. already has his struggles with girls who know full well they are the favored ones these days. And he's only in third grade.

Via Instapundit.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

He dropped out of Little League a few weeks ago, probably for good, to concentrate on his basketball. Then his B-ball team, which goes by a number rather than a name, finished in third place in the small WAYA league of just five co-ed teams. They did it by winning their last game of the spring season, in which Mr. B. scored just a little too late (after the game-ending whistle) to add to the score.

No problem. They won the first game of the single-elimination tournament on Monday, aided by two points of his, and two more from his timely pass to a better shooter. Happiness all around. They're at it again today at five, with back-to-back games, if they win the first one. They just might. All of their players scored in Monday's competition, for the first time, and the opponent was pretty tough. But better teams await.

UPDATE:  They lost the first game, 31-20, so they lost the tournament. Next, we move on to the co-ed summer season. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mrs. Charm needed to move some bags of mulch and potting soil around to the back forty and didn't want to bother me, apparently, so she went and got the wheel barrow out of the tool shed. She noticed it was a little hard to push but only when she got to the driveway did she notice that its tire was flat.

Now this is one of those fat tires that could, possibly, support half of a Piper Cub. We thought about using Mr. B.'s basketball pump to inflate it, but no, it has a real tire valve. So she thought why not take it off the barrow and take it up to the gas station to inflate it? Could not get the bolts off the barrow that keep the tire on it. She suggested putting the barrow in the CRV, but it wouldn't fit. She suggested putting the seat down so it would fit, but that's where I drew the line. I carried the bags.

Then I put the barrow back in the shed. What else? I need a torque wrench to get those bolts off. But I don't want to buy one. Maybe a little WD-40 and more elbow grease? Why did I ever buy such a complicated wheel barrow? I was moving sand to build Mr. B. a sandbox back in '03. Which reminds me, I need to dismantle the sandbox one of these years. It's only a haven for ant colonies, now.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I'm glad to see that Mr. B., who is nine, has passed the age when it is against Texas law to leave him home alone, while I run a brief errand or two. Or leave him in the car while I go into a store, so long as the outside temp is not in triple digits. He dislikes shopping as much as most males of any age and sometimes puts up a fuss if he is expected to go along.

Mrs. Charm looked aghast when I told her, but she'll come around. He already plays on his scooter on the sidewalk out front without us worrying. It's even part of a trend, this independence. Not quite what it was when I was a child and would get scolded for staying inside too long. Some kids Mr. B.'s age even walk to school (which is only half a dozen blocks away), but he's not quite ready for that. I was eleven before we lived close enough to school for me to do it.

Via Instapundit.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This was my first Neal Stephenson novel, but it won't be the last. I did find the ending annoying. The book just seemed to run out of ideas and collapse into an easy lust. But it's not hard to see some of society doing just that, when everyone (including the poor) have nanotech Matter Compilers and the Feed to draw on.

The nanotech, alone, is compelling. Some of it may even come true, though not, I suppose, in my or Mr. B.'s remaining lifetimes. I especially like Stephenson's cities, his airships and his Vickys. The multicultural phyles make sense, if present trends continue. Hero Hackworth's primer was more interesting, though, when Dinosaur, Duck and Purple inhabited it; less so when they were gone. But I'd still take the ride all over again, and may, one of these days.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B.'s grandma, a rare reader who joined us at the rancho for Easter weekend, asked me if I was reading the book "everyone is reading" (meaning conservatives like us) i.e. Mark Levin's Liberty And Tyranny. I haven't yet, and probably won't, until and unless I see that it is actually changing anything. Which I doubt it could.

I've read too many similar political polemics already. In this case I have to think it's like that science book of physicist Stephen Hawking's, A Brief History of Time. Millions of people climbed on its bangwagon to get a copy, but how many actually read it, or understood it? Much less did anything about it? Different horses, of course, and maybe the Tea Party movement will elevate Levin's work to practice. The TP has lately become a Left Wing media target of ridicule, which is a start of sorts.

Via Instapundit.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. is getting almost too old to help Mrs. Charm dye eggs anymore. But he nevertheless rallied to their old effort yesterday. Expect he will still enjoy the jelly beans and other candy today. Eschewing potential diabetes, I will stick to eating the eggs--throughout the coming week.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. and I are spending the day east of Austin at Cub World at Camp Tom Wooten. It's in the pine forest northeast of Bastrop. He and his den are expecting to learn fishing, and archery and shoot at paper targets with BB guns. Some craft work as well. Mrs. Charm gets the day off as we will not be back until about five and have a Little League game at seven. If he has any energy left.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Ichiro Suzuki, hero of the World Baseball Classic, in his Seattle Mariners batting pose. He points his right arm at the pitcher, holding his bat straight up in the air and pulls up his right sleeve with his left hand. He does this before every pitch. All batters have their little rituals in the ballet called baseball: fastening and unfastening their hitting gloves, crossing themselves, adjusting their batting helmets. But Ichirio's is one of the most distinctive. Although Ichiro is right-handed, he bats left in order to be closer to first base and takes his first step towards the base at the end of every swing.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We got lucky in yesterday afternoon's thunderstorm. We got at least half an inch that will further green up the lawn and trees at the rancho--and sprout some more yellow and pink wildflowers in the bar ditches, among the sparse bluebonnets. Mr. B. and I read right through it. Missed the hail entirely, said to be of the three-inch variety nearby, smashing vehicle windows at one car dealership. Everything was still wet from overnight rains when Mrs. Charm and I took our morning walk thirty minutes ago. Some big storms--green, yellow and red on the weather service radar--are pounding Uvalde at this hour. But they're headed for San Antonio, not Austin.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. got the highest possible score on the TAKS reading test earlier this month, his first. The math one, next month, will probably be another story. He struggles with math.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm not surprised Japan won the World Baseball Classic or that Seattle Mariners' right fielder Ichiro Suzuki helped them do it, 5-3 in ten innings. I encountered their play against Cuba while visiting an old Army buddy in Virginia last week and felt they would win and they did. Then I figured they would beat South Korea, and they did, and then Mr. B. and I watched them beat Team USA, with the Yankees' Derek Jeter, et al. So I'm not surprised the Japanese beat South Korea again in the finale and took home all the marbles. Really a great team, and Ichiro is especially impressive. Seattle is very lucky to have him.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

You buy a house because it has a pool and you think, yeah, that's cool. And then you discover you were a fool because the electric bill is double the usual amount (to run the recirculating pool pump umpty-ump hours a day, most of the year, to keep the water from going scummy in the summer or freezing in the underground pipes in the winter) and the pump and various other components wear out and break down--usually when least expected and at the same time that too many other things are competing for the available cash.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

We're leaving the rancho this afternoon to fly to D.C. for a week of family reunion before the family there moves to Tyler and we're no longer able to save money on a hotel. Weren't able to get into the Spring Break mob converging on the Capitol and the White House. But we have plenty else to see and do, including visiting Mr. B.'s paternal grandfather's grave in Arlington and, hopefully, catch the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknowns.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Mr. B. has truly broken his hitting slump of many months standing. This morning he got two of them and two accompanying runs. One hit lofted so high into center field that it fell behind the centerfielder, between him and the fence. Alas, the Red Wings went on to beat the Grasshoppers, 12-7. But our own player left the field triumphant.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Need to get this in before I forget. It was last evening. The score was 5-4, a more respectible loss than the previous one. Best news was that Mr. B. broke his slump, grounding into left field off a player pitch (not so easy to do). He was thrown out at first, but only a half step from planting himself on the bag in time to be safe.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B.'s Little League team, the Grasshoppers, lost their first game Saturday 12-6. He struck out his only time up but had a couple of good plays in the outfield. Next game is Tuesday.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just think, nine more years and I won't have to get up early... Meanwhile, he opened his first present: a new batting helmet for his spring season with the Grasshoppers. Maybe it can break his hitting slump. More tonight when Mrs. Charm makes cowboy hamburgers, etc.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

We made the Cub Scout topaz hunt in Mason County this afternoon out in the western Hill Country (didn't find any but it was fun digging for them in a dry creek bed) but skipped the overnight campout. Stopped in Fredericksburg for supper then came on back to find the weather service out there pegging the temp at this hour at thirty-four degrees. Their forecast low will be twenty-three, cold enough to freeze their water bottles. The pack leader said all who stayed would be eligible for the "polar bear" belt loop. Most of them are in tents. Our den leader brought his Airstream trailer. We're glad we're missing it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy is complaining mightily that he can't join his cub scout pals camping out this Saturday in Mason County because "my parents are too old." True, in part. The forecast low Saturday night in Mason is right at thirty-four degrees and meteorologist Bob Rose is predicting a possible further decline into light-freeze territory.

So I told the thirtyish den father that Mrs. Charm and me would bring Mr. B. out for the topaz hunt but then go home rather than subject ourselves to a freezing night in a sleeping bag even if it is on an air mattress. He curled his lip. I couldn't tell who he was more contemptuous of: me or the weather forecast. Youth, bah.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Topaz is the state gemstone of Texas. And hunting for topaz, on a Mason County ranch famous for it, is to be the star attraction of the late February campout of Mr. B.'s cub scout pack. He always sleeps well on these deals. Mrs. Charm and I do not, but the topaz hunt should help enliven our spirits. Especially if we find some. There will be, also, the charms of Mason County, to savor. All in all, we're looking forward to it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Personally, I couldn't care less who wins the Super Bowl. But Mr. B., for whom all things sports are important, is rooting for Arizona. So, by all means, fight fiercely Arizona. You probably have the best-looking cheerleaders, anyhow.

UPDATE:  Didn't matter, apparently. Steelers won. Mr. B. forgot to watch, maybe that was it. I didn't care to.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Scott at The Fat Guy, apparently already suffering from the noise and traffic of San Antonio, although he just recently moved there from Dallas, has taken up a casual comment I made about considering moving to Mason County. He likes winding, dark, two-lane roads, fly-fishing, hunting, and plenty of open spaces and few neighbors. The links he found and the comments he's drawn so far make me wish I could move tomorrow. That's the great thing about these Internets. You can go back to the country and still make a living, if you need to. But, until Mr. B. finishes school (about nine more years) and Mrs. Charm retires, it will probably not be possible for me.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (1118)

It was inevitable and it has come to pass. Mr. B. has become enamored with Wizard 101, an online computer game. It was developed, as it happens, by folks in Austin and Dallas. It even has recommendations from Austin school district teachers, as well as good reviews. Seems safer than the average first-person shooter and, in fact, isn't violent at all. Just the thing, apparently, for a third grader. We shall see how it goes.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy certainly got Viacom's message on Time-Warner's threat to remove SpongeBob and some of Mr. B.'s other favorites from TW's cable (our primary local provider). We do appreciate his little lesson in cutthroat capitalism and also the temporary agreement forestalling the Sponge's demise. But he and we wonder why Viacom really needs an extra four dollars per cable customer from TW to keep providing the Sponge and his pals? Must be all that debt Viacom is carrying. But TW has its share.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Still scouting around for appropriate links for likely end of the year sentiments.

I hope the IDF can end the Gaza deal with minimal casualties of its own. I'm sure our spineless leaders--who nevertheless provide IAF bombs--will force them to quit soon, as they always do.

Mr. Boy claims he wants to stay up until midnight, but he probably won't make it. He had a sleepover last night at a pal's place out in the western hills, events which usually mean little actual sleep. Fortunately he hasn't heard about this yet, so we're safe for another year, anyhow.

I'm hustling to finish a Civil War historical novel in time for Amazon's Feb. 2 fiction contest. That will be it for me and make-believe. My next literary attempt will be some non-fiction Texana.

Mrs. Charm and I will spend a quiet evening and then enjoy her day off tomorrow, although forecast is for chilly. At the least we'll get going on airline reservations for a planned D.C. trip in March.

UPDATE: My novel made the first cut to the top twenty percent. Then it went down in flames on the second cut to five percent. Oh, well. Bragging rights, at least, in the impending hunt for an agent.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Time was, back when Mr. Boy was a toddler, I had to stay up late trying to assemble some toy or other. Including, once, a Thomas the Tank riding train. This year all I had to do was set up a new Wii. Then, naturally, I had to test it. So I was up until 3 a.m. playing tennis on it. Until my wrist seized up.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (29)

The first time I saw Jeven Snead in person was when Mr. Boy's cub scout troop was invited to a Longhorns football practice back in 2006. Snead looked taller than Colt McCoy, to whom JS seemed doomed to play backup forever, and I got the feeling that, in line with the rumors of the time, he wouldn't be satisfied with that for long. So I was not surprised when he jumped ship for Ole Miss. Nor, given his high school performance in Stephenville, that he's done well there.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Well, I made it past another solstice, without feeling the need for an Anglo-Saxon costume drama. Just a quiet day, despite the frigid aftermath of another overnight Blue Norther. Finishing Iron Sunrise, another good Charles Stross SF novel, and thinking of the seasonal carols of my youth, Adeste Fideles and Hark The Herald Angels Sing. Then I did the annual reading of his Maccabees book to Mr. Boy before we lit the first Hanukkah candle. For the next few days we will be singing Santa and Reindeer songs for his and Mrs. Charm's secular celebration of Christmas.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've been considering this for a while now and I've finally decided to give Mr. Boy's mom an anonymouse name of her own, instead of just referring to her as his mom, etc., which sounds sort of like I'm a stepdad, which is not the case. I will even give her a separate category of her own, so I can do posts on her doings, now and then. I did steal the name from the same nice blog where I filched the map of the "soler system," but there it's Mr. Charm, so, their being of different genders, I doubt we'll get them mixed up. In this blogosphere, we all learn from each other. More or less.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

When the kid's teacher complains about his excess talking and not paying attention, to him in front of you, you expect he'll be chastened and spend the rest of the day being extra good. Wrong. Not only does he not obey when you ask him to do something like hang up his coat or stop putting his grubby paw in the cereral box, but he lies to you about finishing his homework. When he tells you to shut up, you get a sudden appreciation for child abuse. Instead, you dock use of his Nintendo DS game for part of the upcoming weekend. Then, after his mother gets home, you go grocery shopping to cool off. Grocery shopping. Geez.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B.'s car tied for second out of sixty-one cars this afternoon in his Cub Scout pack's annual Pinewood Derby race. Much better than last year when he came in dead last, sixty-sixth out of sixty-six cars--essentially because of a sticky wheel. Better even than his Tiger year when his car came in third out of sixty. We think part of what did it this year was having an optimal, wedge shape, using the same wheels and axles from the third-place car, and arranging it so this year's car had only three wheels touching the track. What cost him first apparently was the weight distribution on the car. Too much in front of the rear axle. No trophies this year, but he got a ribbon.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The educators are supposed to be the enlightened ones. So why are they so ill-informed?

Parents at Mr. Boy's elementary school have been advised to "take extra precautions" after four teens robbed a couple in their apartment last night across from the local high school.

The high school's written alert, passed on to us by the elementary school's PTA, locked down the high school's campus for the day. It says the armed robbers were men. The police told the news media they were in their late teens. The alert makes it sound like the robbery was a random act of violence. The police say the victims knew their assailants.

The PTA prefaces email distribution of the high school's alert this way:

"Please take extra precautions. Keep doors locked at all times, keep an eye on your children when they are playing outside, note and report all suspicious persons or activities."

This would be funny if it wasn't so pathetic.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Doesn't this look like the most fun day ever?" -- Squidward.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"...let your children overhear you saying complimentary things about them to other adults,"  is a bit of wisdom I've decided to try that comes from Treppenwitz in Israel, in an essay worth a read for the other good ideas as well.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Like anyone else who is appalled at how Big Media has turned into Pravda for Barry and Joe Hairplugs, I'll be concentrating on politics until the election.

But Mr. B. fans might want to know that he is going through a terrible batting slump. Big hitter that he was in T-ball and coach-pitch, he is having lots of trouble adapting to player-pitch. Since June, he's only hit two foul balls. After striking out the other night against the River Cats in Fall Ball, he was in tears. At least he swung at two of the pitches. Too many of the kids watch them go by, hoping the kid pitcher will throw so many balls that, under the rules, they'll then get a coach-pitch which they can hit. With just two games to go before the end of Fall Ball, we've got our fingers crossed that Mr. B. gets a hit. Elsewise he'll have to wait until the Spring Season starts in late February for another chance. The good part, so far, is that he refuses to give up.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Tonight will be our fourth campout in the woods with Mr. B.'s cub scout den. This time we'll only be a few miles from the rancho. It's forecast to be in the high seventies during the day but drop into the upper forties overnight.

I'm bringing two radios, just in case, in order to listen to the Longhorns game. I expect them to beat Missouri, but I want to be sure to hear them do it. Watching it would be nice, but I never bought one of those portable televisions. No, that isn't true. We had one on the family sloop years ago, but it was stolen. Anyway, where we're going is in a valley between two hills, so the teevee reception might be poor. If necessary, I'll hike up the shortest hill to listen to the game. But it probably won't be.

UPDATE:  It was fun sitting in a camp chair, watching Orion climb the sky and listening to the Longhorns as they thrashed Missouri, 56-31. Next up, Oklahoma State, should be a bit tougher.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (1494)

Mr. Boy likes to play chess. When I taught him, a few years ago, he'd lose his temper when he lost. So we didn't play a lot. Now, he's in competition with another boy in his third grade class on various things, mainly reading-comprehension scores. But the other boy also plays chess.

So, since Mr. B. can now lose with relative equanimity, we play chess a couple of times a week. Usually I try to help him stay out of trouble and take my time beating him. I recently got him a chess program for his Nintendo DS called Chess Master. He's had a lot of fun with it, playing against the computer at the easy level, and occasionally winning. It shows. In our most recent game, I was perking along, trying not to proceed too quickly to checkmate, when he made an unexpected move. He had taken my queen. Yipes. I managed to checkmate him without her, but it took longer. The smile on his face, however, was worth it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A pink camo hunting and target bow from Lakota Industries Inc: The Sarah Cuda. Mr. B. would say, eeeyoo, pink! But this one works.

Via Functional Ambivalent.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

His movies seem dated to me now. Like me, I suppose. We've used his salad dressing for years. The jokes on the labels were some of the first that Mr. B. could read, and he insists on buying more whenever we shop for groceries. I also liked his wife. Didn't everyone?

MORE:  I used to write obits, but I would never have attempted a movie star. This one is good.

UPDATE:  Glad I missed this aspect of him, however: "President Jimmy Carter appointed him as his delegate to nuclear disarmament talks at the United Nations...In 1995, Newman bought a controlling interest in The Nation, a liberal political journal, and even began writing for it occasionally....Newman is also on the board of Cease Fire, a gun control group funded by prominent celebrities...."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I didn't watch much of it live. I have seen several clips, and I followed some of the live-blogging, and read the conclusions of others--some of whom thought that, while Barry may not have won, he didn't lose, either. Mr. B.'s mom, whose job it is to watch such things, thought it was a tie. She thought Mac won on content but Barry won on style. Style. Like an Olympic gymnast. Sigh. In some of the clips I saw, he was clearly irritated. I thought it was Mac who was supposed to have the temper?

All in all, I don't think any of these "debates," are very meaningful, since the participants seldom say anything imaginative. Just their stump speech points. Nor do I think they have much impact on the elections. On the Big Media and the soundbite collections, sure, but how many people do they persuade? I think Biden and Palin will be more fun to watch and I won't miss that one.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Tom, OCS buddy and rare reader who cannot make the TypeKey comment system work, reminds me that I have not written much about sailing this year. The reason is I haven't been doing much of it since April, for various reasons, mostly involving rancho chores, family travel and driving Mr. B. around to baseball, summer camp and, now, basketball and Cub Scouts.

