Seraph

Here’s a motorist who has opinions.

I’m guessing that there have been incidents with other drivers regarding using turn signals and adherence to traffic lights.

I dunno about the horse thing.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Gratitude Monday: No longer dancing damply with death

A week ago I was doing my laundry on Saturday when I realized that the load seemed to be taking…hours. When I looked at the minutes-remaining readout, I realized it actually was taking hours. Every time it got down to the point where the final spin should kick it, it looped back to the beginning of the wash cycle.

Consulting Google, I did what I could—the appliance version of the three fingered salute (unplugging, waiting five minutes, plugging in, restarting), but same thing.

Even when I set it to Spin Only, it jumped back to wash and started adding water.

Disconsolately I wrung out the clothes, hung them on the drying rack until they were in a state that I could toss them in the dryer. On Monday I called the appliance repair guy and he came out on Tuesday.

Understand that this machine—bought three years ago when my old, mechanical-only washer finally expired—is packed with electronics. As it is, I had to look really hard to find one that isn’t “smart”, but it’s still computerized and I was envisioning having to replace something expensive.

Well, Alan posited that the machine—like a lot of modern, agitator-free top-loaders—is very sensitive to load imbalance, and was probably trying to reset the load. I couldn’t think that what I had in that particular collection of clothes was markedly different from the hundreds of others I have run since it arrived. A few times, when I was washing mattress pads, the machine would go ballistic and I’d have to turn it off, adjust the placement and then start again. (These modern jobbers don’t have knobs you can pull out to continue where you left off.) He then had me run through a load on speed wash, just to see how it went.

Well, we chatted around the machine for about 20 minutes, and sure enough, it worked just fine. He charged me a call-out fee, and as he was leaving, he noticed a bird’s nest in my dryer vent, next to the front door. He checked for eggs—none—and then brought out a kind of mini-chimney sweep device, with long poles connecting to a drill, and cleaned out what must have been 20 years of lint from that dryer conduit.

It’s a miracle that I haven’t had a fire in the nine years I’ve been here.

Well, Saturday, I filled the washer with my colored clothes and turned the machine on. Let me tell you: then I saw it click over into the spin cycle I was filled with such gratitude. You cannot believe how wonderful it is to have a washing machine that works.

And then, when I dumped the clothes in the dryer, it was wonderful again, knowing I wasn’t risking conflagration.

Life is good.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Not a man at all

In the early days of this century, the Brits used to refer to Prime Minister Tony Blair as “Bush’s Poodle”, because he heeled perfectly in step with the American president’s war(s) in the Middle East.

These days, the occupant of the Oval Office can accurately be termed “Bibi’s Bitch”, since the Israeli PM so easily induced him to pour a coat of legitimacy on his attacks on Iran. In fact, one of the many, many “reasons” the White House has given for the war, uh, “special military operation”, is that Israel was going to attack, so we had to get in their with them.

Sigh.

So, I’ve been hearing that old Everly Brothers standard, “Cathy’s Clown” all week. Seems appropriate.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Icing

Okay—a couple more shots from Monday’s snow. I just like the way it collected on the leaves..

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Sugar dusting

We got a dusting of snow from the latest passing storm on Monday night. Not enough to stick to the pavement, but enough to create beautiful sights.

And we need beautiful sights in the first week of the latest war started by the guy who's still tossing his toys out the pram for not being awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Tree decorations

On one of my walks last week, I noticed a lot of branches and limbs down. We hadn’t had high winds, but maybe the snow and snowcrete have affected the trees.

Anyway, this particular one interested me.

With the price of mushrooms being what it is, I considered harvesting them, but I contented myself with just photographing them.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Gratitude Monday: Resilient beauty

After three weeks of a four-inch crust of snowcrete on my back yard, the thing that gave me the most joy was seeing my winter aconite peeping up from the last blanket of white.

These sturdy little stalwarts never fail to raise my spirits. They only make an appearance for a few weeks, then subside back into the clay. But, oh, what a gift they are.

 

Forget the groundhog, Spring is on its way.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Under a Greyhound bus

I’ve had the Allman Brothers’ “Ramblin' Man” in my head since Wednesday morning, when I caught the gist of the Kleptocrat’s performance at the State of the Union address Tuesday night.

Not physical “rambling”, as the Allmans intended, but mental and cognitive wandering. Which the increasingly decrepit old racist exhibited throughout, drinking in the adulation of all the Rs in the House chamber.

