September Weather Bliss

We here at the Homestead firmly believe that September is the finest month of weather of the year.  The warmth is still there, but far less intense than August.  Since moving down here and getting used to flowers still blooming well through October and into November, there have been few opportunities to fully enjoy the month.  Since most people return to school and jobs, the month is usually seen sideways, rather than straight on.  But with retirement comes time to enjoy many things once only glanced at sideways.  No excuses now.  Though it's still too hot to hike in New Mexico, unless you stay up around 9,000', in our part of Canada one couldn't ask for better weather.  We've been on a sunshine streak, too, though that should end tomorrow, along with some cooler breezes.  Even the family in Sudbury has been enjoying the month.

Speaking of Sudbury, I will soon be on my way there, my first trip since the pandemic began.  My last visit to the north was in early November, 2019.  I will experience a very different September there than here, though only 4 degrees of latitude separate us.  And New Mexico?  I have already given up two of my almost last years of good hiking to the pandemic.  Oddly enough, though, I have never been in better overall physical condition.  Over 15 months of daily exercise now, and counting.  Weird.  With about four weeks to prep for mountains, I can be ready to climb again.  And Detroit?  It's been 20 months since my last visit.  We should be hearing soon as to when or if the border will reopen to Canadians.  Last we heard it was closed till the 21st.  Will that be extended?

In music news, I have finally parted with my pandemic piano program, and am fully engaged in a new one.  I got to perform four times, and though I wish more people could have heard the pieces, my brain desperately needs new repertoire to attack.  Bach, Beethoven, Mendelssohn, Chopin, Schubert, and Joplin are on the program.  Most of the pieces should be decent by Christmas, with perhaps a late winter concert.

In film news, Deb is finishing up her episode of Yorick's undersea adventure, a project that was interrupted when her mom moved down to this area.  It is likely her most elaborate Yorick episode to date, filled with stunning graphics and the usual hilarious skull's humour.  Several of her films continue to be shown at festivals around the globe, though she has been finding that it is becoming harder and harder to get accepted.  Some festivals that used to get a few hundred entries now get several thousand.

Turning to art, most gallery goers know of Canaletto and his detailed paintings of Venice.  Far fewer (me included) know much about his prints, but these open up another whole world of adventurous seeing.  We'll look at two eventually (one today), and one by Bellotto.  Here is the first one.

View of a Town on a River Bank, between 1735-1746.  Canaletto, Italian, 1697-1768.  Etching printed with black ink on laid paper, 12" x 17".  Collection Detroit Institute of Arts.

 

There are several noteworthy features of this finely detailed landscape print, most of them showing up better in close up study.  For instance, the reflections on the water, the finely portrayed shadows in the background, and the solitary foreground tree, reminiscent of Dutch landscapes by painters such as Ruisdael.  Time to zoom in...

Detail of right side.  Note the shadow of the waterwheel across the river, as well as the shadow of the railing to its right.  Closer view coming up.

 

Incredible depiction of shadows, close up.

 

Detail showing what I call the Ruisdael Tree!  This detail also shows the reflections really well.

Final detail.  Note the water birds on the left.  

 

Equinox is approaching!  And a full moon is not far ahead of it.  Exciting times never stop around here.

 

Mapman Mike

 

 

 

A Farewell to Mogollon

 Mogi's ashes were returned yesterday, and he will spend some time indoors with us before being scattered outside in the garden.  His name comes from a ghost town in New Mexico, which is named after a mountain range Mogollon (Mogoyawn) Mountains).  The mountains are in turn named after a prehistoric native culture, with some of the most famous and interesting pottery in the world.

Mogi started out as a problem for us.  He appeared one summer day in our backyard, trying to catch birds at our back feeder.  I would go out and chase him away, but he always returned.  Then we were in New Mexico, camping and hiking in the Mogollon Mountains, and visiting the ghost town of Mogollon when we decided to trap him and keep him.  Upon our return from that journey the cage trap was baited with cat food, and it didn't take long before we had trapped a live and fairly wild pussy cat.

An early image of Mogollon, crouching beneath the harpsichord.  Gustav pretends nonchalance, but is watching him closely. 

    Once trapped (he was an adult) it was off to the vet for some necessary surgery and a check up.  A healthy cat was returned to us a few days later.  We already had Ferdinand and Gustav, so adding a third cat to the mix was going to be interesting.  Of course we named him Mogollon, Mogi for short.  He had been delivered to the vet in the cage trap, and returned to us in the same way.  He spent several days in there before we released him.  Deb took a few days off work, and spent time reading to him, and introducing him to the stick of love.  The stick was about 12-14" long, and she would gently approach him with it through the bars and scratch his head.  He quickly learned to like it and accept it.  Next came her hand, and before too long he was out and about the house, much to the amusement of the other two cats.

A major milestone, as Mogi climbs aboard Deb for the first time.  His favourite thing was to be scratched under his chin.  I was with him and doing just that when the vet put him into his final sleep.

Feeding time at the cat exhibit.  Mogi in front, Ferdie behind him, and Gustav acting nonchalant again.
 

After dinner nap time. 

Unfortunately, Mogi and Gustav just couldn't get along.  Mogi had to move into the back bedroom, and was only allowed out when we were there to supervise.  He had access to a cat bed up on a window looking out into the backyard, and enjoyed it a lot when the window was opened (with a screen).  Ferdie got along fine with both cats.  Once Ferdie and Gustav were gone, Mogi ruled the roost and finally came out of his room full time, though it wasn't for very long.  Gustav passed on last October, so Mogi got a little more than ten months of total freedom.  And of course last February was his eye removal surgery.  Still, we did our best to totally spoil him in the little time we had remaining.

Mogi loved to listen to music, harpsichord and strings being his favourite.  He would hobble up onto the couch and lay down whenever it was time to listen (usually around 6 pm for some Bach, and around 9:30 pm for various composers, and whenever I was practicing keyboard).  He loved the Scarlatti harpsichord pieces I played, as well as one of the Brahms Waltzes.  He also loved assisting me at the work table whenever I did astronomy notes or map studies.  Sliding him off the books and maps became a game with us, a game that he usually won.  And returning to the stick of love for a moment, whenever he was on the table with me I would use a pencil to rub his forehead, which he still loved.  Brushing him also brought out loud purrs, and he was brushed often.  Even on our final day together, before going to the vet, he was brushed and came through with a good, solid purr.

Mogi, being adorable and annoying at the same time. 

Ferdinand and Mogi enjoying a long winter's nap.  Deb painted our table years before, oddly enough with Mogollon designs. 

Mogi and Gustav, while looking relaxed and calm, were under supervision.  They could be very aggressive to one another.

Sunshine duet.
 

One of the last images of Mogi, eyeless since his February surgery.  He came through the surgery just fine. 

In the end Mogi succumbed (like Gustav) to a mystery virus.  When a cat is no longer interested in food, then the end is very near.  Deb tried everything possible, but each meal was a struggle, and each time he ate less and less.  His arthritis was terrible, but under pain management with drugs.  But without being able to mix the meds in his food any longer, we had to begin forcing it into his mouth.  The doc examined him, and said it was probably time.  And it probably was, but that fact does not make parting any easier.

So long, Mogollon, the last of five cat companions we have lived with and loved dearly.  Thanks for all the entertaining and fun times.  You were a cherished member of the household, and never to be forgotten.  The house seems so quiet and empty...

 

Mogollon (joined us in 2007-2021).

Mapman Mike

 

 

 

Green Leaves of Summer

A time to be reaping 

A time to be sowing

A time just for living

 A place for to die

 

Twas so good to be young then
To be close to the earth
Now the green leaves of summer
Are calling me home. 

 

Dimitri Tiomkin wrote the haunting melody; Paul Webster the lyrics.  The song was written for the movie The Alamo, and was nominated for an Oscar.  I've known the song since I was seven, and it has always moved me. The Brothers Four sang it for their entire career, and it was always welcomed by audiences. 

It's late summer here at the Homestead, and the green leaves of summer are enjoying their last few weeks on their trees.  While I always look forward to autumn, with chilly nights and mornings, different outdoor smells, wood fires in the fireplace, and the turning of leaves, it's always hard to say goodbye to summer.  Even one that baked us with its heat and soaked us with humidity.  Paradise is lost for another year.  With the arrival of Equinox in just over 10 days, the approach of winter is now unstoppable.

Late summer seems a fitting time to be melancholy, and I think I always have been that way then.  For most of my life it meant going back to school, either as a student for some 20 plus years, or as a teacher for nearly 40 years.  We would often be returning from New Mexico in late August or early September, knowing we were faced with an abrupt lifestyle change: paradise lost, yet again.  How many times can one lose his grip on paradise and still remain sane?

 

Of course retirement is like one long, continuous paradise, given financial security and decent health, along with enough interests to last more than ten lifetimes.  But the ingrained feelings of what autumn brings never go away.  It still seems like the end of something beautiful, and the start of something less so.

 

I will be posting less frequently for the near future.  Whether through laziness or having nothing much to really say I cannot tell.  I think I do have things to say, but it is taking time to formulate the words and thoughts.  Thinking back on the highest and lowest points of one's lifetime is a bit of a chore, but I am slowly edging towards the challenge.  Hopefully readers will check back once or twice a month to see how my progress is proceeding, or if it actually is.  A memorial page to Mogi the cat is still forthcoming soon; I am not yet emotionally ready for that task.

In the meantime, here is another wonderful print from the DIA.  This rock and its habitations look a lot like paradise to me.  Paradise is a fantasy, of course, even for the rich and famous.  But writers and artists can do a good job of sometimes convincing us otherwise.

 

Le grande rocher, ca. 1630.  Israel Henriet, French ca. 1590-1661.  Etching printed in black ink on laid paper.  4.5" x 9.75".  Collection Detroit Institute of Arts.

 

Detail of right side, bottom.

 

 

Detail of the rock.

Further detail of above detail. 

 

Mapman Mike

 

 
 

Odds and a Few Ends

 It's nearly unbelievable how much we put out for garbage collection tonight.  Most of it was cat related, as we got rid of old and battered cat trees, scratching posts, stairs, etc.  We brought a lot of unused food to Erie Wildlife, just up the road, but there was still a huge amount of other things to fit into large green bags.  We usually put out two bags each week, so the collectors will be unpleasantly surprised when they pass our house tomorrow morning.

I'm happy to say that just as August came to an end, so did our interminable heat wave, with its high humidity.  Tonight the sky is very clear, it is cool, and the humidity has vanished.  Thanks to a strong push of northern air, we were spared any effects from Ida, which recently devastated New Orleans, and even New York.  Below is an image I took from a weather map last Saturday, just before it hit New Orleans.  That is one very scary picture.

Image from last Saturday, as Ida is about to ruin New Orleans (just above the eye). 

In August we had 18 days with temps at 30 C or above, 4 that reached 29 C, and a few others at 28.  While that is not especially hot for this area, that's only half the story, as the humidity levels were so high.  August ended up being hotter and more humid than July, which is unusual.  So far, September looks great.  In fact, yard work has recommenced, and the next major weeding event is currently underway.

Now for a brief look at a landscape print from the DIA.  I have been having daily flashbacks to our camp on Lake Penage, west of Sudbury.  From the age of 8 or 9, I spent all my summers there, including several after Deb and I had moved to Windsor, gone through university, and got teaching jobs.  So, swimming in a clear, cool lake was not only part of my childhood, but continued well into adulthood.  This was also the location of some of my best and most memorable astronomy nights, despite bugs, wandering bears, skunks, and other various unwelcome night visitors.  Anyway, this image of people swimming caught my eye, and I wish I was one of them today.

The Bathers, ca. 1630 from a series called Various Italian Landscapes.  Jacques Callot, French, 1592-1635.  Etching printed in black ink.  4 5/8" x 9 3/4".  Collection Detroit Institute of Arts.

Detail of right side.

Detail of left side.

Detail of central area. 

We are currently watching a 3 1/4 hour documentary on Marcello Mastroianni, an autobiographical film starring Marcello, as he relates anecdotes and pearls of wisdom gleaned from a lifetime of movie making.  Loaded with film clips and interviews in various natural and indoor settings, so far it is a really enjoyable diversion.  Called I Remember, in one scene he talks about paradise, and how we long for the happy days of our youth.  This certainly fits with my Lake Penage mood these days.  But then he goes on to say that lost paradise is not the only paradise, that there are future ones still awaiting, especially if you are a traveller.  A nice thought, especially if someday we can actually travel safely again.

And last (and probably least) here is a photo of Mr. Piano guy in action.  A shout out to Randy for stopping by to listen to the program, and for the photo.

Maestro Mapman at the keyboard.
 

Mapman Mike

 
 

August Reads

 Ten books by Avon/Equinox SF Rediscovery authors, and one by a non-related author.  So, in other words, a pretty normal month.  In addition, I continue to plug away at Swafford's Beethoven biography.  However, I am now down to only 9 remaining authors, as I finished up works by J. G. Ballard last month.  Next to be finished will likely be James Blish, in about three months.  So, I am getting towards the beginning of the end of my project, which turned out to be much larger than first anticipated.  I know I will be skipping out on huge numbers of fantasy books by Piers Anthony, his moneymakers, as he calls them.  Most of them are pure garbage.  But let's get started on August's offerings.

Speaking of garbage, I hit two clunkers in a row right off the bat.  First up for August was Son of Man by Robert Silverberg, 212 pages of sheer pain and agony for readers.  Think of the worst kind of creative writing from the early 70s you can imagine, and then add several magnitudes of unpleasantness, and you have a very bad book.  However, this one was reprinted as recently as 2011.  Why?  Are people actually fooled by this kind of crap, and think they are reading some kind of literature?  Usually with his newer reprints Silverberg gives an introduction and talks about the birth of the novel in question.  I have an old print of it, without any explanations.  I would truly hate to read anything that Silverberg has to say in defense of this story.  The book went directly from my bedside to the recycle bin when I was done.

And the same with Piers Anthony's Firefly, a horror novel with monster that is filled with endless amounts of graphic and mostly unnecessary sex, along with a main character that tells endless and very long stories right in the middle of a chapter that might have actually gone somewhere before being interrupted.  Books like this one make me feel so sad for those writers who write much better stories and never find a publisher their entire life, while someone like Anthony can seemingly get anything published that he writes.  This one is seriously bad news, and I ended up throwing it in the garbage can rather than recycling it, in case someone sorting the material grabbed the book and decided to read it themselves.  It's a horror novel all right, though perhaps not in the manner intended by its author.

Thirdly, along came Harry Harrison to set things right again, as he usually does.  I've had very few misfires from this author, and I love his storytelling.  The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted deals with several of Harrison's favourite themes; sending up the military, especially boot camp, and taking on small dictators.  This is the 2nd book in the series dealing with the youthful adventures of Jim deGriz, having already written several about the adult Jim.  All the Rat books are very, very funny, and usually contain more truth about things than almost any serious novel by other authors.

Next came The Suns Of Scorpio, the 2nd novel in the huge Dray Prescott series by Kenneth Bulmer.  They seem to come in groups of five, so I am committed to reading at least the first five books.  It is an hommage to Edgar Rice Burroughs and H. Rider Haggard, among others.  They can be classed as pulp adventure.  Though the second story wasn't too bad a read, it had a truly terrible ending, which really spoiled things for me.  With a better ending this might have been a worthwhile few hours of reading.  The planet of Scorpio is enormous, and we seem to spend time each new novel in completely different parts of it, which can be not only tedious, but leaves us with little sense of place or orientation.

A Scattering of Stardust  contains 7 short stories and a novelette by E. C. Tubb.  All of them are solid stories, very original, and easy to read.  By far the best of the batch is called "Little Girl Lost," about an important government scientist who stops working on his special project when his young daughter is killed in a hit and run accident.  An agent is sent to try and get the man working again.  A devastating ending comes as quite a surprise.

Jack Williamson continues to hit home runs, this time with Manseed, from 1982.  In all the SF I've read over the past 6+ years, very few people have a workable plan to get humans into deep space in other star systems.  Jack has one of the most brilliant schemes, and one that might have a chance at actually working.  Seed a thousand tiny ships or more, and send them out with humanistic robots and a very smart computer, along with human DNA that can be reconstructed upon arrival upon a successful candidate planet.  Equip each ship with a Defender, a robot with some human characteristics that can assist in times of trouble.  The story is about one such Defender on one such seed ship, and the story is not only gripping and intense, but is actually believable.  In addition, its cover art wins this month's award for best art.

 

Cover art by Rick Sternback, winning my Cover of the Month for August.  

More Sword and Sorcery by Michael Moorcock was next.  Phoenix In Obsidian is Book 2 in the Eternal Champion sequence, starring Erekose (as Ulric) in an Arctic adventure that I quite enjoyed.  Lots of bad people, lots of good people, and the two never seem to mix well together.  The plot continually moves along, and the adventure is quite a good one.  The book ends with a definite cadence, though left open for more adventures, which, thankfully, did occur.

 

The last of Ballard's short fiction was next, with several highlights.  News From The Sun, Memories of The Space Age, Report On An Unidentified Space Station, The Secret History of WW3, The Enormous Space, and The Largest Theme Park In The World (about a United Europe) are all outstanding, and often times darkly funny.  I really don't know what I would do if I had to choose between Ballard's many novels and his shorter fiction.  Luckily I have both in my collection, and I consider them both indispensable.  He is an author I will return to frequently, and continue recommending to friends.  There is one novella that I can't seem to find, but I will continue my search until I do.

Underlay by Malzberg is his second dealing with horse racing and betting.  This one is very funny, as a man who owes money to the mafia is given a job to do to make things even.  The job involves digging up a body buried on the track, and hilariously involves a cello case.  The novel is not SF, but fans of Malzberg will not want to miss this one.  There are a goodly number of non-SF books that these 24 Avon authors wrote, so I am also getting a healthy dose of literature mixed in with my Rediscovery project.  This is one of those.

Last but never least came a story by James Blish I had never heard of before.  Get Out Of My Sky is from 1957, is barely longer than a novella, and concerns a diplomat that is given a deadline to make peace with a nearby planet, or else both worlds face total nuclear destruction.  It could easily have been written as non SF, as the story deals more with human stupidity than anything else, though an ESP angle adds a lot to the story.

I had time for one non-related work, and I finally picked up an Iain Banks novel that has been sitting on my shelf for many years.  At nearly 400 pages, The Steep Approach To Garbadale is a really good novel, and I kept turning pages for four days until it was done.  The last part of the book helped keep me sane whilst we dealt with the aftermath of euthanasia for our last kitty cat in the house.  There are no cats in the story, but lots of interesting people, and plenty of wild Scottish landscape.  There are still several Banks novels that I have not yet acquired, so I am looking forward to more of his writing soon.  This one is about a rich family, famous for inventing and marketing the board game Empire.  The story is focussed on Alban, and his incestuous relationship with a favourite female cousin (Cuz cuz, sweet cuz).  It's a pretty straight forward novel, without violence and very little sex, and I really enjoyed reading it.

Mapman Mike