A few more rugby photos

I have some Memorial Day Weekend shots (nothing too special or Americana-ish), but before that, a few more from last week's rugby (as always, click on the photos to see larger versions)...













Poor Simmy. Injured again. If you're a long-time reader of this blog, you may remember Simmy being rather spectacularly injured in the past...


This was at a North Jersey match in October 2006. And no, I didn't mess with the colors in Photoshop. That's real blood, and it was that intense looking!

Okay, back to last week...













Okay, that's enough of that. :) If you want to see the full set from last week, they're here.

I love little things like this

I'm the kind of person who loves walking where great (or even not-so-great) people walked long ago. I love standing where George Washington was first sworn in as President (in New York City, then the capital of the United States). By the way, did you know that there's an argument to be made that he wasn't the first President of the United States?

There were Presidents under the Articles of Confederation. John Hancock, President of the Second Continental Congress, best known for his overly large signature, taunting the British, on the Declaration of Independence, saw the following salutation on correspondence from General George Washington:

To the President of the United States,

But I digress. I do love these little historical connections. In fact, the old village part of the town in which my hospital is located is over 300 years old. George Washington did, in fact, spend time there, and there are structures dating back to the 1600s.

So what was the impetus for this post? This was. I get daily book reviews from Powell's Books, and they get them from a variety of publications. I liked the review, but what I found really great was this line: The "Marseillaise" of that crusade ("The Battle Hymn of the Republic," which first appeared, as did many other important documents of the Brown-Emerson alliance, in the pages of this magazine) was an adaptation of the foot soldiers' song about Old Osawatomie Brown.

I was reading a review printed in a magazine that first printed The Battle Hymn of the Republic during the American Civil War. For me, that's a "wow" moment. Of course, the newspaper I read was around before the Civil War. Still, it feels like a connection to those days. Not that I would want to live through it, but it's still fascinating to me.

Is Shirley gone?

You may recall that we have two cats who have lived their lives in the back yard, with living quarters under the back of the house. In fact, Marc recently blogged about the mess they make around the house.

If you search this blog, you'll see cat references now and then. You can see a photo of Shirley here.

Thing is, we haven't Shirley in a week or so. She has disappeared for several days in the past, but she's getting rather old and seemed to be staying closer to home lately. She would wander a few blocks, but the disappearances seemed less frequent to me. Plus--and this is the really worrying thing--it never seemed to phase the other cat, her son (we call him Junior), in the past. But this time it's different. He has been much more vocal than usual, has seemed very upset and has been very receptive to being scratched and rubbing on our legs (unusual for him). We're trying not to anthropomorphize, but he seems like he's in mourning.

With all of this, and considering that Shirley still did some wandering of the streets, despite being half blind and almost completely deaf, we fear she may be dead. Junior may know something. I feel sorry for him. If she's dead, he may have seen her that way. I can relate to that. Seeing my parents dead is something I wish I could forget. Also, Junior and his mother have lived together for his entire life. Now he's alone, except for us (and our three dogs, two of whom make no bones about wanting him dead).

I know, I know. These are feral cats. For feral cats, they've had a good life. We can only guesstimate Shirley's age, but we know she is (or was) in double digits. We think she's somewhere around 13 years old. For a feral cat, that's a pretty good run.

Anyhow, it all makes me really sad. I guess part of it stems from Shirley having been around when both of my parents were alive, one of a line of cats with roots here back to when I was a kid; my Mom fed her every day for years. So she feels like a connection to those days. On top of it, we're the kind of people who try to catch moths and other bugs that get in the house, putting them back outside rather than killing them, if we can manage it, and I ache any time I see some animal (squirrel, raccoon, etc.) dead on the road. In other words, we're animal lovers. So this familiar little cat possibly having died really makes me sad. If she is gone, I hope the end was quick and painless. If you're gone, Shirley, rest in peace.

No time for photos tonight

No time to post rugby photos! I'll get more up soon.

Too many things to do before bed, including trying to finalize provisions for our new wills. We've talked about rewriting them for ages. With our trip to Dublin coming up soon, we suddenly feel an urge to get them done. Funny how a trip across the ocean motivates us to do such things!

About those rugby photos...

As I mentioned in my last post, we had a rugby match in Danbury. Since I know you all really love the photos of the pretty boys, I'll start with that...


Isn't he pretty?




Good hit. The guy is clean off his feet!






Eric took quite a hit. I couldn't get a shot of him before he was cleaned up a bit, but he was covered in blood. His nose wasn't broken, but it was bleeding a lot!

Of course, his teammates couldn't resist. There were comments along the lines of, "you're supposed to leave the string hanging out!"










The end of the first match

Okay, we'll hold it there for now.

Rugby today

If anyone will be near Danbury, Connecticut, this afternoon, the fields at the Mill Ridge Primary School will become rugby pitches for today. In the meantime, I will share some photos from the tournament last week in Lido Beach.