In fact, the family sloop has been for sale for a few weeks and last Sunday I picked up two interested buyers. Am waiting on a local fellow to get his money together (he has to sell some stock, and this is not a good time for that, obviously), while the other one, from northeast Texas, says he is ready to buy it if the local one doesn't. If Mr. B. enjoyed going sailing, I would have kept it, but, alas, he doesn't. On one of our few outings, he pointed at a passing stinkpot (motorboat) and said: "Why don't we buy one of those, Dad?" Sigh.

UPDATE: The sloop is sold. Feel a little bit sorry already, but that's relieved by the young, local  buyer's enthusiasm and excitement. It's in good hands--younger and more energetic ones, too.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It doesn't say much for education when the Austin public school system joins in hyping a hurricane hundreds of miles away from its forecast path. They're letting Mr. B. and his chums out three hours early today.

He called me this morning from a teacher-telephone station on the playground, sounding worried, as of course he would be since he's in the midst of group-think and not likely getting the local forecast for clear skies this afternoon and only normally-gusty winds tonight with just a forty percent chance of rain. What nonsense. There is some, but only just, concern that the wobbly storm may track farther west than the now-forecast radical curve northeast through East Texas, which would miss us entirely. It's a wide storm, true enough, but the west side of it, where we'll be, isn't likely to carry much wind or rain this far inland.

MORE: Not saying there's no danger, just that it's not likely here. Coastal Texas already is seeing flooding with a big storm surge expected to seriously threaten life and property in the Galveston-Houston area. Could be Indianola, 1886, all over again down there. JD, at Mouth of the Brazos, already has fled. Check out this KHOU Houston aerial video of Galveston taken about 4 p.m. Friday showing waves routinely topping the seawall. That can only get worse as Ike crosses the coast.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

We all got up a bit late this morning and had to rush to get Mr. B. off to school on time. He made it, but it's not a good sign, considering Mom is flying out of town tomorrow for a week and I have to organize the morning rush by myself. But I have the solution.

It reminds me of my salad days in the 6th Cav, when I was late to the dawn regimental formation twice in a row. "Lt. Stanley, you need  a windup Big Ben," the First Sergeant, a short, stout Jamaican, told me. "Or else start sleeping in the barracks with your platoon." I got the clock. It worked, clanging me out of bed every morning. WestClox apparently no longer makes the old model with two big bells on the top, but Seth Thomas does. I'm going to buy one of those awful things today.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Well, not quite "meow." Hurricane Gustav still ain't exactly a pussycat. But he's weakened sufficiently to where he also isn't Katrina II. So, as Mr. B. would say, let's turn the volume from 4 to 2 on this one. I had a gut feeling this would happen. Nice to see the Pajamas' weather geek also can downshift in a timely fashion.

UPDATE: More weather from Jeff Masters. Weaker means less damage. But it's still strong, and liveblogging from Biloxi, MS, shows how much.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The one thing Mr. Boy likes about the resumption of school is the resumption of Little League's fall season. He has first practice tonight at 6:30, which should end just in time for him to get a bath and go bed. Fall ball is less about competition than improving skills, so that maybe by the spring season he won't be stuck in right field anymore. We sympathize with the nine-year-old who got booted from the league in New Haven, but Mr. B. agrees that at his age he would not like to have to face a 40 mph pitch.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

"I hate school," said Mr. B., getting up this morning for the first day of third grade. So we practiced smiles, one good way I have found to push oneself into a better mood. It worked, more or less. He finally left a few minutes ago reasonably enthusiastic. Not at all grumpy, anyway. There's hope in River City! When he gets home this afternoon, I'll start him memorizing the multiplication tables. My father forced me to learn them all in one, long evening. But Mom thinks we should try them one-at-a-time. He is a good memorizer. We shall start with nine.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

It's been cloudy all day. The drought-breaking rain we've been promised has yet to appear, thougn the temperature is a relatively-cool 89F at this hour. LCRA meteorologist Bob Rose says we're scheduled for a good chance of light-to-heavy rain through the end of next week, and he adds that there is "much uncertainty" in the ultimate path of Tropical Storm Fay. She's now predicted to turn north and strike the west coast of Florida, but just might decide to head west, instead. That would be a bummer as we are leaving the rancho on Monday for our annual jaunt to the beach at Port Aransas before Mr. B.'s school resumes on Aug. 25. Even her hitting Florida might raise some big waves that sweep across the Gulf of Mexico and pound the beach where we're going. It's happened before.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The highlight of parents' night tonight at Camp Shalom, for me, anyhow, was when Yoni and Yonatan, in a projected video clip showing them leaning on the fully-depressed barrel of a Merkava tank in a motor pool somewhere in Israel, thanked all the campers for their letters. All the kids cheered. Mr. Boy said Yoni was the favorite, and he probably got the most letters, because his name was "the shortest and so it was the easiest to write." Yoni did seem to smile the broadest in the clip, as if he was sharing a private joke.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Down 10 runs to none in the first inning, Mr. B.'s Texas Rangers came roaring back last night, looking by the seventh like they were going to finish off Boston 16 to 14. So Mr. B. went off to bed happily. Alas, the Red Sox then came back, winning the game 19-17. This is the problem with being a Rangers fan. Even when they seem to be winning, they lose. Their hitting is tops this year, but their pitching stinks. It's always half-a-loaf with the Rangers, and by August they turn into bums. Luckily for Mr. B., he also likes the Red Sox--especially Ortiz who hit two three-run dingers in the first.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's fun when you start learning things from an eight-year-old. Mr. B. is so infatuated with baseball that he's constantly rattling off player and team statistics. So many that sometimes I'm tempted to believe he's making them up. So when he described a Ranger reliever in Monday's 9-5 Ranger win over the Yankees throwing a lollipop pitch, I couldn't quite believe it. Never heard of it. He said it was like a curve ball. Sure enough. Also this: Hall of Fame reliever Bruce Sutter's split-fingered fastball "came in high, looking like a lollipop, then dropped straight down."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Going to be interesting, our trip to Arlington today to see the Rangers play the Bluejays tonight. Mr. Boy, who has become a daily reader of the sports pages, is a fount library of statistics and youthful opinions about his Rangers. Add to that his recent reading of The Science of Hitting, by Ted Williams, and our bedtimestory reading lately of The Thinking Fan's Guide To Baseball.

Last night, watching the Rangers beat the Jays 9-8, the camera focused on retired Rangers pitcher Nolan Ryan. "There's Nolan Ryan," Mom said. "Oh, Mom," Mr. B. said. "Whitey Ford was better. Ryan didn't have any control."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Turns out the new WiFi signal at the rancho works perfectly for Mr. B. and his buddy Wyatt, who is here for a sleepover tonight. They can battle each other in Mario Brothers adventures with their Nintendo DSs in synch.

UH, NO:  They informed me, with a minimum of disdain, that their units have built-in WiFis and proved it when we went up to the local burger joint by playing Pokemon in synch all the way.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Mr. Boy had to regretfully go to bed before the eighth inning, so he missed seeing the game drag on through fifteen innings and the Rangers' Michael Young finally put it away, 4-3, with an RBI. Neat. After Hamilton's record-breaking, homer-hitting performance the other night, Young's ending the game for the AL's twelfth victory in a row, kept the focus where we wanted it, on the Rangers. Now let their pitching improve (please, Lord) and may their second half of the season be as sweet!

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Mr. Boy had his hero worship more than confirmed last night watching Rangers outfielder Josh Hamilton hit a record twenty-eight HRs in the first round of the All-Stars Home Run Derby at Yankee Stadium--thirteen in a row! JH finished with thirty-six homers, although he didn't win the thing, which is explained here. But the night was his as the stadium crowd chanted his name. Me and Mr. B. will be looking for Josh and the other Ranger All-Stars--Milton Bradley, Ian Kinsler, and Michael Young--in tonight's game.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy shocked me the other day when he high-fived a friend, which was normal enough, but then cut loose with "Living large, Bro," which is not. Great. We work to keep him away from MTV and assorted cultural trash and he finds and adopts this pimp-talk from Gangsta Rap. I can't even link to a site with it because the stuff that goes with it is all F-words. I'm debating how to quash it. If he was a teenager, and it was rebellion, that would be simple. I'd just adopt it myself until he realized that it had lost its generational charm and stopped doing it. But at age eight? If I started spouting it, I think that would just encourage him. Cogitate, cogitate.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I used to not read the sports pages except during college football season. Then Mr. Boy started following the Texas Rangers and spouting baseball statistics and standings, and that got me interested. So I go to read the section this morning and discover that he took it to day camp with him. Grrrr.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Got ourselves a wireless router and plugged it in and so Mom was wandering the Web, in between some last-minute office work, in the kitchen last night. Only problem now is to arbitrate Mr. B.'s desire to use his Nintendo DS gameplayer's Wi-Fi ability. Have to see how that works and where it will take him before turning him loose with it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Well, they've definitely split the four-game series with the Angels now. One more win and these Rangers could move within 5.5 games of the Los Angeles leader. This is getting to be fun--even with all their pitchers on the DL and Bradley benched with a sore knee, it looks like, for a change, Mr. B.'s team will still be contenders after the All-Star break.

UPDATE:  Well, they almost did it, losing 11-10 in the fourth game of the series. Still got a future.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hey, hey, hey. The Rangers beat the Phillies 8-7. Nice game, guys. Most of the action was in the first four innings, but Mr. B. enjoyed it all, and I did, too.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's touching, if a trifle saddening, to watch Mr. Boy become such a fan of the Texas Rangers baseball team. Partly, it's because they're from Texas (he also likes the Astros but not to the same degree) but it's also because they have a .506 season-to-date average. But I know that they frequently look good by early June, only to crater by the end of the month, and be out of hope for the pennant long before August. But maybe this year will be different. I hope so. Hate to see an eight-year-old disillusioned, especially when he so loves to play (and watch) baseball.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B. was in tears before the sleepover last night had even started. One of his "friends" was slandering him to the other boys. "He said I like Barbie."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Having a SpongeBob moment here, after watching the Rangers lose to the Nationals 4-3 in fourteen innings. Fourteen innings, no less. My hearing's none too good, but Mr. B. assures me the announcers said the Rangers, when they have a .500 win-loss average, as they do right now, start finding that each opponent is an electric fence. Sure was tonight. Zap.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Blue Cheese lost its second, and therefore final, game in the district tournament tonight, going down 9 to 5 to a Western Hills team under the lights on the Little League ball fields in Del Valle, a suburb in southeast Austin near the airport. Although Mr. B. is hinting that he wants to play fall ball this year, despite his not-so-good showing tonight: a strikeout, and a walk, followed by being thrown out at second base. Oh, well. He had fun, and we enjoyed watching him and the rest.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Started considering this concept the other day while playing catch with Mr. B. He was whining about the heat. I realized that he's never known anything except air conditioning while I grew up without it. It wasn't common until the early 1960s when I was in my twenties. Did that help acclimate me to heat? Maybe. But the notion falls apart when I think of the volunteers serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. Many of them are in their late teens and early twenties. So they were part of the air-conditioning generation, too, and they aren't getting much, or any, of it over there. Maybe Mr. B. just has to toughen up by growing up. I hope so. Father worries.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B.'s Little League team has another district tournament game tonight, against another team that beat them 20-1 in a scrimmage a few weeks ago. So tonight could be the beginning of the end for Blue Cheese. They can only lose two games, and then they're out of the city-wide tournament.

UPDATE:  The Cheese lost, 15-13, putting up a respectable, though still losing effort. Mr. B. walked and stole home, then struck out, but made a nice play in right field to save another run.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. and his Blue Team play their first district tournament game tonight at 7:30 which is to be conducted like a professional event: introduction of each player, playing of the National Anthem, recitation of the Little League pledge ("I trust in God, I love my country..."), and very little coach involvement in actual play. Should be interesting. The coaches have cautioned the boys not to swing until they have a called strike on them, to improve the chances of drawing a walk. Their defense is more likely to tell, however. Despite some long, hard practices, especially the past three days, their defense still is none-too-good.

UPDATE: Nevertheless, the Blue team, which players and coaches have dubbed Blue Cheese, won 8-7. Mr. B. struck out three times so he was not happy about that. Next game is Saturday, with practices every day until then. Talk about intense.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So Mr. B. and I are watching the Rangers and Tampa Bay and sometime bad boy (though reportedly recently reformed) right-fielder and slugger Milton Bradley strikes out. Then he breaks his bat over his knee. I've read about it but never saw it until tonight. Mr. B. didn't say much about it. He'd probably like to break his bat sometimes when he strikes out, too, but his bat is aluminum. And Ranger shortstop Michael Young is his favorite hitter, anyhow.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Meteorologists are saying our high winds, with gusts to 25 mph, bring back memories of the Dust Bowl era. I guess you'd have to be in your eighties to know for sure. But just being outside last evening, while Mr. B.'s tournament team practiced for its first game next week, I got a thin coating of dust. Got some in my eyes when I took my glasses off. Seen here, the Austin area is still in moderate fire danger, but high danger is creeping eastward towards us. The wind, the dry and the heatwave are combining to make it so.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After today's second scrimmage for the Northwest Austin Little League's Blue team, the team mom passed out watermelon slices. The temperature was, then, close to a hundred degrees, and the kids were clearly wilting. So the scrimmage was halted after three innings. Mr. B., who is playing right field when he isn't warming the bench (there are twelve players) got a hit but was thrown out at first. Did better yesterday, with a single, a walk and a run. Tomorrow's third scrimmage is expected to be even hotter. So who knows how long it will last. Summer's brutality is early this year, and the meteorologists are saying that only the rain from a hurricane or tropical storm can cool us off now. After a week of high nineties, even the St. Augustine grass at the rancho is turning crispy.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy will go with his Mom and grandmother this morning to put a little stick flag on his Navy grandfather's grave at the national cemetery near Dallas, in observance of Memorial Day. I think of his Air Force grandfather, my dad, who's buried in Arlington many miles away. Someday we'll take him there. Arlington probably put out their flags yesterday for all. There's this touching Trace Adkins song about that place.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. and Mom head for Grandma's in Fort Worth this morning while I get the weekend off--after today's parents meeting of the Blue Team, Mr. B.'s new tournament little league team. It's a double-elimination tournament of little league teams all over the Austin area with some interesting new rules: no coach pitch, four balls and you walk, and stealing bases is allowed, presumably only when okayed by the coach. Mr. B. is the only ex-Scrapper, but he knows five other players from previous teams he's been on, the Muckdogs and the Rangers. With the two-losses-and-its-over rules, the most playing he's liable to see will be the two-and-a-half weeks of practice before the games begin. But he's looking forward to it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B., whose Cub Scout den received their Wolf patches at last night's last Pack meeting until the annual July 4 neighborhood parade, before they begin as fledgling Bears in the fall, will have to hustle to get his homework done this afternoon. He needs to be at practice at 4:30 before his Scrappers take the field an hour later for their third playoff game. Win this one, and they move to the Northwest Little League AA8 championship game against the Rockhounds on Thursday. Can they do it? We could say, along with Bob the Builder, Yes They Can. But in a world where there's a 50-50 chance of a play or an error, it would be safer to just cross our fingers and hope for the best.

UPDATE:  They lost 5-3.There were lot of tears from the Scrappers who were angry about some bad calls. But bad calls have gone in their favor before. This time there were just too many errors, and too many strikeouts, in addition to the bad calls. So their season ends in the semi-finals. Mr. B. moves on to "tournament ball" next week, but we have yet to learn what that will entail.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

As much as I complain about the political correctness and other regimentation of Mr. Boy's public school, I have to acknowledge a wonderful move by the school's PTA, in cooperation with the school district: giving each kid ten small stick flags for selling to neighbors at a dollar each "focused on Memorial Day and honoring those who have served our country...we want to see these flags everywhere." The money will go to school's endowment fund for books, classroom materials, etc.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B.'s Little League team won its first playoff game this afternoon, beating the Diamond Jaxx 4-3. He hit a double in the third inning and scored the second run. But he struck out his next time at bat, ending the inning with the bases loaded. He swung the bat into the ground, reminding me of some famous pro baller's remark (I wish I could remember who), that the worst thing about baseball is to strike out looking. At least Mr. B. went down swinging. If the Scrappers win their next game on Saturday... Well, better not to get ahead of ourselves. Today's win was their first in four games, after all.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. held the fort while I went to the grocery at the crack of nine a.m. for flowers, frozen pancakes, fruit and orange juice. We'd all come in late last night from his Little League team's last-game-of-the-season pool party (they lost the game 5-3, but Mr. B. got a good hit, even if he was thrown out at first), then Mom and I stayed up later reading. All made up by 9:30, Mr. B. presented everything for breakfast-in-bed, but Mom chose to come to the table instead. Then he handed over his card with promise coupons, such as cleaning his room without complaint. A revolutionary idea, right there. One of these years, he can drive to the grocery and get it all done himself. I await the day. ;-)

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Hollyweird either does it again: "[M]ust we be tricked into sitting through another America-as-root-of-all-evil message?" Or it doesn't: "Iron Man is not a pacifist movie, and it bends over backwards to be pro-military and pro-government, even in the midst of speeches about how weapons are evil." It's a battle of the reviews. You decide. Not me. I already hate the sticky floors, and Mr. B. has enough fantasy in his life as it is.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. informs me that a second-grade pinky promise, made by hooking pinky fingers with a friend and repeating the promise out loud, can be broken. Apparently adults do these, too. But an elbow promise, involving a palm-out high-five, a back of the hand high-five, and a linking of arms while repeating the promise, can't be broken without retribution. "You get sent to kid jail," he said. A form of ostracism, presumably. I can't find elbow promise on Google.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Scrappers beat the Sidewinders Saturday 3-2, which was good, elevating the Scrappers' season to eight wins and three losses. But the big news was that Mr. B. broke his batting slump. He'd been striking out over and over for several games, usually on called strikes, the new, disconcerting wrinkle in his Little League play this year--so disconcerting it often provokes tears and mutterings about unfair umpires. So Saturday he hit a grounder. He was thrown out at first, but he was smiling, glad to have finally made contact.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B.'s second grade teacher sends home a sheet every week wherein he is supposed to log his daily reading of AR (Advanced Reader) books--at least twenty minutes a day. In fact, he reads an average of an hour each day, and by the end of each week has close to four hundred minutes of total reading. So far he prefers fantasy stories. The Pendragon series is his latest favorite. Also Magyk, the first of a trilogy plus. Products, I suppose, of our previous bedtime reading of Harry Potter, Narnia and Lord of the Rings. Despite his own reading, he still likes to be read to, especially at bedtime--fortunately for Mom and Dad, who would miss it more than he might. Someday, I know, the bedtime stories will end. But not too soon, we hope. I have sent off for Tom Sawyer, Detective, now that Huckleberry Finn is drawing to a close.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Hogs, actually. Three hundred pounders in the seat next to you in economy class, spilling over into your seat. Their arms are so fat they can't keep them in their own area--an average airline seat width of nineteen inches. Their thighs are as big around as your waist. Happened to Mr. B.'s mom this week on a business trip to D.C.--going and coming. Maybe airlines should charge by the pound, the way  slave traders did. Unfortunately Southwest Airlines has set a bad precedent. Now, we're supposed to believe it's discrimination to complain. Hogwash!

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

They kept striking out. There was also the spectacle of four players converging to catch a pop fly before it fell on the ground. So they lost to the Lookouts, 5-0. Mr. B. did stop a grounder before it added to the score. That's three losses for the season so far.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We're off to Inks Lake State Park today for an overnight campout with the Cub Scouts--mainly an excuse for Mr. B. and his pals to run wild whilst Mom and I sit and read. Warm day/cool night forecast. We'll watch them swim in the probably frigid, 800-acre lake, one of the smallest in the Highland Lakes chain west of Austin. Well, I will, that's for sure.

