How 'bout them refs?

We're sitting here watching the Belgian coverage of Mexico-Argentina, and the half-time analysts are about to come to blows over the use of instant replay. The discussion was provoked by Argentina's first goal, scored by a player who was clearly offside. The only thing that kept the analysts from each other's throats was the commercial break.

Thumpelina

Some of you have heard me complain about my wandering washing machine. I had the appliance guy out three times to "fix" it; the last time he said there was nothing more he could do. He even went so far as to imply that it was my fault because I was putting too much laundry in it.

Yesterday I washed two bath towels, two washcloths, a hand towel, and a bath mat in one load. The machine was pretty much full. It usually stands against the wall where the hoses are attached. This is where it ended up after 51 minutes (that's on rapid) of vigorous washing and rinsing and spinning. It stopped walking only because it ran up against the laundry baskets against the wall.

Thumpelina goes back to the Army in a few weeks. She'll go to another home, where another somebody will develop the same love/hate relationship with her. I will go back to my gigondo US washer where I can wash a set of queen-sized sheets and towels for two in one load. In 20 minutes, no less!

We're back in Belgium

What? You say you didn't know we were gone? That would be because we forgot to tell anyone. But you can check out the photos here.

Belgian lumberjacks

In Europe they have domesticated the forests. Whereas we're still largely hunter-gatherers, chopping down wild free-roaming herds of tree, the Europeans raise them in pastures. For 3 years we've had one of these domesticated tree flocks across the street from our house. It's a lovely copse of poplars, and we've enjoyed hearing the wind in the leaves and seeing the sun rise through the trees.We got home yesterday to discover that they had started logging it. It is a crop after all, but we had hoped it wouldn't go to the slaughterhouse while we were still here. Our landlord had announced that he was trying to buy the lot and log it off to make a "prairie." (He seems to hate trees. He cut down the big oak under which we dined in nice weather.) So we don't know if it's him doing it or the original owners, but either way our woods are going.
In a sense, it's making it easier to leave. Everything seems to be changing, so we're going back to where things never change: suburban America.

I took this shot at 10:27 PM tonight. It's going to be hard to return to the southern latitudes.

Three degrees of preparation

The bachelor's hood seems to be a recent addition to academic regalia. Rita and I were both like, "Hey, we didn't git wun of dem when we grajiated!" For Sarah's commencement our girls organized a family academic procession: left to right, Rachel, master's from Ohio University; Sarah, bachelor's from Randolph-Macon College; and Becky, master's from the University of Texas. Becky and Sarah received their degrees 8 days apart. Rachel is an old master.

Driving Us Cuckoo

The cuckoos are back.

They call in the morning. They call during the day. They call at night. On and on and on.

Wouldn't you think they'd get just a little tired?

Truth be told, though, hearing the cuckoos is one thing I'll miss when we move back to suburbia next month.

Parents of young children, beware!

When you raise your children on rock and roll, this is the result. Photo taken by Uncle Mickey at Rachel and Stephan's wedding reception, the swingingest party this reporter has ever had the privilege to attend. With apologies to John Wesley, may they always sing their love lustily and with a good courage.