As Atlanta Journal-Constitution cartoonist Mike Luckovich captured so well:

So—without further ado, the Allman Brothers.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Aux barricades!

Okay—one final blizzard-related photo. Seems that the small miscreants in my neighborhood began a snow fort on the pathways in the center common.

(I’d watched my very small neighbors—probably 2 and 3 years old—with their sand pails and shovels on Tuesday; I hadn’t realized the possibilities that the pails presented for defensive works.)

Bravo, mes amis! Bravo!

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Tempus fugit

Okay—one more blizzard-related photo, this slightly bedraggled snowman:

He probably has maybe another 18 hours to live.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Aftermath

We here in the District They Call Columbia had just got to the point where you could see more ground than snowcrete by the end of last week. Then, on Sunday we got another dump of snow.

Fortunately, where I am it’s maybe an inch or two, and it’s going to melt pretty quickly, if the Lord blesses us with above-freezing temperatures.

Meanwhile—it has its pretty points.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Gratitude Monday: Saved by the bowl

I decided yesterday to make tarts for a snow day project. So I hauled out my Cuisinart to handle the pastry. (You used to be able to use “Cuisinart” to mean “any food processor”, because—back in the last century—pretty much any food processor was a Cuisinart.)

I discovered that a piece had broken off the bowl, and it turned out that that piece was what fastened the top to the bowl. A food processor won’t work if the lid isn’t locked.

I was able to get the blade to turn by manually pushing down on the top, so I was able to kludge the pastry, but I started grumbling because now I’d have to buy a new bowl, and since this particular machine dates from probably the 80s, there probably aren’t any loose bowls out in the wild so I’m going to have to buy a whole new food processor even though the motor for this one works just fine and I do not need that kind of aggravation…

But as I walked over to the computer to start that process, I looked at the shelf above my washer and dryer, where I keep a couple of excess things, and—looky what I found:

(At one time, probably in the 90s, I bought a spare bowl and lid. The lid since broke. But I kept the bowl.)

Yeah, it’s petty, but that’s my gratitude for today.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

Constabulary duty

Well, alrighty then—big interesting news out of Blighty: the Andrew formerly known as prince has been arrested “on suspicion of misconduct in office”. Thames Valley Police (TVP) yesterday announced the arrest of “a man in his sixties from Norfolk on suspicion of misconduct in public office and are carrying out searches at addresses in Berkshire and Norfolk”.

TVP holds jurisdiction for Windsor, the former residence of the former prince (who lost all his titles and his rent-free house last month and is now known as Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor), in Berkshire. Norfolk includes Sandringham, the estate owned by Charles III, the ex-Duke of York’s brother. So everyone in Briton understood who was being nicked.

The charge is believed to be related to information in the latest tranche of Epstein Files, which included emails that looked a whole lot like Mountbatten-Windsor was sending disgraced (and currently dead) financier and trafficker of minors for sex Jeffrey Epstein confidential information related to M-W’s work when he was a trade envoy for Britain.

A few years ago M-W settled a lawsuit by Virginia Roberts Giuffre, who reported that he had sexually abused her when she was 17 years old, under the auspices of Epstein and his procuress, Ghislaine Maxwell. (Maxwell is currently serving a federal sentence for some of her work with Epstein, although the Kleptocrat last year had her moved from a high security prison—in line with the crimes for which she was convicted—to a low security one, where she enjoys yoga lessons and puppy visits. Her condition for testifying before Congress is a presidential pardon. Gawd, this timeline.) The settlement was in the millions, although M-W has denied all accusations. It is believed that his mother, the late Queen, provided some to all of the money to settle, because Andrew has never had that kind of dosh.

(You will note that M-W has not been charged with anything related to sex trafficking; it's about financial malfeasance in connection with official duties. However, there's still time to add charges. Please God.)

Well—I mean, it’s exhausting just to write that much.

Charles issued a statement supporting the arrest and “the full, fair and proper process by which this issue is investigated in the appropriate manner and by the appropriate authorities.” Which is putting the best face possible on the matter, as—Lord knows, the royal family has tried to paper Andrew’s peccadillos over for decades. Pretty sure they knew he was taking backhanders from countries he was trade envoying to, and he and Fergie have not exactly been the best face of the monarchy with their feckless lifestyle in general. But email evidence, man—too much at a time when the royals are trying to justify their existence.