UPDATE:  Mr. B. got to swim, and learned to fish, and rode in a canoe for the first time. He slept like the baby he no longer is and came home exhilarated. Dad and Mom came home exhausted. Even an air mattress is no substitute for a real bed. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Scrappers lost the kid-pitch exhibition game to the Lookouts, 8-3, but Mr. B. got the game ball for a timely catch of a pop fly while playing shortstop. He also got a good hit and two called strikes when he was pitching for the first time. Some of the kid pitchers were quite good, throwing called strikes over and over again. Bright, warm and windy day. I got sunburned.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The Scrappers' 23-run winning game Wednesday might be the last high scoring one now that kids are replacing the coaches at pitching. Mr. Boy did well in practice pitching, so may get a chance at it in tomorrow afternoon's game. He even survived getting hit in the back yesterday by another kid pitcher while batting in practice, though he cried a little. The kid pitchers are a little wild and they're throwing as hard as they can to get the ball over the plate. Which is why I think the high-scoring games are over. Now the challenge is for the hitters to stay in the box and swing. Several yesterday were antsy, stepping backward every time a kid pitcher delivered. Going to be interesting.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I got a chuckle when I saw this. Mom didn't like it when I showed Mr. Boy that he didn't have to run into the house evey time he needed to micterate (look it up) but could take advantage of the hereditary privilege. Now I see him at it in the backyard from time to time. Sometimes it's even necessary. ;-)

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The gang got beat pretty good yesterday, losing to Thunder 14-7. Mr. B. struck out twice and grounded out once. It was pretty sloppy on defense, too. At one point it seemed the whole team was trying to cover second base, but nobody could find the ball. Ah, well, the travails of eight year olds.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Another close game, Scrappers winning 6 to 5. Better defense and better hitting, but not Mr. B. He struck out once, was thrown out at first ,and made no defensive plays of note. Hard to make plays in the outfield where he's been assigned over and over, since most of these kids can't hit out of the infield.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It was a close one, 8 to 7, and Mr. B's was the winning run. The Scrappers played better defense than previously, and had more hits. Mr. B. struck out once and was thrown out once at first, but got two hits, one of them an RBI and the other a run. He's got another game tomorrow afternoon, unless it rains, as is a thirty percent chance according to the forecast.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. was livid. He saw fresh, red and blue eggshell on the patio this morning and he was just positive that somebody had crushed the last cascarones before he could get to them. He only got to do ONE, he insisted. Probably two, I muttered, having noted Easter morning that only two were missing from the carton. Okay, he said, two. And smiled. Now he remembered. What he was looking at was the aftermath of the cascarone battle he'd had with his buddy Cyrus Sunday afternoon. A bit behind in my housekeeping, as usual.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The thunderstorm we'd been awaiting since Monday finally crashed in yesterday afternoon just as I was getting ready to leave to go pick up Mr. B. from school. A real frog strangler. All I had was Mom's puny little umbrella, so I got soaked. But before I left I was standing in the living room watching the rain cascade off the roof. It was like being behind a waterfall. The rain was overwhelming the roof gutters which reminded me why most people in Central Texas, at least, never put gutters on their houses until fairly recently. Nowadays the Yellow Pages is full of gutter seller ads, and practically everybody seems to have them. But they really are pretty useless. Oh, it sometimes rains lightly around here and the gutters effectively channel the water so it doesn't splash on your head as you go in and out the door. But, more often, when we get a rain it's a big one, and the gutters simply can't handle all that water all at once.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Just when we could have used a rainout, it didn't happen. So the Scrappers lost 12-3. They were almost skunked, until the last inning when their hitting suddenly caught fire and they got three runs, one of them Mr. B.'s. Previously he had been thrown out at first and struck out. Better luck next time. Meanwhile, the forecasted storm still hasn't materialized.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

One thing we noticed on our Mississippi trip was how quiet Mr. B. was in the back seat. Normally, even on car trips around town, he's a big talker: running on, constantly, about something he's seen or heard. But now that he's learned to read and enjoys a variety of "chapter books," (as a relative said, "I thought they ALL were chapter books") he spends his time on the road silently turning pages.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy is seriously in the dog house after leaving some crayons in the pockets of his blue jeans. We caught all but one, a blue one, which went harmlessly through the wash cycle but then coated the inside of the dryer. It got on some of the clothes, mostly his, but we spent several hours trying to get it off the drum. Searched a little to find solutions when it was obvious elbow grease wasn't enough. Finally found this advice from Crayola, to use WD-40, followed by dish soap and water. Left the dryer open all night to dissipate the WD-40 smell, so the fumes don't catch fire when the gas dryer runs. We still have a ways to go, however. Two days before our spring break trip, naturally, when the dryer is needed. We had him do some of the scrubbing, but, of course, he isn't strong enough to make it more than symbolic.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

It's the bottom of the fourth, two outs and a runner on second base. Then a father notices the potential flaw in the runner's getting to third, let alone home. His left shoe is untied. "Colin, tie your shoe!" the father yells from the stands. Colin looks down, sees the problem, then looks back at the stands and grins and shrugs. He doesn't know how to tie his shoe. Luckily, on the next hit, he makes it to third, where the third base coach ties it for him.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Not sure what the score was, in Mr. B.'s first Little League game of the season. He thought his Scrappers won 10-8. "It doesn't matter," he said. "The idea is to have fun." He sure did, getting four hits, one run, tagged out once, and left on twice. He had a nice throw to first base, too. He's definitely improving.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

One of the coldest mornings in a week or so (it's 37 F at the moment with a wind chill of 32) has a silver lining for Mr. B. He is going to have to sit out half of recess for yesterday's crime of talking too much and acting silly. Now he can serve his sentence on a chilly, windy morning that won't be all that inviting, anyhow. Or so he said. Aiming for cheerfulness, as he has been taught, in the face of adversity.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Dad's idea of a cowboy birthday theme thwarted, Mr. B. went off with Mom to Party Pig yesterday and picked a G.I. Joe one. We have an M-1 Abrams tank pinata, plastic soldier favors and plastic camoflaged combat helmets for this afternoon's four invitees. There's even an inflatable M-16. I was amazed, but she said he's been trying to do this since he was three. Confessed she had always steered him to something else because, well, this is Austin and she was worried the other Moms might not like it. Decided to be bold this time, now that he and his chums are eight. Told the tale of one political extremist in our old neighborhood who let her kids consume sugar packets at a restaurant but went slightly mad, (yelling "No chemicals!") when one of them tried to eat a packet of Sweet 'N Low. Will have to watch out for offended parents today. Already practicing my "boys will be boys" routine.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Now here's a shocker. I went to H.E.B. this morning to order Mr. B.'s birthday cake for Sunday. Chocolate cake. Check. Chocolate icing. Check. Last year we did Harry Potter, the year before it was Spiderman, and before that Bob the Builder. So, this year, how about a plastic cowboy and horse or two on top? No cowboys. No cowboys? No cowboys. This is the oldest and largest grocery chain in Texas, found only in Texas (and Mexico), for that matter, and it has no cowboys for a kid's birthday cake? No cowboys. Sheesh.

UPDATE:  Cowboy figures with lassos also are in short supply in local toy stores. Found plenty with six-guns, but then I ran across a shelf of Papo's handpainted knights and decided to go for two more. Mr. B. already has several and enjoys them. All mine were one color. I'm envious of these. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B. went back to school today, where he's learning probabilities, writing book reports and practicing cursive. He was home yesterday with a sore throat, which came with ice cream, popsicles and fruit juice. Today, he'll have to settle for water. But, this afternoon, after baseball practice, there'll be Gatorade.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I don't know what it is with dogs, but Mr. B.'s new Little League team is The Scrappers, whose mascot is a bulldog. Last year's team was the Muckdogs. The Scrappers had their first practice last Saturday, in which their throwing and catching was pretty impressive, but they didn't get around to any hitting so remains to be seen if they'll be high-scoring.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

One of Mr. B.'s classmates and fellow cub scouts, is half-Chinese, so, it being the Chinese New Year of late, the kid recently brought some Chinese candy in nice little red paper packets with golden dragons on them, one for each kid in the class. Nice thing to do, even if some of the candy was so old the rice paper wrapping had congealed. It was still tasty, apparently, as Mr. B. wolfed it all down in a flash. I was reminded of it reading this funny post at the House of Eratosthenes about some not-so-bright American teens getting Chinese character tattoos without checking to make sure they really say what they're supposed to be saying.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy did okay at the Little League tryouts this morning. He got a piece of the ball three times (two grounders and one foul tip) in five overhand pitches--the first overhand pitches he's faced and from a lefthanded pitcher at that, while he was batting right-handed. He stopped all of his thrown grounders, even if he didn't catch the pop ups, and his throwing was weak but was off target only once in four tries. He was pretty disgusted about his performance, but he'll get to play. All the boys his age will. The tryouts are misnamed. They aren't really to eliminate anybody, just to help the coaches make sure the best players aren't all on the same team. Now we wait to see which AA8 team he gets, and hope some of his school or Cub Scout friends are on it, too.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Says here, via KVUE, that it's medium, but it feels like a lot less, at least around the rancho. Yesterday when I ventured out to pick up Mr. B. from school I came back with a snootfull, itching eyes and plenty of sneezing. Today, nothing. Usually, all the high wind we've been having the last few days, stirs more pollen into the air. But, this time, it seems to have blown what was there away, which probably means the season is almost over. Which is fine with me.

UPDATE:  Down even more Saturday morning. No more Prisoner of Zenda routine for me. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B. got a very nice note from his teacher about his science fair project. "You would make a great teacher," she wrote, which surprised me as much as him, though his paternal grandfather was a college professor. I missed his classroom and competition presentations on his collection and classification of sharks, but having judged the fair last year I knew to warn him to be sure not to read off the display, though he could point to parts of it if he wanted to. His oral must have been really good, because he won Third Place out of about forty other second graders who entered voluntarily. I went by to look at the entries after the judging. His seemed to be the only one on sharks. Next year, in third grade, he'll be required to enter, as he will be each year through fifth grade. We have all year to decide what to do next time.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B. got his ears pinned back, as they used to say, the other day at school. His teacher, who is rather a stern disciplinarian, which is a good reason in itself for being careful around her, told the class they could not have recess because it was too cold. Mr. B., who is quite a bit like I was in school days of yore, especially in that he lives for recess, said he could not stop himself from piping up with, "It doesn't seem too cold to me, Mrs. (X)." He agreed that he deserved his punishment--sitting out for five minutes at the next recess--and a note home for, as she put it, "arguing with me."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:13 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Wet and Despair: What he calls these gray, overcast and rainy days we've been having. More here.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Reading Mr. B. a bedtime story from a collection of classic tales published a hundred years ago, we encountered the story of Sir Marrok, a knight of King Arthur's Round Table. But it took until Chapter Three in the story to discover that the Lady Irma mixed a potion to change Sir M. into a werewolf. Whoa. I thought I knew the Arthurian tales, but I somehow missed this one. Mr. B., always attentive to stories about knights and castles, was duly surprised and impressed. He never expected this, either. We do know, however, that the werewolf of the Harry Potter tales was a good guy. So there's hope.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We still have six five days to finish Mr. Boy's entry in the annual school science fair. It's voluntary for second graders like him, required thereafter. He's doing a collection and classification, and though he has most all of his materials gathered for the subject--sharks--he needs all the time left. Turns out there are more than 360 known species, too many to even list on his display board, which would be boring anyhow. But the Web has allowed him to "collect" graphic drawings of representative members of some of the eight orders of sharks. Next problems: a creative layout and practicing his oral presentation. Next year and henceforth, experiments will be required, but collection was a good introduction to research and scientific terms. The Web offers a vast amount of ideas. Must have been a lot tougher before the Internet.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:33 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Happy to see Barnes and Noble having a half-price clearance sale because I wanted to buy some classic books for Mr. B. anyway, and thus I saved a bunch of money on unabridged versions of Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and the Story of King Arthur and His Knights. They're all good. I remember them from my own childhood and, of course, actually took a  college course on Mark Twain. So I especially remember Tom Sawyer's great trick of getting his friends to not only willingly but also happily perform for him the odious task to which he'd been set: i.e., whitewashing a fence.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. decided last night just before the BCS championship game that he was for Ohio State. He drew up a little "Go Buckeyes!" poster which he would wave from time to time. Until the other OSU fell behind. For once, though, he didn't switch loyalties to the winning team. He had to go to bed at the half because of today's return to school after Christmas break. When I told him the final score this morning, as I was getting him up, he groaned and pulled the covers over his head.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Ladyequins: "I don't know why they call them mannequins. They're almost always ladies." See previous entries.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Been an eclectic day around the rancho. Mr. B. and I enjoyed Oklahoma State's defeat of Indiana, followed by watching his latest Laurel & Hardy flick, "Flying Deuces." New Year's eves are restful when you're too old and your son is too young for parties. He read a new picture book on gladiators while I read the latest Dortmunder burglary escapade, "Watch Your Back." And, while thinking of an OCS classmate's ongoing return to Viet Nam this week, I found myself contemplating the tours offered by this San Antonio outfit that specializes in old battlefields in northern and southern I Corps. One of these days...

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Took an hour last night to free RoboPanda from his box. (Deep voice intoning: "Day Four, RoboPanda Held Hostage.") Only one paper cut. Then I discovered Grammaw brought along a RoboReptile which will also need freeing this morning. We are long on robots. Neither of these fire missiles, as far as I know, nor make facsimile (or any other kind) of love. But RoboPanda has a perky voice and even tells you how to lower his/her volume ("Rub my tummy, then stroke either of my legs.") Mom is behind this one. She has more faith in toy technology than Dad. But, so far, RP is a big hit. Maybe this robo stuff really won't be abandoned before Thursday. We shall see.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Here at the rancho, we believe in splitting the difference, so Mr. B. will be getting both computer games and books. Merry Christmas, rare readers, and to all a good night!

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Some public schools enforce no-fighting policies to the extent that they expect children to play the victim:

"The principal at my own son's school expects--and I kid you not--that students will curl up on the ground into a fetal position and hope that someone else goes running for help."

We haven't had to confront this yet with Mr. B. But something tells me it's not too far off.

Via Instapundit 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I've posted before about this effort to help our troops in Iraq and Afghanistan call home. But today, receiving a relative's Xmas gift for Mr. B in an Amazon box, I found a soft-plastic mailer for the program, postage-paid, inside. Pretty cool. Makes it very painless. Indeed, Mr. B. and I rooted out an old cell phone from the garage and dropped it into the mailer. We'll take it to a mailbox later today to mail it. It's another good reason to shop Amazon when you can.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. frequently comes out of school in the afternoons perturbed at his imprisonment rather than elated that the confinement is over for another day. Today he grumbled that he wished he didn't have one more day until Christmas break began. But he does. Nevertheless, after delaying the start of his homework for so long that I began to think he'd given up on doing it, he pitched in and got it all done, including  his weekly book report and begging me to help him learn the twenty-five spelling words for tomorrow's test. On the list were such toughies as Kwanzaa, Hanukkah, and, lo and behold, Christmas. Surprisingly, he had the first two down cold, but he kept stumbling over the big C, spelling it c-h-i-r-s-t-m-a-s until I told him to remember that it was originally about a Roman Catholic mass for the birth of Jesus who was called the Christ, c-h-r-i-s-t, with mass at the end, minus one s. After that he got it. Thank goodness we both get a break from school after tomorrow.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

More on the trend to banishing the game of tag, and other competitive play, in public schools, this time in Connecticut. Although some of the commenters sound like loons.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Rats. Mr. B. and I were just at Lowe's to pick up a replacement flapper for the one that's leaking in the toilet in the guest bathroom, causing it to run and run. Now I discover we're to have a freeze tonight and a deeper one tomorrow night. Don't think I have enough covers for the outdoor faucets. Could have bought more at Lowe's. Come to think of it, they had several big boxes of them arrayed up and down the center aisle near the registers. I wondered about it. Now I know why. Will have to use a towel for one or two faucets, I guess. Curiously enough, there's also a possible brush fire warning from all the wind today. But, having little brush around the rancho, I believe we can just let that one go.

UPDATE: The freezes went okay, but I couldn't get the toilet's inflow shut off to fix the flapper. Something tells me something worse is going on. I called a plumber and await his ministrations.

MORE: He came, he tinkered, he resolved the problem with a new fill valve, wall shutoff and water hose. Said the flapper was okay all along. Problems that start out small have a way of becoming larger at the rancho. Sigh. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The Mouth of the Brazos and I go back to a time when kids carried pocket knives everywhere, even to school. Imagine that. Nowadays, as MOTB says, just drawing a picture of a knife can set teacher tongues wagging. But imagine my surprise when I learned that Mr. B.'s teacher has outlawed tag at recess. The problem, as she sees it, is the "contact" part, as in the touching, slapping, punching, whatever, to indicate who is "it." Mr. B., ever the rebel, suggested pointing. Just pointing, within a range of, say, twelve inches. One teacher liked it. But not his. So, no tag at recess. They call this progress. Sensitivity, and other malarkey.

UPDATE:  Teachers do have the ability to impose rules of their own, but in this case, the no tag policy is district wide. Not a single child in the Austin school district is allowed to play tag at recess. Pathetic. Worst of all--are you ready for this?--it's increasingly becoming the case nationwide.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B. came home from school with a big smile today. He said he had some news. He turned it into a joke. He said "Dad, me and two other boys had to go to the principal's office, today." I thought, uh oh, but I didn't say anything. He said, "It's all explained in this note," and he handed me the note. The note said, "These three boys got 105 on their spelling tests this week, including photosynthesis and chlorophyll." He was especially pleased that not a single girl in the class could spell chlorophyll. Let me tell you, among second grade boys, beating out girls is a big deal.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Institutions lie. Most adults figure that out more or less quickly. But kids are different. They believe what adults tell them. So what happens when adults lie to them, on purpose? One of the teachers at Mr. B.'s school encourages her students to keep "a private diary" which no one else but them will ever read, she tells them. The object is to encourage writing and creative expression. But the teacher is a liar. She snoops in the private diaries to see what the students are doing. If she doesn't like what she finds, she tells their parents. Creepy, right? Right.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (240)

Fighting off a virus of some kind, mainly by sleeping the day away. It comes with a cough and some sinus trouble. I expect I got it from Mr. B. He has coughed for a week or more, often in my face. Like other things he can't always remember, he can't always remember to cover his mouth. He and his chums are little Typhoid Martins, carrying the germs of their hundreds of peers from school and the playground. Their immune systems could fight off the plague. Mine can't vanquish the common cold.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Hilts, blades, all broken. Some blades snapped in half, others broken off at the hilt. Like the discarded hardware of some ferocious battle. Except they're all plastic, or foam. And the fights have been mostly with trees. So we gathered them up and put them in the trash, to make way for the next rearming of the combatant, piecemeal or wholesale, as it may be.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Moral: never go to a Pinewood Derby with a car with a sticky wheel. I thought we could get away with it, after the epoxy spread to the wheel from where I had applied it to hold the axles on the wood. I turned it a few score times and applied powdered graphite to the axle and the tread in hopes of making it slippery enough that it would at least slide quickly. It came in 66th, dead last. It not only lost its three heats, it never got all the way to the finish line, but slowed and stopped about two-thirds of the way down the track. Next year, when Mr. B. is older and doesn't have to rely on dumb old Dad, he should do better.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Have to get our Pinewood Derby racer weighed today and leave it with the race officials for tomorrow's competition. We wound up using some tungsten putty, after all, gluing it to the bottom of the car with epoxy. That way, if we're a little over the maximum of five ounces, we can shave some of the putty off. Something tells me we won't be so lucky this year as last when we won third place. But we'll see.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Or a hungry one. He stuck his head inside the car when Mr. B. and his Mom and Grandma toured Fossil Rim, southwest of Fort Worth, on Sunday. It was such a surprise, they didn't get a photograph of it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Last year, our first race, we got all complicated. Bought tungsten putty to stuff in drilled holes in the body, polished the nail-axles, sanded the plastic wheels, lubicated with powdered graphite. Even bought a scale to weigh the car. Then got to the official weigh-in and discovered it was too light. So used their hot glue gun and lead weights to bring it up to maximum allowed: five ounces. This year Mr. Boy did more of it by himself, including the polishing and sanding and picking out a decal body surface instead of using paint and clear nail polish to make it shine. Might still use the nail polish, but we blew off the tungsten. Going to wait until the weigh-in and use the free weights and remember to space them out on the car's rear third, for fastest possible running. Last year Mr. B. took third place. This year?

