Is your money that good?

Watching the House impeachment managers’ making their case against the twice-impeached ex-president this week, I’ve had a hard time restraining myself from driving into DC and bitch slapping every damned R senator. I mean—how they can view footage of them missing by seconds being caught by a rampaging mob that wouldn’t have cared whose blood they shed barely a month ago in the very Capitol in which they are sat right now and stick to their pre-determined acquittal vote is just beyond me.

A bigger pack of jellyweases—morals of a weasel on the spine of a jellyfish—you would be hard-pressed to find anywhere on the planet.

So when I went fishing for something musical to express my contempt for these empty husks of humanoids, the piece that came to mind was Bob Dylan’s “Masters of War.” He wrote it about the military-industrial complex (which still exists today—yay!) of the Vietnam War era, but his description of the slimy, cowardly, bloated fat cats living off the taxpayers’ dollars and blood certainly applies to the likes of Lindsey Graham, Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz, John Kennedy, Mitch McConnell, Josh Hawley, Rand Paul, Rick Scott and all the rest of them.

I’m giving you Eddie Vetter singing it at the 30^th Anniversary Tribute concert for Dylan. That rage-howling you hear in the background is me.

 

 

Waddling on water

Yes, it was cold on Monday. How cold? Parts of the ponds at the corporate HQ behind me froze, and ducks and geese looked like they were walking across the surface.

Naturally, I have evidence:

 

 

Frozen

When I went out on Monday morning, it was quite cold. Temps probably in the 20s. This means that what yesterday were just puddles had been a form of ice sculpture.

Now, getting used to this new camera phone, and the glare on the screen meant that some of my shots were crap shoots as to what was actually in the frame:

And I'm really sorry I messed up on these, because this frozen puddle had an Art Deco vibe to it.

But others were just gorgeous to me:

Even the melting ice on my plastic patio table had its moment of glory:

Don’t get me wrong—I’m ready for it to warm up. But I’m glad I got to see the water this way.

 

 

 

Game over

On my morning walk yesterday, I came across my neighbor’s recycling bin:

I’m guessing this was Super Bowl related.

 

 

Gratitude Monday: Snow in the morning

We got another snow dump here in the District They Call Columbia yesterday morning. By noon it had pretty much turned to rain, but while it was still white, I got a few shows with my new smartphone camera.

Clearly I have a lot to learn about using this one, but still—I’m grateful for all the beauty around me, as well as for a warm, dry place to shelter.

 

 

 

A' wede away

It’s been a week for sorrow. The ashes of USCP officer Brian D. Sicknick lay in honor in the Capitol rotunda he died to protect from insurrectionists last month. Following a service attended by his comrades and members of Congress, he was laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery. Sicknick suffered fatal injuries when the Trumpists beat him with a fire extinguisher on 6 January.

Also this week an Idaho National Guard Blackhawk crashed, killing three men, who were known to one of my colleagues. As their commanding officer said, the Guard’s aviation unit is a tight-knit community, and the loss has been very, very hard.

I’m feeling the need to lament, and you know who really does laments? The Scots. “Flowers of the Forest” is one that has always managed to start the tears flowing for me, so that’s what we’re having.

The folk song commemorates the Scottish defeat to the English at Flodden in 1513. As a bagpipe piece, it is so thoroughly connected to the loss of life that some pipers will only play it publicly at funerals or memorial services. I’ve seen it associated in particular with military funerals, which seems apt.

This instance is not technically a funeral, but close enough: it’s being played at the nightly Last Post ceremony at Menin Gate, Ypres, Belgium, which commemorates the British and Commonwealth soldiers who died in and around Flanders during the First World War. Except for the period of German occupation, Belgian and British officials have conducted the ceremony every night at 2000 since 1928.

Rest in peace, Officer Sicknick, CWO Jesse Anderson, CWO George Laubhan and CWO Matthew Peltzer.

 

Ducky

 A while ago I was walking through the ‘hood and caught something off to the side.

This is an enclosure that the townhouses have in the front to hide the AC condenser and your trash bins. Don’t want that sort of thing lowering property values.

Anyhow, someone has an imagination and a drole sense of humor.

 

 

Uninvited guest

Well, the party’s over.

A squirrel showed up on Monday. And then back again yesterday. Only the one, though, so that’s not too bad. (I also had a swarm of robins, but I was in the middle of a call and couldn’t move to get a photo.)

Here his is, noshing his way through the snow.

Clearly communicating

Saturday, I had to mail a package to Canada. Since the USPS self-service kiosks won’t let you mail international parcels, I had to go into the main post office in the People’s Republic during working hours.

As I was waiting in line, I noticed the big, splashy electric banners over the service windows, the ones that let you know all the cool things the USPS can do for you:

Um…

 

Gratitude Monday: snow peace

Big snow storm came through the District They Call Columbia yesterday; supposed to be a nasty day today on account of melting and freezing. I’m grateful I don’t have to commute in it.

But it certainly was beautiful, if you didn’t have to drive anywhere. Kids in the ‘hood went sledding—or, I guess, technically, more like sliding—down the slope in the back, and folks were out with their dogs in the corporate campus beyond. (I saw one dog that I swear looked like a coyote, but since it was obviously fetching something for a human, I guess I was wrong.)

In my own back yard, I had visitors all day. At times, more than 25 at a whack, and all getting along. I must have fed them a couple of pounds of seed throughout the daylight. Some of them were picking up supper up until 1730.

And you know what? Not one single squirrel, all day long.

So, that’s what I’m grateful for today: a feast for birds without greedy Scuridae.