Anyway—I’m thinking about the police officers who passed through security at Sandringham, knocked on the ex-prince’s door, showed their warrant cards and politely intoned the British equivalent of the Miranda warning: “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

I mean—when word came down there must have been a mad scramble to be on the deputation. And on the search parties at Sandringham and Windsor. Jeez—these people will be dining out (discreetly) on this event for decades.

So here’s “The Policeman’s Song” from Gilbert & Sullivan’s The Pirates of Penzance. Every once in a while, something arises to make the daily grind worthwhile. Slapping metaphorical cuffs on someone who was for a long time third in line to the throne would qualify.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Turf war

The nearby golf course has been closed by snow since we got the big dump on 25 January. I mean—you can’t really plough the greenways, can you?

So a gang of Canadian marauders has pretty much taken over the 3^rd Hole. They’ve been there for several days and I reckon that club management are going to have a difficult time dislodging them when the snow finally completely melts.

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Doggone

Normally when I post about vanity plates, it’s a collection of them. But this vehicle was so much more than a license plate—although that’s what caught my eye at first in the library parking lot.

I mean—there was a whole theme going.

Then the driver came out while I was taking this shot:

Turns out there was a whole other bunch of dogs on the other side:

All of them have been in her life; Bodhi, Diesel and Vincent are still with her.

She also noted that the veterinarian sticker carries a universe of truth.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

New to the 'hood

Okay, it’s possible that I may have a new neighbor.

She appeared to be gathering leaves and then went through the fence to where my neighbor has a wooden deck about half a foot above the ground. I’m thinking she may be building a nest?

Now I have to figure out what opossums eat—aside from Costco tuxedo cakes.

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Gratitude Monday: going places

My current passport expires in August, which—in this fakakhta world—means it’s functionally useless, because many countries won’t accept your entry if your passport has less than half a year to go before expiry. So last month I dredged around to see what’s necessary to renew online.

It was interesting to me to discover that—as long as it essentially fits the frame—you can submit a selfie for your photo. JPG, TIF, PNG—US State Department is happy to take them all. And since all the usual suspects charge between $10-$15 for hard copies and extra for digital (??), I thought, well—I can do that for free.

I would have submitted the photo that professional photographers shot for my company badge seven years ago, but I was wearing glasses in it, and they are strenglich verboten.

I hesitated on the declaration of hair color—I mean, it’s currently pink, but it will change throughout the year to blue, green and whatever else strikes my fancy. These days, you don’t know what’s going to get you disqualified from citizenship.

Even though you put in the number of the expiring passport at the beginning of the process, they don’t auto-fill for you, so you have to go through the whole megillah, just like you’re a first-timer. That was annoying. But I got it all together, uploaded the photo, handed over $130 in Amex and hit submit.

That was 2 February and I was given a prospective turnaround date of 21 March, because processing.

Imagine my surprise, then, to open a USPS Priority Mail envelope yesterday and find this:

Yippee!

I am super grateful on many levels.

The process worked, and even delivered ahead of schedule. Way ahead.

So far, I apparently haven’t been put on any Degraded Citizenship lists. I can leave the country.

I went through all the pages—there’s no photo of that asshole in the Oval Office on any of them.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Touching grass

You may not be able to tell it from these photos, but what you’re looking at is grass. And other green growing things.

They’re emerging from the snow that’s been piled up for three and a half weeks.

So I’m celebrating today with Tom Jones singing “The Green, Green Grass of Home”.

 

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

Snowscapes

A few more vehicular artifacts from the Big Freeze of ’26—

Stalactites hanging from an SUV:

This one made me wonder if the ninja made it out of the car, because the car clearly did not make it out of the snow:

That carpet cleaning guy in front of the ninjamobile must not have a lot of business; the van was still in the snow as of yesterday.

I just was interested by the splatter pattern from snow sludge on this one:

 

©2026 Bas Bleu

 

 

Waiting for the melt

Well, here we are, two-and-a-half weeks out from the Big Dump o’ Snow we got last month, and some folks still haven’t dug their vehicles out from the roadside.

\

This guy was out yesterday morning, after I shot this, trying:

Spaces are cleared from either side of this pickup, but clearly the driver is just, “Nope, nope, nope. Not gonna.”

This one is interesting—in the cluster so really not all that much to clear. But: nope.

©2026 Bas Bleu