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Laurel and Hardy DVD I ordered came yesterday and Mr. B. and I watched the 1932 Oscar-winning classic The Music Box in which Stan and Ollie try to get a crated player-piano up a looong flight of steps. Mr. B. laughed so hard he couldn't sit up. He actually became breathless. I began to wonder if he has asthma. Probably not, or it would affect him playing basketball, and it doesn't. He found the hat-trading sequence the most hilarious. So L&H have a new fan. Physical comedy and slapstick just plain appeal to kids. Adults doing what kids want to do, even if they usually don't because they know they won't get away with it. Next up: Harold Lloyd's "Safety Last." Later, the Marx Brothers.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I couldn't make the show Saturday but will definitely start reading the forum. I doubt many of them are retirees, but you never know. Pajamas Media's take.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy exulted Sunday when a teammate's absence meant that he got to play all four quarters of his youth basketball game at the J. Usually he only gets to play two quarters as their three-on-three games split the difference between two units on each team. His Rockets won, they said, but we're not sure what the score was. Only the kids kept track. The coaches want it all to be fun, without pressure. Of course the kids create their own pressure. This, his third game, was Mr. B.'s best. Good sportsmanship and no tantrums when the ref corrected him. He only got called for traveling twice and double-dribbling once. He made seven two-point shots, grabbed a half dozen rebounds, and refrained from yelling at his teammates when they made a mistake. He was pleased with himself afterwards, but so thirsty he drank a whole bottle of Gatorade.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Second grade boys are like first grade boys and kindergarteners. They go with the winners. They don't waste effort being loyal when a team is losing. Thus Mr. B. decided at the end of the third quarter of the Texas-Oklahoma State game that he'd had enough. Texas was losing 35 to 14 and he had better things to do, like play his Harry Potter computer game. I was still hoping for the comeback, but admitted I was getting less confident by the minute. You'll miss the end of the game, I said. Dad, he said, I think they're going to lose. When they won he made me describe how they did it, and I tried, but better descriptions are here and here.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This year's pumpkins are no better than last year. Maybe I'll get up a picture later, after I make supper and send Mr. B. and Mom on their way out to trick-or-treating. My job is passing out the goodies to the ghouls that show up at the rancho. If any. None at all came last year, but it was a wee chilly, then. S'posed be warm tonight.

UPDATE: Eleven little goblins showed up, all but one with one or more parents. That one I judge to have been a fifth grader, which was about the time my mother made me stop trick-or-treating. Fun, anyway. Mr. B. came home with enough loot to last him until next year. Most of it will go stale and be thrown out before then. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Getting a note sent home from the teacher because you backtalked her or hit another kid, I can see. Getting one for threatening another kid with bodily injury, or saying mean things, I can see. But sending a note home because you stuck your tongue out at another kid is just going too far. This is public school 2007.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

An OCS buddy suggested getting some Lone Ranger DVDs for Mr. Boy. I'd already thought of that and ordered one. It took some coaxing. He wanted to watch his Ninja Turtles, instead. But a few minutes into one episode and he was hooked. "I liked the action," he said, meaning the gunplay and the way the Ranger and Tonto and the rest are always swinging into the saddle to ride off somewhere. He even liked the black-n-white episodes, when he was sure he wouldn't. I'd forgotten how stilted and contrived Clayton Moore's lines were. Goody-two-shoes with sixguns. Did I see them for that when I was young? I think so, but I had fewer choices then.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B., when I came in to tell him something this afternoon in the midst of his playing one of his Harry Potter computer games: "Sorry, Dad, no time to talk. I'm being chased by a troll."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. is a little young yet to be asking for a white button-down shirt. But that's what he wants, so I went off to Target this morning and bought one for him. It's for Friday, at the school's Halloween carnival. He's going as a vampire, with makeup and cape and red satin collar, and the picture on the package the cape came in shows the vampire in a white, button-down shirt. So... But, first, there's the little matter of a flu shot. It was to have been the FluMist, but the doctor's office called and said they're out of it. So it's to be a shot. Uh-oh. Hopefully, the new shirt will help him feel better about it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

After more than a year of writing, a day of transferring Word files to PDF, and a few hours applying title text to a stock cover in Coral Paintshop Pro X, I'm finally ready to upload all to lulu.com. It's for a 184-page book of fatherly advice and family history for Mr. Boy, in case I don't live long enough to see him into high school. You never know. Keeping the options open, as I advise him to do throughout. Lulu is a choice option in itself, since the creating is free and you only have to pay for one copy at a time. In this case there won't be more than four, two to keep around until Mr. B. is sixteen or so, and one each to his aunts in Virginia and California in case the other two are lost somehow.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy is on the Rockets, one of the fall season's youth basketball teams at the Jewish Community Center of Austin. They had their last practice this afternoon, after we came back from the camp out, looking pretty good in their new red jerseys. The competition begins next Sunday. Let the games begin!

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It was good to see all the boys running around on the Cub Scout camp out: throwing frisbees, footballs, even pelting each other with pecans and other roughhousing "without the hawkeyes," as one father put it, always measuring to see if their behavior is up to snuff. They're like prison inmates in school, where the rules rule, purposely segregated from each other in the seating arrangements with girls in between. So it's good to see them on parole for a day or two. But I've decided I'm glad we only have one of these trips a season. I'm just too old to be in a sleeping bag, unable to move my old legs around. They start to ache before long. Although we planned better this year and had good air mattresses, so the aching back wasn't so aching. When Mr. B.'s old enough for Boy Scouts he'll do these trips on his own. We'll miss him, but be grateful we don't have to go along.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We're off to Krause Springs with the Cub Scouts. No further posting until we return tomorrow. Adios.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. decided to stick with his design for last year's car, which unexpectedly took third place in the pack's race. But he couldn't resist decorating this year's car with a full-body decal of red and yellow flames topped off with lines of menacing skulls. Very second grade. At least it will save painting and inhaling the fingernail polish we used last year to make the paint sparkle. Now that the wood is cut--this year by one of the den father's with a band saw--we need to enlist a family friend with a belt-sander to help him sand it smooth, and polish the axles so the plastic wheels turn faster. Like last year we'll go into the race not expecting to win anything. But you never know.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Krause Springs, where the water is a chilly 70 degrees year-round, is our destination this weekend for Mr. B.'s Cub Scout pack's fall camping trip. It's west of Austin, unlike McKinney Falls where we stayed last year, so we won't be awakened by jets taking off from Austin-Bergstrom International Airport. That will be nice. I expect the boys will do what they did last year, each find a long stick and head off into the woods playing tag. They'll swim in the cold water, we'll watch. Campfire at night, and S'mores, of course. I nicked the photo, the best I could find, here, from a fellow who shares our interest in astronomy and has some really nice astrophotographs you should check out.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It took me almost a full minute to realize this was a joke, along the lines of tartan paint, or a solar-powered flashlight. Took a while because I was searching for left-handed tools on the Web--why not? they make left-handed guitars-- after watching Mr. B., who is left handed, struggle to turn a screw last night at a Cub Scout meeting. It was his Wolf den meeting where tools were introduced to the boys, most of whom have seen the tools but not had a chance to try to use them. Turning a screw to the right is more difficult if you're left handed. Like turning a door knob to the right. It's just something he's going to have to adapt to, probably using his right hand. Fortunately, he already bats right handed in baseball and prefers to throw right handed, as well.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:02 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I think I've discovered the secret of how to get Mr. Boy out of bed and ready for school in the morning: talk about breakfast. Do you want oatmeal or waffles, I ask innocently, knowing that he wants both. Does he want juice? He rolls over and starts to rub his eyes, a sure sign he's waking up. When I can get him to state his preference as to what to start with, I can see the gears in his mind that are connected to his stomach have started churning in sync. Sure enough, I go off to make (usually) the oatmeal and by the time I get the bowl on the table, he's up and dressed and making up his bed. Food. That's the ticket.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy left this morning for school confident of another 100 (or better) on his weekly spelling test. He not only can spell the assigned list of 24 relatively easy (for me) words, but has two of the hard (for me) bonus words down after he struggled to memorize them yesterday. Try spelling "proboscis" and "spiracles" yourself. They're from his class's science study of caterpillers and butterflies.

UPDATE: Maybe we should demote him to spelling prince. He got a 91, having misspelled two of the "easy" words, "speak" and "bring," out of twenty. But "bring" only because he wrote a "d" instead of a "b." Likewise with "proboscis," writing a "d" instead of a "b". Got spiracles right, though. Sigh. Guess we have to work more on writing, and being careful. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

What did you learn about in school today, I asked Mr. Boy. Einstein, he said. Einstein? In second grade? What did they say he was famous for? Mr. B. couldn't remember. No kidding. There are plenty of adults who couldn't tell you anything about E.'s work, other than that he was a genuis, etc. Well, there is, I said, his Theory of Relativity, but most adults would be hard-pressed to explain it. The only part I know about is this: You can't fly to the moon in a straight line. Because space is curved. (I hope I got that right. With the ToR, you can never be sure.) Wow, said Mr. B, that is cool. It is, too. And, last month, some astronomers used it to measure some really far away neutron stars.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Getting Mr. Boy up in the morning for school the past few days has been tedious. Removing the covers had only limited effect. So I thought to capture his young male imagination, by telling him how bosuns of the Napoleonic-era Royal Navy did it--per the Aubrey-Maturin series. They'd come through the lower decks rousing the next watch by shouting, "Out or down!" Meaning if you didn't get out of your hammock, they would use their knives to cut your hammock down and you'd sprawl on the deck. It got a smile, and the obvious retort from Mr. B. that he wasn't in a hammock. But the thinking and the smile were enough to make him open his eyes. From there it was a relatively short step to getting his feet on the floor.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Ted Wallis, a doctor in Austin, Texas, recently came upon a lost child in tears in a mall. His first instinct was to help, but he feared people might consider him a predator. He walked away. 'Being male,' he explains, 'I am guilty until proven innocent.'"

The solution, as I see it, is to have children of your own. Fathers are innocent until proven guilty.

Via Instapundit 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Going to take Mr. Boy to the scout headquarters after school this afternoon to pick up his new duds for Wolf year: scarf, slides, patch, handbook and maybe a cap. I didn't take him last year, which might have been a mistake. I figure his innate consumer will be thrilled at all the stuff to buy as he works his way up to Boy Scouts and beyond. Of course they tell parents they don't have to buy all the stuff, and we didn't buy the trousers or shorts. He wears his own. But some of it, like the shirt, patches, scarf and handbook are hard to do without. After that, we'll stop by the Jewish Community Center and register him for the rookie (ages 6-7) co-ed fall basketball league. He's not so sure about the co-ed part, but he likes the idea of competition. I explained to him that almost all Texas colleges have womens' basketball teams, but, in typical age seven mode, he was skeptical. He'll learn.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Mr. B.'s school problems are starting early this year. Yesterday, after pickup, he gave me a very pious and unprompted lecture about how he--unlike some of his pals--knows better than to take his Yu-Gi-Oh cards to school to trade on the playground at recess. Teachers, who consider such things a distraction, don't like to see them except, now and then, at show-and-tell. But behavior, of course, doesn't always follow from understanding. This morning Mr. B.'s mom caught him trying to take a handful of the cards to school. She insisted that he leave them at home. He did, but he didn't like it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:11 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

After all the trouble Mr. B. had minding the teacher last year in first grade (his mother said he got in more trouble in first grade than she did in all of elementary school), I decided since clothes-make-the-man, maybe we could change his attitude by losing the batman, spider man and skull t-shirts. Take your choice, I said, polo shirts or button shirts or a combination. "But Dad," he said, "polo shirts and button shirts are only for formal events." "School," I replied, "is a formal event." He looked really good again this morning in his polo shirt. I hope this works, or I may be outvoted next year.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. goes back to imitating a budding scholar, and I go back to imitating a leisurely retired person. While he's trying to pay attention, and stay out of trouble, I'm going sailing.

Photo swiped from Miss Cellania

UPDATE: The crush at pickup this afternoon was amazing. More adults than children. I came a half hour early to be sure I could finding parking. Parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. It'll thin out by next week. Did last year. Mr. B. didn't notice. He was bragging about getting more Xs, good behavior marks, than anyone else. Started good last year, too. Hope it lasts through spring. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Miss Ellie, Mr. Boy's more-or-less constant companion since he was four months old, is worn and tattered and her once-yellow color is now greenish gray. So much so that the "spirit animal," a stuffed elephant I sometimes call the precocious pachyderm has lately been coming apart in strategic areas. This morning I answered the cry for help and sewed part of her tail back on, the part by which she is carried about, in fact. I got a grateful hug for my efforts, though I kept thinkling while I was doing it that my maternal grandmother would not have awarded me any prizes for the thread-and-needle work. It was a little sloppy. Mr. B. didn't notice, of course. He wanted strength, not finesse. Miss El was the gift of his maternal aunt, who was killed earlier this month in a motocycle accident.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy struggled to get up this morning, despite being within ten minutes of the time he will have to leave for school each day next week. The summer vacation lazies are still clinging, and we're still working on the "early to bed" part of the old Ben Franklin admonition. The "early to rise" part is coming on like a runaway NASACAR, but he has to work at being a "morning lark." This afternoon, we'll be up at the school checking out the lists to see who his new teacher and classmates are. Mom hopes we lose some of his first grade cronies who helped lead him astray a time or two last year. That would be good, but I'd opt for a little continuity.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The road to the docks was covered by rising water yesterday at Anderson Mill Marina. I had to turn around on the steep hill descending to the road, in order to retreat. I noticed half a dozen cars and trucks parked on the hill, as if their owners had come early to taken their boats out before the water came up. They would be be in for a surprise, I thought, when they came back and found the water had risen to block their retreat. But I see now that it didn't. In fact, it has fallen a little, by this morning, to 686.43 feet msl. Mr. B. and I might be able to sail, after all, in this last week before school resumes-- if Hurricane Dean stays well south of Texas. So far it looks like it will.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A winding road, a motorcycle and a big patch of gravel spelled the end of my young sister-in-law last night near her home in southern Indiana. So we fly out in the morning for the gathering of the clan and the funeral on Monday. So no more posts until we return on Tuesday. It will be Mr. Boy's first funeral, and we expect many questions once he drops his rising second-grader, know-it-all pose. He was too young for his maternal grandfather's funeral in '03, which was too bad because he missed the military honors. I expect this one to be much more somber. Sudden, unexpected death always drills deep into our sense of mortality. We are already taking more time for hugs and saying "be careful" when we part on even short errands.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

More on the girlification of public school. Well, middle school, although we have seen signs of it in elementary school as well. It is not reassuring to know that it will only get worse in middle school.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm still reading the final Potter book to Mr. Boy, and we're not far along. But I couldn't resist reading it when he was asleep, and once when he wasn't and caught me at it. He didn't seem to mind too much. So I've finished it, and even read several reviews and discussions online, including this 25-page one at Slate. I thought it was a wonderful finish to a fascinating tale that I began reading before Mr. B. was born. As tiresome as some of the teenage angst was to wade through, in the earlier books and the last one, I knew if I kept reading I'd be rewarded in the end, even if only by Dumbledore wrapping it all up for me. This time his spirit's explanation was more ambiguous than I expected. Had to reread it again to be sure I hadn't missed anything. I was sorry he didn't return, Gandalf style, but I'd come to realize that Harry's universe was not, actually, as magical as Frodo's. I was more sorry that Snape didn't die fighting, as I had always felt he was more an active good guy than a bad one, but his final gift to Harry was more than sufficient. I didn't even mind the (as some complain) goody-two-shoes epilogue. I thought it was appropriate, straddling the worlds of adult and child readers. What I did not think was appropriate were the very few swear words which surprised me when they appeared (I particularly dislike the coarse use of "effing" in a child's book) but I reminded myself that Rowling's main readers, who began when they were nine or ten, are now adults in the eyes of the law, and so could be expected to "want" something like that, for whatever reason. As for Mr. B., well, I will simply skip over them (or find appropriate euphemisms) in reading the book to him. Later, when he's older and reading the books for himself, I suppose they will not be too jarring for him, even if he's only ten or eleven, but merely seem naughty. The books, afterall, are now available in their entirety and needn't be put off for a year or so in between. All in all, a satisfying conclusion, and open-ended enough to allow imaginative speculation about the future of all the survivors. I still prefer the Lord of the Rings, with Frodo's final departure to the Grey Havens rather than to suburban bliss, but, then, I'm 63 years old.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. and I bought a pre-owned vehicle yesterday, a 3-year-old silver Honda CRV with sun/moon roof and fulltime four-wheel drive. He rode along on the test excursion, searching the backseat area for damage (finding none) and using his keen, non-cigarette-damaged sense of smell to ferret out anything untoward. He didn't smell anything bad, except what he pronounced a little mildew from all the rain we've been having. He liked it back there. More room, he thought, than in the old Jeep Cherokee, although that's unlikely since the CRV is shorter and narrower. Nevertheless. His reward? A can of Big Red soda pop. He thought it was worth it. Also liked the tinted windows, which will let him play his Leapster in the back seat without interference from the sun.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:08 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The insurance company has retired my old Jeep Cherokee Laredo, after I rearended a Chevy last week climbing winding RR (Ranch Road) 2222 in a blinding rainstorm. The latest storm in our crazy year of rain. I wasn't hurt, or the people in the Chevy. But the insurors declared the Jeep a total loss, although it isn't obviously so. It being fifteen years old, however, the repair estimate was a higher percentage of the market value than allowed. I think I'll go for a Toyota or a Honda this time. But giving up the Jeep is hard. We brought Mr. B. home in it, a few days after he was born in 2000. He's used to it, we're used to it. It's like losing a member of the family.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy's first attempt at solo wrapping. A present (a G.I. Joe set) for a friend from basketball camp, whose birthday party is Saturday. Not bad, actually, for a 7-year-old. Not a ginormous amount of extra cellophane tape. Not too far off, in fact, from what I do at 63. Nevermind, girls. It's a boy thing.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I thought this column about dads being less handy around the house these days was just a good way for the writer to fill his weekly allotment of space while looking pleasingly self-deprecating to his readers. Until I read the comments. Amazes me that some men would decline to install a light fixture or a ceiling fan, though I can understand one guy's remark that interior painting is best left to the pros. I have done it, but the result was not so pleasing. I've also paid to have the privacy fence lengthened. But it's also a good idea for Mr. Boy to see me doing chores like unclogging a sink or toilet, or installing the aforementioned light or ceiling fan. If nothing else, he's learned a few new cuss words. But he also gets to see that tackling this stuff is not demeaning, but actually a good skill to have. Although when faced with the weekly lawnmowing in the summer's heat--I just finished half of it, and am putting off the rest for a few hours--it's awfully tempting to pay to have someone else do it. I'm looking forward to the day when he's old enough to put him to it, as my father did me long ago.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy is one of the lucky millions who Amazon is going to try and ship a pre-ordered copy of "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows," on a Saturday, the day of release. It'll be interesting to see if it arrives.

