Monday, July 31, 2017

Greetings from Hanover

Another quickie after a lovely Sunday spent in Hanover with Paul's parents and his brother Jon, wife Brooke, and their twins. We met at the house, caught up and played with the model trains, then went to lunch at Lu Hibachi Buffet before going to Codorus State Park, where we walked around the marina, skipped stones in the lake, and saw bugs and bunnies. Then we went to Hanover Shoe Farms, where the mares and colts were out in the fields but the stallions were in their paddocks and stalls. We went back to the house for a while to talk some more, then my family came home -- we'll see the rest of them again on Friday. Some photos of the park, the horse farm, and the family:









Sunday, July 30, 2017

Greetings from Dulles

Quick post tonight and probably quick posts all next week, since Daniel is here! We picked him up from Dulles tonight after a busy day that started with our power being out, so that we thought we were going to lose all our refrigerated food and were about to take it to my parents' house when the electricity came back. Adam went out with friends while we did some shopping (and I dropped by a raid and caught a Tyranitar). Paul's brother Jon and his family are on this side of the country so we are all going to see them on Sunday!




Saturday, July 29, 2017

Poem for Saturday and Brookside Butterflies

More Strong Than Time
By Victor Hugo

Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

Since it was given to me to hear on happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;

Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;

I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.


Alice and Avery had an appointment early in Bethesda, so after getting her Starbucks, they came over here and we tried yet again to find Avery an Articuno or at least a Tyranitar. Sadly, there were no Articuno raids close enough to both my house and a place to stand undercover in the pouring rain where people were gathering, and while we got some people to meet us for a Tyranitar raid at a church, five of us could not defeat it. Even so, I had a good time with him and Alice, especially when we stopped at the mall for froyo.

After Alice left, I did chores and discovered the Les Miserables channel on Discord, which I can tell will be a wonderful time sink. Adam came home from work and went straight to an all-night 21st birthday party, while Paul and I went to have Thai food at my parents' house. Then we came home and watched the Orioles play a terrible game against the Rangers, followed by Colbert's half-unaired material, half-rerun Friday format episode. Here are some of the butterflies at Brookside's Wings of Fancy exhibit earlier in the year:








Friday, July 28, 2017

Poem for Friday, The Circle, The Mets

July in Washington
By Robert Lowell

The stiff spokes of this wheel
touch the sore spots of the earth.

On the Potomac, swan-white
power launches keep breasting the sulphurous wave.

Otters slide and dive and slick back their hair,
raccoons clean their meat in the creek.

On the circles, green statues ride like South American
liberators above the breeding vegetation—

prongs and spearheads of some equatorial
backland that will inherit the globe.

The elect, the elected . . . they come here bright as dimes,
and die dishevelled and soft.

We cannot name their names, or number their dates—
circle on circle, like rings on a tree—

but we wish the river had another shore,
some further range of delectable mountains,

distant hills powdered blue as a girl’s eyelid.
It seems the least little shove would land us there,

that only the slightest repugnance of our bodies
we no longer control could drag us back.


My Thursday was busy but nice. I had lunch with Karen at Lebanese Taverna, did some shopping, won two Articuno raids but failed to catch the bird both times, got some work done, dyed my hair, was chased down the basement by a cat who wanted to sit in the laundry basket, and watched the Nationals score a lot of home runs. Also, I watched some of the White House shit show, excuse me, comedy show.

Paul made cranberry chick'n for dinner. After eating, we all watched a screener of The Circle, which felt like a mediocre half a movie that forgot a third act. Here are some more photos from the Mets game last weekend, including some of the Hall of Fame plus Jackie Robinson rotunda, Flushing Meadows from the stadium, the rain in the lights, and the Home Run Apple as the Mets began their comeback:








Thursday, July 27, 2017

Poem for Thursday and Citi Field

What the businessman said
By Allison Cobb

the business
man I shook
hands with
drinking local
whiskey at the
party Christmas
winter I mean non
religious for the
group where
his wife
donates her
hours bought
just bought
an old Victorian cheaper
than a Craftsman in
one of Portland’s
oldest best said
cost the cost
of doing
business one
cost of
business all of
life of costs
a cost the business
man made
exercise machines
in China for
the bodies of
to sweat upon
the muscles heart
and blood vessels
the lungs he said
they never
even counted
costs the labor
lives so cheap it was
the metal minerals
the plastic
parts they had
to calculate the labor
lives so
cheap they didn’t
even count


I had no vehicle on Wednesday, so Alice and Avery came to visit and we spent the better part of the afternoon chasing down Pokemon raids. Despite being out many coins for raid passes, I had a fairly good day -- I caught another Articuno and won a Lugia raid that got me lots of rare candy even though I didn't catch the Lugia -- but we couldn't get enough people for a successful Tyranitar raid so I still don't have one, and Avery didn't catch any of the legendaries at the raids we won, so he was frustrated.

