Ummagumma

Not quite half a "mess" of persimmons that will soon be bread. Jennifer doesn't always have the time for it, but she enjoys cooking and baking. We are fortunate to have several persimmon trees on our property and in recent weeks they have become heavy-laden with ripe fruit. A heavy rain or wind is enough to knock many off the trees. You just have to go around and gather them near the base of the tree. Often, however, the ripe fruit is so soft that it more or less explodes upon impact with the ground, becoming rather messy with sticks and leaves sticking to the juicy innards . This makes for more work in cleaning it all up so you can make bread (among other things) out of the fruit. The optimum method for gathering persimmons is to take a few old bed sheets out with you and spread them out around the base of the tree, covering the persimmons that have already fallen. The sheets serve to cushion the fall of the fruit remaining on the tree so fewer of them burst open upon

A few weeks ago I wrote a post praising President Obama's handling of Iran's potential nuclear enrichment program with clever geopolitical finesse (see September 26 post). At the time, my view was that Obama had offered some degree of appeasement to the Russians in the form of withdrawing plans for a ballistic missile defense system in Poland and the Czech Republic in exchange for Russia's agreement to help pressure Iran on its rather defiant nuclear posturing . Seems I was wrong. For years, I have read George Friedman's work in STRATFOR , an online publication. Friedman has a great deal of expertise in foreign affairs and often gives me insights I had not considered. An great example of this is in an email he sent out to prospective subscribers teasing us with an article he had just completed entitled "Russia, Iran, and the Biden Speech." Last week Vice-President Biden was touring Central Europe , directly challenging Russia in a series of highly publicize

The Old North Church still towers against the contemporary skyline of Boston. This is the view from the docks at Charlestown across the Charles River . Note: This is the final essay of a three-part travelogue on our recent vacation to the Boston area. We slept later the next morning but were up in time to watch large snow flakes falling outside mixed with light rain. It had rained more heavily during the night and the ground was soaked, not frozen. The snow didn’t last and certainly didn’t qualify as snow at all by New England standards. Our breakfast at the North Bridge Inn featured French toast and sausage with plentiful coffee and juices, cranberry muffins and other homemade breads. All prepared right there in the house’s standard sized kitchen. By the time we had packed up the rain had stopped. This was fortunate as we had to tow our roll-on luggage and book packs several blocks back to the Concord commuter rail station. We managed to board the train back to Boston and take the su

The Old North Bridge near Concord looking from the Continental side toward the British side. Note: This is part two of a three part travelogue on our recent vacation to the Boston area. We got up about 6am the next morning in order to negotiate Boston’s subway system over to the separate commuter rail network and out to Concord by 9am. We caught an egg muffin from Dunkin Donuts, wirelessly checking emails at the central commuter rail station feeding trains in and out of townships many miles outside Boston. A 6 or 7 block walk from the Concord rail station got us to the North Bridge Inn , our bed and breakfast for the night. We stowed our modest luggage and headed out for Walden Pond. The sky was completely overcast. Along the way we saw something I never thought I’d see in Concord . The remains of a summer cotton field. At Walden Pond we entered the visitor’s center just to warm our faces a bit. It was cool and breezy outside, without sun. It chilled you while walking the mile o

The Washington Monument in Boston Common Note: This is the first of a series of three posts regarding our vacation to the Boston area. Jennifer and I recently returned from a four day vacation to Boston and Concord, Massachusetts. It was our second trip to the area. Way back in 2000, she attended a business seminar up there and I tagged along for the ride. While she spent most of her time in meetings I scouted out the environs, venturing as far westward as Concord to visit Walden Pond and Henry David Thoreau’s grave. She didn ’t get to make the trek outside the city but I knew she would just love the atmosphere of Concord. So, this year we went back. And this time it was all pleasure. Unlike our Alaska trip last year (see July 2008 entries), I was more actively engaged in the planning of this trip. But, our best laid plans were affected by the weather forecasts. Rain was predicted for the last full day of our trip, forcing us to rearrange our schedule, making things less relaxed than t

Surprising, almost shocking news, today. Obama wins the Nobel Peace Prize . All sorts of opinion about this . Some say he deserves it but now he must earn it . Some think it's absurd . Obama himself wants to accept it " on behalf of aspirations." I think there's a chance the prize ( the only one of all the Nobel prizes to be given by Norway, all others by Sweden ) is a bold attempt to keep Obama from necessarily (in my opinion) escalating the war in Afghanistan . To keep him from committing 40,000 more US troops to the troubled region . Maybe I'm being too cynical or shallow. But, it's almost a bribe or a dogie treat. Down boy. The strange thing about it is that I work and interact with many bright people who take an interest in the news and today not one single person talked to me or emailed me about the award to Obama. This rather unprecedented historical honor, right or wrongly given, doesn't merit any discussion, not even a simple utterance of ackn

I am enjoying a couple of new classical CDs that I received last week. Recently, I have been reviewing Anton Bruckner’s symphonies. Though Bruckner’s body of orchestral work is certainly not of the same caliber as, say, Gustav Mahler , there are many fine moments in his symphonies. Back in 1971 the great conductor Herbert von Karajan recorded what many believe to be a definitive performance of Bruckner’s Seventh by the Berlin Philharmonic . This classic recording was remastered in 1996 and makes a great addition to my classical collection. The third movement Scherzo of Bruckner’s Seventh is definitely the highlight of the work. It makes ample use of the string section in a powerfully constructed, recurring theme, kind of a march. Despite being remastered, the recording quality of the CD is noticeably “thinner” than more recent digital recordings. Giving the volume a nudge helps but the depth of the bass just isn ’t where it should be. Nevertheless, this is – by many accounts - a

Yesterday a family reunion on my mother’s side offered a great southern banquet (but no fried chicken!? - a sign of the times) which served as a nice change of pace from the usual schedule of buying groceries, yard work, house cleaning, and laundry. I only see most of that part of the family once a year – just frequently enough to get a few people’s names mixed up. Topics of discussion at these things stay fairly benign, generally limited to how mockingbirds are bad to eat your tomatoes, an update on the latest aliments various distant family members are dealing with, trips taken over the past year, how’s work or retirement going, showing off photographs, etc. Randall (who I had initially mistaken for Gary) and I had what was for me the most substantive conversation of the gathering when he brought up the fact that five of his friends had fairly recently been diagnosed with various forms of cancer. A physician had recently confided to him that he had never practiced in a place where th

Tonight I ate a tomato sandwich for dinner. It was three slices of a large juicy one placed in just the right amount (too much) of mayonnaise resting in two wheat-grained slices of bread with a large glass of milk. There is little better than that first bite of a tomato sandwich in summer. After desiring one for weeks in late-spring, summer brings that foray into simple southern cuisine quintessence. The ultimate tomato experience. Then, over the next weeks, you eat a lot of tomatoes . A lot of them. And the sandwich itself becomes a dull commodity. Only Time makes it precious again.