"You don't have to do a thing -- just sit back and wait for the book to arrive on the day of release, July 21, 2007, guaranteed!*"

It's the asterisk that usually gets you. But this one isn't painful:

"...in the unlikely event that you don't receive it on Saturday, July 21, we'll refund the cost of the book."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Staticution: Being shocked by static electricity. Also see previous entry, Snickup, and further application.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy recently confided to me his life goal. It's always satisfying when your 7-year-old trusts you enough to reveal his tender plans. He's going to be a rock star. He's not sure which instrument to play, but is leaning towards the guitar. His second choice is to be a spy. The kind that brings criminals to justice, he said. At his age, it seems very simple. All you have to do is choose.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Too funny. How not to measure temperature for the historical climate record. Yet, this is the way the feds do it. Al Gore? You need to look into this slap at global warming. Maybe re-edit your faulty biopic?

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Snickup is Mr. Boy's polite word for screwup. Unfortunately he now knows the impolite word, and we seldom hear snickup, anymore, which I rather like. But not the fact of it. I bought the new, self-inflating Stearns life vest at West Marine this morning, then settled down with the manual to see how to install the CO2 bottle and how it all works. But in my curiosity, I managed to break the little green plastic safety pin. I think I can buy a new one, but I'll have to go back out to West Marine and see if they agree.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy has had a lot of fun playing the Harry Potter PC games by EA Games. But we finally hit a big snag. We can't load/install the fourth game, Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire. Tried several times, but no go. It hangs on the second disk. Thought registering might help. It didn't. New install programs always tell you to shut down all programs running in the background, but that would take some time, even to find all the little housekeeping stuff Windows XP has going and turn it off. Wasn't necessary with the first three games. I suppose that's the next, logical step, however. You'd think... Well, maybe not.

UPDATE  Finally, on July 9, we got it to install, by following EA Games' advice to pull all the files off the disks and double-click autorun.exe. It worked! Now all that needs overcoming is the commnands, which are different from the other three Potter games. Why do you imagine? 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy and his mom came home today from her latest family reunion in Western Maryland. I had to relinquish the computer for a few hours so he could play his Harry Potter game after a week without. Mom started pulling weeds in the front flower bed that were encroaching on her cilantro. I'd been concentrating on the backyard while they were gone, when not blogging, working on the boat or editing a book of family stuff I'm doing for Mr. B. He was delighted to be home, went around kissing things, from his stuffed animals to the refrigerator where his artwork hangs. Blew kisses to the backyard where it is still wet because it is still raining off and on. He'll go back to summer day camp in the morning.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This seems to be something of a problem for kids in some parts of the U.S., but not around here:

"'Kids don't think about going outside like they used to, and unless there is some scheduled activity, I don't think they know what to do outdoors anymore,' Pelzman said."

Even when the temperature is in the 90s, as it has been for the last week or so, Mr. Boy still enjoys playing catch in the backyard, bouncing his basketball on the patio, or throwing a frisbee. He's usually the one to suggest a swim. Having a pool probably contributes to his willingness to be outside, since he has the usual distractions of television & computer games to keep him indoors. Having parks nearby also helps. I do remember one of his 6-year-old buddies, on a Cub Scout weekend camping trip last fall, complaining that he'd rather be at home watching television. The others ignored him and went crashing through the woods hunting "space aliens."

Via Instapundit 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I got the wish on the phone from Mr. B. who was preparing for a bath, after a hard day of picnicing, volleyball and chasing fireflies at his mother's family reunion. Of course I had my day a week early, so I've had plenty of time to check out this pdf of the 1913 book "Training the Boy." (The author, William Arch McKeever, wrote "Training The Girl," in 1919) He encourages Boy Scout membership, and we've begun that with Cub Scouts. One piece of advice I can't follow, however, is the recommendation that, if at all possible, you must be sure to get him a pony. Sorry, I'm not into horses. How about a sloop?

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (650)

Mr. Boy won the egg toss today at mom's family reunion in mountainous western Maryland, where mornings have been in the 50s lately. He and his cousins were chasing fire flies this evening until it got too chilly. Tomorrow he'll go see an uncle's model train setup. He left his faithful spirit animal, the stuffed elephant Ms. El, here instead of taking her along, for the first time I recall. He's growing up.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (373)

Mine came early, last Sunday, in fact, because Mr. Boy and mom flew off to Maryland the other day for a family reunion this weekend. I didn't go essentially because I don't like to travel and I had other things to do, such as finish preparing the sloop for summer sailing. I don't get ties, fortunately, because I don't wear them often. Instead I got a book store gift card, a book analysing the Harry Potter series, which Mr. B. and I have been reading, and a new pair of swimming trunks. It seems most appropriate, however, to prepare to spend the actual day renewing my ideas of how to raise a son, training him in the manly virtues while trying to temper them to keep him from being booted out of school for misbehavior. Girls, his mother often says, cooperate, and we see evidence of that all the time. Boys, on the other hand, compete. They have the Cowboy Gene, as Tony Woodlief puts it, and require a different touch.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Day camp called for me to come pick up Mr. Boy early this afternoon as he was feeling sick and his temperature had "shot up" to 102. He was ice-cold when I got there, crying, a little disoriented. Got him home and took his temp and it was 103 and climbing. Got his age group's dose of grape-flavored Motrin in him, and gave him a cold washrag for his forehead. By now he was hot all over and his head hurt. His temp climbed to 103.9 and I started thinking about an emergency room or even calling EMS. Mom was taking meetings at work and was hard to reach. She advised calling his doctor's nurse for advice. By the time the nurse called back Mr. B.'s temp was down to 102 and falling. After we got off the phone, it was down to 100.3. I got him to eat a popsicle and drink some Sprite. He's been dozing for the last few hours. We have a doctor's appointment at 9 tomorrow morning. Some kids get sick like this and recover quickly. He usually doesn't recover quickly.

UPDATE This time he did, although he had a slight fever this morning. Doc said it was probably a virus. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Mr. Boy concluded his first week of day camp at the J this afternoon, still as enthusiastic as he was after the first day. I ask about it, of course, but I just get snips and bits of the experience, usually on the way home. Today, in addition to swimming and crafts and tug-of-war, they had a camping/nature segment in which "we learned skills to survive in the woods." Such as? "Rope," he said. "Definitely."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Suddenly, my mental powers are growing, growing. I can predict the future of where we will be going in a few years. I see, yes, it's Florida taking shape out there in the mists of time. Especially since Mr. Boy recently finished the second HP game for the PC, the Chamber of Secrets by defeating the Basilisk, and has moved on to the third one, the Prisoner of Azkaban. Even limited to an hour a day, which he sometimes succeeds in pushing to 90 minutes, he's had a lot of fun with the games. Also the books. We are reading the Half-Blood Prince nightly for the second time, and awaiting the last book due July 21 or thereabouts. Someday the theme park will come and now I know where we'll be, too.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just two more days and Mr. Boy is off for ten days--until Camp Shalom begins on June 4, a day camp at the J featuring swimming, science, crafts, athletics, music and art. And mornings and early afternoons off for me just like in the school year. Yay. In the interim, we'll play some catch, fly a kite if the wind's right, and go sailing, assuming the sloop's outboard is fixed by then. Should be.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

They went down to the Redwings, 16-15, in the 2007 AA-7 championship game, confirming the final standings of the regular season. A couple of untimely strikeouts and some confused fielding got the better of the dogs. Mr. Boy hit three more big ones, but only one was an RBI. These are fat pitches, of course, thrown by their coach. Next year, when Mr. B. says he wants to play again, they will be player pitches for the last half of the season, and continue each year thereafter until they're old enough that the player pitcher has some control and can fan batters. Nice trophy, though, even for the runners-up, and the team party at Lake Austin is later today. People talk about berserk parents at little league games, but, in two seasons now, I've never seen any. The rules are understood: criticize a player, coach or umpire and you get ejected from the park. We cheered for two of the wings, when they batted, one in Mr. B.'s class, and both in his cub scout den. Other Muckdog parents did the same for their sons' friends.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The dogs beat the Sidewinders 19 to 10 this evening, so they'll play in the AA-7 Little League championship tomorrow morning. Mr. B. had three big hits and two runs. Earned him three bags of Skittles, as every player got candy for whatever extraordinary thing they did. Not sure who their opponent is tomorrow, but presume it will be the Redwings, which would confirm the season standings, which has the wings at No. 1 and the dogs at No. 2. Tomorrow will decide whether that standing remains.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

This evening's parent-player game at the Muckdogs' final practice was the most fun of the season, with moms and dads playing defense. Not real stringent defense. We have a crop of hitters and improving defenders. A few can catch pop flies, and most can stop grounders. I hit a grounder that Mr. Boy stopped in the outfield. They're all still working on throwing and catching thrown balls, however, so it's not a steady performance. But in most games this season in AA-7 they have blinded the opposition with hitting, and lately are pulling out some clutch defense. If they win tomorrow evening's game, well... I probably shouldn't get the cart before the horse.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (758)

The Muckdogs won their first post-season game today on the way to the championships, beating the Diamond Jaxx 13 to 11. Mr. B. had two good hits, but was stranded once and tagged out the second time. Next game is Friday. If the dogs win that one, they'll play in the championship game on Saturday.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The family sloop, a 1985 Catalina 22, looks better in this photo than it did up close, at the time, as it was covered with grey mold spots after a year without use on Lake Travis. During the drought the docks were moved to where they were inaccessible most of the time. Now it's back and almost four weeks since the photo was taken, the exterior is three-quarters clean. Elbow grease and Sof Scrub is all it takes. Still have to finish the cockpit and clean out the cabin, but it's coming along. The admiral wants to sell it and I had planned to, while it was inaccessible, but of course nobody wanted to buy it then. But after 22 years of sailing it, it's hard to part. Has to be cleaned and the outboard overhauled to sell it, anyway. If I can lure Mr. B. onto it a couple of times once school is out on May 24, I may have the winningest reason to keep it. Racing is something I've never cared to do, but he might find it exciting.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

If the Redwings lose to the Mets tomorrow, in the last game of the 2007 Northwest Little League season, the Muckdogs will finish as the season champs. If the Redwings win, they will be No. 1 and the dogs No. 2. The Mets were one of the dogs' two losses in their 11 win, 2 loss season. Practice tomorrow and Saturday, either way, with tournament games to start Monday or Tuesday. In our last game yesterday, we beat Thunder by one run. Mr. B. only got to bat twice, striking out once and hitting one to left field for a double. Then, playing third base, he tagged a runner out. He'll enjoy tomorrow's practice, since it will be all hitting, in the batting cages.

UPDATE  The Redwings won their game and now are in first place with a season record of 11-1-1. The Muckdogs are second, with 11-2, and their first tournament game is on Tuesday. Ironically, the Redwings' one loss was to the Muckdogs.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. got three hits and tagged a runner out at third as the Muckdogs beat the Express, 17-10. Last game is Tuesday, then the tournament begins, which could bring the dogs up against the two teams that have beaten them in their 10-2 season.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Muckdogs beat the Diamond Jaxx 19 to 14 today, to notch their ninth win in eleven games. Mr. B. got three hits, one of them an RBI. Two more games on the season, Saturday and Tuesday. Then the tournament.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy increased his RBI total by two, as the Muckdogs beat the Sidewinders 16 to 13. The dogs have got an 8-2 season now, with the games coming at two or more a week. Next one is Thursday.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Mr. Boy's little league team took its second loss in eight games today, falling 13 to 12 to the Thunder. Mr. B., however, continued his hitting streak with three, each of them an RBI. He himself was stranded on third all three times. He was bummed at the loss, but the first snowcone of the season helped.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today is Eva Bol's birthday. She's a constant among my rare readers, and the wife of OCS classmate Joe Bol, who recently retired. Eva likes the Mr. Boy category best, but she also bought a copy of my book "Leaving The Alamo." Not saying how old Eva is today. Shall we just say that she's over 30?

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy and I have decided, having finished the Harry Potter books the same week as we saw the third installment of the Lord of the Rings movie, that Dumbledore, like Gandalf, will probably return to life more powerful than before--in the seventh book in the series due out this summer. Indeed, Mr. B. points out a similarity between Frodo and Harry. They both are marked, Harry with the forehead thunderbolt, and Frodo with the shoulder wound from the Nazgul. Both ache when the enemy is near.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Another win for the Muckdogs, beating the Rockhounds 29-12. Mr. B. had two good hits and two good defensive plays in right field, one of them an outstanding save of what could have been a Rockhound home run. So now we wait to see where the Muckdogs stand in the rankings, having dethroned No. 1.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Watched this second installment of the Lord of the Rings movie on DVD tonight with Mom and Mr. B., who had never seen it before. It got very confusing in the middle, until I realized it had been substantially changed from the book. Didn't seem to bother the boy as much as it annoyed me. Faramir wouldn't let Frodo go, as he did in the book, but took him to Gondor, instead. At one point Sam asks "What are we doing here, Mr. Frodo?" It was part of a rhetorical speech written for the movie Sam, but it was funny in light of their detour. Perhaps it had to be done to make even a three hour movie, but it's an example of why I think of movies as far more confining than books. They compress your imagination, rather than releasing it as a good book does.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Muckdogs beat the Express 18 to 14 on a chilly day with a cold wind. Mr. B. had two hits and a good defensive out at third base. But tomorrow's the big one, playing the No. 1 Rockhounds.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy got three hits and two runs in this afternoon's 25-13 victory over the Rivercats. The Muckdogs are 5-1 for the season now, but have two more games this weekend--one tomorrow and one on Sunday. Mr. B.'s three hits were a double and two singles, and he drove in runs each time. But if the other team had been good at fielding, he'd likely have been out on the singles. The Rivercats just turned out to be worse hitters than the Muckdogs. Neither shined on the field. They have progressed a little. I no longer see them run for cover when a pop fly is falling their way. Now they tend to stick their gloves out, while cringing off to one side. Only rarely, of course, the ball falls in the glove. But these are 7 and 8 year olds.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

The Muckdogs already were looking at a vicious weekend schedule of three games, two of them makeup games from rain days. Now meteorologist Troy Kimmel emails that it looks like they'll be dodging more thunderstorms tomorrow afternoon at the opening game of the trio, caused by the conjunction of a rogue Pacific low and a cold front. At least it won't rain out the Sunday game, which Mr. B. tells me is all important, being as it's against the Rockhounds. If the Muckdogs beat them, he says, the Muckdogs will be No. 1.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Central Market, one of Austin's specialty groceries, hosted Mr. Boy and nine other Tiger Cubs this afternoon. The boys got to see that Peruvian purple potatoes really are purple inside, how orange peppers are hotter than red ones, why green peppers are really fruit, not vegetables ( because they have seeds) and how really smelly cheese nevertheless tastes good. They also got to see a lobster up close and learn that they are from the same family as cockroaches (yuk). They managed to get through it all without knocking anything off the shelves or breaking anything. Most shoppers smiled at them in their blue and orange uniforms. But you could tell the ones who never had a child. They looked fairly panicked coming around a corner and running into the lot of them.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Muckdogs continued their roll today, beating the Lugnuts 25 to 3. Mr. B. had four good hits that drove in runs. Muckdogs are 4-1 for the season. Much better than his Little League team last year, which lost most of its games.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Mr. Boy got the game ball after his Muckdogs beat the Mudcats 15 to 12. He was pleased, of course. The coach said it was for his good hitting, all three big ones. The Muckdogs are now 3-1 for the Little League season.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Speaking of being written up as violence-prone in elementary school these days, Mr. B. is right on the cusp of a serious encounter with the system. It's March, and after almost eight months of public school's regimen, he's starting to show signs of, shall we say, impatience. Meaning we had a little visit with the principal the other day to learn about what the bureacracy considered "a serious incident." Seems a parent had complained that Mr. B. had threatened to break a kid's arm if he didn't stop harrassing him. Adding to another (to my mind) equally fanciful threat to a girl who he said wouldn't stop chasing him at recess to "drop a car on her head," we had trouble in River City.

The system, presumably inspired by the Colombine massacre and all the other in-school shootings of recent years, considers a threat of bodily harm (even from a skinny 7-year-old who thinks he's Batman) to be a threat with a capital T. It no longer suffers the normal repartee of little boys. I might add it also only allows them a 30-minute recess three times a week to blow off steam. So we're not reading Harry Potter (among other things he likes) this week as punishment. So far he's staying clean. I'm going to start bringing burgers and eating lunch with him once a week to try and help his attitude. Mom will do the same. But I feel sorry for him, having to grow up like this--just another cog in the Nanny State.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Witch Head Nebula, about 1,000 light years away, in honor of Mr. B's and my reading of Harry Potter & The Half-Blood Prince, which we are taking slow, since it's the last one before the concluding book due in July. It's also got more "kiss-kiss, boy-girl stuff," as Mr. B. calls it with wrinkled nose to show his disgust. So much that I find I have to read around those descriptions, partly because they're too old for him and partly because he dislikes them anyway. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:22 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Forecast for tomorrow morning's 30th annual Capitol 10K is cloudy, mid-60s and very humid with spotty showers. Courtesy of LCRA meteorologist Bob Rose who will be running his 18th race. I've managed to not run in every one of them, since their inception in 1977, though I have observed many a finish line. This year I believe I'll vacuum fallen live oak leaves while Mom takes Number One Son to his tennis lessons.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. expects his Muckdogs will lose this afternoon against the Redwings, because the Redwings include a few of his better friends from first grade, and last year's Rangers' team, who were/are good players. Looks to me to depend on the hits. None of the little league teams have much defense. So the big-hitting squads will win. Plus, the Redwings don't have the two secret weapons the Mets had in the Muckdogs' loss on Wednesday: two pink batting-helmet girls who could hit farther than any of the boys and were pretty good at fielding, too. Game's at 2:30 pm.

UPDATE  Muckdogs pulled it out, 13 to 12, despite better fielding by the Redwings. Mr. B had one run on three hits. He was stranded once and tagged out at third. But he fielded well.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

That's how Mr. B. spells club. We must have gone over the correct spelling twenty times, until he was telling me I was boring him by asking again. So then, on the spelling test, he writes culd. No wonder teachers feel like failures sometimes.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It started out to be a crushing defeat for the Muckdogs, but then they started getting hits. Mr. Boy got two, a single and double, but only came in once. Got stranded on the single. And so it went, and they lost 17 to 12. They are now 1-1 for the season, with another game Saturday. One player got so mad when he struck out that he threw a tantrum. Practicing for the pros, I expect. My favorite moment was when the coach on the other team came out to help tie one of his batter's shoes.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. B. can't decide whether he prefers to throw right or throw left. Playing catch in the backyard a while ago, he preferred to throw right. At team practice, we notice, when tossing the balls around without wearing gloves, he instinctively throws left. He's left-handed in writing, eating, etc., so it makes sense. But then he'll catch himself and start throwing right, instead. So, with the price of baseball gloves for 7-year-olds pretty low, we bought two, a right and a left, so he can choose whichever he prefers. So far it's the right-hander's glove, most of the time, and he's getting better. His team plays the Mets on Wednesday. The Northwest Little League Mets, that is.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 06:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Mr. Boy, age 7, saw his first PG-13 movie tonight, "Harry Potter & The Goblet of Fire." He said it wasn't scary because he knew what was going to happen, but he didn't like all the "boy-girl-kiss-kiss stuff." He really wrinkled his nose at the Christmas dance scenes. In fact, the movie was pretty intense. Lord V. is certainly more creepy-looking than ever. I didn't miss the House Elf rights movement subplot, which was vanished entirely, and Mr. B. didn't seem to notice. All of the movies have gotten better since the first one tried to be a movie-about-a-book. The rest have been pretty good movies. And Mr. B., having been through most of the Star Wars movies, is pretty unflappable. Now that we've seen all the HP flicks that are available--and are still plowing through "HP & The Half-Blood Prince" for a bedtime story--we have only to await the next movie due out in July, "HP & The Order of the Phoenix," so far unrated. But surely it won't be an R. They'd lose most of their audience that way.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Just about 50 hours away now from the beginning of our Spring Break, private road movie to far West Texas. In which Mr. Boy, Mom and the geezer will pile into a rental sedan and hit the rodeo for Fort Stockton and beyond. Well, Fort Davis, actually, which is well beyond FS, but no longer on I-10. Rather well off the beaten track. Or so it was the last time I visited, in the late 90s. Even West Texas changes. So who knows what it looks like now? Weather forecast looks good: mild  days and chilly nights. Mr. B. is going to get his first taste of "...the stars at night are big and bright..."

