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July License Plate Report

July 31, 2010 - View Single Entry

Just one: Kansas. But that's a good one. The stack of states due north of Texas has been depressingly white, and now one of them is red.

I washed my own Massachusetts plates late this afternoon, along with the car they're attached to. The combination of dust, rain, and humidity took as much scrubbing as late-spring oak pollen, but now Malvina is her own golden self.

On the outside, that is. When the Miele gets back, we'll tackle the dog hair, dirt, and candy wrappers on the inside.

Fixed

July 30, 2010 - View Single Entry

Malvina Forester was filthy inside and out, so earlier this week I set about car clearing, inside first. I plugged my trusty Miele vacuum cleaner into an outside electric socket. It roared to life -- then died. I don't use "trusty" lightly, so my first thought was that I'd blown a circuit. Nope: everything in the fuse box -- yeah, I know there are no fuses in sight, but you know what I mean -- was in working order. So were the outside and hall lights. I plugged the vac into one of the bathroom sockets. It didn't work there either, but the motor did wheeze a bit when I yanked on the cord. Weird.

Service options on Martha's Vineyard are, ahem, somewhat limited, so I called Cape Cod Vacuum Mart in Orleans, from which I purchased the Miele eight or nine years ago and from whom I order bags, filters, and the rare replacement part. I described the problem, the repair guy understood immediately, and by 3 p.m. my Miele was being boxed at the UPS Store for shipment to Orleans.

Morgana V was already at M.V. Tech to have her connectivity restored, leaving a gap on my (physical) desktop where her mini-tower usually stands. Two indispensable assistants in sick bay at the same time? I confess, I was concerned. Deep in my heart I believe that once repairs are required, an entity's days are limited -- in my heart this applies to people as well as machines. Was I about to be in the market for a new vacuum cleaner and a new desktop? In the current calendar year, I've already added a car and a laptop to the household. Malvina in particular made a hash of my feeble attempts at fiscal responsibility, and Hekate pushed my Visa bill into four digits.

The real problem was that big purchases no longer seemed exotic or scary. Speedy, streamlined Hekate had me secretly lusting after new desktops -- was it time to go looking for Morgana VI? Was Morgana V mortally ill? Was I hoping that Morgana V was mortally ill?

Well, Brian called from M.V. Tech this morning to say that "we're in good shape" and my desktop was ready to come home. I picked her up this afternoon -- turns out the connectivity problem was related to a spyware infestation. After I got home, Cape Cod Vacuum Mart called to get my credit card info; the Miele was working properly again and would be shipped out via UPS this afternoon. Throw in a couple boxes of bags, said I, the big spender.

Morgana is now back in harness, which is to say that all her cords and cables are connected and I can once again print, scan, and send e-mail from the same computer. I'm discovering the joys of having two working computers in the house. Hekate can't print, Morgana can't go outside, but between the two of them . . . I've already e-mailed several files from one to the other.

True, the dog hair is getting a little deep on the floor, and Malvina's interior is still filthy, but that'll be dealt with soon. To make life even better, the beastly humidity that has made July one long sauna has broken. Turning the oven on no longer seemed like a one-way ticket to hell. I baked some pretty tasty bread today -- it's got chopped onion and walnuts and a tablespoonful of cocoa in it, along with the usual stuff. Not bad.

Pine Hill

July 24, 2010 - View Single Entry

Trav and I walk Pine Hill most mornings. We've got a couple of long circuit walks that don't include it, but most mornings it's either Halcyon Way to the footpath behind the school, across Old County Road, along the field at Misty Meadows, and home by Pine Hill. Either that or the reverse.

Pine Hill is a dirt road. One end is directly across Old County from the little parking area at Misty Meadows. The other branches off the Doctor Fisher Road in the woods near the stockade-fenced lot where Bizzarro's trucks are parked. There are houses at either end, but between the Boucks' (who enter from Old County) and Porter's (who enters from the Doctor Fisher Road) there's about a quarter mile that's overgrown, deeply rutted, and passable only by all-terrain vehicles with good clearance. Hardy Vineyarders will use almost any nasty piece of road if it saves time or avoids traffic getting from one place to another -- think Cook Street in Vineyard Haven, or the stretch of the Stoney Hill Road from the Levins' to what used to be Chicama Vineyard. Among other things, this is our way of supporting the island's mechanics. But no one drives Pine Hill between Porter's and the Boucks'.

