Unhappy Cat

I was trying to take some photos of the cats and dogs with a Christmas hat on so I could add to Christmas cards this year. Murphy did not like the idea and kept insisting he was a Halloween Cat rather than a Christmas cat.

On this holiday, please take just a moment...

to remember... those who gave their lives, those who served, and those still serving today...

The White House Commission on Remembrance (website at http://www.remember.gov/ ) is an independent government agency whose missions include:

• Promoting the spirit of unity and remembrance through observance of The National Moment of Remembrance at 3 PM local time on Memorial Day
• Ensuring the nation remembers the sacrifices of America's fallen from the Revolutionary War to the present
• Recognizing those who served and those who continue to serve our great nation and reminding all Americans of their common heritage

Source of image: a t-shirt for sale and hopefully I won't be sued for copyright infringement for using it… but I couldn't resist, it's such a neat graphic.

And now, a shameless plug for a past post on The Veterans in My Family. That post includes links to other posts on some of the veterans that I've written about.

Wordles Wednesday

No, that isn't a typo. And no, don't worry, this won't be a feature every Wednesday ;-)

Last week when footnoteMaven passed around the Wordle virus to the genea-blogosphere with her post Let Me Get A Wordle In Edgewise, I didn't have time to play. She did a follow-up with Do Not! I Repeat - DO NOT - Read This Post! With links to other genea-Wordles and some other fun stuff.

In school, and the Navy, I was nearly the last in line for everything (surname Wiseman, right). And have a tendency to be a bit late for meetings and appointments. Not on purpose, though it might seem so. Anyway, as the saying goes "Better Late Than Never" here are my contributions to the genea-Wordle-world. One is for the surnames in my Mom's lines, and the other is for my Dad's lines. The size of the name is dependent upon how many ancestors have been entered in my database with that name. As always, click on the images to see a larger version.

Cars

Cars have always been a big part of my father's life. He once bought a house- one half of a duplex with 9 garages. You can still see them on the alley - between Van Ness and Upton Streets. He can tell you about every car he has ever owned starting with the Model T Ford he bought on the sly with the money he earned from picking up golf balls and selling papers. His father thought he was too young to have a car, but that didn’t stop my dad. He lied about his age, forged his father’s name, and got a permit when he was only fifteen. Then his friend, Fred Brown had to hide the car at his house until it was too late for my Papou to stop the deal.

Before he had his own car, my Dad would steal my Papou's car- a maroon Chevrolet with black fenders. Papou kept it in a garage about a block away. Dad swiped the keys to both the garage and the car. He never put gas in it, and Papou never figured out why the car got such bad mileage. He even took it back to the dealer to complain. Later on, my brother would follow unwittingly in his shoes. Not knowing of Dad’s escapades, he’d climb down the tree outside his bedroom window on Davenport Street and “borrow” the car at night. The difference between father and son here was that my brother got caught . Our dad checked the mileage.
My brother’s only recourse was to buy his own car with the money he made from a temp job at the post office. He got a 1939 Buick, shaped like a torpedo. What little paint it had was blue. There was an antenna in the middle of the windshield. No brakes, no insurance, and once again, a forbidden purchase. He’d park it about a block away and walk home. He didn’t get caught until about 9 months later when Dad found a traffic ticket in his wallet.

Anyway after the Model T, my dad upgraded to a 1927 Chevrolet-2 door coupe convertible and from then on it was convertibles all the way. He wanted to modify the Chevy so he went up to the Friendship depot and got a straw bench from a retired streetcar. Then he cut the trunk lid, reversed the hinges, and made his own rumble seat. The next car was a 1932 Desoto with black fenders. He bought that one from a chef from Altoona who was working for Papou at Macomb Cafeteria.

Just before WWII, he got a brand new 1940 Hudson V8 with back windows that buttoned in when the top was down. That was it for new cars for a while. The factories stopped making cars and started making war machines. Those were dark days for my father. During the war, he pre-ordered four cars- and as they started rolling off the assembly line he was right there. The first was a 1947 green convertible Studebaker which he sold when the green convertible Buick came in. Next was the maroon Town and Country Chrysler which he totally loved until the emerald green Cadillac showed up. From then on, it was Cadillacs right on up to the seventies when Cadillac stopped making convertibles. Even then my cousin, Peter Sclavounos, managed to find him a custom made red Eldorado- which turned out to be the last stallion in line, and Dad’s personal favorite with its chrome spoke wheels and big white side walls. But Dad eventually got the fever for a new car again- and it had to be a convertible. That’s when my all American Dad converted to BMW, and it was somewhere around then that he got the bright idea of buying my mother “her car” for their anniversary. My mother didn't learn to drive until her late twenties, and she doesn’t particularly enjoy it, but she wanted her freedom. She avoids the Beltway at all cost, although I have to say she’s a little bit of a lead foot for a supposedly timid driver. She drives to get there, and she does just that. She’s always hated the top down for the unspeakable things that happen to her hair, but she’s always driven a convertible because that’s what Dad loves, and Mom has always "gone along with the program". Even now-just this year- for their 71st anniversary, Dad went out and bought her a bright red Toyota Salera convertible. My mother was totally gracious about it, too. She said she liked the color. And just like when he was a kid, Dad got away with it.

