Water colors

This time of year we get some wonderful light on the river. This one is just past sunset.

And, in other news, the "stealth" destroyer has been launched into the river by BIW. However, the previous secrecy seems to have evaporated. Here's the story. We did not see it slide in from the drydock. Stealthy, what?

Out of the lineup

There is a cliche in sports that holds that a player cannot lose his job because of injury. Bushwah, of course. And the falsity of that canard is being proven here at The Crotch. Papa has lost his position. No more hauling logs, no more mowing lawn, no more grilling steak. These duties have been taken over by Grandma. Furthermore, she has done a better job. So Papa is relegated to the bench. Ah, the bench. Now, you're talking.

Dirt bombs in Paradise

I am teaching a Midcoast Senior College course on Milton's Paradise Lost. In the sixth book, Milton describes a war in heaven between the forces of Satan and those of God. After Satan's angels pelt the good angels with cannons, the other get angry and hurl pieces of mountains. Soon all the angels are flinging dirt at each other. Apparently, in Milton's time this passage was not thought comic. Oh, c'mon.
 When I was a kid, images of World War II were all over the B/W TV and we boys played various war games. One of the things we did in our back yard was to throw dirt bombs. A clod of that good Jersey soil, hurled high in the air, would rush to earth with a craaack and a puff of dust that looked like the smoke of a mortar. The deal was to throw them high enough so that the other guy had time to move away. (Of course, occasionally, a warrior might throw two at the same time....)
  I haven't seen a kid throw a dirt bomb in years. On the other hand, there seem to be plenty of guns around. Glad, sometimes, that I am old.

Habemus aquam calidam

On Saturday Grandma discovered that our 23-year old water heater was leaking. We called Lowes, which offered "same day replacement" if called before noon (which we did not do). Now it is Wednesday morning, and we finally have hot water. Unlike Home Depot, Lowes does not publish width specs on the web. Hence the first heater did not fit. But at last they found us one. It fit and it works.
All around the heater were vast amounts of MOLD. Gregg valiantly came in, ripped out the moldy sheet rock, and put in three wood panels. The utility room looks spiffy. Yesterday I scooched down on my butt to check it out. Great job.
What did I learn from this? Just that it's great to have a handyman in the family.

"And see the great Achilles, whom we knew"

Four days after surgery, this is what my left lower leg looked like. The "YES" is a hint from the nurses about which leg needed attention. It apparently worked. In this shot the splint/cast has been removed, and soon a new one will be applied. Uh, oh. The new one didn't work so well. Therefore on Monday we went to Portland and got it redone. Ah, much bettah now.
Although it is very tedious keeping my leg elevated and getting around via scooter (which is excellent), the wonderful weather has put us outside for part of the time, and in any case, you could hardly find a better convalescent view than the one I enjoy from our window seat, looking down river and keeping an eye on the bobbing winter stick marking our mooring.
(Photo credit: Grandma, with flipphone)

Sic transit gloria evinrude

When we brought the Whaler in last Saturday to have the motor removed, winterized, and stored, Glenn cast eyes askance at it and reeled off some problems, quite a few, in fact. Then his father Howie came out, and we made the decision to part with the old beast. It certainly didn't owe us anything. When the Whaler was stolen in 1995 and then abandoned, upside down, the motor was submerged for quite a while. But Howie got it running, and it has run each season since, though not without some balkiness here and there. Since we use it mainly as a tender for Autumn now, it makes sense to brin g out the old 4 HP Johnson, which Grandma can start, to get us back and forth to the larger craft. Still, it was hard to say goodbye to something that treated us so well for so long.
Of course, Howie showed us a brand-new 25 HP eTec motor. When I asked the cost, he said, "Oh, five or six... that's thousand, you know." Gulp.

On the other sde

It feels very good to be on the other side of achilles tendon surgery. There is a long recovery period - six months - but it seems I have a good chance to join the family on the BVI catamarans in November. The medical team was impressive, even those from the illiterate Maine Medical Center ("Centered Around You" is their motto still, though they have been warned to change it. Unfortunately, the recovery involves just lazing around the house with my feet up. What's the misforfune? Simply the revelation that this routine differs only slightly from the normal modus. Ah, well, retirement, you know.
Fans of Bath, Maine: here's one for you: Bath!