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy finally lost the little gold-colored Tiger Cub slide for his orange Tiger Cub neckerchief. I'd been fretting for months about that slide (also called a woggle) coming off without him noticing it. Wishing I'd bought more than one. Interrupting him at Den meetings to ask where it was when it disappeared from the neckerchief. Sometimes he'd thoughtfully pocketed it. For one thing I was being fussy, which is normal. For another I was trying to avoid a trip to Scout headquarters on the other side of town. HQ is tucked into a lonely little plot of green and brown amidst the concrete and asphalt of half a dozen intersecting highways, or so it seems. Which I will have to negotiate now. He did finally lose it in a fitting place: on a wooded trail in Long Canyon the other night at his Den meeting, which satisfied the outdoors requirement in the Tiger Cub handbook. He enjoyed the trail through the woods, particularly the stepping over on teetering rocks of the creek that looped around the trail so you had to cross it twice, going and coming. This time I will buy half a dozen woggles for the neckerchief, which has an interesting history of commemoration and usefulness, in preparation for the next loss.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Still working on barehanded catching of a tennis ball with Mr. Boy to help alleviate fear of catching a baseball, since catching is the biggest problem of his age 6-7 baseball team, the Muckdogs. Funny picture yesterday at practice. Wish I'd gotten a snap of it. One kid hit a pop fly in the infield (they're all pretty good hitters) and it was coming down right at the shortstop who only had to stick out his glove and watch it fall right in. Instead, the shortstop covered his head with the glove and ran to get out of the way.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The Muckdogs' first game was a winner. They beat the Riverdogs 21-6. Three of those runs were Mr. Boy's. He had four hits for four times at bat, but was stranded on third the last time. Came home happy, especially since two of his first grade classmates were among the dejected Riverdogs.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Coach told the boys after practice today to practice more at home by playing catch. Too many can't catch, he said, so by the end of the spring season he wants everyone to be good at playing catch at thirty feet. Mr. B.'s catching is improving, however. Now the main problem seems to be which arm to throw with. Coach says he throws straightest with his left, but Mr. B. insists he throws better with his right. Sigh.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy got up a little earlier than usual and opened his presents, finding among other things an acoustic mandolin instead of the electric guitar he has been pining for. Took it with grace. Strummed a little. We figure if he's willing to learn this one, he can graduate to an acoustic guitar and thence to an electric. Meanwhile, the new Batman and Harry Potter computer games are getting a workout. Later today Mom will take him to Sports Authority to get an aluminum bat and a carrying bag for his bat and other baseball equipment. Tonight, after Muckdogs practice at 5 p.m. is his first sleepover, here, with a friend. We are braced for a late night of chatter and shrieks. They'll go together tomorrow to Mr. B.'s afternoon party with his friends at Inflatable Wonderland.

UPDATE  The sleepover went reasonably well with no effusion of blood. The party likewise although Mr. B. got "rug burn" on his elbows from one of the slides. Another year older and deeper in debt. Us in debt, not him. He's actually cleaning up thanks to having a retired dad on social security. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

It's a little outrageous the amount of homework piled on first graders. The usual write-the-spelling-words-one-more-time (all twenty of them) and copy two long sentences; read a picture book on George Washington (whose birthday was Monday) and another one for a weekly reading test on Friday. All well and good. Except we also had a poster project due tomorrow on President Gerald Ford, and five more facts to write out in complete sentences on baseball Hall of Famer Jackie Robinson. So, with Muckdogs baseball practice shoveled in, we didn't finish it all until 8 p.m., which still allowed bedtime stories, but just barely.  If it's this bad in first grade...

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Should be the crack of the bat. But that's for traditional, wooden bats. Metal bats ring like a bell. Practice this afternoon went pretty well. Mr. Boy was about as silly as last year in T-ball, dancing around in what he likes to call Karate moves, and occasionally flopping on the ground. But he plays better this year. Hits well, throws well, still needs to work on catching. Overall, his team, the Muckdogs, is about the same, though most are not as silly. Coaches seem more intense this year, rules of the game being explained for the first time, but so far the kids seem to like it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I noticed, this morning before he awakened to get ready for school, Mr. Boy was sucking his fingers in his sleep. Three months after we started painting his fingernails with essence of cactus--at the request of the dentist who said his permanent teeth would come in crooked--Mr. B.'s apparently become accustomed to the rancid taste of the stuff. He doesn't suck his fingers during the day, that I've noticed, but I'm going to start watching for it again. The taste of the stuff on his fingernails used to disgust him, but that's apparently over. Unfortunately, the finger-sucking isn't. Longterm habits are hard to break.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (297)

As a six-year-old, that is...

1) Plays basketball (sort of) and baseball (coach-pitch).

2) Plays with Yu-Gi-Oh cards.

3) Eats salads with his suppers.

4) Gets candy treats now and then.

5) Is a Tiger Cub Cub Scout.

6) Wears a backpack to school.

7) Plays G.I. Joe games with his mother.

8) Has an army of stuffed animals.

9) Sleeps with a ceiling fan on, even in the winter.

10) Plays computer games.

There's more, of course (I was six in 1950) but that's enough for now.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (1283)

...in the sense that greeting card makers say Valentine's Day encourages enough card-sending to rival Christmas, and florists and candymakers also prosper. It's also a holiday of Christian origin, which may explain some official Muslim hostility to it, being the execution date of Saint Valentine, an early Christian martyr. And there's some pagan influence, as the day falls on the old Roman Empire's date of the annual love lotteries of the fertility festival:

"On the eve of the festival of Lupercalia the names of Roman girls were written on slips of paper and placed into jars. Each young man would draw a girl's name from the jar and would then be partners for the duration of the festival with the girl whom he chose. Sometimes the pairing of the children lasted an entire year, and often, they would fall in love and would later marry."

Fortunately, there's still time to buy a card, candy or flowers if you've forgotten. Which is not likely if you've been married more than a year, or have young children. Mr. Boy, for instance, was so enthusiastic about it this year that he chipped in $2 of his own funds to get Mom a stuffed bear as well as a card and flowers. Though Mom is of Welsh descent, fortunately that was a long time ago, so we're not required to carve any wooden love spoons for her.

UPDATE  For you lucky folks in the Northeast, Alan at Fresh Bilge is posting (and periodically refreshing) satellite radar images of the (possibly historic) Valentine's Day Blizzard. Brrr. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:47 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The baseball tryouts went well this morning, although it seemed kind of odd to be playing baseball before Valentine's Day. But Mr. Boy and his chums turned out in their old T-ball uniforms for the new season, which will be strictly coach-pitch and probably new teams (requiring new uniforms) selected. Mr. B. got one solid infield hit and a foul tip. He ran smartly to second base. Then he stopped several grounders and had one good, straight throw lofted high enough for the coach to catch standing up. So he came home happy and now we'll wait to hear which team he's on. We know he needs an aluminum bat this year. He's already picked out one with red flames on it.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

Mr. Boy's getting better at throwing, but he still can't catch worth a darn. He just holds out the glove, rather than watching the ball and moving the glove to it. We're practicing for his tryouts on Saturday. No more T-ball. It's going to be coach-pitch this time. Meanwhile, the rain spout on the back of the house is getting the workout. Mr. B. keeps hitting it when he tries to throw to me. Hasn't dislodged it yet, but he's knocked some of the paint off the siding. We practice back there so one of his wild throws doesn't shatter a window.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I wish I'd known about this before Mr. B. starting walking. Just don't tell the child protective agency:

"On Saturdays we strap sponges to his hands, knees and forehead so he can mop the kitchen and dining room floors. Sure he misses a couple of spots, but he's learning quick that if he wants to eat the following week he'll do the job right...Sure some people think its cruel and inhumane when they see the little guy working like a slave, but they normally quit fussing about that when I explain to them how I dust the ceiling fans with the cats."

A funny read for free. Via Miriam's Ideas

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B. is improving, breaking away (somewhat) from the I-hate-girls stereotype of some of his male peers in first grade. He had originally intended only to invite boys to his birthday party. Then, out of the blue, he announced he wanted to invite one girl, a classmate named Riley. Why? "She doesn't have a lot of pink stuff and she plays rough like the boys do." Sounds reasonable.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

...to waste, as they say, although I was thinking of another angle. How many gigabytes, etc., in there in that impossibly wet architecture? An idea I got here from Ligneus at Spiced Sass. I tried registering to leave a comment but the site won't allow it, for some reason. Perhaps he has turned the function off. That would be nice, to turn the mind off. He calls his post Mental Bric A Brac. Reminds me of last night's reading to Mr. Boy from the last third of "The Goblet of Fire." Dumbledore plucks his intrusive, older memories out of his temple on long, silvery threads with his wand and puts them in the Pensieve for storage--in 3-D, full-color with audio. Wish I could do that. One of the hard things about aging is that delightful current memories take a backseat to more problematical older ones which increasingly march forward as the years go by. Pity, really. Lots of clutter in there from growing up a military brat and moving about every two years, sometimes more often. Add in combat in a war, too many love relationships before, during and after, and it all gets very murky, stimulating odd night dreams and off-topic daydreams. As I say, the mind is a terrible thing...

Via Just Muttering by Myself 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. B.'s 7th birthday is coming up later this month and, as always, he started planning weeks ago. He had vacillated on whether to have a basketball birthday in the gym at the J, or go back to Inflatable Wonderland for a second theme party of some other kind. I had argued for something other than basketball because, although he is fixated on it, not all of the friends he's inviting care that much about it. Plus, I know they'll all have fun on the slides and enclosed trampolines at IW in Cedar Park. Last night he seemed to have made up his mind: Inflatable Wonderland with a Harry Potter theme. We've been reading the Harry Potter series and are halfway through The Goblet of Fire, which is pretty exciting. Very attached to Mr. P., he is. "I wish I could live Harry Potter's life," he said this morning on the way to school.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy is painstakingly printing the headline on his math project poster, and his name at the bottom, as we work on deadline for his first grade class tomorrow. As a recovering journalist, I know all about deadlines. Maybe that's where we first learn about working on deadline, i.e. waiting until the last minute to get homework done. I helped him lay out a grid of even lines on the poster with an aluminum yardstick (which won't warp) we got at the local hardware store because "neatness counts" as his teacher always reminds the pupils. It's harder than the old pre-school and kindergarten days when creativity, including a certain amount of sloppiness, ruled the day. He's got these race car stickers which he is putting on the poster in groups of five (counting by 5s), which will then be labeled, 5, 10, 15, etc. to 100. Laborious effort. I feel like I'm reverting back to grade school.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I had to leave the science fair at Mr. B.'s elementary school after judging only five entries as I realized I was feeling too grumpy to continue without being unfair to the kids. I was judging third graders, the first year the kids at the school are required to enter the science fair, and a few of the ones I judged were so dopey I was tempted to give them the worst possible marks. I didn't because, well, just because. Too tender-hearted under the grumpy old man veneer, I suppose. It's hard to be harsh on third graders, on any kids really, they have so much to do and so much competition and confusion to cope with. And the schools don't really help much. Mr. B. and his peers are called "awesome" forty times a day, a word I am thoroughly sick of, which leaves no room for achievement as far as I can see, if even the worst is judged "awesome" alongside the best. But I'm probably being too harsh. It's a common failing of age. I probably should stick to volunteering for the landscaping committee.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This news article about a 3-year-old girl who threw such a tantrum on a Air Tran Airways flight that she and her parents were booted from the plane may be an extreme case, but it occasioned some commentary on a blog I read to the effect that parents who can't control their children ought to seek other transport.

It reminded me of a flight we made with Mr. Boy, from Baltimore to Austin, when he was barely a year old. He started screaming in the waiting lounge and kept it up until the plane was at cruise altitude, when he finally fell asleep. We could tell from their faces that the other passengers clearly hated us, and one old fellow was pretty vocal about it. We did our best but nothing worked until sleep took over.

The blog's commenters were all childless, and irritated at potentially being denied their alleged right to peace in the aluminum cattle car. I can see their point, but also the problem of the 3-year-old's parents, and sympathize with both. But I'd hate to see air transport denied to parents of young children for the sake of the selfish, particularly those inane pet lovers who seem to be multiplying who pretend that they are "parents" to fifi and fido who can be conveniently isolated in a cage or box. Is there any such danger? Probably not, but you have to wonder.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy and I attended a Cub Scout graduation ceremony tonight where six Webelos cubs moved on to Boy Scouts. It was a simple ceremony with few words and lots of applause from parents and friends and the other cubs. Mr. B. was most impressed with the handmade arrows the graduates were presented with, called arrows of light. Then he got his snack, a cookie and a brownie, and decided not to stay and play with his pals. He preferred to go home and spend the evening with Mom who's been working late too many nights recently.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy and I are on the last chapter of Prisoner of Azkaban, and he's already having a cow to move on to Goblets of Fire. As I recall, this series is supposed to be for 9- and 10-year-olds, but Mr. B. won't be seven for another month and he's very enthusiastic about it. He's learning to read, of course, but hasn't quite the confidence to tackle the Potter books yet. Says with a note of awe in his voice that Vivian, a girl in his class, is reading the first one on her own. I expect he'll be inspired now to try it, too. He's at the stage where he claims to hate girls, but I really think that's just a pose. A lot of times, in commenting on school (reading, writing and math) he seems to save his admiration for them.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The ice hasn't all melted and much of it may still be around by morning, but Mr. B. goes back to school tomorrow, two hours later than normal, while getting out at the regular time. He's not acting too awfully sad. All this hibernation--with Mom working from home all day--had gotten pretty boring by this afternoon.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The power is still holding at the rancho, as the temperature nudges above freezing and the icicles hanging from the eaves and trees slowly begin to melt and drip steadily. We're lucky, I know. Some have it much worse:

"At the First Baptist Church in McAlester, Okla., where most of the city's 18,000 residents have lacked power for four days, residents huddled under blankets and in front of space heaters."

Chris White, a friend who lives way east of here, near Washington-on-the-Brazos, still is bird watching a big egret down at his frozen pond, but wondering where the roadrunner and the deer have gotten to. About the only movement around the rancho are kids using pieces of cardboard to slide down the nearby hill, and Mr. Boy using his baseball bat to knock ice off the naked branches of the Red Bud in the backyard. Meanwhile, meteorologist Bob Rose expects some melting today will refreeze tonight before a slow warmup begins Thursday and Friday.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Bob Rose, meteorologist for the Lower Colorado River Authority, is making Mr. Boy happy. Bob  is forecasting another day off from school with more rain, sleet and snow for the rancho and environs:

"The wintry precipitation is showing no signs of letting up in the near term, with more freezing rain, sleet and snow expected into Wednesday.  Precipitation does look like it will taper off Thursday morning.  For the most part, temperatures will remain at or below freezing into Thursday morning,"

Then, another cold front on Friday and more rain into the weekend. Unfortunately, there's not been enough rain yet to raise Lake Travis much, just under two feet in the past 48 hours. There is, however, one live oak whose ice-laden branches are embracing the roof, and another more menacing one embracing the power line connection in the backyard. So it's iffy how much longer we'll be on the air. The good thing is this is our winter, a week or two at the most. Eat your heart out.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The title is the words of meteorologist Troy Kimmel. Sleet and freezing rain are falling at the rancho, with temperature well below freezing and also falling. About half an inch to an inch of ice is expected overnight, followed by a rare snowfall tomorrow through tomorrow night, so it's anybody's guess how long before the power lines go down. Too bad, I had several other posts in mind, inspired by John Salmon's Mystic Chords, and a few other good blogs, as always. Mr. Boy will also miss his Ninja Turtles video, if the lights go out. But who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky. Blame Pacific moisture overriding a blast of Arctic air, according to KVUE meteorologist Mark Murray. The local daily is on the case and, as always, is the best source for Austin-Central Texas news if this ice storm progresses from a temporary inconvenience into a disaster. I oughta know. I used to work there.

UPDATE  Latest from Troy at 5:47 a.m. Tuesday is good news, although it will not please Mr. Boy. He will get to stay home from school today, but the anticipated snow this afternoon likely won't fall on the rancho and a warmup is expected Wednesday afternoon. Meanwhile the power is holding.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Meteorologist Troy Kimmel keeps showing up in my email in-box with less than heartening news. The ice storm is expected to begin today and Troy thinks an accumulation of up to an inch could cover pretty much everything and stick around for three days because...

"Temperatures will fall below freezing by [this] afternoon with surface temperatures likely remaining at or below freezing through Tuesday."

He reminds me that it's not only iced-up power lines to worry about but tree limbs near power lines, of which we have several at the rancho. When the limbs load up with ice, they will fall and sometimes take the power lines down with them. Repair crews will be hindered by ice on the roads and bridges. Mr. Boy and Mom and I are already planning to get out the air matresses--if necessary--and sleep in front of the fireplace in the family room. At least we won't freeze. And the stove is gas, so we can cook. We'll plan to toast marshmellows and play charades.

UPDATE  In a morning email, Troy said weather conditions have mercifully scaled back the disaster to less ice, not beginning until about 6 p.m. tonight and lasting "at least" through Monday evening. So there's hope in River City. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Awakened by Mr. Boy, who was excited at the possibility that the rainwater cascading off the stone steps in the backyard might start flowing into the family room. Got up to see that it was barely threatening to do so, as the French drain was working well, channeling the water around to the garage side of the rancho. Nevertheless, there's flash flooding all over town, mainly along and east of Interstate 35, after 2- to 5-inch rainfall overnight, with more on the way. The worst part, maybe, is the forecast Arctic air is already settling in, overnight temperatures of almost 70 degrees having already plunged almost 30 degrees. So after the flooding, the next big thing could be ice and snow. One good thing is this will squelch the drought and that the lakes are bound to rise, at least a little, perhaps a lot. Mixed bag of good and bad, as always.

UPDATE  Rain totals set records for the date, according to National Weather Service: 4.20 inches at the airport, eclipsing a 1951 record and 3.55 inches midtown, knocking off a 1944 record. Ice storm is expected to begin overnight tonight, worsen Sunday and overnight Sunday when it changes to snow through Tuesday. We have no travel plans, so that's not a problem, but ice buildup may bring down power lines and that would be an inconvenience, to say the least. Never a dull moment at the rancho.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Never a dull moment at the rancho. If the appliances aren't failing, or the trees falling, then the white-tailed deer have broken into the back yard again. Indeed, the deer have returned, smashing their way through the makeshift lattice work I installed last summer to try to save money (always a big mistake) rather than fix the section of privacy fence that a falling tree eclipsed. The deer are hungry and thirsty of course. It's cold and dry. And the juniper pollen in the air has kept me inside like the Prisoner of Zenda (if that's not too obscure a reference these days), so I would not have known about the deer but for Mr. Boy's sharp eyes this morning before he left for school. Of course they have eaten the antique roses to stems again. This time I have called in a carpenter to come replace the fence, but of course he can't come until tomorrow. I believe I will invest in either a Wrist Rocket sling shot or a Red Ryder BB gun to harrass the deer in the meantime. Shooting anything more powerful--like a .38 for instance--is illegal in the city limits and the Bambi lovers would go berserk if their precious marauders were severely injured. Don't need to be arrested or draw an animal rights demo out on the sidewalk. So patience is in order until the carpenter comes tomorrow morning.

