Looks like home

Ah, we're back!

And boy, is the sun bright in my new eyes -- even with regular shades under those horrid wraparounds that are supposed to screen out everything but arc welders.

Even so, we're pruning some overgrowth, setting up the new computers on their wi-fi network, getting ready to have some friends over for drinks -- though you'll have to wait a while for pictures: I still haven't gotten the hang of farsighted photography.

What I have gotten the hang of is stars, really clear to me for the first time in a few decades. Orion was magnificent this morning, even with a three-quarters moon. How sweet to see it all again.

One-eyed Jack on the mend

Thanks to:

-- Robert, seen here at my bedside, I'm getting excellent nursing care. We went to a great little Greek restaurant in Tarpon Springs to celebrate Eye One with a bottle of the Pelopponese version of cabernet.

-- The terrific staff at the eye institute, I didn't require more than a quart of sedatives.

-- Our friend Gene's Ray-Bans, which he left behind at the farm July 4, I have a great pair of non-prescription dark glasses. They'll be waiting for him in Key West.

-- Modern plastics, I can see light and hue out my right eye I hadn't seen in years.

-- The operation on the left eye, coming this morning, I probably won't be able to type for a few days. But when I do . . . it will be in living color.

The vision thing

So here we are, back on line sooner than I expected, on the new computer -- still getting used to its maddening little idio- syncrasies, like the cursor unex- pectedly jumping to odd places and making fast typing hell. (How do I edit those keyboard shortcut preferences again? . . .)

We stayed at Sharon and Hoyle's neat new guest house Friday night, and made our way Saturday to Tampa, where I'll get my cataracts fixed Monday and Tuesday. We're camping out in a Ramada for the duration, and fortunately it has great wireless net access.

Between the keyboard and the eyes, heaven only knows when I'll be back on -- but I'll be seeing you soon, and lots better.

I'm speechless

A word for Microsoft

(_____). I can't print it here, so I'll let you fill in the blank.

Between migrating to a new laptop, Microsoft's various settings against digital piracy and our oh-so-slow dialup connection out here in the country, posting here has been impossible in the last few days.

Unfortunately, don't expect anything in the next few, either: We're heading to Florida -- first for a visit with Robert's brother, Hoyle; and then on to Tampa where I get my cataracts fixed, and a pair of implanted lenses. The doctor called to bump the surgeries up a day (they're Monday and Tuesday), after which we'll hang around a bit to make sure everything takes, and then I'll be off to audition for my new job in Key West (photo at right).

Assuming I'll feel like looking at a laptop, I'll post an update next week. Till then, stay safe and well.

Technical difficulties

Making transitions between computers -- plus problems uploading. Back when I can be.

Anseres ad custodiam præferendi sunt canibus

Sunday morning echoed Rome 2397 years or so ago. You don't know the story? From Aelian's On the Nature of Animals, XII, 33:

Geese are better at keeping watch than dogs, as the Romans discovered. At any rate the Celts were at war with them, and had thrust them back with overwhelming force and were in the city itself; indeed they had captured Rome, except for the hill of the Capitol, for that was not easy for them to scale. For all the spots which seemed open to assault by stratagem had been prepared for defense.

It was the time at which Marcus Manilius, the consul, was guarding the aforesaid height as entrusted to him. (It was he, you remember, who garlanded his son for his gallant conduct, but put him to death for deserting his post.) But when the Celts observed that the place was inaccessible to them on every side, they decided to wait for the dead of night and then fall upon the Romans when fast asleep; and they hoped to scale the rock where it was unguarded and unprotected, since the Romans were confident that the Gauls would not attack from that quarter. And as a result Manlius himself and the Citadel of Jupiter would have been captured with the utmost ignominy, had not some geese chanced to be there.

For dogs fall silent when food is thrown to them, but it is a peculiarity of geese to cackle and make a din when things are thrown to them to eat. And so with their cries they roused Manlius and the guards sleeping around him. This is the reason why up to the present day [2nd CCE] dogs at Rome annually pay the penalty of death in memory of their ancient treachery, but on stated days a goose is honored by being borne along on a litter in great state.

Thus was Rome saved. Our geese left a different sort of litter.

Great balls of holly

Part of the prep for things like Monday bridge is getting the grounds in order.

Mind ya, most of the ladies don't venture out -- maybe Anne, who's such a gardener that I get a massive inferiority complex every time she cocks an eyebrow at a yellowed leaf, though I've largely gotten over that. Live and let die, I say.

Still, Ray and the crew make sure everything's shipshape, and Joey has proven quite the shaper of boxwoods and hollies.

Some are showing their age, but others, like these off the pool terrace, are pretty as a picture.

New leaf

. . . in a not-so-plain pink wrapper.

Lucky night

Back when I was doing "social work" for the newspaper, I got a delicious invitation from Danny Newman, the old-time press agent for Lyric Opera of Chicago.

(Danny is worth a book, not a brief mention. He was present at Lyric's creation, built its subscription-based marketing system -- a first in major nonprofits, and still going strong -- and flourished his borsalino to flog every opera season, diva, divo and maestro for almost 50 years. But I digress.)

Would I like to have dinner with Pavarotti, Danny asked?

Um, yes, thanks!

So there I was on a sleety weeknight, in a new marble-and-glass lobby in the Loop with a few other press people, some Lyric angels, Ardis Krainik and Danny -- and Pavarotti. The developer had opened his first floor to the black-tie group for the evening as yet another bit of marketing, and had arranged a wonderful little supper under the high ceiling. Pavarotti was charming, and got extra helpings of charm in return (this was long before his feud with Lyric over no-shows).

After supper, Danny rose, cleared his throat and launched into a voluble introduction of the man who didn't need one.

Polite applause from the little group, and the great Luciano rose, spoke for a moment about singing for his supper, paused, vocalized a bit to test the acoustics --incredibly bright, lots of reverberation -- and then launched into "Nessun Dorma" a capella.

In an opera house, that voice is strong. In the glass and marble lobby, it bounced back in waves. Covered in gooseflesh, I listened
. . . then rose quietly to steal into other angles, my heart shimmering in the reflected sound. Back into a corner -- astounding! I couldn't hold back tears. Around a little wall -- amazing. Into the even tighter elevator lobby. . . .

Where a street person sat, disheveled, slumped in an elevator-door recess. Our eyes met. He crooked his finger: come closer.

I bent down.

"Am I in heaven?," he said, his eyes bleary -- and also pouring tears as the voice soared on. "I have to be. I hear an angel."

Dawn's early light

. . . is fading.

Better than any calendar, or first red leaf or first fat berry or first riot of southbound geese, the day's first light tells me the season. Thready, weaker, more a dying fire than a blaze.

And what I see in my eyes, I hear in my bones:

September's song: Summer's gone.

Yes, deer

Over the weekend, we were getting ready to go out when Robert rushed into my bathroom, toothbrush in mouth, to tell me, "Quihh, loo ow eh winow."

And there, on the far side of the lake, framed in the last of the crepe myrtles, were two does and a fawn, part of the deer herd that calls our home theirs.

"Mmh," Robert said, gesturing wildly.

At the south end of the lawn was the buck who runs the group, a six-pointer who gave a blast of his air horns and bolted when I tried to take his picture.

The next morning, as I was watering next to the shop, one of the does came within 30 feet, looked inquiringly at me and then into a wild cherry tree over her head, and got on her hind legs to graze.

Country life.

My favorite delft pot