So a week or so ago I was surprised to see a white Toyota pickup (Tundra or Tacoma? can't remember) blocking Pine Hill just where it comes out of the woods near the Boucks'. House guest, I thought at first, though they've got plenty of room closer to the house, and overflow usually parks in a little spur a few yards toward Old County. Then I noticed the cooler on the ground near the driver-side door. And the beer cans. And the smashed liquor bottle on the dirt road.

The truck was gone the next day, and I brushed it off as an aberration -- until this morning. This morning Travvy and I encountered an E-Z-Go golf cart. While verifying the styling of the name, I learned that the manufacturer now makes "street legal" vehicles, but this was not one of them. There were several empty Heineken bottles under the dash, on the floor, and in the rear cargo space, where there was also a nearly full two-liter bottle of some raspberry-red stuff. I was not tempted to drink it.

Travvy stood stock-still and glared at it, tail curled over his back. He edged closer. He wooed vigorously, challenging the intruder to wake up and give the password. This is his standard greeting for tractors, lawn mowers, and my Miele vacuum cleaner. Finally he edged by, wooing all the way, and we continued up Pine Hill. Just before we got to the Baileys' (whose official street address, like mine, is on Halcyon Way), we found a cooler sitting in the road, next to another Heineken bottle. The cooler, I surmised, had bounced out of the cargo hold, unbeknownst to the occupant(s) of the golf cart, then a little further on they had run out of either gas or nerve or, possibly, both. The number of empties suggested the possibility of enhanced nerve but diminished navigational skills, especially if all that Heineken was consumed by one person.

What that theory doesn't explain was the box turtle in the road, about halfway between the cart and the cooler. Travvy was fascinated. The turtle, wisely, gave little clue that there was anything alive under the brown and yellow shell, but I detected watchful eyes and some head action in there. I shortened Travvy's Flexi lead and we passed the turtle by.

I'd never seen either a turtle or a golf cart on Pine Hill before. Could there be a connection between one and the other? Was the turtle perhaps in hot pursuit of the cart? -- Come back with my beer, you jackrabbits! I don't know. I do know that it's already been an eventful summer on Pine Hill, and we're still a week away from the end of July.

Update, same time, next day: The cooler is gone, but the golf cart is still there. There's a gas container on the seat, nearly empty. The bottle of raspberry-red liquid is gone, as are all the Heineken bottles. The turtle is nowhere to be found.

The morning after the morning after: The golf cart is gone. The cooler, the cart, the turtle -- gone, all gone.

Travvy Done Good

July 22, 2010 - View Single Entry

This summer we've been meeting for Rally practice at the Ag Hall Thursday evenings at 6:30. Karen sets up a course in the area between the two rings, and we take turns doing the course and working on whatever we need to work on. Tonight it was Karen and Nolan, Val and Toby, Katy and Dundee (with Fergus spectating), and me and Travvy. We practiced, watched and applauded each other, got pointers from Karen, etc., and pretty soon it was time to break down the course and pack up.

I tethered Travvy to a fence post. This gives him just enough room to lie down on his green saddle pad. I leave him with a couple of treats; he keeps an eye on me while I help pick up signs and traffic cones. Earlier Karen had noticed a guy with two loose dogs in the big field on the far side of the Ag Hall. Suddenly one of the two was at the far end of the pulling ring (to one of whose fence posts Travvy was tied) and running in our direction. Trav was between him and us. Owner was way off in the distance. Uh-oh.