UPDATE  The carpenter came, did his work, and for about $600 we have a new cedar privacy fence which should keep the deer out for good. The first one who tries to jump it will wind up hung up in a large shrub, but you never know. Bambi is used to roaming at will in our neighborhood protected by city law, too few animal control folks to do anything, and the morons who sprinkle corn on their lawns. Oh, well.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

"Snickup," is what Mr. Boy liked to say before he figured out people were saying "screwup."

Minnesota Muslim congressman Keith Ellison's use of Thomas Jefferson's two-volume copy of the Koran to take his oath of office was a pretty slick idea, until you consider that Mr. E. probably didn't take the time to turn a few of its pages and read what was written there. If he had, according to the Austin-based community Web site Altmuslim.com, he would have discovered that the translator, George Sale, "calls the Prophet Muhammad a 'criminal... imposing a false religion.'" Oops.

UPDATE  More on this little gem at Elder of Ziyon, which I didn't see until two days after this post.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy and I got up early and headed to the local Lowe's for a Cub Scout session billed only as a wood project of some kind. We joined about twenty other boys in the store's spartan management conference room and received pre-cut wooden castle kits, small hammers and plastic safety goggles for each boy. It was Mr. B.'s first time with a real hammer and he made the most of it, pounding away at the small nails that held the castle's wooden walls and turrets together. I had to start the nails with my thumb through pre-drilled holes, then hold the pieces while he hammered. I kept worrying that he would hit my fingers but he never did. Walking out with our completed eight- inch X eight-inch castle, he thanked me for helping him. Politeness is not a given with a six-year-old so it was a pleasant moment. Really nice of Lowe's to do it, since there was no charge, and some manager had left some figures on the conference room's chalk board showing the store had recently lost almost $300,000. A notation said most of the loss was in the tools department. I am resolved to go back this weekend and buy a tool of some kind or other.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy and I are into the sixth chapter of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, and it's becoming obvious that Mr. B. not only identifies with Harry (though he also likes to pretend to be Harry's sidekick Ron Weasley) but that the identification is serendipitously making the wearing of Mr. B.'s new glasses much more bearable. He only wishes they were round, like HP's. But round glasses are hard to find and so he settled for the narrow rectangular ones the industry only seems to make these days. He has the glasses because the optometrist confirmed a few weeks before Christmas what the school eye test had first found, that he has a slight problem with one eye. It's called "lazy eye" and the glasses are supposed to correct it. In fact, the doc said he might not have to wear them after age nine. Problem is, Mr. B. insists he can't see any better with the glasses than without, so having Harry Potter as a glasses-wearing model is a godsend.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The Witch's Broom Nebula, in honor of my and Mr. Boy's embarkation on the second novel in the Harry Potter series. Mr. B. already identifies with Mr. P., as one might expect. /NASA 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Knee-deep in torn wrapping paper, the only sound at the Rancho is Mr. B.'s delighted chatter about such as his new Lego X-wing fighter, his Leapster math games, and his Nerf-ball target set. Since he got us up at 6:30 this morning, and although the sun is out for the first time in several days, the wind is gusting to 20 mph, so Mom and Dad are taking it slow and easy. Later, at supper, the sound of popping Christmas crackers. I got the orange crown.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Here at the Rancho we celebrate both Hannuka and Christmas, and so Mr. Boy has a busy month of anticipation. We started with the candles and reading and telling and explaining the Maccabee story, which he always has questions about. Then, concurrently, we moved on to buying the tree, decorating it, wrapping packages and waiting for the mailman to bring more. Lately Mr. B.'s idea of fun has been to lie on the rug beside the packages under the tree and dream out loud about what might be in them, and what Santa might be willing to add to the anticipated pile of loot. We still credit Santa with largess around here, although I believe we are on the tipping point, as they say, of knowing better. It's a blessing, meanwhile, that the suspense finally is reaching a crescendo--especally as it is cold and rainy outside and there's very little to do except wait for tomorrow morning to arrive.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy and I mutally suffered through the madhouse of the first grade Xmas party at his school this afternoon--him making crafts at three separate tables at top speed, then playing competitive games such as jumping from one end of the gym to the other holding a soccer ball between his legs. My problem was trying to get our new Nikon S10 point-and-shoot to focus and shoot fast enough to catch the action. Digital cameras are a lot of fun, but their shutters aren't made for writhing, twisting six-year-olds. I might have gotten two good shots out of thirty. Finally it was all over, and we went back to his classroom to pick up his backpack and jacket, wish his teacher felicitations of the season, and then went home. School's out for two weeks. He doesn't have to go back until Jan. 9. What are you going to do with him, the sympathetic keep asking me. Oh, we'll find something to do. For instance, at the moment, he's making Mom a knight's helmet out of paper. He just stopped by to measure. He said Mom has "a really big head," but mine was close and he would measure on mine. So he did, went off to make the helmet, a mask really, came back and tried the fit and pronounced it good. He'd already made her a paper shield and a sword. She'll be thrilled, I'm sure. He keeps asking if it's time yet to read Harry Potter. Another fifteen minutes I said, for no particular reason. Just another arbitrary adult. HP is a hit so far. When I read the sentence about poor Harry living in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley's, Mr. B. actually gasped. A sure sign we will be reading the HP series for a while.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So we stood on the quay with Sam and Merry and Pippen and watched Frodo and Bilbo sail away with Gandalf, Elrond and Galadriel, at the end of The Return of the King. For Mr. Boy's second time. And when I reached the last sentence and the trilogy we've been using for bedtime stories for most of the year was over, he said he wanted to start all over again with The Hobbit. Much as I love Tolkien's melodic prose, particularly his descriptions of the landscape in the turn of the seasons, I think I may lobby for the Harry Potter series. Or, maybe not. I think I've finally got the names down to where I can pronounce them as J. R. R. intended. And it's undeniable that Mr. B. gets a certain far-away dreamy look listening to these adventures that he didn't even with Narnia and Treasure Island.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Picking up Mr. Boy at school this afternoon, I noticed something I hadn't considered before. I'd seen the way his shoes come untied and the laces drag on the ground as he walks. But I hadn't considered how odd it was. Here is a kid who can play chess (at least he knows the way the pieces move, although strategy is still well beyond him) and beat me at checkers, if I don't pay close attention. But he still can't tie his shoes.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Hobbling around the Rancho today with a stiff right leg, from where it was crunched yesterday between the rear bumper of my Jeep and the big brush-popper bumper on a Suburban. By all rights, the leg ought to be broken, just above the knee. Instead, it's just bruised good and sore.

I was parked about six feet in front of the Suburban, on a slight incline across the street from Mr. Boy's elementary school, before the kids were let out for the day. I got out and walked behind the Jeep and set off for the school. I heard a shout behind me, and turned to see the Jeep rolling backwards on an angle. It was moving slowly, so I instantly decided I could stop it and got behind it and started pushing. Can't be done. Three thousand pounds of car can't be stopped, except by Superman. Maybe that's who I thought I was.

Meanwhile, the Dad who shouted got the Jeep's door open and pulled up the parking brake. Just as the Jeep's rear bumper slowly, inexorably, pushed my right leg against the Suburban's bumper. Hurt like hell. I yelled. Moms there for pickup came running. Do you need 911? No, seemed okay, I could walk. Still can, it's  just sore. Next time, I've firmly decided, I will just watch the crash.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 04:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Getting linked by Instapundit is supposed to be the sine qua non of free blogger publicity, producing a fabled Instalanche (Insta plus avalanche) of hundreds if not thousands of new unique visits. So imagine my surprise when my first such link, at about 5:45 a.m. today had, by just a few minutes ago, failed to produce one fifth of one hundred. Yep. Only fifteen, according to Sitemeter. There could be a few more which, for some reason unknown to me, failed to get listed as referrals by Sitemeter. After all, I did collect thirty-eight visits altogether, which is almost four times my normal daily average. But most of them came from people clicking on comments I had left on other blogs in the past few days, or the six three blogs which blogroll me, or referrals from Google searches on various subjects. Fourteen were counted as unknown referrals, a few of them daily constant readers plus some others checking in weekly, or whatever. Not that I am not grateful to be linked by Professor Reynolds (I am, I am), just puzzled at how far off the predicted result has been. Maybe it will improve overnight. I can't stick around to find out, as must arise early to get Mr. Boy to school. Mom, who usually takes him mornings, is away, traveling on business.

UPDATE  And the overnight total? Wait for it. Two. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

When Mr. Boy was about two, John Garza, our neighbor at the time, predicted that Mr. B.'s more-or-less constant chatter meant he would grow up to be a politician. "He'll be governor, someday," John said. Four years later, Mr. B. still is a chatterbox and, last night, he got his first look inside the 150-year-old governor's mansion, at the annual Christmas party for the news media. Dad has retired from the biz, but Mom still is a part of it, hence the invitation. Mr. B. was somewhat impressed with the Sam Houston bed on the second floor, and the big painting of the Alamo fight in the entry hall, but the bowls and plates of gingerbread men and other cookies and candy downstairs required his full attention. Unfortunately, the mansion's web site has few pictures of the many early 19th century furnishings. One of the docents said the pictures were removed for security reasons, so as not to attract thieves.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Sam and Frodo are treking across the fumes and sinks of Mordor in the last few leagues to Mt. Doom, and Mr. Boy and I are accompanying them for his second time and my, uh, sixth, I think. I am struck again by the depth of Sam's tenderness for ring-burdened Frodo. Post-movie in my case, and recalling reading elsewhere that what little of it there was in the movie raised questions about Sam's sexual preferences. Despite Rosie Cotton waiting at home. In the book, where it comes up every few paragraphs, it seems like brotherly affection, or perhaps kindly servant and beloved master, and the criticism seems petty. Mr. B. soaks it all up, transfixed by Tolkien's careful descriptions of the terrain and the weather and the orc armies and the power of the eye, momentarily distracted, although it might also be the sound of my voice reading aloud. Much as I liked the movie and plan to watch it with him one of these days, I'll put it off as long as possible, so the words continue a while longer to build pictures in his mind, pictures unconstrained by the movie images, let alone, for now, the adult preoccupations. His interest in Narnia, for instance, profound when it was on the page, diminished significantly after seeing The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It wasn't a bad movie. It's just too confining.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Leaf blowers and vacuums are big business and for years I resisted their allure. Sort of like weed eaters, which I thought were also a phony. All they do is cut the tops off weeds, which then grow back a few days later and you're back out in the yard with the "weed eater" cutting the tops off all the weeds all over again. Leaf blowers and vacs, I figured, might save your back from raking and bending to lift leaves into a barrel, but at the cost of damaging your eardrums with their high-pitched whine. I forgot to factor in the vibrations which leave your arms tingling for an hour afterwards, the inevitable cloggings of small sticks among the leaves that must be cleared, and the way the cord wraps around your ankles as you move along if you use an electric one. I know them now because I have one of the things--thanks to a newspaper ad that Mr. Boy and I separately chanced upon. Mr. B., like other  kids, just likes to buy things. The leaf blower and vac appealed to his innate consumer. Having developed minor back problems, the item finally appealed to me. Just like I have a weed eater now, as well. The weed eater actually works best for trimming grass around the rock perimeter of flower beds, instead of getting on your knees to snip it off by hand. The leaf blower and vac I am less sure about. But one thing I know. It has, somehow, inspired Mr. B. to yard work. Whereas trying to interest him in raking leaves when he was four was a no-go, he now, at age six, actually suggests that we go rake leaves. He doesn't like the loud noise of the working leaf blower and vac, but he nevertheless finds some enjoyment in watching the piles of leaves disappear into the black-plastic maw of the thing. It's a benefit the manufacturers might consider for their advertising. Interest your child in yard work: Buy a leaf blower and vac.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy went to bed irritable because of the extract of cactus painted on the fingernails of his two sucking fingers. Nibble No More is the name of the stuff provided by his dentist this afternoon for the nail painting. All in the interest of ending his finger sucking to straightenhis bite before his permanent teeth start coming in. The stuff--which tastes unpleasantly sour--is billed as a solution to nail biting. I don't doubt it. It's sad, in a way, because he's leaving one more vestige of babyhood behind. Will this also be the end of Miss El? He usually holds her while sucking his fingers. I didn't see him with her once all afternoon. Passages.

UPDATE  In the middle of the night we hear a cry from Mr. B.'s bedroom followed by: "I feel like I'm going to throw up." His fingers had gravitated to his mouth in his sleep.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Self-inflating air matresses are not. At least not enough for an adult past sixty to ever get comfortable sleeping on the ground. I became aware of bones I didn't know I had. I doubt if I slept twenty minutes at a stretch. Next time it's a real air mattress or a cot. Or both.

It would also help to go to a park that wasn't so close to the Austin airport. McKinney Falls (falls rather small) is a nice place and it's very handy, but it's close enough to a subdivision to hear police and/or medical-rescue helicopters traversing the sky throughout the night. Also sounds of a nearby highway, and, of course, Austin-Bergstrom International Airport, although the big jets pretty much cease after midnight. They sound like giant vaccuum cleaners from under the trees.

Mr. Boy, however, pronounced it all good, his first camping trip as a Cub Scout--especially the open fires, roaming through the woods and the s'mores. He ate two, after he was reconciled to eating the first marshmellow despite it's having "turned brown" over the fire. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Six-year-old camper (who has fallen off his scooter once already on the trail and is now tired of scooting): Whining, crying, insisting he has to turn back to camp.

Adult chaperone (who offers to carry his scooter): Don't you like camping?

Six-year-old camper: No.

Adult chaperone: What would you rather be doing?

Six-year-old camper: I'd rather be at home lying on the couch watching tv.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

We're making our last checks and pulling together things we still need, like C batteries for the flashlights and paper plates and cups. 'Cause we're off about noon tomorrow for the Tiger Cub's first camping trip, an overnighter at McKinney Falls state park, 744 acres on Onion Creek southeast of Austin. Must not forget to charge up the camp light so Mom can read Mr. B's nightly story to him. Tent erecting has been practiced, so no likely glitches there, but I'm still not sure about the self-inflating air matresses. Never heard of them, and I find some get lousy reviews on the Web. We shall see.

UPDATE  Mom tested the air matress. It inflated easily and she thought it was comfortable--in the family room. No telling if it will be thick enough when filled to work well on hard ground.  

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy is home from school today with a sinus infection. He got his flu-mist last week so he'll escape the flu, but the sinus infections that periodically plague Mom and Dad are his burden, too, it appears. The surprise of the day was the cost of the strawberry-flavored liquid antibiotic: $122. And that's with a health insurance co-pay and a coupon from the pediatrician. Otherwise it would have been $166. As amazing as antibiotics are--eliminating many bacterial infections that used to kill children and adults with regularity--the makers are pricing them so high that the amazement is becoming a burden. But, still, one you can't do without.

UPDATE  This unusually good (and brief) analysis of what government health insurance would look like in the USA after the various interest groups get finished with it is worth a read. Some of the scores of comments are illuminating, and a few of them are heartbreaking. Via Instapundit.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Mr. Boy's car won third place overall, out of about sixty "vehicles," in his Cub Scout Pack's Pinewood Derby race. Also the second-place ribbon for his Tiger Cub (first grade) scout den. Mr. B. chose the car's shape and colors and did the painting, and was aided by a family friend's band saw, belt sander and electric drill with the cutting of the block, and his polishing of the axles and plastic wheels. Dad put the wheels and axles on and glued them in place, and handled the distribution of the lead weights up to a maximum of 5 ounces, and Mom contributed clear fingernail polish to make the acrylic paint gleam.We went mentally prepared to lose, so were delighted to win 3rd. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

My four years of Army service in the late 60s, including a year in Vietnam. My late father's flying in World War II and his Air Force career thereafter, and Mr. Boy's late maternal grandfather who flew in Vietnam and made a career of the Navy. My nephew's current service as a Navy pilot. A Mississippi cousin-by-marriage who is currently in the Army. My late great uncle from Dallas whose Navy unit landed on Omaha Beach on the first day, and his nephew who was there on the second day with the Army. Another late great uncle from Mississippi who drove Army ammunition trucks in World War I, and a cousin who served in the Spanish-American war, although his unit never left its training camp in Houston. Before that there was family in the Confederacy, the Mexican War, the Texas Revolution and the American Revolution. Veterans all.

Inspiration by Miserable Donuts

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Q. What do you call a computer super hero?

A. A screen saver. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy's car is almost ready. He's off from school on Friday (school district's "recognition" of Veteran's Day on Saturday) so we'll get the wheels and axles on then, and take a picture of it to post here. He realizes we may very well lose the first heat and be unable to compete after that. Trying to ease his disappointment before it arrives. This first year, I said and Mr. B. agreed, will be our experiment. Next year we'll know more about the local Cub Scout competition, and have some better idea what works best and can move accordingly. All very scientific, of course.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Trying to get the tungsten putty off my fingers after pushing the stuff into three holes I drilled across the rear third of Mr. Boy's pinewood racer while he watched. He's too little to hold the big drill, but he helped with the putty, which is intended to add weight to the 2-ounce body of the car, almost another full ounce. Weigh-in day is next Saturday when the cars are approved/disapproved by the Cub Scout race committee and impounded until the race the next day.

After the plastic wheels and steel axles are on, the whole thing should weigh a bit over four ounces. Five ounces is the max allowed. I don't think we're going to come to close to that this year. Bought the tungsten in place of lead, which is toxic, as we all now know, from this pinewood derby outfitter.

It's important to get as close to five ounces as you can because the only "motor" these things have is gravity. But the outfitters offer all sort of tips, such as bending up one of the front axles so the car runs on three, instead of four wheels, offering less drag and friction. Rules we have from the race committee don't mention that. Once we get it all painted in Mr. B's preferred colors of red, gold and white, I'll post a picture of it.

UPDATE  Should add that, at the weigh-in, the officials said I should use the available hot glue gun and lead weights to bring the total weight up to almost 5 ounces. I got it to 4.92. I didn't buy enough tungsten putty. Two ounces of it would have been better. I was still able, even with the lead, to distrubute the weight on the rear 60 percent of the car.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

The Tiger Cubs finally made their appointment with the Texas Longhorns at D-K Royal Memorial Stadium this afternoon, after being rained out three weeks in a row. Young, assistant coaches led cubs and parents in cheers (Texas...Fight!) and syncopated handclapping (I had forgotten all this, not having been in fan seating since college). I have preferred to watch college football on television, with the sound off--in favor of the Longhorns Sports Network on radio--so as to avoid the talking heads who seldom seem to talk about the teams but only themselves.

So we got to see Colt McCoy up close ("Look, Dad, it's number twelve, Colt McCoy"), on the sidelines in front of us warming up with 10-yard passes. He's only about two inches shorter than Vince but he looks smaller. Colt's backup, Jevan Snead, who was also before us warming up, is more Vince's size, but Colt's sure made the most of himself so far. So much we have started seeing news items about Jevan's alleged plans to transfer somewhere he can get more playing time. Colt waited a year as Vince's understudy. Will Jevan?

What most impressed me about these young men, and the rest of the team we also saw (star kicker Ryan Bailey, running backs Jamal Charles and Selvin Young, and receivers Billy Pittman and Limas Sweed) was their ease with their bodies and the football. On the sidelines, none of the receivers even moved. They just opened their hands and caught the well-aimed ball. On the field, the receivers were fluid motion. Colt bounces a football, once, off its pointed end on the turf, like a basketball, without any apparant concentration, a little trick he probably learned as a middle-schooler, this football coach's son has played for so long.

Mr. Boy asked plenty of questions but got bored quickly and finally wanted to leave because the sun was down behind the stadium, and we were cold. He said on the way home that he still prefers basketball. I have seen his six-year-old dedication at the plaground, shooting baskets one after another for up to twenty minutes at a stretch. Hitting about a third of them when he stands real close to the adult-height hoop.