We may do more raiding to help Avery get a legendary on Friday. When we weren't raiding, we had lunch at Cava and watched Pokemon Ranger and the Temple of the Sea. Adam was in College Park until very late in the evening and missed all this fun. The rest of my day was chores, though I got to do some of them while Paul and I watched the Nationals make an unexpectedly impressive comeback against the Brewers, which was lovely! Here is Citi Field when the Mets did the same against the As on Saturday:








Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Poem for Wednesday and NYBG Wildlife

The Coal Picker
By Amy Lowell

He perches in the slime, inert,
Bedaubed with iridescent dirt.
The oil upon the puddles dries
To colours like a peacock’s eyes,
And half-submerged tomato-cans
Shine scaly, as leviathans
Oozily crawling through the mud.
The ground is here and there bestud
With lumps of only part-burned coal.
His duty is to glean the whole,
To pick them from the filth, each one,
To hoard them for the hidden sun
Which glows within each fiery core
And waits to be made free once more.
Their sharp and glistening edges cut
His stiffened fingers. Through the smut
Gleam red the wounds which will not shut.
Wet through and shivering he kneels
And digs the slippery coals; like eels
They slide about. His force all spent,
He counts his small accomplishment.
A half-a-dozen clinker-coals
Which still have fire in their souls.
Fire! And in his thought there burns
The topaz fire of votive urns.
He sees it fling from hill to hill,
And still consumed, is burning still.
Higher and higher leaps the flame,
The smoke an ever-shifting frame.
He sees a Spanish Castle old,
With silver steps and paths of gold.
From myrtle bowers comes the plash
Of fountains, and the emerald flash
Of parrots in the orange trees,
Whose blossoms pasture humming bees.
He knows he feeds the urns whose smoke
Bears visions, that his master-stroke
Is out of dirt and misery
To light the fire of poesy.
He sees the glory, yet he knows
That others cannot see his shows.
To them his smoke is sightless, black,
His votive vessels but a pack
Of old discarded shards, his fire
A peddler’s; still to him the pyre
Is incensed, an enduring goal!
He sighs and grubs another coal.


I spent a part of Tuesday morning organizing the Tarot decks that were bursting out of the bookcase where I keep Tarot decks. Then I got a message from MoCoPoGo on GroupMe about an Articuno raid at the Twinbrook Metro station, and since I was about to go right near there anyway to get bagels at Bagel City's 14-for-12 Tuesday deal, I met up with a lot of the same people I'd gone on a raid with at Cabin John Park the day before. We won and I caught the Articuno, then we went to another raid at the Rollins post office and I caught the Articuno there too! I am really not sorry I missed all the Sunday craziness while I was out of town.

My afternoon involved getting done all the things I missed doing during the lunchtime gaming. Then Paul came home and we were about to go to Not Your Average Joe's for the lobster rolls he missed out on last time -- Adam was out with Emiliano, one of his oldest friends, who moved back to Venezuela while they were in elementary school and they stayed in touch -- but once again they weren't sure they had them! So instead we went shopping at Giant, had deli for dinner, watched the Orioles fail to come back against the Rays, and caught up on Still Star-Crossed since it ends forever this week. Flowers and animals at the New York Botanical Garden:








Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Poem for Tuesday and Chihuly in the Garden

By Edna St. Vincent Millay

The railroad track is miles away,
    And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn’t a train goes by all day
    But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn’t a train goes by,
    Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
    And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with the friends I make,
    And better friends I’ll not be knowing;
Yet there isn’t a train I wouldn’t take,
    No matter where it’s going.


I had plans to get a lot of work done on Monday, but after doing some of it in the morning, I went out at lunchtime to run a couple of errands, noticed there was a Lugia raid in Cabin John Park, and spent the next hour bonding with strangers from GroupMe and Discord while we waited for enough people to arrive to battle said Pokemon, which we defeated and I caught!

So yes, I had a very grownup afternoon. Angela came over when she got off work, I showed off my Thor and playbills, and we ended up getting Lebanese Taverna and watching the musical episode of Once Upon a Time because she hadn't seen it and it remains the best thing they did over the course of the past four years, especially the Charmings.

We watched the beginning of the Orioles game with Adam (poor Wilson Ramos!), then Will: The Velvet Goldmine Episode (I'm sure it has another title but that's how I'll remember it -- Marlowe's coat!), then the Orphan Black we missed (I can never decide whether I feel sorry for Rachel or want her to die). Some more Chihuly from the New York Botanical Garden exhibit:








Monday, July 24, 2017

Greetings from the NYBG

On Sunday we met my sister, her husband, and two of their daughters -- the third had to work -- at the New York Botanical Garden to see the Chihuly exhibit. It's wonderful, and I say this as someone who has seen many indoor and outdoor Chihuly installations. This one doesn't quite have the scope of the Seattle museum devoted entirely to him, but it makes fantastic use of the gardens, so for instance this is the first time we've seen one of his float boats actually floating in water rather than on a platform in an exhibit space.

We all got there later than expected, so we were ready for lunch at different times, but we sat at one of the outdoor tables and talked for a while before going our separate ways. The drive home had one hellacious stretch just past the Delaware Memorial Bridge when it poured so hard the Delaware Shakespeare Festival eventually ended up canceling its evening performance, but we made it home to son and cats who had all been fed though the latter denied it vociferously! A few Chihuly family photos, more when I'm unpacked: