Auld lang syne

For the last Friday of 2022, as we head into Year 2 of the Russo-Ukrainian war, Year 4 of the COVID pandemic and Year 51 of Republican fuckery, I think today’s earworm ought to be something that celebrates everyone who’s made it through whatever it is that needed to be got through.

So, Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing”.

Be safe and Happy New Year to all who celebrate.

 

 

On the road again

Well, it’s been a while since we’ve had car vanity plates, so cast thine orbs upon these:

I'm assuming a Harry Potter fan (or maybe just a player):

Maybe ommmmm balances out this one:

Do not know what this means, but it's parked at the lot next to the W&OD trail right much:

 

 

Frozen

I may have mentioned the chilly weather we’ve recently had around the District They Call Columbia. Compared to what much of the country is suffering, I am not in any way complaining; just noting that 8°F makes for quite the brisk morning walk. Yesterday it was a positively balmy 27°F and I eschewed the scarf wrapped around my ears.

Do I know how to live on the edge, or what?

My backyard ground-feeding birds are going through the seed at a rate of knots. I toss out a couple of fistfuls about every hour when I’m home during the day. And they really appreciate the heated birdbath. It doesn’t make the water warm; it just keeps it from freezing, which means the birds can drink it. I’ve seen way more of them bellying up to the bar in the past few days, probably because their usual sources of water are frozen solid.

(I have to refill the birdbath once a day, they're drinking so much.)

I keep thinking of the line from “In the Bleak Midwinter”: “Earth was hard as iron, water like a stone.” That’s pretty much where we are.

Well, but the frozen puddles that have driven the birds to my back yard are still beautiful, which is the point of today’s post. Viz:

 

On the ponds, only the water near the fountains is still liquid; that doesn't help the birds, though.

Sleep with the fishes no more

I was really startled the week before Christmas to hear that the AquaDom in Berlin had ruptured and that hundreds of the fish it housed were dead. The aquarium was in the Radisson Blu hotel, and when I booked there in 2018 I chose a room that faced it rather than one overlooking the street.

Ordinarily I prefer a view of street life, as long as I’m insulated from the noise, but I thought the aquarium was something unique; it was. It was a bit weird to open the drapes and watch fish swimming at eye level just a few meters away.

Occasionally I also caught housekeeping cleaning the interior walls.

It was actually a tourist attraction—the tank surrounded a glass elevator and people lined up in the hotel lobby to go up and be surrounded by exotic fish.

At night they turned the lights down to give the fish a rest.

Well, I don’t know whether they’ll rebuild the AquaDom, or what the Radisson will do with the otherwise cavernous atrium—it’ll take some time to repair the damage done by tens of thousands of gallons of salt water flooding the place. It’s a grace that the rupture (cause still undetermined, though under investigation) occurred early in the morning, and that only two people were injured.

But I’m glad I had the opportunity to sleep with the fishes for a few nights.

 

 

 

Gratitude Monday: this [blessed] year

Whoa—last Gratitude Monday of 2022. “Thank God it’s over” seems kind of contrary to the spirit of the day. But I suspect we all are feeling some of that.

Maybe “I’m grateful that we survived another year of pandemic, political upheaval, climate-induced ‘natural’ disasters, man-made calamities, economic variables, emotional ups and downs, and medical bills” is more to the point.

Because so many did not and I am cognizant of that.

The past two days we have had single-digit (Fahrenheit) temperatures in the People’s Republic, and I am so grateful that I have warm clothes and central heat. That the power has stayed on and the refrigerator is full.

I’m grateful that I don’t have to choose between paying the electric bill or buying groceries.

I’m grateful that I have a heated birdbath—my birds seem extra thirsty, perhaps because their other sources of water have frozen solid.

I’m grateful that I have access to excellent medical care and that—because of my employer-subsidized health insurance—I’m not in immediate danger of medical bankruptcy.

I’m grateful it never occurred to me to invest in cryptocurrency. Or NFTs. I mean—whatever the hell?

I’m grateful for the work that non-profits and institutions I support do to improve the world we live in. Alice’s Kids, Texas Tribune, WITF, Islands Feral Cat Project, WRRAP, The Jewish Federation, Celebrate Mercy, World Central Kitchen, Bennett College, San Gabriel Valley Humane Society, Mother Jones, ACLU, EveryLibrary Institute and others that I disremember at the moment. (There were some GoFundMes here and there.) And I’m grateful that I could contribute to them.

I’m grateful for the friends who put up with a lot from me and I’m grateful to be their friend.

I’m grateful to face another year in hope of dealing with its vagaries—with help from my friends—and perhaps doing something to make this sad old world a better place.

 

 

Peace on earth

It’s my custom to close out Advent with “Hallelujah” from Messiah, but this year I’m just not feeling it. So we’re having “Dona Nobis Pacem”, performed by the Virtual Choir of West Michigan in a recording two years ago.

May all the world receive peace into their hearts and act on it.