Time with Marc and me regularly includes hearing one of us say, "look at him!" After all, looking is free! :)

















The above photo is of Eric. He's a member of our team, and he's an all-around nice guy. Aside from that, he did something that really made me admire him. For more, go here.


Bug, the dog of one of the players


Bug and the boys playing between matches









For the full set of photos, go here.

Mother's Day

This article reminds me of a bit of family history. Why? Because my Dad didn't like any of the "Hallmark Holidays," those events that were driven mostly by American corporate greed and sold to us as obligations to people we love (Mother's Day, Father's Day, etc.). My Dad wished his mother a happy mother's day on his birthday every year. He felt that that had some meaning, while the "official" day was artificial.

But he always observed the official Mother's Day when it came to my Mom. I never questioned why. I guess I figured he was going along with me and my brothers. Little did I know that there was a family secret lurking there. I don't know if I ever shared this story on here, and now seems a fitting time.

My parents' anniversary was August 28th. I knew it by heart.

When my Dad died, in the middle of the night, the way such things often happen, I rushed over to be at my Mom's side. I was with my brothers and some other family members, and we were trying to comfort my Mom, as she had just lost the love of her life and was truly devastated.

We were talking about all of the wonderful years. Among other things, we talked about their nearly 43 years of marriage. "Next month," my Mom said. Now, this was April, and you will recall that I said they were married in August. So I, figuring Mom was overwrought and a bit lost, said, "well, not next month, Mom, but soon." And she repeated that the following month would mark 43 years.

Now, someone with a bit more diplomatic sense would have shut up, but I guess I lacked that. Besides, this was getting weird and baffling. Mom couldn't have been that confused. As it happens, she wasn't confused at all.

I said, "Mom, it's April. Your anniversary is August 28th." She shook her head, no. "May 26th."

May 26th? What?

A little background: my Dad was from a relatively well-off family. Not wealthy, but really living the American dream. My grandfather had come over on a boat from Europe, worked his butt off, and they were living a very nice life. My Mom, on the other hand, was from a poor family. They were living in tenement housing on the lower east side of Manhattan. Her father also worked his butt off, but they didn't have much.

My Mom and Dad met and fell in love. My Dad's parents did not approve. They had another girl in mind. Someone from the right kind of family. But my Dad had no intention of going along. He loved my Mom, and nothing was going to stop them. Little did I know the lengths they'd gone to in order to make sure they wouldn't be stopped.

What I learned on that terrible day 10 years ago is that my parents had eloped. I also learned that it had remained a secret for 43 years. "Don't tell Nan," my Mom said. Nan was my paternal grandmother. She had the misfortune of outliving my Dad, and my Mom said there was no point in her knowing. It would just upset her more. That probably was right, so I kept it to myself.

After my Mom died, when I went through her papers, I found both Ketubahs (the Ketubah is the Jewish marriage license). Apparently, if my Dad had been pushed into a corner by my grandparents, he was going to tell them it was too late. They already were married.

This also explained a couple of things. As my Mom asked me that morning, "Didn't you ever wonder why Dad always gave me such nice Mother's Day gifts?" Hmmm.

It also clicked with something else. When I was graduated from college, the day was May 26th. I remember my Mom saying something about May 26th being a great day or words to that effect. When I asked what she meant by that, she changed the subject. I finally had the explanation!

This was one of the most romantic stories I had heard. They had eloped but kept it secret for all those years, making sure that nothing would stand in the way of their love!

Happy Mother's Day, Mom! I miss you!

More rugby photos

Tomorrow, we have a rugby tournament (so I'll have photos to share next week). And tonight, I am going to be a judge at LIGALY's Out Idol competition. Marc normally goes, too, but he has a business function tonight. So I am flying solo.

Before I go, I have time for a quick post, so I will share more rugby photos from last week...








A handsome spectator












That can't be comfy!




This guy was huge. Way over six feet and had to be 250 pounds or more (and he was quite solid).

If you want to see all of the photos, the full set is here. Enjoy!

For once, W is right

This is a fiscally irresponsible political stunt, and it should be vetoed by the President. When we bought our first house and this one, we kept our financing within what we could reasonably afford.

During the heyday of the no-money-down loans, the interest-only loans, the no-income-verification loans and the rest of the mortgage scams of a few years ago, plenty of us recognized that they were greed-inspired foolishness. So now that mortgage companies are going under and people in much bigger houses than they could truly afford are losing those houses, the rest of us should bail them out with our taxes? No, I don't think so!

I live within my means. If you bit off more than you could chew, that's not for me to fix. We are big supporters of charity and assistance to those in need, but I'm not for rewarding people who were stupid, short-sighted and greedy.

If you make $40,000 a year, then no, you never should have bought a $750,000 house. Can't afford the payments now? Too bad! That's not my problem. The foreclosure goes forward, and, since you have no equity in the thing, you move on. That's life. Don't expect the rest of us to fix your mess!