I like the Tuscola Kid, but not so much his information management. The "it's all about the team" soundbites he's learned to ply the microphones with, are becoming tiresome. Candor, Colt. Just a tad. Vince had candor, still does, as he QB's the Tennesee Titans. Colt sounds like a robot sometimes.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Cogitating at the Rancho, mulling over whether our Tiger Cub should go on the January overnight aboard the 92-year-old Battleship Texas or wait until January 2008 when he's no longer sucking his fingers and doesn't need Miss Ellie (his stuffed elephant spirit animal) to sleep with. Pretty cool stuff the scouts get to do in Texas. Now that the rain forecast has diminished, he may even get to the Texas Longhorns' practice on Thursday afternoon--another Tiger Cub activity postponed by rain the past three weeks./graphic via Texas Parks & Wildlife Department

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

It's supposed to be a bat. Design had it hanging upside down, but Mr. B. convinced me to do it upright. So it's a little droopy. Still, a fair approximation of what Pumpkin Master tools can do. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

El Nino is being merciless, away down there off the coast of Peru, so it looks like Mr. B. and his Tiger Cub buds will not be making a Longhorns practice for the fourth Thursday in a row. Because the field at DK-Royal-Memorial Stadium will be soggy again and they'll move the practice inside where there is no seating for cubs and parents. Oh, well, it was a cool invite. And there's always next week, maybe, after Oklahoma State, which might be another Tech, or worse.

From the Austin-San Antonio National Weather Service Forecast Center in New Braunfels.

Wednesday Night: A 40 percent chance of showers. Mostly cloudy, with a low around 61. East northeast wind between 5 and 10 mph.

Thursday: A 50 percent chance of showers. Mostly cloudy, with a high near 71. Northeast wind between 5 and 10 mph.

Rainwise, El Nino is being merciful. Spacing it out like this--midweek now for four weeks--means we haven't had a flash flood yet. Of course, we haven't had a lot of rain, either, and the lakes/reservoirs are still way down.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Mr. Boy watches Power Rangers and various super heroes, mostly on Blockbuster DVDs. I'm sorry he's missing Hopalong and his horse Topper, which I watched in shadowy black and white on "Footlight Theater" in the mid-1950s. But he might find Hoppy shallow, as I occasionally did.

Hoppy was a Californian but his Bar 20 ranch was "in Northwestern Texas," according to the official fan site by the owners of his copyright. "The town in the [original] novel is called Buckskin. Population of one hundred inhabitants, located in the valley of the Rio Pecos fifty miles south of the Texas-New Mexico line."

Even better known than Hopalong was the actor who played his sidekick, Windy, Gabby Hayes, who went on to play second banana to Roy Rogers, the King of the Cowboys.

Think I'll give it a try, anyhow, with this $7 DVD of five Hoppy westerns from the 1940s. Afterall, I introduced Mr. B. to the inane Power Rangers. Maybe I can work the trick a second time, and he'll foresake the PR's Kung Fu moves, in favor of Hoppy's historically-accurate high-crowned cowboy hat, a cap pistol and even some silver spurs for his sneakers.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 03:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy and his Tiger Cub pals get another shot at attending a Longhorns football practice on Thursday, before which I will be trying to narrow down his color choices for his first Pinewood Derby entry. Uncannily he drew a profile for the car on his rectangular block of soft pine that almost matched the optimal shape found in the "speed kit" books available on the Internet for tips n tricks, etc. Indeed, thanks to a family friend who is a former scoutmaster, Mr. B.'s block has already been cut by band saw, and belt-sanded, and his "axles" and plastic wheels polished with the aid of sandpaper and an electric drill. It's not all adult-takeover, as Mr. B.'s fingers did the actual work. More later on an interesting industry that's grown up around this pre-teen cub scout activity.

UPDATE  The Tiger-Cubs-attend-practice was postponed for a second time, this time due to a soggy field being an injury risk to the players getting ready for what could be a tough game against Nebraska. The practice was moved inside where there isn't enough seating for the cubs and parents.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I just finished sewing the den number under the flag on the right sleeve of Mr. B.'s cub scout uniform shirt.  It's not any more crooked than the others Mom did. She rationalizes that he won't be standing still long enough for anyone to notice. That surprises me, since she was a girl scout, but maybe they didn't stand in formation for flag ceremonies as much as the cubs did. I think we'll have to have the dry cleaners take them all off and start over again, but that can wait for the conclusion of today's adventure. All new cub scouts in the Austin area are exclusively invited to a practice of the Texas Longhorns football team, which defeated Oklahoma last Saturday 28-10. If it doesn't rain, at 4 p.m. we'll be in the stands at Darrell K. Royal-Memorial Stadium, which is more or less downtown now that the city has outgrown its longtime boundaries. No entrance fee, except a boy in a new cub scout uniform accompanied by a parent. They'll probably be able to tell if the uniform is new by how crooked the patches have been sewn on. If it rains, the practice will move indoors and the cubs will have to do something else. So my fingers are crossed that it doesn't rain-- even though meteorologists give it a 30 percent chance of doing so after 1 p.m., rising to 40 percent after dark.

UPDATE Shortly after 11 a.m., UT Athletic Department bowed to the weather forecast and moved the practice indoors. But instead of canceling the cub scout invite, they put it off until next Thursday.  

Posted by Dick Stanley at 12:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy enjoyed the Virginia interlude, getting to help drive a tractor at his godfather's Shenandoah Valley vineyard and see the house parrot while maintaining a respectful distance from her curved and pointed beak. Then he got to spend a few days with his older and younger cousins from California and Mississippi who converged on Roanoke's grandest hotel for my niece's wedding, a get together of more than 250 relatives, friends and other guests from around the country.

He was quite good despite long hours in cars and on planes. For the latter he enjoyed the view out the window at eight miles high, remarking on the flight up there: "Mom, we're above the Earth!" 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

So Mr. B. comes hustling out of school Monday afternoon with the announcement that he wants to have a yard sale of his old toys. Oh, yes? He says the reason is he needs to raise money for an electric guitar. He also wants to buy a drum set for the co-leader of his new band, The Bad Boys, possibly spelled Boyz but Mr. B. isn't much of a speller yet, as he is just learning to read and write.

So the notion of him playing an electric guitar seemed farfetched. But he was ready with an answer. His co-leader has a ukulele and he will teach it to Mr. Boy, who figures the leap from ukulele to electric guitar can't be very wide. After explaining this he more or less forgot about it and went off and did something else entirely. But later when I asked which toys he wanted to sell, he insisted that Ms. Ellie, also known as the precocious pachyderm, would not be included, nor would any of the other stuffed animals. What he had in mind was the Wendy's prizes, the movie tie-in stuff, all of it klunky and quickly forgettable.

Which brings me to the serendipitous moment of the day when, wandering First Things, a favorite blog, I came across this piece about the greatest uke player of this age or any other which comes with a link to a 4-minute, 32-second Youtube performance of the title of this post by the artist, the incomparable Jake Shimabukuro, a twenty-nine-year-old from Hawaii. Jake soars where six-year-olds (and the rest of us) can only dream of going. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

That's what I've been calling Texas thunderstorms since the days when Mr. Boy would call for Mom at the first crash overhead preceded by a neon flash, usually late at night. Understandable. Who wouldn't be scared at such a young age? This was at three or four. At six going on seven, however, while he doesn't actually like them, he's no longer particularly afraid of them. But I still call them thunderboomers.

And KVET-KASE meteorologist Troy Kimmel says we're in for a possible few severe ones (heavy rain, damaging hail, strong straight-line winds) in the next few hours as a strong cold front makes its way southeast and slams into our high humidity (54 percent) and hot (93 degrees with a heat index of 100) afternoon, whose only indication of looming trouble has been the ovenlike breeze that's been kicking up for the last hour or so. There's already been a few showers around town ahead of the front, but nothing at the rancho. Details to follow.

UPDATE  Shut down the computer at 5 or so as the first storms and cloud-to-ground lightning moved in. No hail or strong winds to speak of at the rancho, but the rain was heavy enough at times to leave us half an inch. The cold front and the rain combined to drop the temperature twenty degrees. The lights went out for a few minutes but came back on. Mr. B. watched a Yu Gi Oh video through the whole thing. Ho hum.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy gets an hour of downtime after school and snack, before I put him to his first grade homework (and usually have to get involved), and I always stay away for that period, unless he wants to talk or something. But today I happened by just as he was lifting his favorite plastic sword in the air and bellowing into the mirror "I am Theoden, King of the Mark!"

Only tonight, in our bedtime reading from The Return of the King, did we learn that while we lost Theoden in the siege of Gondor to the evil King of the Nazgul, Mr. B.'s favorite character, Aragorn, is secretly the new king of Gondor. I've promised him he can watch the movie triology when we're done with the books, even though the movies are PG-13, but I'll be secretly sorry watching the actor who played Aragorn, remembering what a whimp he is in real life. But he did play it well. Mr. B. is mostly interested in the heroics and the weaponry and longs to see some Orc blood flow. Or so he says. You never know with six-year-old boys. One minute it's blood-n-guts and the next they're sucking on their fingers.

I loved the big smile on his face the first time he tried on his new cub scout uniform. He gets it. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Six year olds should never be admonished to hold on to their snow cone real tight. The cup just can't handle the six-year-old grip. Immediately you have a break in the cup lining, usually near the lower extremity, so the grape and blueberry syrup start dribbling onto the floor of the garage and continue into the kitchen and beyond. Other bloggers, such as Dallas Sports Powerhouse, have found one should never put snow cones in a Dixie cup because "the bottoms just can't handle all the [child's] constant straw poking to slurp the last bits," but that might be a University of Texas problem, as it was discovered at last weekend's Longhorns home game. Regular, Northwest Austin snow cone cups are stronger, apparently, for straw poking has never been a noticeable problem. Meanwhile, while we were at the beach at Port A, the snow cone trailer disappeared from the nearby shopping center, so Mr. Boy's snow cone days are over for another year.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:21 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mr. Boy is now a Tiger Cub, the first grade introduction to Cub Scouts. Took some cajoling yesterday to get him to go to the organization meeting at the school, but when we got there he discovered six of his friends also there. And the counselors immediately organized them and the fifty or so others into age-ordered games of flag football, tug of war and water-balloon fights. Mr. B. came home tired but pleased with himself and the whole idea. Looks like a go. Now all we need is a blue uniform shirt, a neckerchief and a belt. The "pack" forgoes the official caps, trousers and  other stuff to help parents save money. But that's not a new thing. Fifty some odd years ago when I joined Cub Scouts they also advised you not to buy the whole rig as few others did. The shirt's important for the patches and badges and other stuff. Some parents don't like scouts, as they think it's too military, but, in fact, scouting prohibits military training (other than marksmanship) and military drill--except for simple flag ceremonies. With its emphasis on love of country, spiritual growth and helping others, it is, I think, the most civilizing organization a boy can join--and still have water-balloon fights.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 02:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

After the first week of class, with the red folder and its homework assignment showing up in Mr. B.'s Superman backpack every afternoon, it's clear that this is not his father's elementary school.

For one thing the folder has a behavior page stapled in the front of it with three smilie faces (rather, one smilie and two frownies) for each school day. The yellow smilie is labeled "Super Day, as expected." The blue frownie is tagged "Warning," and the purple frownie's wording is "Conference needed." So far, five days into the program, Mr. B has had only yellow smilies.

I'm glad they didn't do this when I was in grade school. I might have been in trouble at home almost every afternoon instead of only at report card time.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

First day of first grade yesterday and Mr. Boy had homework! Took about twenty minutes. Amounted to printing his letters (the vowels), repeating a short, memorized poem about school, and having a book about school read to him. I noticed several mistakes in his letters, but we have decided to let the teacher handle the accuracy. I did insist that he hold his pencil correctly, and read the book to him. I suppose some young parents have less time to read to their children, hence the school's approach. I also started volunteering again, as last year with kindergarten. Last year it was pulling weeds in the flowerbeds around the school and helping judge the science fair. Yesterday, I cut eighty used tennis balls for the legs of the chairs in Mr. B's classroom (20 chairs x 4 legs each) and have more to do this morning for the extra chairs. Apparently the tennis balls cut down on the noise in the classroom of scooting chairs back and forth.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (30)

"Boys continued to trail girls by substantial margins in reading and writing on the annual Connecticut Mastery Test. The pattern has persisted since Connecticut first started keeping track of scores by gender in 2000, and is consistent with longstanding patterns on national tests."

Reading to them every day (before they can read) might help, which we do with Mr. Boy, and keeping a journal which his teacher made all of them begin last year in Kindergarten, altho Mr. B. filled his with more drawings than words. 

Via Instapundit 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Now here's a good guy that Mr. Boy seems to like after so many Orcs, the hard slog through the Mines of Moria, and the loss of Gandalf. Treebeard is the old hoom-boom fellow Tolkien dreams up to send the story off on a twisty turn, giving the reader hope that the evil which Frodo and Sam are walking into can eventually be defeated.

A good way to spend an hour, reading aloud, post-camp, as we push on through the last vacation days until school starts next week. Mr. B. and Mom are off to Houston on Friday to visit friends. The day after we find out the name of his new teacher and, possibly, the list of classmates. Wondering how many from kindergarten will be with him for first grade, hoping it's the ones we like instead of the ones we're less sure about. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The backpack war is over, and Mom won. No Thing, but Superman, instead. Mr. Boy tried a last-ditch manuevar for Wolverine, presumably for the super hero's shocking stileto-bladed fingers, but gave in more or less gracefully. 

Basketball camp ended Friday, and there's just one more week before first grade begins, because of the wretched early start in Texas. Time flies. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Not the 1951 or 1982 movies of the same name but the comic book superhero, a cousin, perhaps, to The Hulk. Herein lies a backpack stalemate. Mr. Boy adamantly wants a Thing backpack for first grade, retiring his Ninja Turtles backpack of kindergarten. Mom agrees that the turtles have run their course, but thinks the Thing backpack is too gross and she's holding out for Batman. I lean towards Batman, as well, but do not wish to intervene. Let it shake itself out. Patience is my motto.

Birthday party Sunday at Deep Eddy pool in Austin for Daniel M., a kindergarten friend, was instructive. DM's mom's choice of party favors was Play-Doh, which drew scornful looks. Most of the attendees spent their time talking about Yu Gi Oh cards, and the details of violent death. Six-year-old boys favor blood and guts, pirates, superheroes, monsters, etc. Only poop and pee-pee jokes get equal time. Dinosaurs? Passe. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 10:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Pity the children of the slain woman in Seattle whose only crime was working at the Jewish version of the United Way, when a self-proclaimed "angry" "Muslim-American" showed up with a gun. Not to mention the five others he wounded, also women, probably also mothers, at least one of them pregnant.

Just another reminder, whether in USA or the Middle East, how the angry Muslims almost always target civilians.

Brave mujaheed, as Meryl Yourish sarcastically puts it. Indeed.

Mr. Boy's basketball day camp, at the J in Austin, has additional security, and it was comforting the other day at pick-up time to see an off-duty Texas state trooper working his shift. Also the sign at the front gate telling drivers that if they have no member sticker or other proof of legitmate business their trunk will be searched.

No hate murders of Jews here yet, but Central Texas is not immune to the ever-present anti-Jewish virus, though the most visible evidence was a few years ago when swastikas were spray-painted on a new congregation's storefront synagogue.

UPDATE AskMom says "Seattle is already tying itself into a pretzel thinking of excuses for this latest, hometown Jihadist evil" and American Digest has an high school pix of the grinning perp, Naveed Afzal Haq, from the Seattle daily, although I'd rather see photos of the victims and their families.

MORE The scummy shooter has now disappeared into the justice system where I hope he rots. Instead of more on him, although you can read it here, I'll reprint what the Seattle daily said about the dead woman, a mother of two grown children, who apparently was a convert to Judaism 40 years ago:

"Colleagues identified the slain woman as Pam Waechter, 58, of Seattle. Waechter, an assistant director at the federation, died at the scene.

"'This is just an extraordinary shock. We lost a really wonderful colleague, a wonderful friend. It's hard," said Nancy Geiger, the charitable organization's interim chief executive.

"'She was a person everybody loved, everybody enjoyed being with. She was a tireless worker for the Jewish community,' said Rabbi Jim Mirel of Temple B'nai Torah, where Waechter was a past president."

And now, because of some mooj wannabee, who gut shot the other women and tried to do the same to the pregnant one, Pam Waechter is dead. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 11:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Everything seems to be accelerated these days, even growing up. Mr. Boy tells us there is a "cool table" at basketball camp, where the popular guys sit, and that he is a charter member. "No adults allowed at the cool table." A cool table! I thought you had to be in high school for that, junior high at the least. It's almost like he's joined a fraternity, and he's not even in first grade!

Posted by Dick Stanley at 01:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

"Boys’ share of college admissions has dropped to 42 percent and is declining steadily. Boys also are responsible for 80 percent of school discipline problems. They are almost twice as likely as girls to be suspended from school, while four out of five high school dropouts are male."

Instapundit provides the link to this new report on the "boy crisis," which has not been especially noticed here at Rancho Rolly Polly, Mr. Boy only being six. But he does have a curious anxiety, "I'm worried I will 'get fired' from first grade because I can't read or write." Not to worry Mom told him, first grade is where you learn to read and write.

Maybe this is normal. His kindergarten certainly was beyond my (1949) experience. All I remember is rhythm band. Mr. B. had to keep a journal for his letters and printing, and Show and Tell was more like Public Speaking 101. Anxiety begins early these days.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 05:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Here at Rancho Roly Poly we are well into week one of basketball camp. The boy seems to like it, and today won an award for cooperation, which is always nice to hear. He also has a crush on one of the teenage coaches. Sort of a crush. A proprietary air when her name is mentioned. A six-year-old's crush.

He could not believe it tonight when Frodo confronted the black riders at the Ford and drew his sword rather than ride away. "Why doesn't he tell the horse to run?" Then the flash flood came and washed the riders away. Sort of like a Texas flash flood -- totally unexpected.

Why Roly Poly? Our most significant, indigenous insect on the rancho, along with spiders, ants, walking sticks, tree roaches, yellowjackets, wasps and bees, is the humble crustacean. Although we tend to see more of them in the winter.

UPDATE  Excellant, copyrighted rendering of the roly poly, with description. Then, the link died, and so I'm replacing it with this one, which has a good photo of the creature.

Posted by Dick Stanley at 09:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I had hoped to be teaching Mr. Boy how to sail by now. Instead we're selling our 1985 Catalina 22. Despite being a native Texan, Mr. B. is at an age when he doesn't like to be out in the heat. In fact, he started basketball camp today, which is conducted in an air-conditioned gym.

But even when it was good, cool weather, back in the spring, I couldn't coax him to go out to the lake and it's been months since we visited the marina. Not cost-effective, paying a slip fee without using the thing, especially on retiree income when other expenses are beckoning.

Tried to give the boat gratis to my brother-in-law in Virginia, but being landlocked, he declined. So we have an ad up at sailtexas.com, a good site for news of the coastal and lake racing schedules, for which the Catalina 22 has its own group, BTW. Take a look. Wanna buy a boat?

Posted by Dick Stanley at 08:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mom is finishing up the tubby and it's almost time for my nightly installment of "The Fellowship of the Ring" for a rapt six-year-old who is not jaded after Power Rangers, Yu Gi Oh, Star Wars and more. In fact, he was rapt for "Treasure Island," "The Chronicles of Narnia," and "The Hobbit." So the first book of the trilogy, while waxing a trifle lush at times with the images, nevertheless is a hit.

Attercop, attercop, old tomnonny!

UPDATE But first there was a hunt for Miss Ellie, the tattered stuffed elephant who is Mr. Boy's spirit animal, as it were. He will often ask me to put her away when a friend of his comes to play, but he still can't sleep without her. 

Posted by Dick Stanley at 07:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)