Adventures with Twine

The most typical use of twine on a bicycle, is to secure the inner edges of handlebar tape. Normally, bar tape is secured with black electrical tape and left as is, but I find that this looks unfinished. With twine, the handlebars will look more appealing and the tape will be more securely attached.

I use cooking twine, which is softer to the touch than industrial twine. It is white in its untreated state and turns caramel-brown when amber shellac is applied.

After wrapping your bar tape and securing the inner edges with electrical tape, the twining can begin.

First apply a layer of clear double-sided tape over the electrical tape.

Cut a half-armlength of twine.

Apply the twine over the double-sided tape by simply wrapping it around the handlebar and placing it down neatly onto the sticky surface of the tape. There should be no gaps and no overlap.

When the surface of the double-sided tape is covered with twine, cut the remainder off. There is no need to secure the twine, since it is stuck to the double-sided tape. This will provide a good temporary hold until shellac is applied.

Using a paintbrush or a sponge brush, cover the twined area with amber shellac following the same principles described here.

After three layers of shellac, the twine should feel completely solid and have a deep amber colour to it, at which point the project is finished. Your bar tape will be more secure than ever and will look great.

If you've finished twining your bars and still crave more, do not despair: There are lots of other places on a bicycle where twine can be used. I twined the chrome connector piece between the rack and the rear stays on my Pashley, because I was not satisfied with how the expanse of chrome stood out in an otherwise green and black colour-scheme. The dark amber twine softened that area up, and integrated it nicely with the wicker basket, brown leather saddle, and handlebar grips.

Here is a close-up of the twined rack connector. I thought that this was a failry subtle detail, but to my surprise, several people commented on it while examining my bicycle.

My most daring use of twine thus far, has been the twining of my Shimano Nexus shifter. My reasons for doing this were two-fold: I thought that the big rubber shifter was too modern for the aesthetic of the Pashley's handlebars, and I also found it unpleasant to the touch, especially in the sumemr heat. Covered with shellacked twine, the shifter blends in better and is more comfortable for me to use, as the twine provides a better grip than the rubber. There was some concern regarding whether the twine would adhere well to the rubber, but this was not an issue; just wrap it tightly prior to shellacking.

Of course, once you do this to your shifter, there is no going back: the shellac will disfigure the rubber if you ever decide to remove the twine and you will need to buy a new one. Twine at your own risk!

For more twining ideas, Rivendell has some nice pictures and instructions, as well as hemp twine for sale. Also have a look at this marvelous twined water-bottle pictured on The Epicurean Cyclist.

Alpine Strawberry

A 'White Delight' alpine strawberry flower in the vegetable gardens of The French Laundry.

The Round House

It is no small task to describe the entity that is "Camberville" - that serpentine Somerville-Cambridge city line with its mazes of pocket neighbourhoods, unkempt grapevines, mysterious alleys lined with crumpling garages, and grandiose structures tucked away on sleepy side streets. Wandering through a neighbourhood you think you know, it is not unusual to encounter something wholly unexpected - perhaps a sidewalk treehouse, an enchanted forest, a small castle, or a warehouse-sized artisan incubator.






Very possibly I have cycled past the Round House before without taking much notice. The once-grand structure is not difficult to miss, now only a shadow of its former self. A lusciously overgrown garden torn out some years ago, a grass lot and chainlink fence now surround its bare walls, stripped of trim and embellishment. A thicket of condominiums stands in what was once an open space, blocking the house from view in certain directions.






But on this ghostly-quiet afternoon, I noticed it straight away. It was one of those humid days when the air stands still and the scent of flowers is sickly sweet. The weekend's explosion of lilacs was making me lightheaded. I cycled up a steep hill, and as I turned the corner onto a tiny one-way street the house appeared like a hallucination -backlit by the waning sun and tilting slightly to the left.






Stopping to have a look, I was distracted by the prominent signs discouraging trespassing. They struck me as so insincere as to almost be playful.





I was intrigued further by the curious discrepancy between the siding - which appeared newly installed - and the foundation, which seemed on the verge of collapse.






And then there was the bulging wall.






Strange to think that a Victorian-era locksmith is responsible for this cylindrical wonder. Inspired by the idea of octagonal houses floating around at the time, Somerville resident Enoch Robinson decided to take things one step further and build a round house. Constructed in 1856, the 3-story single family residence housed generations of Robinson's family.






It is not clear why the Round House was vacated and stood empty for so long. But by the 1980s it had its windowsand ornamentation removed, had suffered water damage and faced serious structural problems. There was talk of tearing it down, which, predictably, riled up residents who saw it as a landmark of historical value. Thankfully, it never came to that. Several years ago, the house was purchased by a developer with experience in historical preservation. He plans to restore the house and place it on the market as a single family home.






The Round House was created on a whim, to satisfy a personal interest - possibly an obsession, judging by the limited information I found on its creator. Yet by virtue of existing in a publicly visible and visitable space, it is also a communal resource, and will continue to be as ownership changes hands. How will the new residents feel about that, I wondered, eying the awkward battlements that surround the top story. I hope they plant a nice garden. Maybe some lilacs, dogwood and pines, against that stark beige facade.