I got to Trav about the same time as the other dog -- large, short-haired, brown, probably part Lab -- did. Trav was on his feet, wriggle wriggle, wag wag -- not having the over-the-top reactive meltdown I was afraid of. Other dog seemed friendly, but Trav was in vulnerable position so I got between the two of them and made a big fuss about how good Travvy was. The second dog appeared on the other side of the fence, wanting to meet the big fuzzy guy. Travvy was still fine, excited but under threshold and paying attention to me as well as the other dogs. Finally the owner caught up with his dogs and called them away. I gave Travvy hot dog bits and Charlee Bears (training treats) and told him more about how wonderful he was.

Our comrades were impressed. They all know how reactive Travvy can be, and here he was in a vulnerable position and acting like a mature, self-confident, friendly dog. Yay, Travvy!

Here are two Travvy pictures from earlier this summer.

On sunny days, the shadiest place on the deck is under the table. On really hot days, of which we've had plenty lately, Trav prefers to sprawl on the linoleum at the foot of the inside stairs. He's been sleeping on the deck at night.

Here's Travvy with Mike and Leo. Mike and Leo? you ask. Mike is the green object in Travvy's mouth. Leo is the yellow one attached to it. I put treats inside them, and Trav has a good time figuring out how to get them out. Mike is named after Michelangelo. Leo is named after Leonardo da Vinci. More than that I do not know and so cannot tell. Everyone I tell this to starts chortling and saying stuff like "What were they thinking?"

Shh. That's (top to bottom) Trav, Mike, and Leo. They're great friends.

Yo, la Comtessa

July 19, 2010 - View Single Entry

Around quarter past two yesterday afternoon I parked under the trees in the dirt lot the West Tisbury library shares with the Howes House (HQ for the Up-Island Council on Aging) and who should be sitting in the adjacent pickup but Kevin Keady. Kevin, a longtime island singer-songwriter and maker of musical connections, works and lives at Pimpneymouse Farm on Chappy, so I asked what brought him way over here to West Tiz. Turned out to be the same thing that brought me to the Howes House parking lot: we were both part of "The World of Troubadours and Trobairitz: Poems, Songs, and Music." Kevin was the jongleur (juggler). I was one of the poets, the Comtessa de Dia.

Here's the comtessa. She was one of the 20 known female troubadours, who were collectively known as the trobairitz. Not much is known for sure about her life, but she flourished in the mid–twelfth century. The poem I read is a stylish, unmistakably angry missive to the lover who has dumped her, apparently for another woman.

Music was provided by Carol Loud on recorder, Deborah Forest Hart on recorders and hammer dulcimer, and Andy Wiener on hammer dulcimer, all in costume, and most spectacularly by Jessica Goodenough Heuser, a young soprano with a gorgeous, wonderfully expressive voice. She sang in Occitan, the language of the troubadours, and one of the four songs was the poem that I read, "A chantar m'es al co qu'ieu non deuria (I Must Sing of What I'd Rather Not)." Written Occitan looks like a mixture of Spanish, French, and a dash of Portuguese; hearing it sung was wonderful, and medieval!

Jessica explained that in fitting the lyrics to the music (a do-it-yourself challenge for the musicians, since the music was written all on one line; the verses appeared underneath, with no indication of what syllable went with what note), she found that most of the cansos worked in two tempo, but not the comtessa's. Her angry song worked better in three. It did indeed, though I have no idea why.

We poets read English translations, except for Joe Eldredge, who took a stab at the Occitan. He sounded pretty convincing, not that anyone apart from Jessica knew half enough to critique his pronunciation. He and Colleen Morris performed a tenso, a popular troubadour form that features two voices, usually one male and one female, in a debate or battle of wits.

The program was sponsored by the library, with Colleen the coordinator, and instigated and co-organized by Paul Levine, a retired physics professor who's become fascinated by the world of the troubadours and done a lot of research. We were all thrilled by the turnout, which filled the room and then some (taxing the air conditioning, but even taxed the Howes House was cooler than my apartment has been the last few days). Colleen wants to apply for a cultural council grant so we can do it again in a bigger venue, maybe Katharine Cornell Theatre in Vineyard Haven.